my 100,0000 word novel

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Hypatia
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Location: Oz or Kansas?

my 100,0000 word novel

Post by Hypatia » June 29th, 2013, 11:18 am

It is being published by Megadodo Publications™
Coming soon to book stores on the planet Bartledan



A fresh Macadam road, till it packs down smooth, is a bitch
Last edited by Hypatia on June 30th, 2013, 2:31 pm, edited 3 times in total.
I used to be smart.

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stilltrucking
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so many voices he cried laughing

Post by stilltrucking » June 29th, 2013, 11:59 am

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Hypatia
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Mostly Harmless cut and paste

Post by Hypatia » June 30th, 2013, 9:40 am

Breathing and wishing for things, on the other hand, was just about all that Arthur seemed to do all day. ...On his own. In his small room. So far from the world which had given birth to him that his brain could not even process the sort of numbers involved without just going limp.
He preferred not to think about it. He preferred just to sit and read --- or at least he would prefer it if there was anything worth reading.
... He had just read an entire book in which the main character had, over the course of a week, done some work in his garden, played a great deal of netball, helped mend a road, fathered a child on his wife and then unexpectedly died of thirst just before the last chapter. In exasperation Arthur had combed his way back through the book and in the end had found a passing reference to some problem with the plumbing in Chapter 2. And that was it. So the guy dies. It just happens.
It wasn't even the climax of the book, because there wasn't one. The character died about a third of the way through the penultimate chapter of the book, and the rest of it was just more stuff about road-mending. The book just finished dead at the one hundred thousandth word, because that was how long books were on Bartledan.
Arthur threw the book across the room, sold the room and left. He started to travel with wild abandon ...























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I used to be smart.

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Hypatia
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Location: Oz or Kansas?

Echo

Post by Hypatia » June 30th, 2013, 2:20 pm

Narcissus gets all the ink.

In the struggle for the legal tender suppose I had to write to get by. Oh but I do have to write to get by, to keep on, to maintain statistical sanity but suppose I had to do it to earn my daily bread? How much money did Hunter S. Thompson have in the bank when he died I wonder?

I don't think I could.
I used to be smart.

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