Nanowrimo

It, being the 4th day of Nanowrimo, has been a pretty good day. I'm already 18% done! that's a good thing I suppose. As you are supposed to write as many words as you can, as fast as you can, most of what I'm doing is rambling, so who knows how much of it will actually be in the book.
However I find I am quite enjoying writing about my two main characters interaction with each other. They are twins, but have basically grown up on different sides of the planet, and are about that far apart. One of them is naive, philosophical, idealistic, emotional, occasionally dark in a poetic sort of way. The other one is worldly, the strong silent type, very practical and down to earth, detached, but very cynical as well. It's fun, because both of them are a part of me. My sensible side and my dreamy side. They love to argue (:
Here's a sort of example of the two of them. It's not very good, but it's what I just wrote, so whatever.

Oliver sighed.

“Ah, just listen to the roar of that wind.”

“Yes,” said Roland, “There's likely to be a storm tonight. Kyk to the wind.”

He saw Oliver's face reacting to his choice of words.

“Sorry.”

“I love the wind. If you listen hard enough, it's like music. It sweeps through you and swells your soul in the most magnificent way. It's like the most lilting melody, and the greatest symphony.”

Roland laughed, and fondly tossed a sack in the general direction of his brother.

“Oh, shut up and go to sleep.”

“No, I am serious, and then there's the colours of the wind.”

“The what?”

“The wind is the music of creation,” started Oliver.

“Here we go again...”

“For every gust portrays a melody, a harmony, an emotion, a power. Right now, it's softly flitting about, whispering like a deep purple, calm, but strong. Suddenly it climaxes to the colour of Scarlet red! Wild and independent. It falls to soft yellow, trilling with a warm and gentle melody. It rises once more, a warm blue this time stirring with motion and desire, then rising up as if to burst with passion.”

Roland listened quietly, filling the sensation of the breeze sweeping off his face, becoming ever so slowly captivated with Oliver's words.

“Do you see what I mean? The wind, the rain, clouds, and sky, they're all just part of the symphony of creation, from the gentle kiss of the falling rain, from the rage of a cyclone, to the joy of a rising sun, and the melancholia of a setting one. It's all music.”

“I think, I think for once, I might actually know what you mean, brother,” Roland said, his arms clasped behind his head.

Possible Intro for Nano Story

Roland zipped through the desert. Riding his new Speeder he could go faster than ever before. Never stopping to look behind him, he soared over the sands of the Aburican Desert, untethered from any hindrance, he was a burning luminescence, painting a streak of light across the evening sky. His heart pumped violently in his chest as he thought of how humbling this new machine was to his home-made scooters. He smiled to himself, thinking this was the most exhilarating experience of his life, but he was quickly interrupted from his thought by a flashing light on his screen. “We are presently within the city limits. Please abate your rate of motion to 15RM,” said the computer. Roland's speed was now too great to slow down that much for at least another 10 minutes. There aren't any people around here, as long as the Thian aren't out it will be fine, he thought shrugging it off. He felt a jolt, and suddenly his engine failed. “What?!” he shouted in frustration. He heard sirens behind him, and then he realized.

“Citizen we are arresting you. You are now under arrest. We will now commence in reading you your rights. Your rights are....”

Roland leaned his head on the dashboard and groaned. Uncle Tadd is going to kill me...

A Whispered Prayer

An eternity it seemed, I’d been living in this blackness. How long had it been? I couldn’t recall. I’d once been a schoolgirl with big dreams. But that was before they came. I laughed quietly to myself in bitter irony. I was supposed to be a famous journalist at this point, now look where I was. Locked in a Nazi concentration camp. I struggled to trust God, as father would have done, but it became harder every day, as my people were treated so brutally. Abba, my father, how much longer? I cried, despairing of ever tasting life again.


This is my first 100 word story, hope you like it!

The Clock of the Universe

By George Macdonald

A clock aeonian, steady and tall,
With its back to creation's flaming wall,
Stands at the foot of a dim, wide stair.
Swing, swang, its pendulum goes,
Swing--swang--here--there!
Its tick and its tack like the sledge-hammer blows
Of Tubal Cain, the mighty man!
But they strike on the anvil of never an ear,
On the heart of man and woman they fall,
With an echo of blessing, an echo of ban;
For each tick is a hope, each tack is a fear,
Each tick is a Where, each tack a Not here,
Each tick is a kiss, each tack is a blow,
Each tick says Why, each tack I don't know.
Swing, swang, the pendulum!
Tick and tack, and go and come,
With a haunting, far-off, dreamy hum,
With a tick, tack, loud and dumb,
Swings the pendulum.

Two hands, together joined in prayer,
With a roll and a volley of spheric thunder;
Two hands, in hope spread half asunder,
An empty gulf of longing embrace;
Two hands, wide apart as they can fare
In a fear still coasting not touching Despair,
But turning again, ever round to prayer:
Two hands, human hands, pass with awful motion
From isle to isle of the sapphire ocean.

The silent, surfaceless ocean-face
Is filled with a brooding, hearkening grace;
The stars dream in, and sink fainting out,
And the sun and the moon go walking about,
Walking about in it, solemn and slow,
Solemn and slow, at a thinking pace,
Walking about in it to and fro,
Walking, walking about.


Read the rest here