Posts Tagged ‘NaNo 2012’

NaNo day 13

Tuesday, November 13th, 2012

Et un chapitre de http://www.cialispharmaciefr24.com/tadalafil-efficace/ plus ! J’ai bientôt terminé la seconde des 4 parties de mon roman, ce qui tombe bien vu que je suis à 25.000 mots ^^ Quelques extraits du chapitre 5 pour la peine (moins que d’habitude, mais ce chapitre entame les choses sérieuses pour de vrai).

Extraits du chapitre 5 : Not all magic mushrooms restore HP

“Val, hey! What a coincidence!”
Right. Exactly how long have you been waiting in my workplace to say that? “Fancy seeing you there, really. Why don’t you introduce me to your friend?”
“This is Mary-Sue, she is…” He stops, as if looking for the right word to describe their relationship. “Well, a fan of my books.” If I trust Mary-Sue’s disdainful look, that was not the right word.

“I have all the inspiration you need for Laureline in my room.”
What did I just say? Where did this stupid innuendo come from? I was talking about dreamdust, not what the young Mary-Sue seems to be thinking.

“The only thing that worries me about Mary-Sue is that vente de cialis en ligne she probably is not even eighteen and that if you get arrested for sleeping with her, who will pay for my exquisite collection of SciFi TV shows DVDs?”

Multicoloured tents cover the banks of the Muileata, with dozen of Fays buzzing about around them. When I approach, each of them salutes me politely with a “My Lady” and a small curtsey and I feel like I suddenly am in the Matrix. Why did I accept Sion’s plan?

A minute after I enter her house, she literally jumps at me—not literally literally, more like figuratively literally—and begins telling me all about her organising the tourney, who she invited, when it will take place, all the events around it, the sights and the shows, the menus for each meal, the decoration, the themed parties.

“You know how the legends say that I built a Round Table so that every Knights would have an equal place around it?” I nod. “Well, it’s wrong. There https://www.viagrasansordonnancefr.com was a place that was better than the others and that is where I used to sit.”
“How can that be?” I am not sure to see where he is going with that story.
“Well, the one next to the door of course. That way, I was always the first one out of the room once the meetings were over.”

He was right, I knew, and he just gave me the last straw of strength I needed. He probably did not know that I needed his advice to better disobey the law, but still, I thank him.

NaNo day 9

Friday, November 9th, 2012

Toujours un peu d’avance et un quatrième chapitre de fini, donc quelques quotes :

Extraits du chapitre 4 : the asylum seeker and the stowaway

I need a plan. I need a plan. I need a plan. Did I say that I needed a plan? It has already been four hours since I have decided to steal the Grail and I still don’t have one.

If I borrow it, since I intend on bringing it back, it should not switch forms. That’s the theory and I have to hope that I am right, because if I have to transport a huge black cauldron, it will really get complicated.

He looks interested, curious. Fatherly. Why does he have to look fatherly? I am trying to betray him, for Earth’s sake!

And now, for the awkward moment of the day, how am I going to go up there and grab the stupid thing? It is not like I could go out and ask Rian—or was it Brian?—for a ladder and I am definitely not moving Arthur’s throne to climb on it like a lowly stool.

And then one day, Arthur, who I had barely even met before that, made me come into the Throne Room with my little brother, and the three of us sat on the ground. He told us that starting from now on, viagra prix france rapide each day we would be nice and calm, he would tell us a story. And believe me, when Arthur Pendragon tells you he wants to tell you a story, you show him how well you behave and you listen.

I of course bartend for Rosa on the evenings—believe it or not, even my crazy plan does not convince her of cutting me some slack. I try to appeal to her inner goodness, but apparently, she does not have one.

There was hate in this last word, but Sion does not hate anyone. He is way too nice for that. He is looking right behind me, so I turn and come face to face with no one else than Mr. Bertram Tolbert. The same Mr. Tolbert I met back in chapter one. The mythology professor who bought a cookbook. Do you think that he is angry with me? I mean, more than Sion? Maybe they should change the phrase. I am not stuck between a rock and a hard place, I am stuck between a furious korrigan who happens to be my little brother and a possibly unhappy customer who thought that a cookbook was actually a magic book. Believe me, that is much more uncomfortable.

What do you say to the human who has followed you into the Sidhe and puts everything you have built until then at risk? Apparently, you—or at least I—say: “You could at least have put winter clothes on.” Okay, not my finest moment.

“You look absolutely gorgeous in that dress,” I say.
She suddenly comes to a halt and a worried look takes over her face. “What do you want, Val?”
“Am I not allowed to tell my beautiful Godmother that she is going to break some hearts tonight?”
“Oh, you are. You just never do it. I will repeat my question and you shall answer it. What do you want?”
Egad. She has seen right through my flawless plan to flatter her into accepting my request. Time to use my plan B: “You know how you always say that you have already met every respectable male Fay in the Sidhe?”
“Yes. But I am not sure that I like where you are going.”
“I brought you a human! He is nice, well-behaved, not bad-looking and you only have to babysit him for a few hours, until I get back.”

Apparently, Sion has calmed down since yesterday and I find him hiding in his cellar, working on his car. One day, I shall tell him the obvious fact: it is already too big to be taken out through the door.
“You have won,” I say. “I shall be the centre of attention in the most ridiculous event this world have known for the last five centuries, in the least.” He smiles largely, but before he can answer, I cut him: “Oh, and our beloved Lady Niamh has taken a liking into the good Mr. Tolbert. Which means that I am seeking asylum for the night.”

NaNo day 7

Wednesday, November 7th, 2012

Et je continue sur ma lancée ! Je suis toujours un peu en avance (ce qui est cool, vu que mon taff ne m’a pas calé une, mais deux formations d’une semaine à la fin du mois et qu’il faudrait que je me booste un peu avant ça). Quelques nouveaux petits extraits (vous pardonnerez les fautes de frappe et les fautes d’anglais, ce n’est bien sûr pas relu) :

Extraits du chapitre 2 : The rebellious princess syndrom

She is followed by a medium-built man with a moustache. There is no word to describe its thin cut, the way it goes back up at the ends, except, maybe, ridiculous. Over-the-top. Unnecessary. Maybe there are words, after all.

Extraits du chapitre 3 : The things I do for love

Probably sounding like a five-year-old—but at that point, I don’t care anymore—I ask him: “When do we get there?”
“Soon.”
I shall not whine.

Have you ever walked in a swamp? Well, it is wet and damp. You don’t see through the stagnant water where your feet will end up and every step you take on something that looks like ground is a relief. At one point, I put my foot on a deadwood branch, which starts moving. Okay, so not a deadwood branch. The alligator jumps at me and I step back as a reflex. It takes me a second to call to the power of the words (swiftness, courage, strength) and I take the sword at my side. When not in use, Fay swords only have a handle and the blade only appears when you call on its name, which I do: “Sting!”—yes, I know, I’m such a geek.
(…)
I call my other sword’s name, Needle—yep, still geeky—, and reinforce it with more words.

The next day, he wakes me up and says: “We shall arrive today.” Good. I have enough of the swamp, the odours and the local fauna. I hope that the Dagda lives in a palace. I really do.
But of course, it could not have been that easy. The point on the map marks what looks like a cabin made of mud applied on the mangrove and covered with leaves.

I finally see him, in the darkest corner of the room, and start to realise what Niamh meant by “he is a strange man.” He is taller than me, but so thin he looks famished. His skin, much like Hadi’s, has been burnt too many times by the sun and looks like leather. His hair and beard probably haven’t been cut during the last century or so, and he looks more like the image I have of Robinson Crusoe than the God who stopped the sun from setting for nine months. He stands up and as I raise my eyes to meet his, I realise how tall he really is. “Are you the Dagda?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“Depends who’s askin’. But fo’ you, child, I is.”

“I knows why yer here, child. And I can help you.” I feel relief filling me. Oberon was wrong, there is someone who can help me. “But you’ve to show me you’re worth.” If he wasn’t living in the most recluse swamp in the Sidhe, I would have said that this man had seen the Star Wars movie one time too many and thought himself to be Yoda.

The Dagda, no matter what kind of God he is, is a big fat liar. And a lazy one, with that.

“The… what?” Where are you, wit and eloquence? Where have you gone when I need the both of you the most?

While I serve the tea, he looks in the pockets of his evening suit and finally gets a hip flask, that he gives me in exchange for his teacup.
“That is the answer to your question, child.”
“This will really heal Sam?”
“Sam? Heal? What are you talking about?”
There might have been a slight misunderstanding between us.
“If this shan’t heal Sam, what is it for?”
“Helping you choosing a world.” My eyes blink quickly. I seriously don’t understand. Why does everyone want me to pick a world? I am perfectly happy the way I live.

Holy horseshoe, Batman! I, Valerie Stark, goddaughter of Arthur Pendragon, King of Avalon, and the Lady Niamh, am going to steal the Grail.

“My Lady, you look like you have been through a lot these past few days. May I call Paige to help you to your room, before disturbing Lady Niamh?” But before I can take him up on his offer, my Godmother appears behind him and screams at the mere sight of me. Finally, she stops. “You look like you are in need of a bath,” she says, before turning her back.

“Call me a coward if you ought to, but I shan’t be a part of this plan. You may not have much to lose, but I walk on the side of the law too much already and I cannot lose the little I have, even for you.”
“Coward,” I say, half laughing. I know that when the time comes, he shall help me. He shall even correct my plan and make it actually work. We have stolen together before, it shan’t be the first time, even though our most heinous crimes were committed against candies.

“So, where have you been?”
“Here and there. Well, there, really. Deisceart, in the Far South. I fought an alligator and climbed a tree.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not all you’ve done. What happened to you?”
“Long story short, I met with an ancient God who was supposed to have passed away thousands of years ago and was not really a God but simply a Fay, and after making me stupid stunts, he told me that there is only one way to heal Sam.”

“I will do it. For you, I would do anything.” Well, almost everything. Apparently, I am not killing any innocent guide for her in the near future.

NaNo day 4

Sunday, November 4th, 2012

Bon, nous sommes le 4 novembre et j’ai écrit 6.733 mots, ce qui veut dire que je suis toujours dans les temps pour le NaNo. Incroyable ! Plus que… non, je ne veux pas savoir combien de mots il me reste. En attendant, je vais tenter de mettre des extraits en ligne de temps en temps, histoire de me motivier :)

Extraits du chapitre 1 : There is an awful lot of running in the smuggling business

“Mr. Tolbert, I presume?”
“Are you the person Rosa recommended me?”
I smile, trying to remember what Rosa told me about sarcasm towards new customers. Right, not to use it. Not that she recommends using it in any other situation, but Rosa just isn’t fun. “I am,” I finally answer. “She told me that you are looking for a rather specific object.”
“Not exactly.” I hate it when people say things like “not exactly.” They tend to mean “not at all,” and what I really hear is “I will soon be wasting our time with a demand that you will not fulfil.”

“I have a gift for you, by the way.” Good. I like gifts. Better than Logan’s flirting, anyway. He opens the attache-case at his feet and takes a book out of it that he gives me. The cover, like every single one of Logan’s books’, shows a very Photoshoped lady wearing way too tight leather clothes in an impossible sexy posture. This one is named Chasing the Moonlight and I can’t help but wonder if it took him a long time to find something that ridiculous.
“Open it!” He looks as excited as a korrigan in front of a dolmen and I obey. The book is signed by Logan and he has written an entire paragraph before his name. It start with: “To Val. You gave me back the will to dream when I needed it the most…” and ends with “I hope that you do know that I write all my books for you and only for you.” I don’t read what is in between. I know that it is full of lies and flirting and it bores me already.
For a reason that I cannot explain, Logan has decided to model his heroine on me. She shares my waist-long black hair, always tied in a large braid, my pale grey eyes and my taste for adventures and sarcasm. She, however, is a dream-catcher. Or a dream-chaser. Or a dream-whatever. Niamh, who has actually read the novels, told me once or twice, but I cannot be bothered to remember it.

Rosa is a strong woman in her early fifties, with dark skin and plaited black hair gathered in a high ponytail. Right now, she is charging towards me, an angry look on her face. “Valerie Stark,” she says. “It is already seven thirteen. Where have you been?” I apologise profusely, all the while putting my bag behind the bar and my apron on. Valerie Stark is not my real name, of course, but it is the one I have chosen for the fake passport and the very real credit card Rosa got for me. If I had to choose a name, why not pick the one worn by the crazy inventor behind the Iron-Man armour and the noble family keeping Westeros safe when winter comes?

She knows me too well. Maybe I should cut the moorings that tie me to An Doras, but who would launder my money and listen to my soul-searching? My heart is heavy, because I know that I cannot heal the woman I love, but I shall not cry, especially not in front of Rosa, who has done so much for me and asked for barely twenty percent of the money I make in return. That and an evening of bartending each time I am in town. Well, she had the upper hand in the negotiation, since she is a Knight of the Round Table and I http://www.cialisgeneriquefr24.com/vente-de-cialis-en-ligne/ am a smuggler.

Extraits du chapitre 2 : The rebellious princess syndrome

The house is really small and there is only one room in it, but it is enough to serve at both my smuggling headquarters and my alibi. I usually pretend that I need to retire to the calm and silent woods to improve my drawing. To be honest, if there are two things I hate, it is calm and silence, but my alibi has worked so far and I do not see the point in changing it.

For a reason that is entirely his, Sion is building a steam car in secret. The third rule of magic states that technology is its natural enemy. Once again, it sounds way better in Old Irish, but I guess you still haven’t taken any lessons—me neither, don’t worry. What it means is that Sion building a car is absolutely and totally illegal, but who am I to judge?

Everything about her is noble and shows how high-born she is. Her long golden hair has been meticulously braided and interlaced with pearls, her corseted azure dress makes her perfect complexion shine in the moonstones’ light. Her eyes are clearer than the sky on a summer day and her smile brighter than the sun. She is as beautiful as the queen she could have been, had she accepted Arthur’s proposal, an eternity ago. And yes, I used to have a crush on her, when I was a teenager—not that she knows about it.

Dernière ligne droite

Thursday, October 18th, 2012

Il me reste 3.000 mots plus un épilogue dont la longueur reste à définir, et j’aurais fini ce $*£% de roman. Sérieusement, À titre posthume me sort par les yeux. Mon objectif actuel est de le finir, de l’imprimer, puis de le brûler.

Plus sérieusement (quoi que…), une fois que je l’aurais fini, je pense que je vais soigneusement l’oublier pendant quelques années mois, au moins le temps d’écrire Contrebande, et puis que j’essaierai de le corriger (en sachant https://www.acheterviagrafr24.com/achat-viagra-cialis-levitra/ qu’il faut que je réécrive tout le début pour virer les incohérences). Ensuite, je verrai s’il y a quelque chose de récupérable dedans, parce que pour le moment, j’ai une telle haine de ce truc que j’ai l’impression qu’il n’y a rien d’intéressant dedans.

Bref, dernière ligne droite \o/

EDIT : j’ai rushé. J’ai écrit 3.340 mots aujourd’hui et j’ai fini ce premier jet, qui n’a pas besoin d’un épilogue du coup. 78.737 mots écrits en 142 jours. Je vais mourir dans un coin, je reviens plus tard.