NaNoWriMo Report 9
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43,295 toward the goal of 50,000 words, at least. Started Chapter 12 this morning and have to start thinking all the more seriously about the end. I am, for the most part, pleased with what I have but I am also keenly aware of spots to be edited. Got to get this story right!
Here is the first paragraph of my novel, "The Ghosts of Christmases Past":
"Scrooge was born, to begin with. There is no doubt about that. As to the specific time hardly anyone gave thought to take notice. On one side of the clock Christmas Eve was laying to rest and on the other began to rise Christmas Day. The clock had barely begun to toll the midnight hour when she finally began to deliver and the sound of his cry finally mingled with his mother’s own, both together drowning out the final stroke of twelve--hers a cry of pain and joy at his birth and his a cry of simply being born. He was a Christmas baby, a true cherub and an angel, heralding his own arrival in the world with screaming, kicking, trembling fists--a real gift indeed. These were not the best of times to be born, especially as each day was filled with the concerns of war. This tot merely joined the ranks of thousand thousands who were already shaking their fists in the world and at the world. God only knows what kind of man he will turn out to be and what mark he would make on the world, in the end."
Here is the first paragraph of my novel, "The Ghosts of Christmases Past":
"Scrooge was born, to begin with. There is no doubt about that. As to the specific time hardly anyone gave thought to take notice. On one side of the clock Christmas Eve was laying to rest and on the other began to rise Christmas Day. The clock had barely begun to toll the midnight hour when she finally began to deliver and the sound of his cry finally mingled with his mother’s own, both together drowning out the final stroke of twelve--hers a cry of pain and joy at his birth and his a cry of simply being born. He was a Christmas baby, a true cherub and an angel, heralding his own arrival in the world with screaming, kicking, trembling fists--a real gift indeed. These were not the best of times to be born, especially as each day was filled with the concerns of war. This tot merely joined the ranks of thousand thousands who were already shaking their fists in the world and at the world. God only knows what kind of man he will turn out to be and what mark he would make on the world, in the end."
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