Author: Scott Andrews

10,000 Words

In 6 days of writing I have comfortably broken the 10,000 word barrier.  I can now say to myself that I am 20% finished.  It is a pretty awesome, awe-inspiring feeling as it makes be believe that writing a 50,000 word novel in a month is well within the reams of possibility.  The fact that NaNoWriMo gives you daily word targets gives you a greater sense of exactly where you are in regards to completing your novel which in turn helps you keep your feet on your ground, and keep you focused.

At the moment I feel this project is far removed, and so different from anything I have ever written in my life.  Whether it will end up as a failed experiment or something I can be proud of I don’t know.  It’s exciting to be working on something which is pushing me as a writer.  It is a million miles from my comfort zone.  I have banned myself from reading it, and I shall do my level best to resist the temptation until November is finished, this way I can be assured that there will be at least one person excited to read it.

In the last update I was talking about how unusual words can come up when you write and grab your attention.  The recent word which has fascinated me is ‘lambasted’.  When you read it with a southern english accent it sounds like it means ‘to break something with a young sheep’.

Every Little Helps

I am aware that city life isn’t for the faint hearted.  I have read a great deal about how life in the 21st century seems to be one ultra competitive race to the coffin.  What I haven’t heard about is why exactly more and more people are turning into arseholes?

Admittedly I didn’t have an idealistic childhood.  Despite that, I did learn a thing or two when I was young.  Most notably that good manners cost nothing.

I am far from a model citizen.  I accept that I suffer from an overly liberal-minded tongue.  However if I am in a rush I will say excuse me as I push past people.  If I tread on someone inadvertently I will apologise.  If someone holds a door open for me I will say thank you.

What frustrates me the most about the apparent disappearance of manners is that I now reside in a society which is overwhelmingly Christian yet nowhere have I more keenly felt the absolute rejection of the concept of ‘loving’ your neighbour than here in Poland.  I have no idea whether manners have eroded to such an extent in other countries.  Just the very thought is disheartening.

Countless times I have met people from other countries who have a somewhat archaic view of Britain.  It seems that the common opinion is that Britain stops everything for tea, we only ever talk about the weather, our food is awful and our people are overly polite.  The very fact that our politeness stands out either says something great about our culture or says something negative about theirs.  I have lost count of the number of times I have been asked why do you say thank you for everything?  You get change in a shop you say thank you, someone holds open the door you say thank you, you get off the bus you thank the driver.  For them they can’t imagine why we do these things, for me I can’t imagine why they don’t.

I can’t speak for my country, however I can speak for myself.   I do these things for two reasons, the first is not out of any sense of moral obligation nor due to religious instruction.  I do these things because they are things I can do to make the world a little more pleasant.  And the second reason is the fact that I am not an ignorant arsehole.

It’s On

Today the starting pistol was fired for NaNoWriMo.  I wouldn’t say my start was a flyer, alas it wasn’t too bad either.  1700 words in on what will be a 50,000 word journey is quite an intimidating thought.  I feel like I am standing in front of Everest.  I am scared but also exhilarated.  I am the master of my fate for the next month.  Come the end of November, if I fail I shall only have myself to blame.   I shall try to keep posting on my blog, obviously I shan’t have so much time, at the least I shall keep adding progress reports.

It’s a strange irony that the 1st of November is not only the day I have started my novel, but it is also the day of the dead here in Poland.  As death is a key theme in this project, and death is absolutely everywhere, it’s hard to actually think of much else.  I intend on writing a more detailed post about this peculiar Polish holiday later in the week.  What I will say for now is that it the inspiration is working for me.

One of the many wonders of writing for me is when you find yourself typing a word that you seldom use.  So much so that when you say the word aloud it makes you smile.  Todays word was ‘skittish’.  Is it me or does it sound a little like a nationality?  Maybe it’s used to describe people from St Kitts?  Anyway, enough of my nonsense, I have to get ready to join the real world.

Two And A Half Days Until Lift Off

As I previously mentioned, I have signed up to http://www.nanowrimo.org and have every intention of writing a 50,000 word novel in November.  I am pumped and can’t wait for Tuesday to come around so I can get started.  You can still sign up for a month of madness, so if you haven’t already put your name down for passage on this fantastic voyage do it now.  You know you want to.

I have decided upon my subject for November.  I feel it is quirky enough to get 50,000 words from.  Not only that I get to fulfill a long-held personal ambition.  Since I decided to participate I have had an idea in my head which has already started to take on a life of its own.  I know that between now and the time I finished this project I will not be able to sleep.  Today I filled in my synopsis on the NaNoWriMo website so I feel able to publicly share the very loose basis for the project.  Of course it may change a thousand times through November but for today it is correct.  So here you are, the brief outline to my new novel.  Are you sitting comfortably?

There are three things which can irrevocably change a man’s life. Death, God and saying the wrong thing at precisely the wrong moment. Unfortunately for Professor Henry Tomlinson he has recently experienced all three. As Henry desperately tries to cling onto the remnants of his sanity he gets pursued by ninjas, hunted by journalists and stalked by priests. Can Henry get through this ordeal without losing his mind, and if he does what kind of Henry Tomlinson will remain?

The Jesus Bus

It was a quiet Thursday afternoon.  I was minding my own business when the bus stopped and a vision so horrifying I almost cried aloud clambered up the steps.  Mormons.

These terrifying apparitions almost always hunt in pairs.  They dress in a business like way to avoid people recognising them at first glance.  Only a small lapel badge gives you any warning at all.  They are undoubtedly pure evil.

These creatures are not selective with their targets, instead they opt for quantity rather than quality.  They will approach you with questions about God.  If you do anything other than run away screaming they will hang onto you like a horny rottweiler hangs onto a postman’s leg.  Their mission on earth is two-fold.  The first is to create a universe where everybody looks the same.  The second is to eradicate any semblance of personality they encounter.  Then and only then will Mormons actually have a chance of getting laid.

I felt them train their sights on me.  I have witnessed it countless times.  They always target the people who are alone.  I turned my back to them and pretended to study the nearest window.  I heard footsteps getting closer and closer.  A tap on my shoulder.  It took every ounce of willpower not to scream in terror.  And then the question.

‘could you spare a few moments to talk about our lord?’

Our lord I thought.  I didn’t know I had a lord, I was certain this was some kind of Jedi-Mormon mind trick.  I tried to string together a sentence.  It was no good.  My lips were dry.  No sound came out.  Then I realised they were talking to me.  There were words like Jesus, God and sin.  I knew if I started to listen I would get off the bus with a white shirt, a tie and a side parting.  In my head I tried to hum a tune to block out the noise and save the surviving molecules of personality which I had managed to retain in 30 years of my existence but the only song I could think of was Umbongo Umbongo they drink it in the jungle.  The problem was that was the only line I knew.  I could feel my blood pressure rising.  If I didn’t act soon I was sure that all the spirituality and righteousness on the bus would almost certainly make my head explode.  I took a deep breath, and caught the end of a sentence about someone dying to save us.  I cleared my throat and asked loud enough for the entire bus to hear.

‘Sorry.  Did you just fart?’

It was then I discovered that Mormons don’t believe in loving thy neighbour.  They both scowled at me as if I was something they had trod in, one of them told me that I was crazy and then they both walked away.  After giving it some thought I realised that they had a point, that I must in fact be crazy.  After all I was the one who approached a complete stranger on the bus and tried to convince him of the existence of a mythical creature which lives in the clouds and made absolutely everything in the universe.  I must remember to book me an appointment with a psychiatrist tomorrow.