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NaNo Excerpts (1 Viewer)

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Staff member
I thought it may be fun to post an excerpt we're kind of proud of, despite the obvious errors and such. We can add a new one every few days, or longer if there is that much time between portions we like. It would be a good idea to try to keep the length rather short, maybe somewhere around 1000 words.

I'll go first. It isnb't great, but I really like the character of Joshua Stevens.

The reception area wasn’t too big—it actually had a rather homey feel to it. Dark wood floors accented by light wood panel walls decorated with all types of nature pictures. Hanging above the receptionist’s desk was a large mounted elk head. Harley chuckled slightly to himself. The decorating of the small the entire place had put him to ease already, and if the people went along with the décor, then he wouldn’t have any qualms about them at all. How funny it was, he thought, to find something like that inside the Hampton Building--who would have ever guessed.

“Can I help you sir?” The receptionists question brought his attention back to the desk sitting in the middle of the room against the back wall.

“Yes ma’am, you can. I’m here to see Josh Stevens. Harley McPherson--I have an appointment for eleven.” He watched as the thin blonde woman scanned over an appointment book sitting to one side of the desk. She was a rather attractive woman and her eyes had to be her best asset.

“Ah yes, here you are, right here. Just let me call back and see if Josh is ready for you.” She smiled as she picked up a phone and pressed a button. Harley turned and scanned the walls as she spoke to Joshua Stevens. Most of the pictures were of wildlife of various kinds. He was studying a well painted picture of an eagle when he heard her put the receiver back into its cradle. “He says it’s ok to send you on back--he’s ready for you now. Just walk through that door and take a right into the first office.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Harley walked around the desk and went through the door she had pointed out. As he walked by, he noticed more about how she was dressed. It had been nice, not uppity like the people down in the lobby of the building. He liked that.

As he was about to reach the door to the office, a man about the same age as he himself, and built nearly the same too, walked out of the office into the hall. He was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a polo shirt. His hair was thinning and his face wore the look of a person that spent a lot of their time outdoors.

“Harley, so glad you could make it in, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Just finished up reading your manuscript.” He offered his hand to Harley. “Damn fine piece of writing. Cindy was right about you.”

“Well… thank you.” Harley was taken back by the man’s reception. He personally thought his story was decent, but to hear someone else other than Allie and Sierra say it came as a little of a shock to him. He shook the hand--it was calloused and had a firm grip. “Sorry, just haven’t heard that from most of the other publishers who’ve looked at it.”

“Hmmph, that’s just because they wouldn’t know a good story if it came up and bit them in the ass.”

Harley had to smile. Yeah, he could handle this. Josh seemed like the kind of man he would even be willing to call a friend.

“Well, Mr. Stevens….”

“Call me Josh. I’m not so damn old yet that I need to be called Mr. Stevens.” He stepped to the side and motioned Harley through the door into the office.

“Ok, Josh. Personally I thought that too, but figured who am I to judge?”

“Well, I can, and I stick to my assessment of them.” Josh pulled out a chair for Harley to sit in and walked around behind the desk. Harley walked over to the chair and sat down. He was already comfortable with this man, but he was the farthest thing he could have ever imagined for a publisher to be like.

“Can I get you something to drink, Harley? You look a might bit uncomfortable in that long sleeved shirt. Has to be hot, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is, but I wanted to look presentable. I still yet felt out of place in this, downstairs, but this is close to the far end of dressing up business like for me.”

Josh let out a loud laugh as he pressed a button on the phone sitting on his desk.

“I won’t beat around the bush with a lot of small talk before getting down to why you’re here--I want to publish your book, Harley.” He slid out his chair and sit down, propping his feet up on the hardwood desk. “Cindy told me it was good, and I trust her word, so I had her contact you. Then I read it myself. Just proves my trust in her isn’t misplaced. She hasn’t ever steered me wrong before, and she sure didn’t this time either.”

Harley had known that Cindy, one of the editors working for Dry Creek Publishing who had read his manuscript, had liked it. She had been the one he had received the call from, and she seemed genuine when she had said how much she’d enjoyed the story. She had set up the appointment the very day she called for him to come in and talk to the publisher.

“Now Harley, tell me a little about it. I have my opinions of the story, but I want to hear yours first. Want to know all about how you came up with it.”

Harley didn’t know exactly where to start, so he began at the beginning.

“Well, it came about for quite a few different reasons, and I personally think it ain’t too bad. At least my wife and daughter say it isn’t.” Josh nodded as Harley continued on. “I guess that it comes from liking medieval times, my love of the stars, and what may be out there beyond them.”

Harley settled back into his seat as he prepared to talk about the way his book had come to be. The publisher, stretched out like the country boy he was, listened intently, captivated by Harleys’ story like no stranger had been before. Harley thought about Allie at the café, and about how excited she would be if this turned out the way he expected it would.


This is Rico's, not mine, by the way. But I'm sharing it anyway. (and yes, it's supposed to be a single paragraph)

This night was simply a repeat of the previous one, though perhaps better executed. Cooking up the heroin was much smoother the second time around, which made the high better. Lying on his back on the bed, the needle sitting on the sheets beside him, an idiotically ecstatic smile stretched across his face, he finally felt like he was worth something. Finally, his life meant something. Even if it meant finding happiness in a needle, it was worth it to feel this good. And never mind that the high had to end. That was irrelevant. There was always more heroin that could be bought. And so what if his mother noticed sooner or later? As he had told her earlier, this was his life. No one had control over what he said or did. He was a free man. If he wanted to get high every day, that was completely his right. In fact, perhaps it was even his duty. Yes, a duty. That’s what it was. A duty to be the happiest man he could be. And heroin made him happy. Therefore, it was only logical to correlate them and use them to give himself a better life. Bianca had practically given him her blessing. Make some changes in your life, she had said. Well, this was a pretty radical change, and so far, it seemed to be all for the better. It wasn’t interfering with his life at all. He could still go to work during the day and then get high at night before going to sleep. It would work perfectly, and no one ever had to know any differently. Maybe life was taking a turn for the better. And what an encouraging thought that was. Like things were finally going to change. Like his bullshit life was finally going to mean something. Like the whole world was going to start playing by his rules instead of him playing by its rules. The world was bowing underneath him. Yes, that was it. The world was going to start giving into his demands because it was clear that he had the right to give such commands. He had figured out what the secret behind all of it was. The secret was, plain and simple, that you had to acknowledge that you were superior than the rest of the world, and only then would you be able to rule over it. Not rule, really, though. Just have some degree of control over it. The ability to make things that were better happen. Like ending the bullshit life that he was leading and moving onto something that would actually make him happy. That would be great. To be happy. And he had finally found the answer to true happiness. Heroin. Heroin was the answer to all of it. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. Peripherally, he had always kind of known the effects that heroin would have on him and that perhaps they would make his life better, but he was an intelligent man. He should have tried this much sooner. He could imagine how much happier he would be now if he had just done that. If he had taken the first step ten years ago, or twenty. How much better everything would be. Maybe he wouldn’t be lonely and single and living with his mother then. Maybe he would be rich and successful and loved by everyone. And it was all due to heroin. Heroin was some kind of god’s food. It had the power to make everything right in the world, with just the prick of a needle. And now he had discovered that secret. He was different from other junkies, though, because other junkies didn’t have the dreams he did, didn’t have the ambition he did, didn’t have the drive he did. That was why they were all left in the gutter and were pathetic specimens of humanity. He was very, very different. Better. More powerful. Like some kind of superman. Superman. Yeah, that was it. Like superman. Only, unlike superman, he had no kryptonite. He had no weakness. Not as long as he had heroin. As long as he had heroin, everything in the whole world would be all right, and no one could push him down. And what a terrific feeling that was.


Senior Member
i know its kinda long BUT.......

Adam wandered through the estate looking in windows to see if any children were still there, then he found the perfect house there was a baby sitter, about sixteen years of age, he would be no problem, he walked around into the back and tested the back door to his surprise it was open, he crept in. He walked along the corridor, checking each door for the sitting room, it was the second last door, he walked in “hey what the fuck are you doing in this-“ his voice caught in his throat when he saw the knife “hey man, what are you doin’ with that?” Adam laughed “killing you” Adam lunged at the teenager, the teenager dodged the blade, Adam continued to brandish the knife, he lunged again this time the teenager wasn’t so lucky, ha gasped as it caught him in the side leaving a small cut, blood soaked into his white t-shirt. Adam tackled the teenager and brought him to the ground “hey, please, please don’t hurt me, I don’t want to die” tears started to run down his face, Adam relished the fear, he slowly cut through the teenagers white t-shirt, he spread the material revealing his chest, he plunged the knife repeatedly into his chest, blood flowed freely out of his chest and soaked into his t-shirt and the carpet. The teenager writhed on the floor, excruciating pain flowing through his body; he wished death would come faster, to end this pain. Adam plunged the knife once more and rotated it and yanked it out viciously, the teenagers life departed, the pain went all he knew was peace.
Adam giggled; he liked killing people, children the best as he liked the taste of them, if he wasn’t able to get children he settled with spam or corned beef, which also had a child meat flavor. Adam crept up the stairs and into the child’s bedroom, it was easy to spot it was covered in stickers and had MARK written on it with clowns in the shape of letters. The door opened easily, he looked to the bed, the sound of deep steady breathing filled the air, the lump on the bed moved in sync with the noise, he walked over, avoiding toys strewn across the floor, and pulled back the covers, the little boy looked peaceful sleeping there. His clown pajamas which were to big for him made him look fat (he begged his mother to buy them for him) Adam raised the knife ready to strike when Mark’s eyes snapped open, he saw a strange smelly man standing over him with a knife. Fear shot through him, he was old enough to know knifes were sharp and could cause pain, he tied to stay still to try to make the man think he was sleeping, maybe he would leave, the man stayed there, mark grew more afraid “MOMMY, DADDY HELP!!!” Adam giggled he knew something the child didn’t; there was no one around to help him. Adam laughed manically, Mark tried to get up, but Adam grabbed his shoulder and forced him down “and w-where do y-y-you think your g-g-going?” Mark was crying now, where were his mommy and daddy, why weren’t they helping? Adam brought the knife down slowly, bringing it to Marks chin level, he angled it down and plunged the knife into Marks flesh, Mark screamed in terror and pain “make it stop, make it stop!” he cried out in vain, pleading with this smelly man stop. Marks body went limp and his spirit departed and he knew no more pain, fear or sorrow he knew only peace, Adam kept on stabbing, even after Marks body went limp, he tucked the knife into his belt, picked up the child and slung him across his shoulders fireman style.
Adam went down the stairs, he went into the sitting room, the teenager’s blood was congealing, sticking to his body, t-shirt and the carpet, some of it was still wet, Adam put the child down and went over to the teenager he went through his pockets, he didn’t find much, a pair of sunglasses a girls phone number and a mobile, he had long ago found out that he couldn’t sell a mobile, nobody would buy it off him, he came across the wallet, for a sixteen year old he had a lot of money, about one hundred euro (he was going out that night after baby sitting) Adam took the whole wallet, if he left it fingerprints could be lifted, he would throw it away after he got a bit away from the murder scene. He tucked the wallet into his pocket, dipped his finger into the blood and licked it, it wasn’t as young as he liked but it tasted better than most kids his age would have, they all had chemicals in there blood from fast food and high concentrate sugary drinks and sweets, he must have lived a healthy lifestyle. He once again slung the child across his shoulders and left.

“TOM! WAKE UP, YOU’LL BE LATE FOR SCHOOL!” Tom snapped out of his dream and Mister Wister was pushed out of Tom’s mind. Mister Wister’s body filled with excruciating pain, he looked at tom’s mother with distain, it was her that cost him his meal, and no matter he would suck the child’s essence sooner or later.
Adam dropped the child; the first rays of dawn lighted the sky, streaking it with purple, red and orange. Adam lit a fire, he took his knife from his belt and carved three thin slices from the child’s body, he took out the flask Mister Wister gave him, it heated the blood to body temperature Adam had no clue how it worked but that didn’t matter as long as it did it’s job, he drained some blood from the child into the flask, for later, he sucked some blood from the wound savoring the warm, salty taste, then he skewered the slices of meat onto a wire then he placed it onto the fire, the smell of roasting meat filled the small area where he lived, his mouth watered and drool flowed out of his mouth and onto his beard.
Soon the meat was cooked Adam couldn’t stand it he ripped the meat off the wire, it being so thin it cooled quickly, he quickly ripped chunks out of the cooked meat, the sweet flavor washing over his taste buds, he savored the last bite, the temptation was too much he cut off another three slices, this time they were thicker, skewered them with the wire, cooked them then he tore off chunks with his teeth, sucking on the meat, draining the juices, he was about to have more but he told himself not to, he had another month to wait before he could have another child to eat, he covered the child with a blanket, so if anyone did stumble onto his lair they wouldn’t find the child, it had happened before, the young woman didn’t see Adam sneak up behind her, she was standing with a horrified, morbid, fascination (like when people slow there cars to see the crash) he stabbed her six times in the back, on the third he hit her heart, but he kept stabbing just to be sure, he then dumped her body in a ravine.


Don't worry everyone who knows they are in my book. I changed the names for this little bit.

“Just because you haven’t had long relationships doesn’t mean you don’t know anything about love.” Laura finished the braid in Samantha's hair and began tying it off. “Your relationships have to do with how right the person is for you and how right you are for him. Now read me your poem.”

“It’s called ‘The Seven Sins’.” Samantha grinned proudly.

“Go ahead,” Laura said, smiling and moving to sit in front of Samantha.

“I’d rather have heaven’s gate, than that blasted devil’s fire. Sure I’ll give up greed and lust - everything I desire.”

Laura snorted and tried to stop her laughter. The thought of Samantha lusting after anyone was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

Samantha gave her an evil look before smiling and continuing. “Then again, greed is fun. Why shouldn’t I want it all? I see money and shiny things, and I can’t help but hear the call. And lust, oh lust. Just think about the-”

“Samantha!” Laura said, trying to maintain an outraged look so she wouldn’t laugh.

“What?” Samantha asked with an innocent grin. “Should we skip the lust part? I wouldn’t want to damage your delicate virgin ears.”

“Hah.” Laura stood up and offered her hand to Samantha. “It’s about time we go back. They are probably missing us.”

She sighed and took the offered hand, letting Laura pull her to her feet. They both worked at The Haven and Laura was right: people would be missing them. They walked through the trees surrounding the hilltop and soon were back in viewing distance of The Haven.

Samantha liked to call The Haven a ‘place for lost souls’. There were kids of all ages. Most were younger than her, but there were a few her age and two older. However, the two older, Eric and Ben, were unique on their own. Lost souls in their own right, they found pleasure in helping the others. And flirting with Laura and Samantha of course.

Samantha was a lost soul as well, though she was loathe to admit it to anyone. Her depression ran deep and she went to great lengths to hide it. However, Laura somehow saw through the lies and denials to the true Samantha; the Samantha who hurt and needed someone to truly love her. Her constant need to put others first and push away love disturbed Laura deep in her heart. She knew Samantha was a good person who deserved the world, but Samantha refused to see it that way. She had a self-sacrificing attitude that made Laura wonder if she would one day leave this life before her time.

The thought sent shivers through her.


Senior Member
A little bit long, but this part was fun to write. It should be noted that the bulk of my story is going to be made up of dares I found on the internet.

It wasn’t long before the pair reached their destination - an old folk’s home. Senior bingo champions from all over the suburb visited the building every week in the hopes of gaining bingo glory. The bingo room was very bingo-y in its own right; rows of bingo tables lined the large bingo room. Bingo cards and bingo counters were placed carefully in front of each seat. At the front of a room sat a large plateau, where the bingo announcer sat and announced the numbers as he pulled each bingo ball from the bingo ball container. The game of bingo was won when all the numbers on a bingo player’s card had been called out. The winning individual would shout “bingo!” and obtain bingo greatness. The old folks of this old folk’s home were highly skilled in the art of bingo, but Adam was slowly working his way up the ranks and was well on his way to becoming bingo champion.

Adam and Amanda got out of the car and strolled up to the entrance of the playing building. An elderly man wearing a headband and sweatshirt ran past the two on their way in. Bingo was serious stuff.

“Ready for some bingo, Amanda?” Adam asked.

“I hate that word.”

Adam pulled a white wristband from his pocket and put it on. He turned his head slowly to face Amanda and said: “Let’s do this thang.”

The bustling noise of senior chitter chatter filled their ears. Elderly people packed the hall, each one eagerly anticipating the day’s game. Adam and Amanda spotted two seats in the third row back from the announcers plateau and made their way over. An old man approached them just as they were sitting down.

“You better watch yourself, Biscuit. I’m keeping my eye on you today. I’ll come down on you like a flying raccoon if you try anything shifty,” the old man said.


The old man sat down in the row behind Adam and pulled out a pair of small binoculars. Smiling, he put them up to his eyes and always kept his sight on him.

Another man, dressed very strangely, strolled up to the chair beside Adam, and sat down. His face was covered in layers of white make up. A strange pattern was drawn around his eyes in eye-liner, and his lips were a bright red colour. He wore a tight, black and white striped top, and atop his head sat a beret.

“Whoa! Cool!” Adam exclaimed. “Amanda! It’s a mime!”

“Wow.” Amanda said. The mime turned to her and frowned, then faced Adam and grinned from ear to ear.

“I like this guy. He’s really—”

“—Bingo goers! Ready your chips!” The announcer called from the front of the room. Everyone fell silent as he slowly made his way to the bingo ball machine and began to turn the handle.

He stopped turning and pulled out the first bingo ball.

“Number twenty! Getting plenty, number twenty!” He called.

“Yes! Ha! That’s one down, Amanda.” Adam cheered. He grabbed a bingo chip and placed it over the number twenty that sat in the lower left hand corner of his card.

“That’s nice, Adam. Really.”

The announcer resumed turning the handle on the bingo ball machine. Once again he stopped, and pulled out a ball.

“Eighty-seven! Fat lady with a crutch, eighty-seven!”

The mime jumped in his seat and waved his arms about. He had a fat lady with a crutch.

“Ha! Another one!” Adam yelled. He too had a fat lady with a crutch. “This is fantastic!”

Several people turned to stare at Adam, who by this point was making a lot of noise.

“Time to put the old marker-oo on the old bingo card,” he said. Adam reached out his hand and went to grab a marker from the pile. The mime did so too, and grabbed the marker Adam was reaching for.

“Uh… excuse me, Mr. Mime,” he said. The mime turned to face him. “That’s my marker.”

The mime shrugged and placed the tiny red circle on his card.

“That’s… my… marker…” Adam said through clenched teeth.

“Adam, leave it alone. You have plenty of markers,” Amanda interrupted.

“You don’t understand. That’s my marker!” He screamed; springing out of his seat as he did so. A loud crashing noise echoed throughout the building as his chair slid across the floor. The mime, seeing this as a matter of honour, also sprung from his chair, sending it flying in the opposite direction. “Give me back my marker,” Adam said again. “This is your last warning.”

The mime shook his head slowly. He wasn’t going to back down.

“I said give it!” Adam screeched. He launched himself at the mime; grabbing his throat in a fit of rage. “Give it! Give it! Give it!” He shrieked over and over; each time banging the mimes head on the side of the table. A small cut was appearing on the side of his head, gradually getting bigger and bigger each time. The size of the cut grew, and blood began to cover the bingo table and the bingo cards, and seeped all over the bingo markers. Adam had not stopped shrieking the words “give it”, and, despite the desperate attempts of the other bingo goers, did not stop choking the mime.

“Not again,” Amanda muttered under her breath.

The mime’s struggling ceased. Adam released his kung-fu grip on his neck and stood there, panting.

“A mime is a terrible thing to waste,” Amanda said. The crowd began to mutter its disapproval. A large, balding man pushed his way through the crowd and approached Adam. He was wearing a tuxedo and a sash around his chest that read, “Number 1”. It was the head bingo player of the home.

“Adam, I should have done this after the third time this happened. You are hereby expelled from the Bingo Alliance™. I’m sorry, son. This needs to be done.”

“I understand,” Adam said. “It’s just that sometimes I—”

Adam didn’t finish what he was saying. He lifted his fist and punched the top bingo player in the jaw. The punch sent the old man recoiling back into the crowd; knocking over many elderly people in his wake.

“Amanda! Run!”


Copied randomly out of the story. Posted as is.


Harold tramped through the underbrush, looking for the marker.

“It’s gotta be out here somewhere, Jacobs. I know you marked it somehow,” he muttered to himself.

He’d traveled this section so many times over the years he could probably do it blindfolded by now. The thick brush tangled around his feet, threatening to trip him up at the first chance it got, as if old man Jacobs were, himself, trying to prevent Harold from finding his diamonds.

“Hmpf, the diamonds you stole from my pa,” scoffed Harold. “My life woulda been a whole lot different if you hadn’t cheated him outta his share, old man.”

Moving back here after his father had died had been the only choice for him, by his way of thinking. He’d wanted to re-claim the family pride he felt his father had lost in giving up the search, telling a young Harold that greed ate at a man’s soul and destroyed him in the end. Picking up his father’s old trap line gave Harold a believable reason to be out scouring the area, and kept nosey neighbours at bay.

He hadn’t quite decided if Tom and that wife of his were going to be a help or a hindrance, but he certainly wasn’t about to tell them about any diamonds in the area. He’d worked too hard over the years turning the story about Jacobs’ find into nothing more than local lore and debunking the romantic story about Jacobs giving up his fortune to please the bride who’d left him high and dry out in the bush, moving back to the city to work a regular nine-to-five. In his version, there had been no diamonds, only Jacobs mind starting to crack under the pressure of being out here…wasn’t man enough, told Harold. He’d eventually left because he’d been broke and needed food, not because he’d crawled back to some skirt, who’d been too spoiled to live out here.

“She weren’t made of the stuff it takes,” said Harold. “Jes’ like Monique.”

His mind clamped shut at the thought of his one-time wife. He’d sworn, once she’d left, he’d never waste the time it took to think about her. He wiped the images of the petite, black-haired French girl from his mind and continued looking for the marker, viciously crushing the shrubs that blocked his path.



Senior Member
Um, here goes

This is just kind of very short expositional flashback thingy. It needs some work but I think it captures what kind of story I'm telling well.

This is officially my first submission to the WF. Be gentle.

That man had been General Vaclave. The legendary Slavic commander, who a generation ago had led the Great Revolt against the Elven rulers who enslaved this land. General Vaclave led his army in the only attack to successfully penetrate into one of the elves underground cities. A band of twenty-five thousand fighters had shown the Immortal Masters what fear was for the first time.
There were many revered captains under his command, from races and cities all over this continent. Amongst them, and always at Vaclave’s side, was a young coppery-haired Saxon. He was tall and lean, as good with a sword as any man, but though he held the rank of a captain, he commanded no men. He was present at every war council and always had the general’s ear, though he said very little. This boy was Gorren Raedwulf.
When General Vaclave and his army had won past the Elves guards and blockades on the surface, harvesting any weapons and technology they could find and using it against their enemies. Once below the surface, they had discovered the entire Elven city to be nearly defenseless in self-confidence. They quickly mastered all of the utility and tunnel systems and held the city for a week, then began to expand outwards. They quickly began taking substations, harvesting more and more weapons, even capturing a small power plant. They penetrated downward as well, finding the vast machines that shaped their world.
It was here that they faced the dwarves, and the tides of war turned against them. Plasma rifles, armor, and force fields were all concepts that could be easily grasped and used. But here they faced boobie-trapped nuclear furnaces, electro-magnetic pulses disabling their acquired weapons, gravity generators the could crush them against the floor or fling them across space. Within two days majority of the army was killed or beaten. The Elves soon retook their lost city from the lower tunnels. The remaining fighters in the tunnels were quickly exterminated.
Thus it was ten miles below the surface that General Vaclave took his lasts few breathes. Just before dying, he drew his most trusted officer, and only living officer close to him. He knew that the Elves would now hunt down every last man and woman that had threatened them. They would even wipe out the families of all his officers, so as to leave no chance for thoughts of vengeance to seed another attack. With his last weak breath he appointed Captain Raedwulf his successor, and begged him to protect his offspring.
And so it was, Twenty-eight days after General Vaclave’s army had charged underground, it was Gorren Raedwulf that emerged from the earth, the only survivor.
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Here's the introduction to my first chapter. This is as far as I've gotten since I've started today, so hopefully it's good.

Chapter One
The bitter sting of winter drifted through the open cell bars and tiny flakes of snow drifted down from the dismally grey sky to settle upon the cobblestone streets of Tou’serat. The tired town, worn from centuries of militant strife and conflict, had settled into a mundane routine; the shop keepers, bundled up in their dull winter clothes, reluctantly swept the packing snow from their shop steps in a futile attempt to attract what little people wandered the streets on this miserable day. Several of the stores had already closed; those whose owners had fallen ill to the rampaging sickness that afflicted a quarter of the population—the poorer quarter.

“Feh….achoo!” A sneeze rippled out from one of the cells from the prison. Johann Elderbury grimly wiped his nose as he stared out at the snow-covered streets. The misery of the people he saw from his street-level view nearly matched his own as he cuddled himself in his thin rags. He rocked slowly as he shuddered, desperate for anything that resembled warmth. His breath drifted away from him in heavy wisps that hung in front of him and seemed to freeze in mid-air.

He sneezed again as a snowflake lightly tapped his numb nose. His fingers ached with the knowledge that they were there yet could not be felt. His toes, covered by heavily worn shoes were so numb that he could not move them. Standing, in and of itself, was a pain, but there was nothing else he could do. Johann glanced around his cell, stricken with grief and boredom. He had already memorized the dank grey stones that comprised his imprisonment. The bars, heavily rusted with age, blocked his attempts to seize freedom with their stout bodies, and the heavy oaken door than led to his cell was impossible to knock down with the force of his now frail body.

“Two ‘ears of this an’ ‘hey still ain’t made up ‘eir minds…” he slurred as he began to pace for warmth. His face was heavily pocked with a disease he’d obtained during his stay here, and the vitality that he had radiated from his youth was now gone. His hair, once a vibrant brown, had withered into some unexplainable color and now clung to the side of his face like a dead ivy. His shoulders, once broad and proud, now laid slumped to his side. “Two bloody ‘ell ‘ears’ and ‘hey still ain’t made up ‘eir goddamned minds…”

Johann began to mutter as the cold began to overtake him, and he collapsed on his cot. “‘Go to the tower’ he says to me… ‘wait for me to arrive’ he says! Bloody hell he showed up! With twenty goddamned officers an’ arrest me. Says I was tryin’ to steal his treasure says he! Bloody politians!” Curses screamed from his mouth for several minutes until Johann had finally come to a halt. Exhaustion rushed over him. Perhaps if he just died, everything would be alright.

But eternal sleep would not come to him that day. Just as his eyes closed, he was jolted awake by a roaring cacophony that sounded whenever that massive oaken door, covered in scratches by those too feisty to stay down, swung open. Three officers, all young men in their mid-twenties or so, with a look of savage indifference about them, meandered into his cell. Their uniforms were pristine, taken care of with such pride that obviously they had had military experience. He sat up, his eyes blazing neither with fear nor hatred, but with a sort of curiosity one would expect from a child who neither knows if he’s getting a present or a punishment. “Are you Johann Elderbury?” the man on the right asked while looking at a piece of parchment he had originally had underneath his arm.

“Aye, I be,” Johann said. There was no sign of sarcasm in his voice; the fact that he had been the first person in ten years to be assigned to this particular cell seemed to elude him at that point. It would not have made a difference, and would have more than likely made things worse. Indeed, the knowledge escaped him at precisely the right time. “‘Ow can I, the Chamber Master Johann, be at service?” he said moments later, with a flair of decency that had not yet been drained from his during his two years of isolation.

“We will be escorting you to your hearing,” the officer said with complete nonchalance. “Upon your sentencing, you will either return to your cell, or be transferred to Welhelm for the execution of your sentence.” The two officers, with no gentleness towards Johann’s failing bones, hoisted the man up and proceeded to lead him out of that dank cell.

How warmth had not reached him, Johann was not sure, but immediately after leaving, his skin delighted at the feeling of the torches that lit the halls. Stone arches, hung low by a previous generation, marked out the limits of the cells here. Prisoners, none indicted of any crime as severe as his, lay upon their cots in bliss, saved from the business of scourging for food in the wild outdoors. They had a home, they had food, they had warmth. Prison had given them what they desired for free, and many had no desire to leave.

For several moments, they walked through the halls that were aglow with the light of the torches. It seemed funny, almost to the point of being cruel, that they would let him suffer for a crime that he did not commit, yet let common criminals leech off their resources with no regret. A grin passed over Johann’s pocked face. Was this justice? Who knew? Who was he to decide what the fate of these people would be in the eyes of the eternal?

It wasn’t long before Johann was led into a grand circular room. Vast and grand, he was led to a single desk in the very center. He could not prevent his eyes from wandering, through. The room was white, stark white. It was cold, colder than snow, as the only items that were not white in color were the black pillars that rose to the top to support the weight of the dome. There were people, too. Interspaced evenly across a row elevated about four meters high were somewhere around thirty to forty members of the Tou’serat High Council. There they sat, faces as hard and marked as old stone that comprised ancient castles and temples of legend, ever cold and willing to pass their omnipotent judgment.


Senior Member
some questionable material

“Mrs. Hensey are you ready?” The cute little blond technician looked young enough to be my daughter and she wanted to put that thing where?

“Umm, don't you think the doctor should be doing that?” I asked, not entirely sure that she knew how to use it properly. After all I'd never had one of these procedures before.

“I am fully qualified to do this, don't worry I've done it many times before. Now it's no more unconfortable than inserting a tampon. Could you lift you hips up a little and scoot your butt down? Thank you.” At least she didn't lie, I hate it when they say it's just like a bee sting, or just a little prick, that has to be the biggest stinger, a world record book holder. It looked about like a spatula handle covered with a condom. It was faintly uncomfortable just having a woman do this. That wasn't counting the awkward position that they had me in. Still not as bad as I was expecting.

“If you look at the screen you'll see your baby. There is the little arms, and there's the head. Oh, and another head, and four legs.” At this point I was starting to wonder if it was some alien baby, which would explain how I got pregnant with my tubes tied.

“Congradulations it's twins.” Her sweet doll like face was just beaming at me, she was obviously more excited than I was. In one fell swoop I went from being the mother of three to the mother of 5. God, I would become one of those minivan moms. Ech! My non-response didn't seem to faze her as she continued on naming the parts and telling me what went to which baby. She even printed up pictures, so I could happily share the news with my friends and neighbors no doubt.

In this day and age she probably thought I was one of those woman who just started trying late in life and used drugs to concieve. I would imagine that is what most of the twin pregnancies result as.

“Before we finish could you take a picture of my tubes so that I can show my doctor what a crappy job he did. I think I want my money back. If he was a mechanic and his repairs were faulty I'd expect him to at least fix it for free. I'm going to ask.” The look on her face was priceless. A combination of shock, horror and awe crossed all at the same time. I would have to practice weeks to get that same face in the mirror. Where is a camera when you need one? Oh yeah it's shoved up my twat. She did as I asked and after that stopped being so chatty. She did tell me that I was about 9 weeks along and that she'd send the results to my doctor.




That was a seriously clean piece of writing for a NaNo novel. Beautiful.

Tell me, though, to spare my quaking writer's pride, that you edited this except before you posted it. Pretty please?

And if ever you want a reader for your stuff, you got one.


Enter the conflict...

The car in front of them swung into their lane, and Dali leaned on the horn.

"Holy crap, don't people know how to drive here?" May had reached out for the side handle.

"Shit handle's not necessary, hon. This is all par for the course here."

"Yeah, well I'd feel better if you had your seatbelt on."

"Also not necessary."

"If I'm the Tunisian cops. But I'm so much more demanding: I'm your wife."


"Same thing. Click it, or I'll start some drama." He gave her a good glance and sighed at her expression. He found the seatbelt and passed it around his arms and over to her.

"Thank you." She snapped it closed and sat back in her chair, sort of slumped against the back and the door. "Uh, I'm so tired."

"It's probably shock. I was exhausted the first week in Montreal. Everything's just a little different, and it messes with you."

"Sure. So where is this apartment? And why is it not suited to a 'single woman'?" She emphasized the words with a cynical colour, and saw his shoulders rise in that half-twitch that showed him on his guard.

"It's in Cite Nasr, in the North-East side of town. And it might be fine for you. I just don't know what the furnishings are like."

"Fine for me? You do mean us, don't you?"

"No. This is only temporary; we'll get something bigger after the wedding."


"Yeah, something for two people. Or more." He flashed her a grin, but she swung her finger through the air in a gesture of scolding.

"Why am I getting the impression that I'm going to be living alone in this place?"

"Well only if it suits you."

"Dali! Focus, here, on the word ALONE. You are going to be living there too."

"God, May, of course not! How could I?" He looked genuinely shocked.

"Because I moved all this way to be with you!"

"May we can't not until after we're married." His look had changed to one of supplication. His soft brown eyes turning in her direction every other second from the traffic on the road.

"But we lived together in Montreal for over a year! Why all this orthodoxy now? No, it's your mother isn't it?" May was remembering the long list of trespasses and control tactics Dali had expounded upon over their year and a half together.

"No. Well, sure because of her too, but..."

"I knew it."

"May, we're not in Montreal."

"So what? So now you have to follow your mother's rules? You're a grown man."

"No, it's not that. Concubinage is illegal in Tunisia."

"What? Concubinage? I'm sure it's illegal at home." He laughed then, and she looked at him confused.

"That's what they call common-law living here. Concubinage. I can't live with you, legally, until we're married."

"Oh." She felt the anger sliding then, and sat back confused. "Doesn't engagement count for anything?"

"And how many boys would be able to get a girl into bed that way? No. It doesn't even help that you’re a western girl, though if we're ever suspected of sleeping together before marriage that might relieve some of the shock." May opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but an old Peugeot 404 swerved out in front of them and Dali was forced to brake hard. He let out a string of perfect French Canadian profanities and May couldn't help smiling.

"See, you're part Canadian now, anyway."

"Quebecois," he corrected her. A moment of silence elapsed, as May contemplated how calmly she was dealing with the traffic. Montreal had provided some preparation for third world traffic manners, apparently.

"Anyway, I'll be spending most of my spare time over there; I just can't stay overnight, really. So it's not a big deal." She looked at Dali, then, imagining him coming over after work in his business clothes and fancy polished shoes.

"No, you know what, it is a big deal." She pictured him at her place always in his business wear, always looking at his watch. No fuzzy slippers, no ratty old housecoat, no fruit salads at three in the morning when they both have insomnia, or all-night movie marathons. Her face crinkled in frustration. "It changes everything.”


Senior Member
Well thank you, I'm glad that you enjoyed it. All I did is run the spell checker but it was the first thing that I wrote when I was fresh as a daisy. Now a days I can't even understand what I am writting half the time.

Is it really illegal to live together before marriage? What is the punishment for that? I bet that really cuts down on teen pregnancy.


Senior Member
Here's one of my several short chapters pulled from the latest work (I'm still way behind... I'm really going to have to cram during the next few weekends).

I’ve always wondered about the so-called Antagonists. It sounds like such a dirty word. We’ve always been told that the Easterners call themselves the “Yehr-Weh.” We’ve also been that “Yehr-Weh” means Antagonist. Basically, they’re saying that it’s okay, even a good thing, to call them that because they themselves say that.

But I don’t know. I mean, have you ever had one of those conversations where you don’t really know what the other guy is talking about and neither does he, but you think you do, and so you just keep talking and so does he, until finally you realize that you are both talking about two completely different things, you just didn’t realize it?

I think language may be the same. Maybe we’ve all been lead to believe that they are called the Antagonists, and therefor believe that they are the forces that compel the Main Character into action. Maybe their name really means, “Wise Friend of the Main Character,” or, “The Author’s Chosen.” After all, why would they want to believe that they’re the bad guys?

I did have a friend once who said, “If I ever met the Main Character, I think I’d betray him. That ought to get me into the Novel. Yes!”

I don’t think Ted really was traitorous though. He was really kind of joking, I think, so I don’t know that he’d really betray anyone. Then again, I’m not the Main Character, am I?


Senior Member
Alot of NaNo dudes/dudets. I'll do it next year, becuase next year is only until next year.

[ot] Is there a rules about starting early (retarted question, but I believe in honour and going by code) [/ot]


Staff member
Demon, you can do as much research and planning as you want, but you aren't allowed to start writing until November 1st. That is the rules.
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