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deathpixie) wrote2011-11-03 09:21 pm
deathpixie) wrote2011-11-03 09:21 pm
Entry tags:
November Writing Madness
Every November, I set myself some kind of writing project. Usually it's the [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com] and their one short story a day challenge. This year, however, I've gone and signed up for the big one, the NaNoWriMo or National Novel Writing Month, for those who read my journal who don't know what NaNoWriMo is. ;) It is what it says on the tin: for the month of November, I'll be writing a novel. 50,000 words, in fact.
So far, I have 6,519 words in the can. You can find my progress page here (suggestions for a better title for a crime thriller/urban fantasy about a special investigations unit dealing with Fae-related crime would be welcome) and I've included the prologue below.
I might be a bit vague or non-communicative over the next month, but so far, I'm managing my various hats. I may or may not be planning to use my day off on November 11 as a "write all the things" day. ;)
But yeah, that's my thing. I'll let you know how it goes.
There has always been a close relationship between our world and the mortal world. The two are wrapped around each other, like lovers in an eternal embrace, sometimes closer, sometimes further apart. The Industrial Age did much to separate up, the stench of cold iron seeping through, death to our kind. We departed then, using all our arts to cut the cord that bound us to the mortals. We believed that was the end of our long association.
We were wrong.
The mortals have always been a curious race, poking and prodding and pushing the limits of what they know and understand with their ‘science’. It was only a matter of time before their arts matched our own and the doors were pried open again. Only a few individuals at first, half-crazed with the wonders they discovered in our land, seldom believed when they returned. If it had stopped at that, things might have been very different. But always the mortals push, greedy for knowledge, for power, for more. And so they continued, opening more and more doors to our world, threatening to overwhelm us with their numbers until we were forced to push back.
The war was epic. Magic against science, immortals against mortals, Faerie against Earth. On our own land we were strong and we forced the humans back, even as we suffered unimaginable losses. But once we reached the gateways, we continued, drunk with our victory and determined to free the Earth of the plague of humanity and make it ours once again. Some of us counselled against such folly, others declared it was our right as conquerors. In the end, the decision was to push onwards, taking the war onto human soil.
The humans fought back, just as we had when they were the invaders. They made us pay for every inch of land won, paid in blood and death, but we prevailed. Victory seemed to be close at hand, but we underestimated the cold-bloodedness of our foes. With scores of their own held as prisoners of war, we never dreamed they would sacrifice their soldiers, destroying the gateways erected between our worlds with a series of small nuclear blasts. Overnight we were cut off from our resources, our reinforcements, but even worse, we were cut off from our home, the land that gave us life eternal, whose magic flowed through our veins. Lost in a reality that was anathema to us, we did the only thing we could: we surrendered.
The humans surprised us. Instead of locking us away until we died, they repatriated us. We were given homes, jobs, the expectation that we would become one with their society. It was easier for some than for others, but gradually we acclimated. We learned to if not accept our exile, then to bear it, until ten years after the war, we had become as much a part of the fabric of this world as the humans themselves. Our lifespans are decreased, our magic dwindled, but we endure.
And one day, we will return home.
So far, I have 6,519 words in the can. You can find my progress page here (suggestions for a better title for a crime thriller/urban fantasy about a special investigations unit dealing with Fae-related crime would be welcome) and I've included the prologue below.
I might be a bit vague or non-communicative over the next month, but so far, I'm managing my various hats. I may or may not be planning to use my day off on November 11 as a "write all the things" day. ;)
But yeah, that's my thing. I'll let you know how it goes.
There has always been a close relationship between our world and the mortal world. The two are wrapped around each other, like lovers in an eternal embrace, sometimes closer, sometimes further apart. The Industrial Age did much to separate up, the stench of cold iron seeping through, death to our kind. We departed then, using all our arts to cut the cord that bound us to the mortals. We believed that was the end of our long association.
We were wrong.
The mortals have always been a curious race, poking and prodding and pushing the limits of what they know and understand with their ‘science’. It was only a matter of time before their arts matched our own and the doors were pried open again. Only a few individuals at first, half-crazed with the wonders they discovered in our land, seldom believed when they returned. If it had stopped at that, things might have been very different. But always the mortals push, greedy for knowledge, for power, for more. And so they continued, opening more and more doors to our world, threatening to overwhelm us with their numbers until we were forced to push back.
The war was epic. Magic against science, immortals against mortals, Faerie against Earth. On our own land we were strong and we forced the humans back, even as we suffered unimaginable losses. But once we reached the gateways, we continued, drunk with our victory and determined to free the Earth of the plague of humanity and make it ours once again. Some of us counselled against such folly, others declared it was our right as conquerors. In the end, the decision was to push onwards, taking the war onto human soil.
The humans fought back, just as we had when they were the invaders. They made us pay for every inch of land won, paid in blood and death, but we prevailed. Victory seemed to be close at hand, but we underestimated the cold-bloodedness of our foes. With scores of their own held as prisoners of war, we never dreamed they would sacrifice their soldiers, destroying the gateways erected between our worlds with a series of small nuclear blasts. Overnight we were cut off from our resources, our reinforcements, but even worse, we were cut off from our home, the land that gave us life eternal, whose magic flowed through our veins. Lost in a reality that was anathema to us, we did the only thing we could: we surrendered.
The humans surprised us. Instead of locking us away until we died, they repatriated us. We were given homes, jobs, the expectation that we would become one with their society. It was easier for some than for others, but gradually we acclimated. We learned to if not accept our exile, then to bear it, until ten years after the war, we had become as much a part of the fabric of this world as the humans themselves. Our lifespans are decreased, our magic dwindled, but we endure.
And one day, we will return home.