Showing posts with label NaNoWriMo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NaNoWriMo. Show all posts

Friday, November 23, 2012

Loki with a cat on his head (Also, Starting Over Nine Worlds)


 Loki and Sloan's daughter, Sloan, seems to have inherited Loki's talent for shapeshifting...
(If you can't read the words it goes as follows:
Sloan: Where's Tessie?
Loki: On my head.
Sloan: O_O
Loki: ...I swear I did nothing.)

Now, you can skip all of this if you're only interested in the art. 'Tis only some stuff about my stories and what may show up on this blog next.

So far for Ninth Twilight (Loki's story) I have...
One completed novel at 47,000 words.
One quarter-finished novel at 25,000 words.
Over 10,000 words of extra scenes and planning.
Over 8,000 words of another novel.
One large three-ring binder stuffed full with worldbuilding and characters.

-sound of things landing in trashbin-
I'm scrapping it all and starting over. =D (I'm also not finishing NaNo because there's no point if my worlds are going to change so much the book would be completely useless by the time I finished it.) (So for those of you reading Dragons of Yggdrasil, if there are any of you out there, I'm not going to be finishing that. v_v)

I love this world, don't get me wrong, but it's not going in the way I want it to. I set out to chronicle Loki's story from Ginungagap to Ragnarok, and make it real. I wanted to bring the trickster to life on the page, and his world along with it. Unfortunately, the worldbuilding I had done so far...just wasn't doing this for me. There were too many inconsistencies and little things that I just didn't want.

So yep, I'm starting over from scratch. ^__^ You can probably expect me to be posting worldbuilding snippets on this blog as well as art and the occasional excerpt from now on. XD

On another note, I won't be writing Loki in novels for a while now, so I must also turn my attention to Rayle and her dark futuristic urban science fantasy with dystopian and steampunk elements. (Can you tell I have absolutely no freakin' idea what genre this story is?) I've got to finish that story before the OYAN Summer Workshop, so you may also catch excerpts/worldbuilding from that as well.

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

NaNoWriMo

Do we really need Wednesday? I mean seriously.

Let it be Thursday.

LET IT BEGIN.

/Rhino quoting

Sunday, September 2, 2012

Finishing novels

"Oh my gosh the world is ending and it's beautiful." ~Midnight Aster

That's what my friend said about finishing novels. And for me? It's not the triumphant "YAHOOOO I finished a NOVEL! WOOT!" (I don't think anything in the world could make me say "YAHOO" and "WOOT", but that's kind of beside the point.)

Anyways, I wasn't triumphant when I finished. I was crying.

I spent the month of July furiously scribbling plot ideas, character sheets, outlines. I spent August caught up in the glorious whirlwind of words and dialogue and adventure. I went from Asgard to Jotunheim and back again with my characters. I watched Runi die at the hands of a vicious warlord and I saw Loki attempt to sacrifice his life for his brother.

I fell in love with a cranky prince, a struggling young king coming to grips with his new responsibilities, and a snarky trickster who's far more loyal and self-sacrificing than he would ever let you know.

And then it ended. Only fifteen minutes before midnight on the last day of August, I typed six innocuous letters.

T H E E N D

The king was home, the trickster safe, the prince ... still cranky, but working on it.

I had to say goodbye.

It was hard. It was so much more difficult than I thought it would be to give up this story. It was a happy ending, with an overflow of snark and a lot of drunk Norsemen. But it was over. And it felt so terribly final. 

I was crying when I wrote those final letters. I hugged my characters and wailed that I would miss them. Odin was at least sympathetic. Loki said, "Quill, you planned an entire series for us. Get a grip."

(As a side note, I didn't win NaNo, but I discount that because HAY. I finished a novel.)

I moped all day yesterday after finishing because I was finished because nothing I could think of to write was Loki. I had a steampunk story I needed to work on, but I picked it up and put it down again because it wasn't Treacherous Ice.

This is Rayle.
Then late that night I was considering a few wacky ideas I'd had way back to compete with Aster's sparkly vampires of space. I remembered Rayle--eight years old, blue fluffy hair, adorable big blue eyes, pointed ears, the ability to become invisible. She's also cocky beyond belief, obnoxious, unbalanced, a kleptomaniac, and has a history of murder. 

The picture is Rayle. Knowing her, she's probably hiding a knife behind her back. 

 She tormented poor Caesar for a while--called him pathetic, threatened him with a knife, annoyed him--and then decided that Saminique Taro was all hers. She follows him around everywhere now.

Ideas are flooding in.

The point of this long rambly post is to say that 1, finishing novels isn't quite all it's cracked up to be and 2, I have a new project. Yay.

Saturday, August 4, 2012

Quill has been lax about updates

Sorry guys. D:

So. Camp NaNoWriMo, which is NaNoWriMo in July and August, just started today.

Basically, I will not be writing anything except Young Asgard, which was renamed Treacherous Ice for a month. So, until NaNo ends... have drabbles. :P Short 'stories' of exactly 100 words. I'm doing the 100 story challenge with them... sort of. Off and on, really.
1. Introduction
You mean you don’t recognize me right off? The signature flame-red hair? The scarred lips?

If we were face to face right now I’d be giving you a bitter smile.

I am Ulfsfadir, Laevisi, Loptr, Ville, Liesmith, Silvertongue. I am Laufeyson and Farbautison and Odin’s brother and parent of Jormungand, Fenris, Hela, Narvi, Ali, and Sleipnir. I am husband of the late Angrboda, and of Sigyn. I am Jotun and Æsir and elf. I am the Trickster. The thief of Brisingamen and Idun’s apples and the cutter of Sif’s hair. I am the Sly God.

In short?

I am Loki.

2. Complicated
“So, Odin, you slaughter frost giants regularly and yet you call a little runty Jotun brother?” Hrungnir’s grin is sly as he takes another swig of wine. Freya the Beautiful stands behind him, ready to refill his drinking horn. The air around him warps with the instinctual magic of Jotuns, creating a bubble of frigid air around him.

I recline on a chair at the table, smirking at Odin’s unusual houseguest. “Here I am known as Son of Laufey, Hrungnir.”

“That clears everythin’ up,” Hrungnir slurs.

Odin smiles and says, “Yes, Loki is my brother. How that came about is…complicated.”

3. Making History
Odin met me in Yggdrasil, the space between worlds, and I became his traveling companion. Months passed, and eventually I helped him retrieve Idun and her apples. In return, he made me his blood brother, and one of the Æsir--one of the gods.

“You know, I am half Jotun, brother,” I whisper to Odin as we approach Bifrost and Asgard’s gate.

“I know.” He smiles. “But you are also an elf, and my brother.”

Not even Silvertongue can argue with that. I step into Asgard, the first Jotun to enter as a friend of Odin, and I make history.

4. Rivalry
The Æsir don’t compete in the same fields, instead striving to become the best at their chosen professions. Odin, god of wisdom. Bragi, of poesy. Thor, of thunder and strength. Freya, of love and beauty.

I happened to be better at lies than any of them were in their own fields (save Odin; he would always be more powerful than I).

And so I become the rival of every Æsir as they struggle to keep me in check, struggle to be as powerful at their talents as I was. They have to keep Ragnarok from happening.

I laugh at them.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Chronicles of a Camper, Day 2

Day 2
Loki's feeling more cooperative today. I think he's just spitefully happy at the research problems I'm having. High fantasy shouldn't have to be researched! But I wanted an authentic Norse-feeling culture, so I had to research Norse dwellings, Norse funerals, and mess around with Icelandic dictionaries. Sigh. Stop laughing at my pain, Loki.

In which the epic journey of blood, sweat, tears, and overly spiteful characters continues.

MORE STATS.
Wordcount goal:3226
Wordcount Today:Seeing as I counted wrong yesterday, I think it's 936...
Wordcount of All Time: 2650
Words Remaining:47,540
Greatest Achievement:Surviving today...?
Greatest Annoyance:Historical 'accuracies' and researching them. x.X

So yeah! Today was fun! My outline told me I had to kill the king of the Aesir today, so I set about doing that, and then realized I'd probably need a funeral as well. So, being the kind of person who wants to be faithful to the original myths and the culture that spawned them, I merrily went off to research Norse funerals.

A noble and worthy goal, you must be saying.

I'd be inclined to agree, except I then discovered Norse funeral traditions are not exactly appropriate to put into a YA book. So I had to tweak the funeral a little (my excuse is there aren't enough men in Asgard at the current time to perform these unmentionable...rituals...).

I suceeded in figuring out how I wanted to portray this G-rated funeral at last and was happyfied!

Then I realized I also needed to figure out what Gladsheim, home of the king of the Aesir, looked like.

X.X

WILL THE RESEARCH NEVER END? I'm writing High Fantasy, here, people, I did this specifically to get AWAY from the research.

And this is NaNo, anyways. Research is for July!

But it's too early to cheat on descriptions and such, so off I trundled to look that up...and found nothing useful on the subject of kings' dwellings.

Sigh, okay, I'll just make it an ordinary dwelling, plus all the trappings, right? ...Right. Yep. That's working so far, and I see no need to change it...yet. I'm sure any Norse geeks who read my novel will be horrified at my information, but that's what September's for...editing those mistakes. =P

My apologies for said rant. Loki's laughing his head off at me. You have permission to do so as well if you wish.

Have an excerpt. Said excerpt is totally random and makes little sense out of context and isn't even particularly witty or funny, but whatever.
I saw Honir leaning on the wall outside the door, looking at the floor. Unable to summon a snarky question, I walked up to him and asked, “How is he?”

“Fading quickly.” Honir looked up. “I didn’t expect you to care enough to come. I thought you’d have run off by now.”

I shrugged. “I like to keep people on their toes.”

“He asked for you.”

“Rúni told me.”

“Don’t tell me you actually felt obligated to come see him.”

“…Yes. I did.” I didn’t expect Honir to really understand--the prince had probably never met a day of hardship in his life (and strenuous training with a sword doesn’t count in my humble opinion)--but I had never known either of my parents, and Bor had been a mentor to me. (Not that I took half of his advice, but it’s the thought that counts.)

Besides, I suspected that Odin would find out somehow that Bor had asked for me as well, and if I didn’t go see his father, later Odin would be sighing and talking about how it would have been nice if his father had gotten to see me one last time before he died. Which would (besides make me feel marginally guilty) be awkward. So it was best for me to be here.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Chronicles of a Camper, Day 1

Day 1
The characters are already rebelling--or at least Loki is. I knew it wasn't a good idea to tell him what was going to happen to him in chapter seven. He's been drunk and especially caustic for the past three days. And now when we actually have to start writing, he refuses to cooperate at all. 

Camp NaNoWriMo, day one, campers! In which we embark on an epic journey of blood, sweat, tears, and uncooperative characters.

Okay, I stole the idea for such a blog post from my good friend ninjadragon99 on the OYAN forums. Her blog is A Writer And Her Dragons and she too is doing Camp NaNoWriMo. ^^ Actually, she's even doing a Norse story like me--the story of Loki and how he accidentally sent the Aesir to the moon at the worst time possible. It's called Silvertongue and it's quite cool.

Stats! I love stats! They're so crisp and factual. Takes all the imagination out of stuff, and we don't want too much imagination running around. 'Tis dangerous, precious!
Wordcount goal:1613
Wordcount Today:1974
Wordcount of All Time: 1974
Words Remaining:48,387
Greatest Achievement:...Do I get points for not strangling Loki...?
Greatest Annoyance:Loki. He's a pain


 Ninth Twilight, Book One: Treacherous Ice
Three princes of Asgard.

A warlord of Jotunheim.

Odin's father is dead. The Aesir are still young, a fledgling group of gods vulnerable to attack. And Odin's the one who has to take up his father's mantle, rule Asgard, hold them together. And across the Worlds in Jotunheim, the frost giants mobilize under the power-hungry Kassoq, who is bent on conquering Asgard.

Odin and his two brothers Loki and Honir must stop Kassoq. But the frost giant warlord is already playing on their fears and doubts, tearing at their loyalty…


Yerp, this is what I'm writing. Previously I called it Young Asgard, but Treacherous Ice fits better.  Plus, new synopsis. And I have an outline and all sorts of cool stuffs for it.

Have an excerpt.
The younger man stopped a few feet away. “You’re on Æsir land, frost giant.”

I smirked, lounging on the slope of the grassy hill and looking down at him. “There’s no need to be rude about it, you know. I much prefer Jotun to giant.”

“Technicality.” He drew his sword, grinning. I glanced at my belt, which was distinctly lacking a scabbard and sword.

“Now that’s not fair. You’d attack an unarmed man?”

“Decades of traveling the Nine Worlds and you still don’t carry a sword.” Chuckling, he sheathed his sword as his blond-haired companion behind him rolled his eyes. Holding out his hand to me, he said, “Welcome back, Loki.”

I looked at his hand and then at his face. “What, I’m supposed to let you help me up after you threatened me?”

“A prince always keeps his word.”

“The only word you’ve given me is that you’re going to attack me.”

“What? I welcomed you!”

“Sure you did. After you threatened me.”

Monday, July 23, 2012

Another Story Idea. I have no shame.

My goodness. I've been a horrible person about keeping up, haven't I?

Well, guess what. Camp NaNoWriMo, the National Novel Writing Month event in June and August, is just around the corner. And I'm participating. ^__^ So I'll be super busy in August, though I'll try not to forget you guys again.

Have a synopsis for the novel I'm doing for Camp.

Three princes of Asgard.

A warlord of Jotunheim.

Odin's father is dead, his mother sickening. The Aesir are still young, a fledgling group of gods. And Odin's the one who has to take up his father's mantle, rule Asgard, hold them together.

Across the Worlds in Jotunheim, the frost giants are mobilizing. The power-hungry and revenge-driven frost giant warlord Kassoq, a grandson of Ymir himself, knows that Bor's sons (and a certain flame-haired trickster) are the only things standing between him and Asgard's fall.

Will Asgard survive or will the three winters portending Ragnarok arrive early?

Yes, I'm writing another Norse mythology story. I HAVE NO SHAME.

So we have young Odin. He's about twenty or so, a shameless flirt, and struggling to rule Asgard as well as his father did. He's more powerful magic-wise than either of his brothers, which is the reason Bor chose to pass the throne to him rather than to his older brother.

His brother Honir is the eldest. He's more practical, and overly cautious. His biggest problem is keeping Odin and Loki from doing really stupid/foolhardy things together. He acts as the mentor in this story.

Loki, when he's about Odin's age, is reckless, cocky, and arrogant. He's better at clever tricks than Odin and Honir, but his reckless nature often gets the better of him, landing him in ridiculous scrapes. His philosophy to deal with strange things is to poke it with a stick.

Basically, we have a recipe for disaster.

After this we'll get back to our regularly scheduled content, i.e. Asgard and Olympus and other stuff I desperately need to finish.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

NaNoWriMo - Finished!


I finished NaNoWriMo! Yes, I finished, with 51,692 words!


Unfortunately the story is unfinished. So, my friends, I shall be finishing it in July with Camp NaNoWriMo with another fifty thousand. Or maybe less. In any case I WILL FINISH! Because it's my longest, best-plotted, best-developed story ever, and it must be finished and edited!

This, dear readers, is all I have to say. Except for this - I'm going to take the 100 story challenge. You use a list of 100 prompts and write a short story for each one. I'll try to finish one each week. I'm going to use Kaycee, George, and Scarlett. You may have heard of Kaycee from that link. I've been wanting to use her for ages, but she's still a story-orphan. But no longer! Stay tuned for the exciting adventures of Kaycee and Friends/Family!

Friday, November 4, 2011

NaNoWriMo 2011: Shadowed Eyes Ch1

Well, I was actually feeling slightly guilty for not posting. I like to keep up on my blogs, and as my NaNo is all that I've written - have a chapter. Just the one, though. The rest of it shall not be posted unless I am very much satisfied with the finished product. Anyways, without further ado, Shadowed Eyes - Chapter One.
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Dust Fever
A thin, tall girl speeds down the dusty road, long blond pigtails flying out behind her. Passerby turn and look at her, eyes filled with compassion.

This girl is me.

The dull thudding of my feet is all I can hear as I run. Our village, a dry grassless place, becomes a tan blur as I cry silently.
The last house at the end of the row is mine. Simple, in the exact style of all the others, it’s nothing special. But little touches my mother Zena has added − a lovingly sculpted and painted flower here, a checked handkerchief on a windowsill here − make it home.

I notice none of these as I fling open the door, shake off my boots. To the left in the living room sits my father on the couch. He half-rises when he sees me, but gets no farther as I dash into his arms.

“Is it true, Dad?” I choke out.

He strokes my hair and nods. “It is.”

Our family is made up of me, Toki; my father, Nikko; my mother, Zena; and my sister, eight-year-old Rosuto. My worshiper. My greatest friend. We are four years apart, a sizeable difference for most siblings, but we are inseparable.

Now she’s sick with dust fever. Of all the illnesses she came down with dust fever. The one that doesn’t have a cure. A fatal illness you don’t recover from.

I bury my face in my father’s chest and sob. He waits for me to finish and then holds me away. “It’s going to be okay, Toki,” he says earnestly. “I know someone who can help.”

Tearing away from his loving grasp, I mutter, “It’s dust fever. No one can help.”

“But I know someone who can.”

My father doesn’t lie. If he knows someone who can help Rosuto, he knows someone. But I don’t know who he’s kidding. There’s no cure anymore. That vanished hundreds of years ago with the disappearance of the Lost. The Lost were the protectors of this world, Terra. They had certain powers, the specifics of which have long since lapsed into obscurity when the Elimination happened − when they were persecuted and killed for the Betrayal. The Betrayal too has lapsed into obscurity. The only thing that’s certain about them now was that those in training had gray eyes, those fully-realized had green eyes, and they had healing abilities. They alone could heal dust fever.

But does the past glory of the Lost matter anymore? Right here, right now, I have a sister who’s dying. “Can I see her?” I whisper.

“She’s in her room.”

I walk past the front door and up the hallway that leads past all of our bedrooms. Rosuto’s is the one in the middle. Her door is slightly ajar, and squeaks slightly when I touch it.

My mother is inside, offering Rosuto a drink. But my sister refuses when she sees me, round eyes lighting up. “Toki…” she says hoarsely. “You came…!”

Zena smiles at me tiredly and leaves the room, allowing me to be alone with Rosuto. I cross the room swiftly and kneel by the side of her bed. “Of course I came,” I say.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt your sleepover…”

My sleepover. I’ve nearly forgotten about it. I was sleeping over at my friend Mona’s house. Just ten minutes ago someone had come and informed me of Rosuto’s illness. I hadn’t checked who it was, being in too much of a rush, and now I wondered. Had Rosuto really just taken sick? She looked like she’d been this way for a while. “You didn’t interrupt anything,” I tell her, saving my questions for another time, another person. “It’s going to be okay.” The same lie my father had consoled himself with now fell from my lips. “Dad knows someone who can help…”

Rosuto smiles up at me, dark shiny hair framing her round face. “If…if Dad says it’s going to be okay…”

I lean close to hear her next words.

“…well, Dad is usually right…”

Dad is usually right? Oh, Rosuto, don’t you know how often people can be wrong? Aren’t you scared? Oh, Rosy, I’m scared…

My nose tingles and my eyes grow hot. I know I’m going to cry, but I can’t do it in front of Rosuto. Squeezing her hand, I flee the room, running into my own bedroom, flopping onto my bed, and again I cry.