7th November - 50k BABY!

Now playing: some shitty song on the radio. I don't even have a victory song. .___.

YES! THAT'S RIGHT! I did it. *dies*

Today, I decided that come what may I would write that 50,000th word OR ELSE. It turns out I didn't need to contemplate filling an empty threat, or think about going into extra time, I sat my ass down at 5pm this afternoon and wrote. And wrote, and wrote. I churned out all but 2k before dinner, and now I'm sitting here, rather smug, knowing that by 10:20pm on November 7th, I hit my 50k.

I didn't know if it was possible, but apparently it is. With time to spare. Now I have three weeks to write as much (or as little) as I like, and try not to kill myself from caffeine overdose, or some such thing. >_o

50,000th word: 'the'. How exciting.
50,001st word: 'pretence'. Better.


An excerpt to put this in context:

I’d taken the bonbons from the Emporium myself. I’d hand picked each and every one of them, made sure that they were perfectly round, beautiful things. I’d been so tempted to try one, almost put one in my mouth to savour the wonderful, flawless flavour, and had to remind myself of the symbol that they would become. They would be the first expression of my freedom from the government, my first call-out to The Directors to watch their backs. They were perfect because I chose them to be.

And then, they were tainted. Each and every one, thirteen bonbons tainted by my hand. I went out and bought the arsenic myself, under the pretence of needing rat poison, and used a seive from the kitchen to make sure that they were all dusted evenly. Perfectly. Perhaps Blue was right, perhaps I’d lost part of myself in that meeting room, when they’d placed the brown envelope in front of me and exposed my failures for what they were. Perhaps I had lost something, my sanity maybe? My mind?

I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. The bonbons were perfect.


Another excerpt for the hell of it:

I always find that I have my best dreams in the moments after dozing off. I still feel the weight of sleep closing in on my, and my imaginings are vivid and realistic. The colours are always brighter, the dialogues more beautiful- or at least more pleasing to my ‘drama gland’- and the people always seem to glow.

Chris was not glowing. That was the only indictation that this wasn’t a dream. The colours were bright, the dialogue certainly appealing to my sense of drama, but the glowing? Well, that was missing.

“What?” I jolted out of my half-sleep to find a crowd of people in front of my bed. Kez appeared to have stopped the trailer, and he was just making his way from the driver’s booth when I came to.

“What is it?” I jumped down from the bed, the sounds of spluttering, coughing and gasps of shock assaulting my ears.

“Do the Heimlich!” somebody cried worriedly, and then a chorus of “Yeah, do the Heimlich manoeuvre! Quick!”

But for all the speech nobody seemed willing to do the manoeuvre, and so the coughing just kept on coming. I moved around Q, who was stood motionless in front of me with a hand pressed to her mouth in horror, and then I saw him. It was at this point that I realised that it wasn’t a dream, because nobody was glowing.

Today I have written:
-A death scene involving skittles
-A (not so) high speed chase (involving two trailers and a 'rusty bucket' police car)
-A plot to take over the world, one arsenic covered Bonbon at a time.

Words written today: 8,042.
Wordcount: 50,075. :)