I decided to do something a little different than NaNoWriMo (for those who don't know what NaNoWriMo is head to www.NaNoWriMo.org to find out.)
NaNoWriMo is not for everyone. While I'm a three time winner, I'm even a little burnt out on it. I also have no problem writing 2000+ words a day. So, I thought, I would like to slow it down. Why? Well, because instant gratification isn't always good. Some days, it's good to get a ton of words. Other days, it's better to get something closer to 250 quality words. Yes, quantity can be its own quality, but future you, who is often an editor of the novel that present you wrote, will thank you for those quality days.
So, the 250 words a day challenge. Instead of the 1,667 words a day for 30 days during NaNoWriMo, 250 words for 200 days.
For me, it's all about pacing and learning to edit better. For others, it's all about learning to write a novel over the course of a year. 200 days. This means you have 165 days off that you don't have to write. You can write more than your 250 words. I did. I wrote 350. I'm also going to post my results here. So, with today's explanations being the only addition to my word count, I will post the beginning of the novel here.
Feel free to join me and start writing your own novel. It's novel writing time!
Some things don’t change. Some do. People repeat “almost aphorisms” like this as though they are making some profound statement, but really, they’re just saying something everyone already knew.
Todd hated people like that.
Todd Gaines watched the old building from across the street. It did not move, as buildings usually didn’t, and he felt foolish for expecting the old, decaying structure to somehow communicate its history to him as he stared at it.
Still, his eyes met the edifice and for many lost minutes, Todd willed his old business to tell him what happened in his home town. Sitting in a rental car that looked too new to belong to the area, it was both strangely difficult but all too easy to finally peel his gaze from the same spot and blink out the memory and emotion.
Memories bled into Todd’s mind, but only as small bursts of familiar images, with no context accompanying them. Some were painful. Some were happy. He didn’t want the context. The emotional weight of even the smallest hint of memory was too much. To give that memory depth would likely kill him.
Todd’s old diner, which had belonged to his grandfather before him, once stood as a proud landmark in Windy Hills. Sitting near the town square, where a small fountain dedicated to Arthur Foster Willingham, a town founder, still spouted water, everyone knew Danny’s.
Daniel Gaines was Todd’s grandfather, a good and honest man by all accounts, far different from his son, but not so different from Todd. Todd admired his grandfather, who raised Todd after Todd’s father fled and Todd’s mother, Daniel’s daughter-in-law, passed away.
A staple of local dining and an important part of tourism, Danny’s was well known. For years, Todd had to tolerate town council members not only using his restaurant as a meeting place, but also as a de facto visitor’s center. It took convincing, but the council members talked Todd into allowing them to set up brochures near the front entrance.
Todd found his eyes on the steering wheel of the rental and decided he’d had enough.