That’s how many words you should have by the end of today if you’re participating in NaNoWriMo this year. Since I am woefully far behind (haven’t even cracked 6k yet), I’ll keep it short for this week. For some added motivation, you can find all the latest NaNoWriMo desktop backgrounds here (including widescreen versions).  I find the calendars with the daily wordcount goals are the most helpful, but by far the most creative ones I’ve come across are those over in ScarlettArcher’s deviant art gallery.  Brilliant stuff. 

Warning: while having these handy motivational backgrounds can help give you that extra inspirational kick when you turn on your computer, the procrastination indulged in by browsing through them all can put a serious dent in your writing time. Best done after you’ve written your mimimum words for the day.  With that in mind (although it’s already too late in my case), it’s back to the grind for me.  Well, maybe after stepping outside again to enjoy the unseasonably lovely weather.  If anyone ever invents some kind of hoody type device for laptops, so you can actually use them outside (like they show in all the commercials), I want to be the first one to know.

Happy novelling, all!



  1. noahthegreat said,

    November 6, 2008 at 2:17 am

    On the first day, I decided I wasn’t going to participate.

    On the second I started. I am all caught up, but my story makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.

    The only bad thing is that I haven’t had any time to write poetry.

    My main character (or one of them) started out as an assassin, but he hasn’t killed anyone since the beginning.

    “Nobody was outside. The streets were deserted. What incentive was there to leave, unless you had somewhere to be? And where would that be, except for when you were told to go to church? Those who didn’t go to church were going to burn into an eternal hellfire. I laughed and left when I heard of this. So, those who weren’t clued into this truth would spend an eternity paying for something that wasn’t their fault at all? I was sure there were people far more pure and trustworthy than those inside the church. As I left to go back home, a pastor began following me. My first taste of death was outside that church. The pastor ran out toward me with his dagger.
    “Chris, you are a danger to our faith,” Pastor Jacobs cried. “Forgive me, father.”
    His swift movement dripped blood down my neck and I passed out. I woke up a few minutes later above his dead body. I don’t know what happened. The people from the church ran outside and labeled me a murderer. My feet hurried without asking. That was only the beginning. Labels become you; killing has become my life.

  2. desert rat said,

    November 6, 2008 at 2:42 am

    I just got caught up today myself, even though I’ve been writing since the first day (got a slow start). One of my main characters is facing the morality of killing for the first time, despite having had a great deal of experience at it already. In this case, she’s a soldier.

    “She pulled herself through, and found herself on a flat roof, surrounded by the squat blocks that marked chimneys and air exchangers, and a small forest of wireless antennas and satellite dishes, all of which looked as if they had been installed recently, with some haste. Bright made her way into the shadow of one of the chimneys, where she hastily pulled on the doctor’s clothes. A banging sound and shouting told her that the soldiers had discovered her hiding spot. She paused just long enough to take stock of her surroundings, to note the fire-escapes on either end of the roof. They were not, as she’d suspected, in an isolated area, but right in the middle of a large city. Which city was not immediately apparent – she didn’t recognize any of the surrounding buildings.

    There – she could feel it, the familiar surge, far sweeter than adrenaline. Millions of tiny sparks, racing through her blood. The last trace of sedatives gone. She could move at her own speed, now. There would be no need to take on the clumsy dozen rattling their way up to meet her. She could have dealt with them easily enough, but it would have been a waste of time – and likely, a waste of lives as well. No sense killing when you didn’t need to; no sense leaving a mess behind.

    She hadn’t been on the receiving end of a chase before – had never been the one being hunted, if you didn’t count training scenarios. It was, she decided, rather exhilarating. “

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