So, NaNoWriMo 2005 is over.

According to Word, my unofficial count is 7,386 words.

My unofficial nonNaNoWriMo count is 16932, plus reading notes, ideas scribbled on paper, things that didn't get typed but are part of the story all the same.

That's 24300 words total.

So, with this, I present you the other finished scenes that I have written. Don't worry, I haven't abandoned this, I just have to make plans. Because, somehow, I got into November with plenty of dreams but not enough plans.

As for the word count? November has to be THE WORST month to ask college students to write 50k. September or October would be better. Even December with its finals week.

Or maybe I just don't have the discipline.

But I will finish this story some day. It will probably be horribly out of date by the time I'm finished, but I will finish it.

Without further ado... the rest of what is complete and typed:( Read more... )

7,040 / 25,000 (28.2%)

Next chunk of my novel, as I am a feedback whore. No, I don't want to hear about how ridiculous I was for writing UM and MSU into it.

( Scene #3 )

In other news, school is going to kick my ass this weekend if I don't assassinate it first. I'm going up north with Jeff's family this weekend, and Jeff promises I'll have plenty of time to work on things.

I need to do some reading hard core, so I'm going to do that. I don't know why I'm not posting anything substantive about my daily life anymore. I think it's because I have too many people to tell about my daily life, so I don't feel the need to write it down. I need to get back in the habit, but... ::sigh::

I felt like some instant gratification.

( 1240 words of my novel )

"Mr. President, are you planning on any last minute appointments?"

His dark eyebrow tweaked and a wry smile crossed his face. "If I planned them, they wouldn't be last minute. No, Ms. Gould, I will not use that particular trick of the executive trade. I find that it is not in the best interest of a Statesman."

The room errupted into a thunder of questions. "What will you do with your retirement?" shouted a reporter near Stephanie. The rest of the crowd silenced its shouts for attention as it heard a question they, too, would like answered.

"Are you planning on writing your memoirs?" Added a reporter near the back of the press corp -- someone getting their reporting legs on the last day of a successful presidency.

Any semblence of amusement left his face. He frowned, and tugged on the lapels of his suit jacket, straightening the shoulders. "Memoirs, are written by those who are aware of their own mortality. They're written in order to warn the next generation of possible pitfalls and dangers in the world.

"If they're written for the wrong reasons, they become media sensations that simply are post-political career campagining for the history books. They don't offer any advice.

"The problem with the entire genre of memoirs is that the next generation will always make their own mistakes; tell their own stories. I will not write my memoirs because I do not want to foster the false hope that I will make some difference to myself.

"That does not mean that I will not write, that I will not publish. I will. But what I will write will be a warning to my grandparents. And my parents. About how the choices they made shaped me, and shaped my generation, and shaped a nation. I will write to my anscestors because their political, social, and econonmic choices made me. They made their decisions for all the wrong reasons. "

He looked over at the thin, war torn press secretary in the corner. She stepped forward. "No more questions for the President, thank you."