Post-NaNoWriMo
NaNoWriMo finally finished on Sunday night. I'd already hit the 50k target on Tuesday and although I'd fully intended to carry on writing for the rest of the week, I didn't. I think I'd got a bit burnt out from pushing myself hard to make sure I hit the target and so I didn't feel much like writing any further. Well, until Sunday that is, when I was in the shower and got struck by inspiration for the next chapter. I found myself writing the damn thing in my head so I just had to get it down before I forgot it.
[I can't be the only writer-y person who gets inspired in the bathroom. The shower seems to be the most inspirational place for me. I presume it's because while I'm busy scrubbing away, my mind is free to think about other things and that's when it starts working on novels and other fic. Even if I'm not actually writing something at the time! And I really do start writing it in my head, not just thinking over the scenario but actually constructing the sentences. I need some kind of waterproof recording device, I tell you.]
Anyway, I didn't quite manage to write everything that I'd been envisioning earlier on - just half of it - but I still got an extra 2000 words done. That put my final total at 52,317 which I'm very pleased with. Out of the 15 chapters I'd planned out, I got 9 of them done so that's not bad at all. Now I just need to make sure that I get those last 6 written! My first NaNo novel from 2005 is still incomplete and I'd rather not have that happen again. Especially as in January and February the NaNo site turns towards supporting the revision and publishing process and I can't take part in that if it's unfinished!
This novel has been a difficult write, primarily because it was in a genre that I've previously only dabbled in (drabbled in seems more appropriate). In some ways it's similar to what I had envisioned but I'm not entirely sure that I've produced anything of merit. For those who are interested to know more about what I was working on, this is the final scene that I wrote on Sunday.
The Dreamstone
Note: this is Violet, the secondary plot that I added, and it's set in early 1930s.
Charles arrived home around about a quarter past six every night and I made sure that the evening meal was on the table soon afterwards. He would tell me a little about the events of his day, generally just how well the business was doing and his grand plans for the future of the company and I would do the same about mine. He always listened politely although I'm sure hearing about what Mrs Smith had done with her jam or how Mrs Jones had caused a stir with her brand new hat didn't really interest him. However, on this particular day in early August, I couldn't wait for him to return as the news I had to share today was not only more startling but much more personal.
I always made an effort to look nice for Charles when he came home, but tonight I made an extra special effort. I put on a dress that I knew he liked as it flattered my figure particularly well. Gazing at my reflection in the mirror, I smoothed the fabric down over my hips and stomach, resting my hands on my abdomen for a moment with a slight smile. Moving over to my dressing table, I checked my hair was still in place and touched up my make-up. Charles didn't like me to wear very much, he thought it was tacky, so I tended to stick to the bare minimum. A little bit of rouge on my cheeks, some light powder and lipstick was all I needed to look beautiful in his eyes. I reapplied a slick of red to my lips and blotted it off with a tissue. The finishing touch was a quick spritz of perfume on my neck and wrists.
I went down the front stairs and took my usual seat in the parlour where I picked up the knitting I'd started earlier to continue while I waited. A short time later, the small carriage clock on the mantlepiece chimed the quarter hour and I turned my head to the hallway where I expected to hear the door opening any moment. Quickly finishing off the row I was in the middle of knitting, I bundled it up and returned it to the case down by the side of my chair. The clock ticked loudly in the still room, making me aware of every passing second. Still the door didn't open. I wasn't unduly concerned at first, there were times when Charles was held up a little at work but he was never later than half past six.
Half an hour came and went and there was still no sign of him. When the butler came to enquire as to whether I wished to eat just yet, I told him shortly that I would wait until Charles came home. When he still hadn't appeared by seven o'clock, I dined alone. Returning to the parlour afterwards, I continued with my knitting for lack of something else to do. The constant ticking of the mantlepiece clock began to grate on my nerves after a while and so I elected to listen to the wireless while I knitted in order to blot out the noise. It was hard to concentrate on either. I pulled back several rows when I realised I had made a noticeable error, knitted them again only to discover that I had made more mistakes. I wrapped the whole thing up and shoved it into the case in silent fury.
The night dragged by, every minute seeming to last at least double its usual length. I didn't know what to do with myself. I would sit in the chair staring into the middle distance with the wireless crackling in the corner but not taking in a single word. When I couldn't take sitting still any longer, I would pace the floor from one end of the room to the other, mutely begging and pleading with God to bring my beloved Charles home to me. When I grew sick of the to-ing and fro-ing, I would throw myself back into the chair and the cycle would start again. The dratted clock on the mantlepiece kept a steady count of my misery, marking each 15 minutes with another chime.
By half past eight, I was near senseless with worry and hated every sonorous tick the clock produced. I found myself standing in front of the fireplace with it in my hands, imagining dashing it to the floor and watching the pieces scatter themselves every which way. I couldn't bring myself to put my thoughts into action, not with this clock. It was one that my parents had received themselves on their own wedding day and which my father had presented to me on the night before my own. It was this same clock that had watched his similar night of grief several years before when he paced the kitchen floor waiting for my mother to come home. The similarity was not lost on me and in my misery, I began to suspect that it was the clock that was at the very root of it all. Lost in my own thoughts as I was, I didn't register at first that the front door had opened. When I realised, I almost dropped the clock in my hurry to get to the door.
I rushed into the hallway, desperate to find out where Charles had been but as soon as I got close to him, his whereabouts for the past few hours was blatantly obvious. The man stank of alcohol and cigarette smoke, and while not completely intoxicated, he was unable to stand upright without swaying. I looked at him in disgust and would have laid into him immediately if not for the soft cough that sounded at my elbow.
"Could I be so bold as to suggest a lot of strong black coffee, ma'am?" the butler asked in his calm voice. I swallowed down my anger for the moment and nodded. He quietly ordered the maid to bring the beverage to the parlour when it was ready while I attempted to get Charles to go that way. It took both the butler and I to manhandle my husband into the room as he had other ideas but we finally managed to get him seated in a fashion on the sofa. The coffee arrived and I then began the arduous task of getting Charles to drink it. By halfway through the second cup, he was starting to recover his senses and as he started his explanation, the butler withdrew.
"I'm sorry, my love," he said first.
"I've been worried sick!" I spat at him, "While you have been enjoying yourself in the nearest pub!"
He closed his eyes briefly and gave a little sigh. "I wasn't enjoying myself," he replied, "I was hiding." That made me pause and Charles looked up at me. "I've been such a fool."
So many different thoughts ran through my head. Had he been having an affair? Was there another woman? Had I been so blind and so stupid as to think that someone from our vastly different backgrounds could really be happy together? "Go on," I managed to say.
"You must remember at the end of last year when the business was failing and it was only saved by a new contract that came in the nick of time?" I nodded, wondering where he was going with this. "It wasn't exactly a new contract, it was one that I'd refused a few times before but with the way the business was going and the amount of people that relied on it, I got to the point whre I couldn't justify doing that any longer. So I sought the gentleman out and told him that I had changed my mind and would finally accept his offer."
"You said you were sending supplies to Canada," I remembered.
He nodded. "It wasn't entirely truthful. The ships were going to Canada, that was true but it wasn't supplies they were carrying. It was people."
I felt a cold shiver run over my body. "You were sending people to Canada? But none of the ships are set up to carry passengers. And doesn't that have specific requirements for Customs?" Charles nodded and took another mouthful of coffee. The hairs prickled at the back of my neck as I finally realised what he meant. "You were illegally smuggling people into a foreign country." I covered my mouth with my hands.
"You wouldn't believe the amount of people that wanted to leave. We crammed into the cargo holds and covered them over with the tarpaulins. At the front of each hold, we'd stack sacks of flour or some such other cargo so that when the customs chaps checked, they'd find we were transporting dry goods as listed on our docket. It was one of the benefits of having such a reputable name and long-standing business, most of the chaps knew our captains very well, so they didn't always check thoroughly. Then this afternoon, I got a telephone call from Stan. He said that there was a new customs official checking them out today..."
"Oh, Charles," I breathed.
"When he told me that they were coming to the office to get me, I panicked. I knew I had a few minutes before they would arrive so I told my secretary that I had a meeting and left. I took the car, drove it to the train station and parked there so it would look like I'd got on a train. Then I walked back through the streets until I found a pub and spent several hours there hiding until I felt it was safe to come home. I almost expected to find the police waiting outside for me when I arrived." He stared down into his empty coffee cup. "I did a lot of thinking while I was in the pub, about what I'd done and what this means for us and the company. I know I did the wrong thing and so I'll go down to the police station in the morning and tell them everything. But this means the business is finished. We'll lose everything."
For a moment, I couldn't speak. I tried to get my thoughts straight but my emotions were so fraught that I couldn't get a grip on them. Just when I started to form something slightly coherent, I'd feel a surge of anger or disgust or fear and the thought would slither away like grubs under a stone exposed to the light. I couldn't believe that the man I loved and thought the world of could have done such a thing. Part of me understood that he had done it because he felt so responsible, not just for his family but for the workers at the company. He had risked everything and as a result, had lost it all. The thought of being out on the street made me feel ill. When Charles had mentioned the possibility several months ago it had been bad enough but now that there were babies to take care of as well, I had no idea how we would cope. I knew that my father wouldn't see us struggle but his resources were limited enough as it was.
"What are we going to do?" I whispered fearfully.
Charles put his empty coffee cup down on the table before taking both of my hands and looking at me intensly. "This is all my doing and I hate that you and the children have to suffer for that. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure that you are taken care of." He looked so solemn and yet so earnest that my heart went out to him. He was so determined to be punished for his crime and I couldn't help but feel a little pride at that. He cupped my face with one hand and gave me a gentle kiss on the forehead. "You're exhausted," he said. "Go to bed, darling, everything will look better in the morning, I promise you."
I realised at that moment just how tired I was. The emotions of the night had left me feeling completely wrung out. I nodded and got up from the sofa. "Good night, Charles," I said, tenderly touching his cheek with my fingers. He took hold of my hand and dropped a kiss into the palm.
"Good night, Violet. I love you, my darling." I blushed a little, unaccustomed to such a display of affection and left the room.
Upstairs in the bedroom I shared with Charles, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, feeling some sort of comfort from its sheer solidness. I couldn't bear the thought that we might lose this house. Marchand House had been in the family for numerous generations and for my husband to be the one that ended that was shameful. My anger flared once again as I thought over what he'd done. I would never have taken him to be so easily led into a life of shady business practices and criminal dealings. He may have had good intentions, wanting to secure the future finances for his own family as well as those of the workers but to get involved in smuggling was so unlike him. As a result of his sheer stupidity, we were going to lose it all.
I paced into the centre of the room, feeling like I needed to be moving to work out my feelings and anger on this situation. As I walked, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror above my dressing table. It was only a few hours ago that I was in here, dressing to please my husband. I didn't think I would ever be able to wear this dress again without thinking of the events of this evening. With a choked sob, I pulled it off, fumbling at the buttons and tearing it from my body before throwing it to the floor in disgust. I sank into the chair in front of the dressing table and rapidly removed what remained of my make-up, feeling the tears making my eyes sting as they threatened to overflow.
A memory rose unbidden, of that night that I was seated here for the first time as the new Mrs Marchand. Such a happy occasion with a future of so much potential before us both. I could never have imagined that it would end up like this. I remembered Charles' comment about my necklace and cast my gaze down towards it. I frowned, not quite believing what I was seeing and a chill ran up my spine making me shiver. A few days ago, I'd seen the bright green of the central stone marred by several burgundy coloured veins that had suddenly appeared running through the gem but I'd not thought anything of it. Somehow, without my noticing, the threads had spread and merged together until the entire surface glowed a deep dark red.
--
There. Now you can read that while I'm catching up on LJ!
[I can't be the only writer-y person who gets inspired in the bathroom. The shower seems to be the most inspirational place for me. I presume it's because while I'm busy scrubbing away, my mind is free to think about other things and that's when it starts working on novels and other fic. Even if I'm not actually writing something at the time! And I really do start writing it in my head, not just thinking over the scenario but actually constructing the sentences. I need some kind of waterproof recording device, I tell you.]
Anyway, I didn't quite manage to write everything that I'd been envisioning earlier on - just half of it - but I still got an extra 2000 words done. That put my final total at 52,317 which I'm very pleased with. Out of the 15 chapters I'd planned out, I got 9 of them done so that's not bad at all. Now I just need to make sure that I get those last 6 written! My first NaNo novel from 2005 is still incomplete and I'd rather not have that happen again. Especially as in January and February the NaNo site turns towards supporting the revision and publishing process and I can't take part in that if it's unfinished!
This novel has been a difficult write, primarily because it was in a genre that I've previously only dabbled in (drabbled in seems more appropriate). In some ways it's similar to what I had envisioned but I'm not entirely sure that I've produced anything of merit. For those who are interested to know more about what I was working on, this is the final scene that I wrote on Sunday.
The Dreamstone
Note: this is Violet, the secondary plot that I added, and it's set in early 1930s.
Charles arrived home around about a quarter past six every night and I made sure that the evening meal was on the table soon afterwards. He would tell me a little about the events of his day, generally just how well the business was doing and his grand plans for the future of the company and I would do the same about mine. He always listened politely although I'm sure hearing about what Mrs Smith had done with her jam or how Mrs Jones had caused a stir with her brand new hat didn't really interest him. However, on this particular day in early August, I couldn't wait for him to return as the news I had to share today was not only more startling but much more personal.
I always made an effort to look nice for Charles when he came home, but tonight I made an extra special effort. I put on a dress that I knew he liked as it flattered my figure particularly well. Gazing at my reflection in the mirror, I smoothed the fabric down over my hips and stomach, resting my hands on my abdomen for a moment with a slight smile. Moving over to my dressing table, I checked my hair was still in place and touched up my make-up. Charles didn't like me to wear very much, he thought it was tacky, so I tended to stick to the bare minimum. A little bit of rouge on my cheeks, some light powder and lipstick was all I needed to look beautiful in his eyes. I reapplied a slick of red to my lips and blotted it off with a tissue. The finishing touch was a quick spritz of perfume on my neck and wrists.
I went down the front stairs and took my usual seat in the parlour where I picked up the knitting I'd started earlier to continue while I waited. A short time later, the small carriage clock on the mantlepiece chimed the quarter hour and I turned my head to the hallway where I expected to hear the door opening any moment. Quickly finishing off the row I was in the middle of knitting, I bundled it up and returned it to the case down by the side of my chair. The clock ticked loudly in the still room, making me aware of every passing second. Still the door didn't open. I wasn't unduly concerned at first, there were times when Charles was held up a little at work but he was never later than half past six.
Half an hour came and went and there was still no sign of him. When the butler came to enquire as to whether I wished to eat just yet, I told him shortly that I would wait until Charles came home. When he still hadn't appeared by seven o'clock, I dined alone. Returning to the parlour afterwards, I continued with my knitting for lack of something else to do. The constant ticking of the mantlepiece clock began to grate on my nerves after a while and so I elected to listen to the wireless while I knitted in order to blot out the noise. It was hard to concentrate on either. I pulled back several rows when I realised I had made a noticeable error, knitted them again only to discover that I had made more mistakes. I wrapped the whole thing up and shoved it into the case in silent fury.
The night dragged by, every minute seeming to last at least double its usual length. I didn't know what to do with myself. I would sit in the chair staring into the middle distance with the wireless crackling in the corner but not taking in a single word. When I couldn't take sitting still any longer, I would pace the floor from one end of the room to the other, mutely begging and pleading with God to bring my beloved Charles home to me. When I grew sick of the to-ing and fro-ing, I would throw myself back into the chair and the cycle would start again. The dratted clock on the mantlepiece kept a steady count of my misery, marking each 15 minutes with another chime.
By half past eight, I was near senseless with worry and hated every sonorous tick the clock produced. I found myself standing in front of the fireplace with it in my hands, imagining dashing it to the floor and watching the pieces scatter themselves every which way. I couldn't bring myself to put my thoughts into action, not with this clock. It was one that my parents had received themselves on their own wedding day and which my father had presented to me on the night before my own. It was this same clock that had watched his similar night of grief several years before when he paced the kitchen floor waiting for my mother to come home. The similarity was not lost on me and in my misery, I began to suspect that it was the clock that was at the very root of it all. Lost in my own thoughts as I was, I didn't register at first that the front door had opened. When I realised, I almost dropped the clock in my hurry to get to the door.
I rushed into the hallway, desperate to find out where Charles had been but as soon as I got close to him, his whereabouts for the past few hours was blatantly obvious. The man stank of alcohol and cigarette smoke, and while not completely intoxicated, he was unable to stand upright without swaying. I looked at him in disgust and would have laid into him immediately if not for the soft cough that sounded at my elbow.
"Could I be so bold as to suggest a lot of strong black coffee, ma'am?" the butler asked in his calm voice. I swallowed down my anger for the moment and nodded. He quietly ordered the maid to bring the beverage to the parlour when it was ready while I attempted to get Charles to go that way. It took both the butler and I to manhandle my husband into the room as he had other ideas but we finally managed to get him seated in a fashion on the sofa. The coffee arrived and I then began the arduous task of getting Charles to drink it. By halfway through the second cup, he was starting to recover his senses and as he started his explanation, the butler withdrew.
"I'm sorry, my love," he said first.
"I've been worried sick!" I spat at him, "While you have been enjoying yourself in the nearest pub!"
He closed his eyes briefly and gave a little sigh. "I wasn't enjoying myself," he replied, "I was hiding." That made me pause and Charles looked up at me. "I've been such a fool."
So many different thoughts ran through my head. Had he been having an affair? Was there another woman? Had I been so blind and so stupid as to think that someone from our vastly different backgrounds could really be happy together? "Go on," I managed to say.
"You must remember at the end of last year when the business was failing and it was only saved by a new contract that came in the nick of time?" I nodded, wondering where he was going with this. "It wasn't exactly a new contract, it was one that I'd refused a few times before but with the way the business was going and the amount of people that relied on it, I got to the point whre I couldn't justify doing that any longer. So I sought the gentleman out and told him that I had changed my mind and would finally accept his offer."
"You said you were sending supplies to Canada," I remembered.
He nodded. "It wasn't entirely truthful. The ships were going to Canada, that was true but it wasn't supplies they were carrying. It was people."
I felt a cold shiver run over my body. "You were sending people to Canada? But none of the ships are set up to carry passengers. And doesn't that have specific requirements for Customs?" Charles nodded and took another mouthful of coffee. The hairs prickled at the back of my neck as I finally realised what he meant. "You were illegally smuggling people into a foreign country." I covered my mouth with my hands.
"You wouldn't believe the amount of people that wanted to leave. We crammed into the cargo holds and covered them over with the tarpaulins. At the front of each hold, we'd stack sacks of flour or some such other cargo so that when the customs chaps checked, they'd find we were transporting dry goods as listed on our docket. It was one of the benefits of having such a reputable name and long-standing business, most of the chaps knew our captains very well, so they didn't always check thoroughly. Then this afternoon, I got a telephone call from Stan. He said that there was a new customs official checking them out today..."
"Oh, Charles," I breathed.
"When he told me that they were coming to the office to get me, I panicked. I knew I had a few minutes before they would arrive so I told my secretary that I had a meeting and left. I took the car, drove it to the train station and parked there so it would look like I'd got on a train. Then I walked back through the streets until I found a pub and spent several hours there hiding until I felt it was safe to come home. I almost expected to find the police waiting outside for me when I arrived." He stared down into his empty coffee cup. "I did a lot of thinking while I was in the pub, about what I'd done and what this means for us and the company. I know I did the wrong thing and so I'll go down to the police station in the morning and tell them everything. But this means the business is finished. We'll lose everything."
For a moment, I couldn't speak. I tried to get my thoughts straight but my emotions were so fraught that I couldn't get a grip on them. Just when I started to form something slightly coherent, I'd feel a surge of anger or disgust or fear and the thought would slither away like grubs under a stone exposed to the light. I couldn't believe that the man I loved and thought the world of could have done such a thing. Part of me understood that he had done it because he felt so responsible, not just for his family but for the workers at the company. He had risked everything and as a result, had lost it all. The thought of being out on the street made me feel ill. When Charles had mentioned the possibility several months ago it had been bad enough but now that there were babies to take care of as well, I had no idea how we would cope. I knew that my father wouldn't see us struggle but his resources were limited enough as it was.
"What are we going to do?" I whispered fearfully.
Charles put his empty coffee cup down on the table before taking both of my hands and looking at me intensly. "This is all my doing and I hate that you and the children have to suffer for that. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure that you are taken care of." He looked so solemn and yet so earnest that my heart went out to him. He was so determined to be punished for his crime and I couldn't help but feel a little pride at that. He cupped my face with one hand and gave me a gentle kiss on the forehead. "You're exhausted," he said. "Go to bed, darling, everything will look better in the morning, I promise you."
I realised at that moment just how tired I was. The emotions of the night had left me feeling completely wrung out. I nodded and got up from the sofa. "Good night, Charles," I said, tenderly touching his cheek with my fingers. He took hold of my hand and dropped a kiss into the palm.
"Good night, Violet. I love you, my darling." I blushed a little, unaccustomed to such a display of affection and left the room.
Upstairs in the bedroom I shared with Charles, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, feeling some sort of comfort from its sheer solidness. I couldn't bear the thought that we might lose this house. Marchand House had been in the family for numerous generations and for my husband to be the one that ended that was shameful. My anger flared once again as I thought over what he'd done. I would never have taken him to be so easily led into a life of shady business practices and criminal dealings. He may have had good intentions, wanting to secure the future finances for his own family as well as those of the workers but to get involved in smuggling was so unlike him. As a result of his sheer stupidity, we were going to lose it all.
I paced into the centre of the room, feeling like I needed to be moving to work out my feelings and anger on this situation. As I walked, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror above my dressing table. It was only a few hours ago that I was in here, dressing to please my husband. I didn't think I would ever be able to wear this dress again without thinking of the events of this evening. With a choked sob, I pulled it off, fumbling at the buttons and tearing it from my body before throwing it to the floor in disgust. I sank into the chair in front of the dressing table and rapidly removed what remained of my make-up, feeling the tears making my eyes sting as they threatened to overflow.
A memory rose unbidden, of that night that I was seated here for the first time as the new Mrs Marchand. Such a happy occasion with a future of so much potential before us both. I could never have imagined that it would end up like this. I remembered Charles' comment about my necklace and cast my gaze down towards it. I frowned, not quite believing what I was seeing and a chill ran up my spine making me shiver. A few days ago, I'd seen the bright green of the central stone marred by several burgundy coloured veins that had suddenly appeared running through the gem but I'd not thought anything of it. Somehow, without my noticing, the threads had spread and merged together until the entire surface glowed a deep dark red.
--
There. Now you can read that while I'm catching up on LJ!