NaNoWriMo 2015: the halfway point

…or, you know. Not quite.

My NaNoWriMo stats graphs are always a bit erratic – almost every year, I have a massive word-cushion-making couple of days right at the start, then do sod all for a few days before another giant jump upwards.

I mean, last year I practically embroidered my word-cushion, it was so substantial. The same thing the year before.

*blows loud raspberry at the word cushion*

For the first time since 2011, I am running behind with my NaNoWriMo.

Good lord, it's not been going well

Just look at that for a crock of shite!

Nah, honestly, it’s not that bad. I’m miles behind everyone else, but I just did 4000 words right off the bat in two hours before my shift today, so I’m not that crazily worried. I’ve got a day off tomorrow with nothing planned but writing and dyeing my hair, so I think I can catch up.

No; I know I can catch up.

I’ve not got any problems with the actual writing part any more, it’s just been finding the time to write, with all this house-moving and working business.

Yes, I’ve beaten this third person business down, now. I am on it with the third person. The third person is my bitch, etc etc etc.

And I don’t half love my characters.

I was worried at first that I was turning Lucian Ruby (my main dude) into a creepy creep rather than a charmingly naive anachronism. But he’s got there, he’s worked himself out (and I’ve worked him out) and I think I can now get his parts written without making him sound like he spends his spare time hiding in bushes with a pair of binoculars. He’s not going to kidnap anybody and keep them in his cellar.

Ooh, maybe I should give him a cellar. That would be useful for other plot points about his past, actually… *blog post vanishes so I can scribble maniacally in my big folder of notes*

Anyway. Yes, I’ve got over all my third person blocks now. I’m getting into my characters’ heads just as well as if I was writing in my usual first person format. Their thoughts are still getting across. And for the first time in a long time, it feels like I’m telling an actual structured story, rather than just haphazardly following a fictional someone around and letting them ramble about their eventful life.

I’m twenty thousand words in now, and time travel wise, my characters haven’t gone that far yet. One of them went back to a Merseyside suburb in 1999 to prove a point, and now the pair of them have just landed in Hyde Park on the morning of Princess Diana’s funeral. Not the most inspiring of times to visit so far, but they’re getting there. In the next couple of chapters, the real adventures are going to be starting.

Tomorrow is going to be a very fun day of writing for me, let’s just say that.

The Hummingbird and the Timepiece

It’s just a matter of hours now until NaNoWriMo 2015, when writers everywhere will panic, procrastinate and caffeinate through November. And, hopefully, manage to write 50,000 words of whatever tickles their fancy. This is what tickles mine this year.

I should preface this by saying: I’ve never written anything like this before.

Shit’s getting deep, people.

The Hummingbird and the Timepiece is, above all, a story about obsession. It’s the story of what happens when one man tries to align both his passions, for a woman and for his self-appointed life’s mission, and how the two together destroy him.

Oh, and it’s also a story about time travel.

The idea for the story came to me while I was sitting in my usual writing haunt of the moment, Foundation Coffee House in the Northern Quarter of Manchester. I always sit in the window where the plug sockets are, and it’s a great opportunity to watch the never-ending parade of Northern Quarter hipsters strutting by. The hair, the fashion, the beards… it can be quite the show.

I started to imagine their stories, and being far too easily distracted (I was trying to finish another novel at the time) I started to throw some supernatural merriment into my imaginings. Then before I knew it, I was swaying along to Hole In My Soul by Apocalyptica, a plot almost entirely formed in my head.

Hummingbird Street is a practically an alleyway, too small for a car to pass through. But it’s just big enough for the dusty storefront of Hummingbird Watches, where the most hipster-esque of hipsters sits all day, tinkering with his watches and scowling at passers-by. His name is Lucian Ruby, and he doesn’t want to be friends. With anyone. He prowls into the Northern Quarter twice a day in search of caffeine, and that’s it.

Bethany Lovelace is a history student, bored with her life, working in a coffee shop and experimenting with Victorian cookery books in her spare time. She can’t stand most of her clientele – she’s not that keen on her housemates or her family either. When she meets Lucian Ruby, she’s certainly not keen on him.

Lucian Ruby, however, is captivated. This is the woman he’s been dreaming of for years – she must be the companion he’s been waiting for. An awkward family wedding throws the two of them together, and Lucian Ruby can finally reveal himself; not a hipster, but the genuine vintage article. Obviously, Bethany can’t help herself when Lucian Ruby’s handcrafted watches prove to be a lot more than simple timepieces – but is she really the companion he’s dreamed about for so long? And is he willing to give up the quest tearing a hole in his soul if it means he can keep travelling with Bethany Lovelace for just a little longer?

There’s my merry little blurb. I don’t think it gets across quite the hole I’m digging myself into this November – this is a monster of a novel. It involves travelling everywhere from Princess Diana’s funeral to the eerie asylums of Victorian Britain, from fifties greasers to the day before the Titanic sank. There might even be a brief foray into Civil War Atlanta, I’m still in two minds about that one.

This is going to be the most difficult thing I’ve ever written. Not just because of what I’m planning to do to my poor main characters – poor, poor Lucian Ruby, with whom I’m already a little bit in love – but because of the way I’m going to write this.

I’ve always been a first person kind of girl. I get into my characters’ heads and I stay there, speaking their words and rambling happily. This time, I need to get into multiple heads, look at things from multiple viewpoints. I need to keep secrets. I need big reveals.

I’m going third person.

As you can see from my clumsy blurb, it’s not my strong point. I haven’t written more than flash fiction in third person since I finished my first novel at sixteen, realising quickly that I worked a lot better when I could peep through a single character’s eyes and explore their world that way.

So long, comfort zone. Hello, omniscient narrator (who’s already getting on my nerves and I’ve still got nearly fourteen hours before we’re properly introduced).

Oh, and not to mention the built-in procrastination of the fact I’m moving house next week, and getting to 50,000 words will probably cease to be my priority, at least for a little while.

It’s definitely going to be an interesting November.