Progress from the First Week

So the first week of Nanowrimo has come and gone.  I’m keeping up with my word count although I have to point out that for me generally, the first week starts out a bit slow because I’m still feeling out my story line and characters.  This year, I’m letting dares dictate where my story is going and I’m keeping a running tally of all of them that get used here.  This is also the first year that I’m really paying attention to regional word count totals.  Yeah, I guess I should have paid attention before since I’m the municipal liaison, but our region had never been involved in word wars until this year.  Hopefully this bit of friendly competition will keep everyone writing throughout the month.

As for how my story is going so far, um, here are some excerpts.  You can judge for yourself.

From Part IIb:

“That sounds like a paranoid conspiracy theory,” Mot replied dismissively. “It was confirmed by no less than three independent labs with the initial analysis that my ancestor died of food poisoning, particularly by a piece of Gardan goat cheese that went rancid during the dessert course. It was ruled and proved to be an accident.”

George crossed his arms against his chest. “Humph.”

“Never mind about that,” said Vik. “It’s old history no matter what the case. So is that what we’re going to do? Travel around the Delta Quadrant making a documentary about food? Isn’t that going to be kind of boring? There’s only so many ways you can make a holographic projection about cheese. It just sits there.”

“And everyone knows what it smells like,” George added. “It’s not like adding the other sensory aspects of the experience is going to suddenly gain the GBC a new audience. Unless you’re aiming for the geriatric crowd.”

“Are you sure old people can even smell anything in the first place?” said Annette.

“My grandmother can still detect a gas leak within a thousand paces,” I said.

From Part IId:

I waved a hand toward his garishly colored bags. “So it looks like you did some last minute shopping.”

“Cheese,” he replied easily. “Specifically, gouda made from the milk of North Krakenese dairy cows. It’s a delicacy around these parts. They say that it gets better the older it is.”

“Oh? And how old is the cheese that you have now?”

“Well, it’s actually only two months old. But I was hoping to age it myself. I have this arrangement with the captain of The Bacchus to install a special aging compartment on the outside of the ship. Once the hyperdrive goes into action, we’ll have instantly aged cheese!” He punctuated the last word with a movement of his hand that made his shopping bags rustle. “And considering the itinerary that Nigel Mot has planned for us, I will have the opportunity to obtain some much coveted Rillan cheddar. Do you know how much of a delicacy two hundred year old Rillan cheddar is for connoisseurs of fromage? How about two thousand after a bit of faster than light travel?”

Fantastic. I was stuck with a cyborg who was also a cheese fanatic.

From Part IIIa:

“I didn’t know you had a pet!”

“I didn’t either. It arrived unannounced with the rest of my belongings.”

“It looks like one of those animals that I’ve only seen in texts during grade school.” He snapped his fingers. “Ah, I remember. A gerbil, right? Have you already given it a name?”

“Er, no.”

“You should totally call him Bob.”

I had flashbacks to my former co-worker who had fainted on the job. “Bob?”

“Yeah, Bob. It has a certain ring to it. Bob the gerbil.”

The jerboa peeked out from the pocket again and actually stuck its tongue out at Vik.

“See, it even likes the name.”

“I don’t think so, Vik,” I replied. “I am not calling it Bob.”

Vik’s expression fell. But only for a moment. When the door to the lift opened again on the bridge deck, he was smiling again. “Well, if you’re not going to call him Bob, I’m going to call him Bob.”

If you want to follow along the literary train wreck, I’m posting as I go here.