I won Camp NaNoWriMo 2017! (sort of)

Before this July, I had never done Camp NaNoWriMo. I’d done NaNoWriMo, in November, twice, and won once. I signed up for Camp NaNoWriMo this year because I thought the motivation of a concrete goal would be very helpful in my attempt to write the first draft of a novel over this summer – I’d found the same motivation helpful before, so why not now?

The thing I didn’t realise about Camp NaNoWriMo before starting that I absolutely loved is that you set your own goal. In my case, I set it to 30,000 words, and began. Then, once I got my work schedule through, and it got towards the end of the month, I decreased this to 15,000 words to keep me motivated. What happened when I did NaNoWriMo the year before last is that the month got away from me, and halfway through November, I only had 6,000 words, and no feeling that I would be able to achieve the 50,000 word goal, so I gave up. With an editable goal, this is not the case. The only issue with this is that as the month draws to a close, you might be tempted to edit your goal down to what you already have and call it a day. You’ve just got to have the self-discipline not to do that.

The key thing that I took away from this is clear: having a goal kept me motivated. Through writer’s block, through tiredness, through procrastination, through lows, and through sheer laziness, I had a goal to work towards, and so I did. And though I may not have a full novel, I have certainly worked out a lot about the world of it that I hadn’t already thought of through simply having to essentially live in it for a month. I would thoroughly recommend it to anyone – at the price of free, it provides the motivation that anyone like me so desparately needs to get your butt into gear and write that novel that’s been sitting in your head all this time. And, if you’re like me, work out quite a few teething issues with your story along the way!

Origami Cranes

Fold one thousand paper cranes in your life, and you will get a wish, so the legend says. Given the amount of time it takes to fold one thousand paper cranes, very few people have completed the task. Amelie was a rare exception.

She had learnt to fold cranes at the age of ten, and found the movement with her hands, having something to do, calming. Initially, she made them just for fun, but before she reached sixteen, the origami had become a coping method, a way to deal with her scrambled brain and butterfly heart. It was the racing heart that had led her to reach for the paper a few minutes before the strange thing appeared in her room.

She had just made the last fold, crisping the edges with her fingernails, when the thing appeared in front of her. It was tall, but looked like it was somehow standing wrong, as if it were a dog standing on its hind legs. It had a nose that came somewhere between an elephant’s trunk and a pig snout, with a mouth just underneath it and two white, aged tusks protruding either side of it. It was covered in iridescent fur, with a stripe of white running down the centre of its back and finishing in a tuft at the end of its tail.

‘Hi there!’ Its voice was a low growl but there was an unmistakable sense of friendliness to it.

‘Um, hi?’ Amelie’s eyebrows furrowed as the creature gave no further explanation of itself, despite a lengthy pause. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Oh, sorry, completely forgot. You just folded your thousandth paper crane! Congratulations!’ It pulled out a party popper from somewhere on its person and set it off so that the strings of paper adorned Amelie’s hair.

‘I’m sorry, what?’

‘You know the legend – fold one thousand paper cranes and you get a wish!’

‘And you are…?’

The creature shook its head, looking briefly at the floor. ‘I always forget to introduce myself! I am your personal wish granter, my name is Baku.’

‘Your name is what and you’re my who?’

The thing’s – Baku’s – smile vanished, replaced with a look of disdain. ‘I am Baku, you folded one thousand paper cranes, I am here to grant you a wish.’ It muttered something about how modern people had no appreciation for the old gods anymore before looking back to Amelie, smile back on its face.

‘And why should I believe you?’

Baku perceptibly rolled its eyes. ‘Look, you see these tusks, and these claws,’ it said, pointing to each of the body parts respectively, ‘if I wanted to kill you, or hurt you, I would have done so by now. I can see you just finished folding a crane, is there anything so crazy about this all really?’

Amelie sat down on to her bed, feeling slightly sick. Her hands instinctively reached for the paper as her breathing quickened, unable to take her eyes of this thing that was in the room. She looked down at the paper, breathing slower, and deeper, with each fold. Her hands had slowed to an almost imperceptible tremor when she asked her next question, her eyes firmly on the crane. ‘So what are my options?’

She slowly looked up to see Baku brighten. ‘Right, let’s get into it then! There are three rules: you cannot wish for anything that would directly harm another person, you cannot wish for anything that would upset the natural order of things, and you cannot corrupt any person’s will.’

One idea jumped to the forefront of her mind immediately. ‘I wish for you to cure my anxiety.’

Baku titled its head, and frowned. ‘I don’t think that would be wise. You see, to do that would require resetting a deep-rooted psychological pathway very suddenly. It’s too dangerous.’

‘So there are more than three rules?’

‘I’d say that one’s more of a guideline.’

Amelie crossed her arms. ‘You won’t do it though. What about super speed?’

‘I can do that! But from what I’ve seen, the novelty does soon wear off. Just a warning.’

Amelie rolled her eyes. ‘I feel like you’re being deliberately obtuse.’ She wouldn’t normally have been this honest with someone that she had just met, but this was a something, not a someone, and besides, the entire situation seemed to have sent her brain into partial shutdown anyway. For now, it was easier to go along with everything and pretend it was all normal. Her fingers still fiddled with the crane she had folded, making the wings flap.

‘All I’m saying is this decision is not one to be made in haste. Wishes can’t be undone, and you would do best to make it worthwhile rather than ending up wishing that you had wished for something better your whole life.’

‘Alright then.’ Amelie slumped back in her chair, placing the origami crane on to her desk, at the end of a row of around ten others. ‘I have some thinking to do.’

Baku sat on the floor and curled up like a cat, yawning. ‘Wake me up when you’ve decided.’

Amelie grabbed a piece of paper and began to write ideas for wishes down, scribbling them all out one by one until half an hour later, she was left satisfied.

Unsure how to wake up Baku, she cleared her throat. It didn’t stir, so she poked it, very gently, with her pen cap. It yawned, stretched, and stood up.

‘Ready to make a wish?’

Amelie nodded, and told it.

‘That’s a pretty good wish. And I have heard a fair few wishes in my time.’ Baku raised its two front limbs and closed its eyes. A teal light shone from somewhere behind it, surrounding it. The light disappeared, and Baku opened its eyes and smiled. ‘Your wish is granted.’

‘You know, you have some sort of gift,’ Amelie’s friend said to her as they lounged on a picnic blanket at the park. Three dogs surrounded them, jumping into Amelie’s lap, all fighting for attention, trying to lick her face and laying down on their backs, presenting their stomachs for belly rubs.

The owners came running over, each apologising and trying to get their dogs back. Amelie just smiled at them and pushed the dogs back to their owners.

‘Something like that.’ Amelie smiled to herself, feeling a kind of peace for the first time in years.

137th Best Dad

Dean rolled over in bed, keeping his eyes firmly shut in an attempt to convince himself that he was still asleep. He knew he had mere seconds before his four- and seven-year-old alarm clocks went off, especially as he could feel the weight of his wife, Jodie, in the bed next to him. Apparently, a lie in on fathers’ day was too much to ask for.

Right on cue, the bundles of joy burst into the room, bounding on to the bed and bouncing on top of him. ‘Happy Fathers’ Day Daddy!’ they yelled, without even waiting for him to open his eyes.

Pinned to the bed, he turned his head a fraction and blinked a few times to clear the sleep. His daughters’ faces came into view. Poppy, his eldest, was leaning over him so her gap toothed smile was just inches from his nose, whilst his younger daughter, Niamh, was wriggling around the end of the bed.

‘Good morning monsters.’

They shuffled around so they were laying between him and Jodie and he sat up.

‘We have a present for you Daddy!’

Dean saw Jodie subtly pick up a wrapped up box from her side of the bed and hand it to the girls as she sat up. The girls took it and shoved it at their father with boundless glee.

‘Thank you, girls!’ He ripped into the packaging, revealing the mug in its colourful carboard packaging. He smiled and sighed, before turning it round and reading what was on it. ‘Is that what you think of me then girls?’ He laughed, confused. ‘Where did you find it?’

‘Yeah, we think you’re the number one dad in the whole wide world!’ Niamh shouted, jumping up and down on the bed.

‘No, you think I’m the number one hundred and thirty-seven dad in the whole wide world.’

‘What do you mean?’ Jodie leant over to look at the mug. ‘That’s not the mug I bought.’

‘Huh?’

‘I bought a generic number one dad mug, Dean, and I wrapped up a number one dad mug, just like a million other mums did in preparation for today.’

‘Very funny.’

‘We got you the number one dad mug Daddy, we promise!’ Poppy’s lip quivered. ‘I’m sorry!’

‘I get it, it’s a joke pumpkin, don’t worry, Daddy’s not upset.’

‘But we did though!’

Dean shushed her and turned on the news.

‘We bring you breaking news that many people across the globe seem to have woken up to their “number one dad” mugs becoming slightly less complimentary. Each mug now appears to have a different number on it, and from what our sources can gather, currently there is one number assigned to each father. The cause of this change is not yet known, but it is not considered sinister at this current point in time. Stay tuned for updates.’

Poppy and Niamh had lost focus and were playing a game on their iPad.

Dean narrowed his eyes. ‘That’s weird.’ He shrugged, rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. ‘Mind if I hop in the shower first?’

‘Dean. Your mug – and many other mugs across the globe – just mysteriously changed to a random number. Are you not at all concerned?’

‘Nothing we can do about it. Besides, if we do have to deal with some sort of situation, I would prefer to be dressed.’

Jodie turned to the kids, seemingly giving up on her husband, and tried to coax them out of her and Dean’s bed and into their own rooms to get ready.

They left the news on constantly at Jodie’s insistence, waiting for some sort of explanation. None was given.

‘Are we still going out for lunch?’ Dean asked Jodie, looking at her whilst her eyes stayed firmly fixed on the television. ‘The table’s booked for one, and we kind of need to get moving if we’re going to get there on time.’

‘I don’t know, all of this stuff is a little ominous, I’m not sure if I want to go out until we know what it is.’ Jodie chewed her lip, her eyes remaining focused on the reporter who was going through some theories with a scientist of some sort.

‘Well, whatever it is is far more advanced than we are, so I don’t think we’ll be any safer in here than outside. I don’t see why we should let this little mug incident stop us from having a nice lunch.’

Jodie stopped her nervous lip chewing and turned to her husband, incredulous. ‘I don’t understand how you can be so unbothered by this.’

‘Well, I am. Are we going out for lunch or not?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘I suppose so. Do you mind getting the girls ready?’

‘On it.’

Five minutes before they were due to leave there was a ring at the door.

‘I’ll get it!’ Dean called. He pulled open the door and bit back a scream.

Standing in the doorway was a figure around four foot in height, with at least one and a half of those feet made up by a long grey head that bulged slightly to the left and right at the top. There was an eye in either side, and one in the middle, the left one jade, the middle one amber, and the right one sapphire; they blinked independently of each other. From the chin down the creature was a translucent grey blob, from which six arms protruded. It pulled something small and shiny out of itself and pressed a button. The small opening its face that Dean presumed to be its mouth opened and some strange sounds came out. The creature let go of the button and the thing started speaking.

‘I am an official from the Jamoray, here on duty for my peoples with the authority of the Intergalactic Federation. Can I see the father of the house’s rank please?’ The voice was flat and robotic, none of the syllables quite flowing together.

‘My rank?’

The creature held out its shiny thing and listened to it make noise before speaking what Dean presumed was its answer into it.

‘Your father rank.’

This has to be linked to the mugs, Dean thought, maybe if I show him my mug.

‘I’ll get it.’ He turned, debated whether or not to leave the door open for a second before leaving it ajar and dashing to the kitchen. He grabbed the mug off the side, still in its packaging, dashed back to the door and held it to the creature. The creature held out its shiny thing and a light that looked like a scanner came from the device. The creature pulled another device that had also been previously suspended in its gelatinous body and pressed a few buttons. A spotlight seemed to shine over it, and something around the size of a loaf of bread fell from the sky. The creature caught it, and spoke into the device again. The device translated.

‘Father one three seven, this is your charge. Take care of your charge or risk punishment, which can be a substantial fine, jail time, or death depending on your infringement. Thank you and goodbye.’ With that, the creature turned and flew upwards towards the spotlight. The light shut off, and Dean was left holding his “charge”.

He looked down, and what he could only presume to be a baby version of the creature that just gave it to him stared back. As he stared, it transformed, skin becoming opaque and changing colour to match his, head growing smaller and the middle eye disappearing, and a tuft of black hair growing over the top of its head. The middle pair of the arms retracted into its body, whilst the lower pair moved downwards, the hands at the end changing into feet.

Dean almost dropped it.

‘Who was that?’ Jodie said, walking down the stairs, ‘I saw some weird light coming from out…’ The words died on her lips as she saw the bundle in his arms. ‘Dean, what is that?’ The baby creature was focusing on its face now, growing a nose, a human mouth, and ears. It giggled.

‘Could you turn on the news, honey?’ He tried to keep his voice as calm as possible so as not to frighten Poppy and Niamh.  ‘And I think lunch is cancelled.’

‘…just getting reports in that many people are receiving strange baby creatures that have transformative powers. Here is some footage we’re just getting in.’ The news report showed the same thing that Dean had just seen happen on his doorstep happen somewhere else. ‘The creatures are transforming into human babies, and within the blankets they are wrapped in come what appears to be a set of instructions.’

‘Put it down Dean, find the instructions.’

He did as Jodie told him to, and found a piece of paper that said exactly what the creature had told him, with a couple of ‘guidance notes’ underneath

‘This baby will transform to look like one of your own species. Do not be alarmed, this may take a few days. After a week, your charge will be entirely human [human was bolded and slightly separate from the rest of the text] and you can treat it as such. Until then, please feed it only a designated portion from the food packet enclosed.’

On moving the baby, which was now only slightly gelatinous in form, Jodie found a foil wrapped packet, which was segmented into twenty-one sections.

‘Good luck with your charge, and as always, best wishes from the Intergalactic Federation,’ the instructions finished, along with a stamp that was a crude cartoonish drawing of three planets and a rocket ship.

They turned back to the television. ‘The numbers we reported earlier appear to be a global ranking of fathers, from best to worst.’

‘If they’re a ranking, that means I’m one hundred and thirty-seventh best dad in the world. That’s not too shabby,’ Dean smiled, clearly pleased with himself.

Jodie rolled her eyes. ‘Well done. Can we now please deal with the matter at hand?’

At that point, the girls clearly got bored of whatever they were doing and came running in, stopping short when they saw the squirming creature sitting on the side.

‘Mummy, Daddy, what’s that?’ Poppy asked, pointing to it.

‘This is your new brother. Surprise!’ Dean told them, quickly wrapping it back up in the blanket and picking it up. It looked like a boy, he had to presume it was one for the minute.

‘A baby!’ Niamh squealed, running over to them. Jodie grabbed the papers and food packet off the side with one hand, and guided Niamh with the other.

‘Yes, a baby brother. Shall we have some lunch now?’ Jodie said to the girls, putting the creature’s things on top of the fridge on her way to the table.

Niamh and Poppy sat at the table, but the questions did not stop. ‘But your tummy didn’t get big Mummy?’

‘No, because this baby is special.’

Special is one way to describe it, Dean thought as he stared down at the face of the creature, which now looked almost fully human, with just a slight ripple under the surface of its skin. He sighed, pulled out a chair, and sat down cradling the baby, hoping, as part of him would hope for the rest of his life, that this was all just some sort of weird elaborate dream.


I’m currently working on a longer form novel so this is just something short and silly that I thought appropriate as it’s Fathers’ Day this Sunday! I got the idea from this prompt on the writing prompts tumblr account, and I just thought it was a funny idea, started writing, and this is where it went. Hope you enjoyed it!

 

The differences in planning

One curious thing that I have noticed when talking to other writers about how they write is the amount of planning that goes into their work. Some people plan so much that the story is basically written for them, others start with nothing more than an idea and a blank word document.

A quote on this point comes from Zadie Smith, who famously starts with nothing more than an idea: ‘How does anyone begin a story knowing how it will end?’. I am inclined to side with her slightly on this matter – whilst I do have a general plot planned for everything I write, I change things as I go along, as what sounds well in a plan doesn’t necessarily flow well in the real thing. It’s the reason I have to write in chronological order except in exceptional circumstances – I can’t risk wasting my time on writing pages and pages that may not make sense when I write what preceeds it. I do however know someone who had a 5000 word plan for his novel, and just wrote within that. Which to me sounds crazy.

But my planning has reached another level – I have a page in my bullet journal dedicated to tracking the progress of my ideas, with a checklist of initial concept, characters, developed plot, chapters planned, reception of my ideas by my friends and family, the type of narrative… the list goes on. And I only feel comfortable starting to write when I have all these things ticked off, which presents a potential problem:

Satisfaction.

Many people experience this issue – as soon as someone says that your idea is really cool, or seems excited by it, sometimes you can be satisfied by that and the wind leaves your sails. You don’t have to write it, because by that one person, or multiple people, saying that the idea is cool, you’ve received all the recognition you need and subconciously, you stop. This same thing sometimes happens to me with planning novels. If I, like my friend, wrote a 5000 word plan for a novel, I would stop. To me, it’s basically done by that point, no matter how much that is not the case and the actual novel would be more like 70,000 words long.

So, in short, don’t be guilted by other people in thinking you have to write a long plan like I was. Different things work for different people, and there will always be people that do more than you, and always people who do less. You have to find the rhythm that suits you best, you have to keep that satisfaction at bay until you have finished and you are truly satisfied with what you are written, so ignore everyone else, and get writing!

The Struggles of World Building

Word Count: 5712

There are many problems that writers face whilst writing their novels, but there is none so great to me as world building. When you’re creating your own world, there are no rules. Especially if you are building a world completely separate from this one that we live in, as I am attempting to. There is just so much to consider, and not one of the many sites offering well-intentioned advice and guidance ever seem to cover it all.

Of course, there are some amazing examples. Take J R R Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings series, and surrounding stories that take place within that universe. It is so well beloved that people become obsessed with the detail of it, viewing it almost as a real world. Another great example is George R R Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series, with its intimate history of both the land and families, and interesting topographical map and meteorological patterns. I know these are two very famous examples, but they are so famous because they are so well planned and thought out.

On the other end of the scale, you have books like David Baldacci’s The Finisher, which quite frankly left me very frustrated upon completion. Baldacci’s attempted delve into fantasy writing makes it so abundantly clear how important it is to have your world thoroughly mapped out and making sense before you actually write the narrative – not that the narrative of that novel is anything special. He attempts to build a different world, but he changes too many things, making it just uncomfortable to read. For example, he changes the names of timings. Fair enough, people in an alternate universe would likely not have the exact same way of telling the time as us, but splitting their days differently to the way we do ours and expecting people to understand this with very little explanation is simply not the way one writes a functioning novel.

The most continuously successful fantasy novel is that set partially in our world. The examples are endless – the Harry Potter series by JK Rowling, a lot of novels by Neil Gaiman, such as Stardust and Neverwhere, C.S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia… the list goes on. The benefit of this format is that it allows common terms to the reader – such as, to quote the example from earlier, names for timings and measurements for timings – to be used in the novel, giving the story readability. But sometimes the benefits of this format are outweighed by the limitations it has. The writer has to find a way to tie their new world into the world of the novel, and for many plot lines, this is simply not feasible. Sadly, this is the case with what I am writing.

This has resulted, at least for me, in a serious issue: forced exposition. It is blatantly obvious when a writer is simply making something happen to expose something about the world or the characters within it. However, one of the issues with Baldacci’s The Finisher is that it provides no explanation, leaving the reader to attempt to figure out what is meant by each term themselves. There is certainly a balance to be found, and the fundamental problem that I am facing at this moment in time is discovering this balance. It takes dozens of re-reads and tiny tweaks, by myself and by my friends to try and plough through the bad to find any semblance of something good, but at the moment I’m just trying to get rough thoughts down on paper.

It is, however, not impossible, and therefore I shall persevere – it will just take me significantly longer than I thought to write this story!

An Overwhelming Sense of Emptiness

Here it is – the beginning. I’ve never been good at openings.

I’m currently sitting at home, feet up on one of our two reclining armchairs, feeling all cosy and keeping half an eye on the new BBC show The Living and The Dead (half and eye for Colin Morgan, whilst the rational part of me, terrified of the ghosts aspect, especially when I intend on sleeping tonight, keeps the other half off) nursing a hot chocolate and pondering what to write here. It struck me that the best thing to write may be an explanation of my reasons for starting this here blog.

The most obvious answer provides has a literal aspect as well as a metaphorical one: filling the emptiness. The literal interpretation is the far more straightforward of the two, so I will begin with that: this post is to fill the literal emptiness of the blog, and filling the emptiness that this url previously occupied.

The metaphorical is somewhat more difficult to explain.

Having finished my official education on the 23rd April this year, and having finished my exams on the 20th May this year, I have been left in a sort of tandem. No longer a secondary school student, not quite a Uni student. My brief holiday in Rome with my friends two weeks ago was only a temporary delay for the inevitable: a feeling of absolute emptiness.

This is not a new thing for me. Whenever I lack an actual goal, with an impending deadline, I lack motivation to do anything. Theoretically, this summer should be one of the happiest of my life: I’m free from school, which, at least for the past two years, has been a somewhat toxic environment for me, I have no responsibilities to weigh me down, and this is the last time I will ever get this sort of freedom. And yet, I don’t feel great.

I am a being in need of constant stimulation. Without a goal, and a deadline to have achieved that goal, I cannot muster enough interest to do anything. I have spent many of my days recently lying in bed until 11am, 12am, 1pm, watching video after video on YouTube, dozing on and off, and rising only when my phone requires charging due to not having a plug socket anywhere near my bed. More recently – and by that, I am referring to the past few days – I have been up earlier, but only due to my lovely mum dragging me out of bed around 7.30am every morning to go for a walk in an effort to get me moving and doing something. To some extent, it has worked, but I still lack the motivation to do that much after the walk is over.

I have several goals over this summer, but it is only my one main one that I intend to document here: to write a novel. My novel is planned (roughly – I often find my writing changes as it goes, so any plan is at risk of total demolition at any given time) and I have currently written 4063 words. I have decided that I will begin every post with a current word count on this novel, or whatever I am writing at that point, in an effort to motivate myself. Hopefully it will work as some form of self motivation – it better, because nothing else thus far has. I am a firm believer in the power of positive thinking, but it is very hard to begin the process of thinking positively. I do all the right things – I meditate, I set daily goals, I even have apps to remind me to work, but alas, nothing appears to help significantly. I have had experiences with both depression and anxiety, and don’t get me wrong, it is nothing like either of those (although, since last Thursday’s referendum result, I have seen a spike in my anxiety, but it has not affected my motivation other than making me feel bad that I am not motivated), I just don’t see the point in doing anything if there is no obvious repercussions for me not doing it.

So, following that ridiculous ramble, in short, I am starting this blog to try and fill the emptiness. If I’m posting something regularly, I have an impending deadline. Hopefully, with that one thing that I seem to find essential to get anything done, I will motivate myself. Fingers crossed!