Chaoskid's NANO 2008

Done and done.

2008-11-30T17:51:00.003-06:00

Word 50,000: "open".

Some stats and other fun things to come.

Thanksgiving weekend

2008-11-29T14:10:00.003-06:00

Always a tough one. Between feeling the need to sit around and do nothing in honor of any holiday and the need to go out and see friends, not a whole lot gets done. Some quick updates:

Everything is scattered. The main word doc is a mishmash of bits and pieces. I struggle to find things to write about. I can't even figure out an "ending".... This thing is like a big blob of pizza dough...or something. Even my analogies have left me.

But, we are at 47607. A little bit of a push and we'll finish up. So, let's get to it.

Photo backlog

2008-11-29T14:07:00.002-06:00

The worst story ever?

2008-11-26T18:03:00.002-06:00

At 3,460 words, the story (and description of story telling) that I just wrote, and put in Lincoln's mouth is perhaps one of the greatest literary crimes of this, or any other, generation. And I live in Rogers Park where we are blessed with crappy newspapers and horribly written blogs.

One Nano peptalk this month spoke of having terrible things happen to characters you love in order to keep a story moving. I don't think they intended me to do anything this bad.

This is me, hanging my head in shame.

Frustration

2008-11-26T13:21:00.002-06:00

Everything I've read about Lincoln has said that he loved to tell stories. Often, it is said just like that: "Lincoln loved to tell stories." The biography I'm reading now (Team of Rivals) has had a sentence like that, or that sentence, at least five times in the last chapter.

But never are there any examples.

There seems to be a universal lack of Lincoln stories out there. So I'm making one up. And it's gonna be long.

Pho-toe

2008-11-25T23:30:00.000-06:00

Word count after today's writing: 43,034. It's a palindrome!

I have officially jumped the shark.

2008-11-25T12:54:00.000-06:00

“Whether or not you believe me, what I am telling you is true,” said Ward Hill Lamon to the guard at the Wigwam. “I won a contest at the the newspaper for, how many was it?”
John Jay, standing next to Lamon thought for a second and replied, “Seventy-eight, I believe.”
“Yes, seventy-eight tickets to this event. And so, sir, I insist that you allow I and my friends to enter. To refuse us is to deny the very base beliefs that brings all of us here today, namely the cause of Democracy and the right for a man to be heard in the choosing process of the man who will lead him. We aim to do that, sir. You will not deny us.” Lamon’s friends (all seventy-seven of them) burst into spontaneous applause. Some who knew not what the trouble was even began clapping.
“These tickets,” said the guard (whose name was Worthington Lincoln [no relation]), “are obviously counterfeit. They’re on the wrong colored paper, they’re square-shaped instead of rectangulated; they appear to have been printed on top of invitations to a child’s birthday party; they have the wrong date, time, location, and event name; and to top it all off, they’ve already been torn in half. Plus, there’s no official Republican National Committee hologram.”
“Oh, all of that is easily explained. You see, I left them on my windowsill atop the invitations to my son’s birthday party. Subsequently, it rained causing the tickets and the invitations to bleed together.”
“Your son’s name is Lupita?” the guard asked.
“It’s a family name. We call him Looper,” Lamon said. “The weight of the water weakened the tickets to the point that they ripped in half. What else? The color bled, ink ran, and I can’t be held responsible for the RNC misprinting dates, times, and event names.”
“What about the holograms?”
“What the hell is a hologram?”
“It’s a three dimensional image created by a technique that allows the light scattered from an object to be recorded and later reconstructed so that it appears as if the object is in the same position relative to the recording medium as it was when recorded,” the guard explained.
“That sounds really fucking cool,” Lamon admitted. “But are you sure that exists? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Of course it exists,” the guard said. “Do you think I would make something like that up for my own amusement? It is as real as this digital watch I am wearing and my personal digital music player.”
“Where did you get such wonderful toys?”
“People with legitimate tickets received a goodie bag as well. The RNC was quite generous this year. They also included a laptop computer.”
“A what what whowhoter?” Lamon asked.
“A laptop computer. It is a personal computing device. It allows one to literally carry one’s office from place to place and stay in touch no matter where one goes. I can play games of chance, watch motion picture animations, keep my accounts, maintain my correspondence, and much much more, all in the convenience of a device that weighs no more than sixty-two pounds.”
Lamon whistled appreciatively. “That sounds like one hell of a device.”
“You’d know all about this stuff if you held actual tickets to this event.”
“The way I see it, there are seventy-eight of us and only one of you.”
“Oh my goodness,” said the guard, his hand lowering instinctively to the pistol he wore on his belt. “Are you threatening me?”
“Not at all,” Lamon lied.
“Good, because if there’s one thing I absolutely hate more than anything else, it’s being threatened.”
“I hear you on that, brother. Being threatened is the absolute worst.”
“I’m glad we agree there. Look, I think you gentlemen should just leave.”
“And I think you should know better than to fuck with a native Virginian,” Lamon said.
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” He punched the guard in the face, knocking him out. He slipped the guard’s brand new watch off his wrist. “Come on boys, let’s go. John, see if you can figure this thing out.”

Today's summary

2008-11-25T00:44:00.002-06:00

A summary of today's writing because it deserves nothing more:

Kate approached him, laughing to herself. Kate smiled warmly at Booth and said, “I am too.”
Kate asked.
Booth paused, expectantly. Kate lied with a nod. Booth was just as pompous as Kate remembered. Booth exclaimed. Mr. Booth! Please, Mr. Booth. Kate asked.
“I don’t remember,” Kate admitted. “Eggs,” Booth said quickly. “It’s a gun, ‘Arthur,’” Kate whispered.
Kate asked, now completely confused.
Booth took the box from Kate and handed her another. “I gathered that,” Kate said.
Booth laughed maniacally.
Booth said.
Kate asked. The audience applauded; Kate joined in.

Word 40,000

2008-11-24T20:46:00.004-06:00

Word 40,000: "himself"

A photo (again)

2008-11-23T20:41:00.000-06:00

Today's Pic/Yesterday's Summary

2008-11-21T18:39:00.002-06:00

“Booth, wake up,” Kate whispered.
“Shhh,” Kate said. Booth’s face softened. Booth asked.
Booth asked.
Kate asked.
Kate wondered. Kate shoved Booth into the door. “Very funny,” Kate said. Booth eyed Kate’s outfit.

A photo

2008-11-20T23:00:00.000-06:00

An apology to googlers

2008-11-20T10:28:00.002-06:00

A lot of people (well, maybe 3 or 4 a day) are stumbling into this corner of crap accidentally, led here by innocent Google searches. They search for relevant and pertinent information concerning Lincoln, the Election of 1860, and Allan Pinkerton. Instead, they find me.

I'm ever so sorry. Hit the back button on your browser; find the Wikipeda article that probably popped up at the top of your search results. Start there.

Another turning point

2008-11-20T02:16:00.003-06:00

Wearing that 2003 NANOWRIMO shirt.

Hit another kind of turning point today. Or another realization. Or something. Somehow worked into Lincoln's security using a look-alike for his security and then thought, "What if they hired John Wilkes Booth as his look-alike?" Booth was an actor, right? Well.... So then it comes up that Booth might be sent to Baltimore without additional security even knowing that there's an assassination plot -- basically using him as bait. Kate, of course, can't abide by this -- sending an innocent man to his death. This scene kinda hit me as neat:

“Who gives a damn about appearances?” Kate asked. “This is a man’s life I’m talking about.”
“Booth knew what he was getting into when he signed up for the job.”
“So did Lincoln,” Kate countered.
“Touché. But surely you’d agree that Lincoln’s life is worth far more than Booth’s, right?”
“I didn’t come here for a philosophical debate on the value of the life of an individual. I will grant you that Lincoln will do more for the health and prosperity of the Union than Booth will. However, we’re not talking about saving lives here. We’re talking about potentially throwing away one man’s life to preserve the reputation of another.”

So, Kate's going to break him out and take him through Baltimore safely, saving Booth's life, but ultimately dooming Lincoln's. Wubba wubba!

Auto Summarize

2008-11-19T16:44:00.003-06:00

Word's auto-summarization feature is so fascinating to me. It's obviously meant for more structured and expository documents, because when used on fiction, it goes ka-ka crazy. I think they're probably more coherent than my excerpts.

Going to include some of each day's work from now on. I think. Here's today:

Lamon chuckled. “I’ve shown you my credentials,” Kate said. Kate asked.
“Wise words, Miss,” Lamon agreed. Kate shook her head. Lamon sighed. Kate asked.
Kate shrugged. “Fine, Mr. Lamon. Lamon retreated into the suite and beckoned Kate to enter. Lamon shut the door.
Kate asked.
Kate couldn’t believe her ears. Lamon chuckled. Kate asked, astonished. Kate asked.
Lamon said, confused.
“It’s quite impressive,” Kate agreed. Lamon nodded. “John Booth. Kate laughed.
“Ah, now Lincoln’s a fine fellow. If Lincoln goes into Baltimore and is killed, all is lost. Kate asked. “So did Lincoln,” Kate countered.

11/18 Photo

2008-11-18T02:15:00.000-06:00

Word 30,000

2008-11-17T20:53:00.002-06:00

It snowed today. In a few moments, there was accumulation. This is ridiculous!

Word 30,000? Fittingly enough, it was "Kate." She has taken over this "novel" almost completely. Just writing a scene where she catches sight of Lincoln and I realized that it had been over a week since I wrote anything for him. Funny how the first week of November I felt I was so deeply entrenched in Lincoln's head that he was like someone I knew. After a week of writing for Kate, when she see him, I really felt like I no longer knew him at all. Real bizarre.

I'm so much more favorable towards Pinkerton lately. Turns out he was a staunch abolitionist, real seeker of justice.... The Deadwood stuff, of course, comes from one of the most vile people (Swearengen) and naturally he would be opposed to someone who was looking to put an end to his criminal way of life. On the other hand, Pinkerton (or Pinkerton agents) were hired by coal mines to bust up unions and deal harshly with thieves and organizers.... Tough to know, really, which side the man stood on.

Still little hope of integrating this all. People ask me if they can read it when I'm all done and with this one, more than any other, I don't think I'll ever be done. I guess they (you) can read it in its entirety, but....there's right now a real big jump in structure, tone, voice, character between the two parts. Not sure if it makes for a good read. Maybe someone will have a concept of how to put it all together. I'm too deeply into the need to get the words done, perhaps I can leave it to someone else to decide how to put them into the right places, or if it's even worth it....

Something of an excerpt

2008-11-16T22:28:00.003-06:00

It's sweater time!

More writing at Morseland. Makes the hours just melt away. Noticing that this year, although the story is much less coherent, I'm able to get the words done at decent hours. Not nearly as much 3AM writing, or exhaustion, or stuff like this which was simply autobiographical material about what I saw when looking in the mirror one day. 28,531 words and other than killing most contractions, using 2 adjectives when 1 will do, and one or two minor word pads, all the words are honest-to-goodness words that belong. (These are different from good words whose number is much smaller....)

Anyhow, here's some stuff:

Back at the party, Kate noticed strange couple completely out of place at the affair. The gentleman wore a fedora, a long cape, short pants and jackboots, while the woman wore a Chinese robe and her feet were wrapped in dirty gray bandages. Rather than being ostracized, however, they were surrounded by a captive audience. Intrigued, Kate approached the group.
The man was speaking loudly, while the woman danced in circles around him. The crowd that had gathered were clapping along, cheering whenever the man said something that they found particularly poignant.
“….and I say that is bupkis!” shouted the man. “If we are not free to choose are own destiny, why then did our forefathers gather this collective of colonies into a nation in the first place? Would we not at be better off still under British rule? At least then, our tea would not be so expensive!”
The crowd burst into applause. Kate turned to one observer and asked, “Who is that man?”
“That is Mr. Hutcheson,” replied the man. “He is a great speaker, is he not?”
“He’s a great something, alright,” Kate said under her breath. The man was ridiculous, garish, and far too overt in his disdain for the Union to be genuine, Kate thought. But still, it was the strongest lead she had and she would be remiss if she didn’t pursue it. So, she lingered at the edge of the crowd, half-listening to Hutcheson’s rantings while she scanned the crowd for signs of Abernathy and Ferrandini, neither of whom she had seen thus far.
Hutcheson’s speech eventually trailed off, having invoked the wrath of God, good Southerners everywhere, and common decency upon any man, institution or entity who tried to take away his given rights to own another man, drink as much whiskey as he wanted to or dance on Sunday mornings. The crowd dispersed, and Kate was left standing, facing Hutcheson and the dancing woman who was now busy gathering up a handful of coins that the crowd had thrown at their feet. Kate shook her head, wondering what other entertainment the evening would have to offer. She was turning to leave when the Hutcheson stopped her with a piercing gaze, filled with uncomfortable familiarity.
“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting,” Hutcheson said.
“We have not,” Kate replied.
“Ah, yes, well. Allow me to rectify that. I am Mr. John Hutcheson, and this,” he gestured towards the robe-clad woman, “is my associate, Miss Hattie Lewis.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Kate said automatically. “My name is Barley.”
Hutcheson crossed the ten feet of floor that separated them and asked, “Miss Barley?”
Kate sighed. “Yes, Miss Barley. Miss Mary Barley.”
Hutcheson took Kate’s hand and kissed it delicately, though he looked as if he were considering more. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Kate took her hand back distastefully. “Indeed. If you’ll excuse me….” She searched for an excuse to leave Hutcheson’s company.
Hutcheson leaned in more closely and whispered, “I think your cover may have been compromised.”
Kate recoiled in shock. “Who are you?” she demanded.
“Why have you never heard of John H. Hutcheson? Southern loyalist? Performer extrordinaire? Gadfly, layabout, ne’er-do-well? Or perhaps, John H. Hutcheson, comedian, sharpshooter and master chef? No?”
Kate shook her head. Hutcheson lowered his voice again, “Perhaps you have heard of” and his voice changed to one very familiar to Kate “Mr. Allan Pinkerton, detective, loyal Unionist, friend to honesty, foe to crime?”
“Mr. Pinkerton!” Kate hissed.
“Quiet, Kate,” Pinkerton said. “It wouldn’t do to be overheard.”
“When did you arrive? What are you doing here?”
“I arrived this morning, and I’m doing the same thing you’re doing: attempting to serve our country’s good by protecting the life of its leader-to-be.”
Kate gazed past Pinkerton at the dancing woman who was now making a circuit around the room, holding Pinkerton’s hat and asking each man she passed for a donation of any change they could spare.
“Who is she?” Kate asked.
Pinkerton glanced over his shoulder. “Ah, that is Miss Hattie Lawton – she’s going by Lewis on this mission – another fine addition to the Pinkerton Woman’s Detective Agency.”
“The what now?” Kate asked.
“Oh, I neglected to inform you. I’ve decided that my success with you could be duplicated, so I’ve established – much to my sons’ displeasure, mind you – a division within the agency made up of female agents. I know you were proud to be the only woman amongst us, but take heart in knowing that you will always have been the first. And besides, now you’ll have someone to talk to.”
Kate wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I’m not sure that we’d have that much in common.”
“Oh come now,” Pinkerton said. “She’s quite charming, in her own way. She does tend to get lost in her roles, though. I told her to play eccentric, but she’s taken it well beyond there and all the way to flat out crazy.” Pinkerton sighed. “Still, she’s amusing. And very convincing.”
“Speaking of convincing,” Kate said, “that was quite a show you put on there.”
“Did you enjoy it? I was quite proud. Wrote it on the train from Chicago.”
“It was hardly subtle.”
“Subtlety, I’ve found, is not an art that these people have much appreciation for. No, better to go over the top, let people have no doubts about where your loyalties lay.”
“If anyone believed that act, they’ll have no doubts about yours.”
“Exactly.”
“You said that you think my cover may be blown?” Kate asked.
“Indeed. I noticed a distinct chill exhibited towards you by many of those in the crowd. Either they suspect you are a Unionist, or else you did something, in your few days here, to anger them.”
“I did attempt to provoke Ferrandini – you received my letters, didn’t you? – with a prayer for Lincoln’s health,” Kate admitted.
“And why, pray tell, did you do that?”
“I’m not sure. I supposed I had tried everything else.”
“So instead of the subtle approach, you took a blunter tactic,” Pinkerton suggested.
“I imagine I took the wrong approach.”
Lawton returned, Pinkerton’s hat almost filled with coins. Taking the hat from her, Pinkerton asked, “How much, do you think?”
“About twenty-five dollars, all told,” Lawton said.
“This will make a fine donation to someone’s cause,” Pinkerton mused.
“Hello Miss Warne,” Lawton said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Allan has told me so much about you.”
Allan? thought Kate. She calls him Allan?
“I wish I could say the same about you,” Kate replied. “I’ve heard next to nothing about you.”
“Well,” Lawton said, “I’ve only just come on board. But Allan says I’m a natural. That I have a great future ahead of me in the business.”
“That’s splendid. Will you excuse Allan and me for a moment?”
Lawton looked at Pinkerton who, with the slightest movement of his eyes, told her to leave them in private.
“Are you sleeping with her?” Kate demanded.
For the first time in their association, Pinkerton appeared not to have anticipated Kate’s question. “What?” He laughed nervously. “Of course not! Miss Warne, don’t be ridiculous. You sound just like my sons.”
“Well, your sons are as observant as you, sometimes. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. They figured us out rather quickly.”

I don't feel like doing this anymore

2008-11-15T19:21:00.001-06:00

But the show must go on, right?

Word Autosummary at 25,000 words

2008-11-14T19:34:00.001-06:00

Finally, Kate thought, a professional. The chair rotated to face her, revealing a man.
Kate asked. Kate shook her head. This man looked and sounded nothing like the man she had met. Kate gasped, “Mr. Polrink!”
The man smiled. The man stood and extended his hand. Kate asked.
“A test!” exclaimed Kate.
“Not your men? Pinkerton asked.
Kate started. Kate jumped up form her chair. Kate blushed. Kate asked.
You are angry with the man.”
Kate wondered. Kate accompanied Pinkerton on a walk through the city. Pinkerton asked. Presently, two men walked towards where Kate and Pinkerton sat. One man wore Italian leather shoes. Pinkerton nodded. “That is very good, Kate. Kate asked. Pinkerton paused. “Cousin Mary!”
“Ah, Cousin William,” Kate said. Roth said, stepping back to admire Kate.
Kate said. Kate rolled her eyes in disgust. Seated and alone, Kate hissed at the man.
Dear Mr. Pinkerton,

Kate

“Mr. Abernathy,” Kate said. Abernathy took Kate’s hand and kissed it lightly. Kate said.
Abernathy smiled. Abernathy asked.
“Mr. Abernathy!” exclaimed Kate.
Abernathy asked.
Kate started for the door, but Abernathy stopped her. Abernathy opened the door slightly. “Mr. Abernathy,” said the man, hurriedly. Abernathy closed the door and turned to Kate.
Kate watched the man leave, waited a few minutes and then slipped out the door. “What do you know about an Italian man named Ferrandini?”
Dear Mr. Pinkerton,

“You are too cautious, old man. “Barley,” said Kate. The young man nodded and walked to the door. Kate asked.
Kate asked.
“I’m sorry if I interrupted your conversation earlier,” Kate offered.
Kate smiled. “I do,” Kate said. “Oh,” said Kate, studying her reflection. Dear Mr. Pinkerton,

Kate

The men erupted in applause again, shouting huzzahs. “Thank you,” Lincoln said. “Good night, Mr. Lincoln!” Lincoln stifled a laugh. The man on the right, Lincoln recognized. Lincoln didn’t know the man well, but knew of him.
“You are John Bell,” Lincoln replied. Lincoln asked.
“These are trying times, Mr. Lincoln. Lincoln shook his head. Lincoln considered this. “Sir?” “Mr. Lincoln,” Konigmacher started. Lincoln asked.
Dubois asked.
“Cut the man some slack, Abe,” Dubois said. Dubois scoffed. “No,” Lincoln decided. Lincoln thought on this. Dubois laughed. “Mr. Lincoln!” she shouted. Lincoln laughed uproariously, nearly shaking the house. Lincoln playfully swatted Mary’s rear. “You are a naughty man, Mr. Lincoln,” Mary said coquettishly. Mary smiled. The man seemed even more anxious than Dubois to reach the President. As the man passed Dubois, he realized that the man was an actor of some talent and renown though he still could not remember the man’s name. “Good day, sir,” Dubois said, tipping his hat to the man.
The man turned back to face Dubois. “Not agreeable at all!” exclaimed the man. Sir! “…Mr. Lincoln amongst your friends?” Dubois. Lincoln chuckled. Thank you, young man,” said Lincoln.
Just get the man up. “Of course,” said Lincoln. “Untrained militias,” Lincoln mused.
Right, right.”
“Yeah, totally, man. “Dear Mr. President,
Jesse K. Dubois.”

Jesse Dubois.”

Word 25,000

2008-11-14T19:32:00.000-06:00

The halfway point!

"engage"

Flying Olives

2008-11-14T12:27:00.002-06:00

A wonderful photo. Yeah. Walked in, took off my coat, took picture. 3AM.

Wrote 1200 words on unlined laser paper at work. Someone -- I'm not naming names -- threw an olive at me while I was doing this. It bounced off the table and landed in my left sleeve. Amazing throw, but I hate olives passionately, so it was an unpleasant experience.

I'm losing my sense of humor about all this.... Need to find it again.

2008-11-13T20:00:00.000-06:00

First Word Pad

2008-11-12T08:55:00.000-06:00

Did my first real word padding of the year. I don't f eel guilty.

From there, they proceeded into the kitchen where the house staff was busy preparing the evening’s meal of roast goose, turkey confit, grilled asparagus, glazed yams, Western omelet fritters, and pulled polenta with raddichio-gorgonzola bruchetta.

I mean, that's not egregious by any stretch of the imagination.

Baltimore Plot

2008-11-11T21:46:00.005-06:00

Working out Kate's investigation into the Baltimore plot. Haven't written about Lincoln since Saturday, which is weird as I'd really felt like I was bonding with the man somehow. Plus, so many Lincoln references were popping up all the time -- Fallout 3, The Simpsons, Obama's speech -- that I felt like I was really onto something. Some day I will be forced to meld the two parts of this novel into one cohesive thing. I had really planned on focusing on Booth and Dubois, but that has fallen by the wayside as well. Funny that when you plan something to be a story that jumps around from time to time with separate chunks of stories, it falls apart into a non-cohesive mess. Who woulda thunk it?

Kate's cool though, and I enjoy writing about her and Pinkerton. Have I said that already? I must have done. I somehow write 1800 words in a short period of time. Count now stands at 20,488, which is 2162 words ahead of pace and an average of 1863 words a day. Not too shabby. Two years ago, I was at 26,300 words, averaging 2391 words a day.

But we're 40.98% of the way there. Go us!