Current mood:	accomplished
Current music:	The Colbert Report

More blather
Everybody's posting their NaNo stuff, and it's all so much better than mine that it's making me all depressed. D:

I have 4,230 words, but that's mostly due to forcing myself to push through even when I knew that I was just spewing crap. Also, I installed wc.exe for word count of .txt files (it's part of the unixutils package that lets you use all the nifty unix command-line utilities on a windows command line.) Unfortunately, I forgot exactly how to set it up to work as a right-click menu option in windows explorer, so I've been forced to actually run it through the command line ... which means I have a record of just how many times a day I check wordcount.

Anyway, did I mention that it's all crap? Well, just to prove I'm actually writing (and, of course, to grovel for ego-boo) here's the first few lines of the first chapter, one of the few bits I'm actually okay with:

Studying and working in the dark, stuffy confines of the spirit tent always gave Fari headaches. Pama told her that some of the greatest shamans among the People were given headaches, terrible pains in which they experienced raptures or saw visions, and she thought that Fari's headaches were a sign that she would grow into a great leader for the tribe.

Fari thought Pama was full of shit.

The great shamans of the People might very well have had headaches that gave them visions, but all Fari got was a stabbing pain behind her eyes and the burning desire to get outside of the heavy felt walls and breathe clear night air and the plain light of the stars. She didn't believe that she needed to sit inside the tent to recite the chants and rituals or crush and sort the herbs or to stitch amulets, either. It wasn't like other people in the tribe were going to sneak up to try to overhear the mysteries; nobody else *wanted* to know the mysteries; that was why Fari was the one stuck being Pama's trainee, and was sitting in the dark studying while everybody else was out around the campfire.

.

Feel free to critique my first-paragraph-writing skills.