I've written this dang synopsis four times already! I thought I was
getting closer with this last attempt, but after a quick edit, I
realized it's rubbish and I have to try again. Gods help me!
The face of 'aww, poor me I can't write a synopsis'.
Ack, never mind.
I'm going to go finish my NaNoWriMo word count now.
(50k words in 22 days! Maybe I'm not as pathetic as I look! :) )
They called it the Broken Basket, even though it wasn’t broken.
Large and woven, it was ordinary enough. Inside were sheafs of paper for
each eligible citizen of Jorevian. Ordained by the Lords, each card
dictated the names of acceptable gene pools that the individual could
marry into. As if they had a choice. Most cards had less than half a
dozen names on them, some only one or two.
That’s why it was called the broken basket: it was full of broken hearts.
My little brother and I had only been with the Jorevian clan two months
before I turned eighteen. We were still learning so much about the
vicious hierarchy system, mostly by accident. I had been afraid to
approach the basket, and then a naive hope flared in my chest when the
dictator presented my card. It was blank.
Was I free to choose? I immediately thought of Han. Stupidly. For the
hush that came over the crowd should’ve been indication enough. It was
the silence of pity.
Soon, I learned what happened to girls with blood deemed ineligible for
the gene pool. As I stood before the silent crowd, I should’ve been more
afraid. Much more.
What do you think??
This idea came to me in a dream, down to the opening sentence. I hope to write it someday, but for right now, I wish my dreams would help me solve present plot holes instead of bogging me down with new ideas...
As I narrow in on the climax of this book, the highs and lows of writing are really starting to get to me.
How is it possible to feel such drastic mood swings one day (literally, one day) to the next?
It doesn't even matter if the words came easily or not, or wether the scenes were well plotted or spontaneous. It's actually on the lower level of sentence by sentence, word by word. I either love my composition, or despise it, one moment to the next.
Then there's this jolly little thing called...
WRITERS *FREAKING* BLOCK
Which I have never experienced myself, but I hear it's awful.
Actually, that's a lie. I have it today. And some of yesterday.
After averaging 2,500words/day for two months, I was feeling pretty confident in my output, which is where the danger first started. Then, after ridiculously busy days where I still managed my 25 hundred, the weekend days should've been easy. Or so I thought.
Which is why, of course, the words mock me by avoiding the weak pull of my lazy brain and I watch cat videos on youtube instead.
It is also why I blog. To bemoan because it's easier than writing.
...and because my brothers are group gaming on my writing computer.
I'm going to carry on Tangled style, since they're still gaming and you're still reading.
It starts out gloriously...
You decide to write a book and dream (like I did literally the other night) of getting it published.
Two weeks later writer's block hits like:
As far as how NaNo is going, I'm not behind and I'm not giving up, but I do wonder if I have enough story left for my full 50k. I think I may either have to start some rewrites or book 2 to get them all.
Finally, because I'm bored, easily amused, and very scatter-brained at the moment, I'm going to leave you with this nonsensical picture.