Day 2... 10k!
I just hit 10,000 words! In fact, I PUNCHED them. Yeah.
Slow day today. I was volunteering at the library from 12:00 to 2:00 and shelving books always makes me tired, so when I got home I just read (Men at Arms by Terry Pratchett) for a couple of hours. Then I saw that Hazel had 15,000 words. So, um, yeah. I ran to Google Docs, basically.
My goal for today is 11669 words - the wordcount for day 7 if I was writing just the minimum 1667 words/day. 'Tis a modest goal, and hence achievable.
I like what I'm writing. It's a new feeling. A few quotes:
It was a woman's voice, fairly young, smooth with a slight whine to it, like a mosquito slowly drowning in melted chocolate.
The lines of code slid across the screen like a serpent in an extremely repetetive maze, and he leaned his chair back onto it's hind legs, resting his feet on his desk and blowing bubbles out of his nose.
I mean, she thought as the circumnavigated puddles of unidentifiable liquid, that's the whole point of being a journalist, isn't it? You find things out, and then... and then you tell people those things. Trouble is, that's also apparently the exact criteria for criminality.
"I bet you don't even have a to do list."
"Guilty. We can't all be organized, cardigan-wearing librarians."
"I'm not wearing a cardigan."
"Your soul is."
Unsurprisingly, in highschool she had been voted 'most likely to be commited'. She had thought this was a compliment, until she realized they meant commited as a verb.
Yeah. It's pretty awesome.
Radly,
Sorcha, day two, 10119 words.
Slow day today. I was volunteering at the library from 12:00 to 2:00 and shelving books always makes me tired, so when I got home I just read (Men at Arms by Terry Pratchett) for a couple of hours. Then I saw that Hazel had 15,000 words. So, um, yeah. I ran to Google Docs, basically.
My goal for today is 11669 words - the wordcount for day 7 if I was writing just the minimum 1667 words/day. 'Tis a modest goal, and hence achievable.
I like what I'm writing. It's a new feeling. A few quotes:
It was a woman's voice, fairly young, smooth with a slight whine to it, like a mosquito slowly drowning in melted chocolate.
The lines of code slid across the screen like a serpent in an extremely repetetive maze, and he leaned his chair back onto it's hind legs, resting his feet on his desk and blowing bubbles out of his nose.
I mean, she thought as the circumnavigated puddles of unidentifiable liquid, that's the whole point of being a journalist, isn't it? You find things out, and then... and then you tell people those things. Trouble is, that's also apparently the exact criteria for criminality.
"I bet you don't even have a to do list."
"Guilty. We can't all be organized, cardigan-wearing librarians."
"I'm not wearing a cardigan."
"Your soul is."
Unsurprisingly, in highschool she had been voted 'most likely to be commited'. She had thought this was a compliment, until she realized they meant commited as a verb.
Yeah. It's pretty awesome.
Radly,
Sorcha, day two, 10119 words.