hey it's nanowrimo. i have tips bc i've done it about 34 times.
Don't edit. Ever. Stop it. If you just decide to start a new project half thru this one with all new characters, no problem. pick up and keep writing as if you'd already written the first half of that.
"but i spelled it wrong" whatever. "but the grammar" whatever. make it exist first. no time for sense. think like you're working on a typewriter. no backspace. only forward go.
Don't re-read further than a paragraph or two backwards. "did i mention the gun before?" listen - it doesn't matter. if you need there to be a gun there, the gun is there. put it back in once you finish the book.
"i forgot the specifics of X thing i already wrote" whatever. change it, make a note/comment to figure it out later, and just write what makes sense for the moment. "no raquel it's legit the characters name and origin" idc that character is now reborn as Claudius from Elsewhere. it's fine.
only you see your mistakes. nobody else knows. one of the ways writing and dance overlap - only you know the choreography. nobody else will know if you miss a step, so just keep dancing and pretend you meant to do it like that.
it's an illusion that you need to write linearly - from point A to point B to point C. Nah; that's just timeline propaganda. I've written a LOT of books out of order and just reordered them once i've finished. if you have a scene you'd LOVE to write but can't get there yet because of plot, just fuckin write the scene. I've always found its easier to establish "point F" "point J" and "Point A" and then wiggle my way between those scenes.
write what you WANT to write. 230 pages of smut? of well-researched discussion on bread? whatever. the point is to strengthen muscles however you can.
if you miss a day, a week, whatever. not the end of the world. we all have dry days. also time is a myth so u can do this challenge whenever u want.
as soon as you try to write for a specific audience, you kill your voice. you are writing for yourself. stop thinking about how people will take ur book. it don't matter. what matter is u, enjoying writing. i luv u.
play to your strengths. i have characters talk so much because i don't know how to write a plot if it kills me but i'm really good at dialogue so.
i love a flight of fancy. write a poem in there. shift tactics and write in code. keep it fun for yourself.
see what happens if you shift something major about ur main characters - gender, wealth, superpowers. or if you change point-of-view. or if you kill everyone in a big explosion. do NOT edit anything before this or after it. often these little weird one-off exercises teach me what interests me about what i'm working on. it is never what i thought. plus it is a fun way to add like 1k words.
stretch.
it's for fun and for practice. stop doing that project if it's giving you anxiety. once my nano was literally 50k words of half-started stories. just things i tried and tried and tried and wasn't able to flesh out. oops. but i am now 50k words of a better writer.
add dragons?
read books/listen to books on tape/etc. people often make the mistake of "buckling down" to just write. you need inspiration. you need to like. fill up on words. you need to remember how it feels to lose yourself in a story.
i don't have the time or space to really talk about this in this post but a lot of creative people turn to drugs/alcohol because it can help you be more creative. this is harmful, and walking a blade that only cuts deep. if you notice you and your loved ones are turning more to substances, please know i love you and i hope you are able to get help soon. i feel like this almost never gets mentioned because it's kind of a hazy underbelly to art. you are always more important than the work.
on that note. drink your fukin. water.
don't talk about a story until you've finished it. once you tell the story, it exists already, and isn't about discovery. i usually have a very canned "haha we'll see" response.
grapes :) tasty snack.
i love you be free.
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Ingo knows this decision is... deceitful, possibly. But he’s legally an adult, now. Drayden had said he would hand over Kubo’s journals at this point, but he hadn’t. And, well... Ingo is tired of asking. He knows Emmet is just as tired of asking. What else can he do, but to take matters into his own hands? Doesn’t he have the right to it?
It takes a while for him to figure out the safe’s code. He had to be sneaky about it. Which is difficult. That’s always been Emmet’s forte. Ingo is loud in everything he does, and has never really had much of a reason to not be. Still, he manages it, because this is important, so of course he does. He can do anything if it’s important.
He acquires the safe’s code. And he waits for everyone to sleep.
He doesn’t tell Emmet what he is doing. For one, if he gets caught, he doesn’t want Emmet to be burned along with him. And for another, he knows Emmet dislikes doing things behind others’ backs. He’s truthful in everything he does, and it would eat at him to do something of this nature. He’s an open book, and that’s how he likes it. Sure, he’s mischievous, he likes to sneak up behind people to surprise them and play pranks, but this is on a different scale. This is no prank.
So Ingo sneaks alone.
It feels surreal when he finally gets his hands on it. The journal is a plain black and white school composition book, ordinary in every way. The signature on the front is neatly done, despite the young hands that wrote it. The first few pages in the book is innocuous, little doodles and cursive practice writing. Nothing to garner alarm, nothing to hide from children.
The fifth page is when the writing begins to take a turn. Ingo, safely in his room now with his stolen treasure, sits down heavily on his desk chair. Chandelure illuminates the pages for him, and it’s a calming light, so he does not turn on his desk lamp.
Today I had a dream, the entry begins. I woke up this morning because I thought I was dying. I couldn’t breathe when I woke up for a second. I can’t remember what I dreamt about. I just thought I was dying.
These are not the types of things a child should be dreaming about. Nightmares at that age, from what Ingo could remember, were typically over stupid things like scary clowns or falling off a tree. Death wasn’t something children often thought about.
Kubo was an exception.
He continues to read. The nightmares continue.
I remember my dream this time, said the 17th entry. Father broke a glass bottle on my head. He kept stabbing me with the pieces. I couldn’t breathe because he shoved a piece of glass through my neck.
I liked it better when I didn’t remember.
Ingo sets the journal down, for a moment, hangs his head between his knees, and breathes. Chandelure chimes in worry, and he reaches a hand to pet her round surface, seeking her comforting warmth.
After taking in a few more breaths, he picks the journal back up and continues reading.
There’s more than just nightmares. The nightmares are what claw at Ingo’s conscience, but there’s more than that.
Today was a good day, says entry #24. Ingo and Emmet were playing with their train set today, and were acting out a story. The train was getting hijacked by bandits, and the conductor tricked the bandits into an empty car in the very back and broke the coupler. It was really cool. They’re good story tellers.
Ingo’s heart goes soft.
Entry #28. Today Emmet named every part of a steam locomotive. He’s so smart! Ingo’s not far behind, I think. They’ll probably be able to get their certification early. Can you legally be certified as a teenager in the Unova region?
Entry #33. I found out that Jigglypuff can blow up their bodies like hot air balloons! You can hold on to their legs and they’ll float you places! I know there aren’t any in Unova, but I want one as my starter SO bad! Maybe I can start my journey in another region first, then take on the Unova circuit later?
Entry #41. Apparently, the fastest train in the world isn’t in Unova. Clearly, the universe is out to get me. I’m going to design a faster train and get it built here no matter what.
Entry #49. I was watching TV today and they did a special program about triple battles. There was so much going on that it was hard to follow, but I loved it. Usually everything is so slow. Are there triple battle tournaments? There should be. I’ll make one if there isn’t.
Entry #57. Emmet and Ingo were talking about a subway where you have battles in the cars. That is the coolest thing I’ve ever heard. It sounds like it came out of an action movie.
The nightmares don’t stop. If anything, they become more frequent. But it’s not the only thing there. It makes Ingo’s heart ache and melt in equal measures.
Kubo loved his brothers. He adored them. The proof was right there in the pages. He never once said a single thing bad about them.
Entry #78. I know Ingo and Emmet do not like me.
Ingo sucks in a sharp breath.
It’s not their fault. I know they think I’m not like them, and they wouldn’t know because our parents want it that way. I’m not allowed to like trains. I’m supposed to focus on my studies. I need to smile when they tell me to and laugh when it’s appropriate. I’m their prodigy child. I hate it.
I want to be like Emmet and Ingo. I wanna talk about trains and become a conductor too. I want to flap my hands without getting smacked. I want to talk so much it would make strangers sick. Parents are awful.
I think they’re killing me.
I don’t want to die like this.
The neat, mature writing turns just a bit sloppy towards the end. More like that of a child’s handwriting, something that you wouldn’t associate with Kubo. After all, Kubo wasn’t allowed to be a kid. As smart as he is, that intelligence was probably his greatest curse.
In their parents’ eyes, intelligence was the same as maturity. If Kubo could do high school mathematics, then he would be treated like a teenager. A young adult.
And their idea of how a teenager should be treated wasn’t exactly exemplary.
Entry #90. Emmet and Ingo have gone on their journey. Our parents practically shoved them out the door. I was too scared to ask to go with them. I wish I was less of a coward.
At least there’s no chance of mother and father doing anything to them anymore if I act out of line.
This is it, Ingo thinks. This is the point in which things go from bad to worse.
He’s not sure he wants to continue. The nightmares were bad enough. For the dreams to become reality, he’s not sure he can take it.
He soldiers on anyways.
Entry #113. Mother hit me today. Not a smack on the back of the head. She hit me. She’s never done that before, but I wasn’t surprised. She caught me reading Ingo’s book of Locomotives from Around the World. I just wanted to read the section on Kalos, I thought it would be quick. I focused too hard and ended up reading the whole thing.
Entry #126. I forgot to laugh at father’s “joke.” I didn’t get what was funny. He should get a better sense of humor. And the ability to take constructive criticism.
He locked me in my room and took away my toys. Joke’s on him, I didn’t play with any of them anyways.
Entry #142. I got locked up again. Father hit me with his belt. I got angry at mother because she said something rude about Emmet. I called her a nasty witch. I’d do it again without hesitation. She deserved it.
Entry #160. Father said how nice it was that I was quiet, so I made sure to be extra loud today. He hit me with his belt again. Mother complained that getting blood stains off my sheets is too hard. Does she realize that she sounds insane? Who says that so casually?
Ingo is loud. Would they have done this to Ingo? That’s scarier than them doing it to me, I think. I’m glad it was me.
Entry #185. Father choked me so hard that it is probably going to bruise. I can’t speak right now. I thought he was going to snap my neck. They might actually kill me.
I refuse to die like that. If I’m going to die, it won’t be by their hands.
Entry #199. I am either going to escape tonight, or die tonight. Probably both. I can’t stand to be here anymore.
I wish I went with Ingo and Emmet. The only reason they didn’t like me was because of mother and father. If I went with them, I think everything would have been perfect.
I want to hear their stories. I want to see them battle. They’re going to be so cool when they’re conductors.
I hope they don’t think this is their fault. I don’t think I would have survived this long without them anyways. They're the only people in this life that I love.
I wish we got to know each other without mother and father looming over our shoulders.
Ingo shuts the journal.
He wished he got to know Kubo like that, too.
For once, just for a moment, he actually believes that this tragedy wasn’t his fault. Kubo never held anything against them. Kubo was bright, and knew who drove the wedge between the brothers. He loved Ingo and Emmet, and loved them so fiercely in direct opposition to their parents’ wishes.
Ingo feels a newfound love for Kubo as well. Feels love for the person he got to see through the words of a boy long passed. It’s hot and fierce and gentle all at once. He now knows his youngest brother in a way he never did before, nearly a decade after his death. Kubo, who was defiant and protective. Kubo, who was understanding and mature beyond his years. Kubo, who was filled with curiosity and admiration in spades, taking in all of what the world had to offer and asking, wishing for more.
Kubo, who was nine years old, and who loved his brothers unconditionally. Who deserved to be loved just as much.
He picks up the journal, and goes to wake Emmet.
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It is probably a neurodivergent thing because I feel like a lot of the people I know relate;
a person, regardless of how self-aware or intentional they are in their aesthetic or personality, is not just themselves, standing or sitting with you. One individual has a whole kind of "vibe" about them, which is very specific to them because it is the fusion of their style and personality and interests. Obviously the popularization of "aesthetics" through social media probably has a lot to answer for in this, but it's kind of nice.
This middle aged white man in a black puffer jacket and chinos... Mustard and lake water, TV ambience and coffee, enduring love, working hard, engineering.
Like, obviously this is all artistic and romanticised but I just get it.
I think that could be part of why music is so attractive to us. Every song is a whole atmosphere, and an album is a whole vibe And most musicians have a defined, manufactured visual and personal aesthetic to them. I feel like sometimes musicians and actors play a persona of themselves in interviews. We get so much more information from a subject than just... It.
Maybe and sometimes definitely it's wrong if we create so much chaos around looks and fashion before we know someone through conversation, and certainly we should not make assumptions about one another. I know that that sentence didn't make much grammatical sense but that's the way I thought it.
Creating characters I start with a vibe and it creates the person, rather than starting with the person and learning the "vibe" like we do in reality.
And I feel like this is when nd people become truly creative. We are so attracted to media because it's a controlled way of observing the world.
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