I've noticed that I am able to write a lot when I'm drawn into a scene. Usually, drawing me in requires two things:
1. That I have a general idea about what will happen, and this involves a lot of unique character development or a twist (or both).
2. I know what the result is, but have no idea how it will get there.
The second bit is a discovery writing part, and in this situation it makes writing really fun. See, I get sucked into the scene, where I (the author) want to know what happens. Since I only have a basic idea, I'm forced to keep writing, or I'll be left off in a crappy spot of the book. So, next thing you know, I've written almost 6k in one sitting.
Another thing I've noticed when I write a lot (I used to write 5-6k a day normal when finishing WGMD, so this isn't exactly monumental) is that, re-reading it, it has a lot of silly mistakes. Like word repetition and sentences that just don't make sense. I also blame this on discovery writing, because I see the scene as it unfolds rather than knowing exactly what is there, so continuity errors and basic descriptions sometimes get mixed up. I'll re-read it tonight before going to bed (or tomorrow morning) and try and catch the stupid little things before tomorrow.
Other than that, I played a lot of Starcraft 2 today. Writing Group 1.0 (which is rapidly becoming Gaming Group 1.0...who am I kidding, they've been that for a while) got their computers, and we had two copies and a trial code, so we all played together against bots for a while.
I also played two online 1v1 matches and won both. I can quit now. I have 100% victory record. Take that, suckers.
Other than that, I took a character I liked today and made him a terrible person. I'd...sort of planned it happening (I had some characters and one of them had to end up being terrible, I just hadn't decided which). The situation presented itself and I took it, also altering another main character's past in the process. Discovery writing is so fun. I get to ruin people's lives on a whim.
Here's your quote. I also wrote a line, "[He had] scars without stories." which, as I was writing it, I felt was profound and clever. Maybe it wasn't, I dunno. I just really liked it (describing aforementioned terrible person who had multiple scars that he wouldn't talk about how he got them).
Here's the quote, for real this time. It's long. Because I wrote a lot. Directly proportional. Or something. I don't care, It's freaking 1:30 in the morning.
“Did I ever tell you about the time I saw a Cog?” The man with the scar, he had said his name was Fredrick, gargled through a mouthful of ale. I shook my head, leaning back slightly so as to not get as much of his foul breath.
“No, you didn’t. You haven’t told me any stories, as a matter of fact, since you just met me five minutes ago.”
“Really?” Fredrick burped and I winced, much to April’s amusement. She clanked the ice in her cold cider, her eyes sparkling in lamplight. “Well, then I’d better tell it to you!”
“I guess you’d better,” I agreed with a sigh, taking a sip of dandelion wine. “Have at it.”
Fredrick drew a long drink, it dribbled out the corners of his mouth and onto his shirt. I watched with disgust, reminding myself to never make drinking a habit, no matter how miserable my life became.
“Well,” Fredrick wiped his mouth and burped again. “It was two years ago, see...”
It wasn’t hard to ignore the drunkard. I’d spent plenty of years phasing out Devent and Rosemary’s yammering, and he wasn’t nearly as loud or coherent enough to take offense at my inattentiveness. I glanced back at April. She shot me a smile, and continued her conversation about metal prices with the man sitting next to her.
The Steelgod’s Salvation was larger than I had anticipated, at least twice the size of April’s shop and just as tall. It was lavishly decorated with paintings, odd ornaments, and severed animal heads. It even had a set of crossed swords of the mantel; I assume they;re a mandatory decoration for every pub in all of Tempered. The place was lit from ornate metal chandeliers, similar to the one in April’s bedroom. When I’d asked her about it, she’d turned a bit red before admitting she’d made them herself. They were detailed and, unlike the ones in the shop, well polished and maintained.
- Chapter 10, Unbreakable