NaNoWriMo Day 4 Word count now 8928/6666!

NaNoWriMo Day 4 Word count now 8928/6666!

Yes I am still ahead of targets at the moment but tonight has not been without some randomness. The following has cropped up on facebook after some oddities!.


He dragged himself through his front door, tired from a long shift at the dock. The thought of the clacking keys on the typewriter filled him with dread. Why did he put himself through this, why did he enter this NaNoWriMo, he thought to himself.
He unceremoniously dumped his bag on the floor and let his long coat fall from his shoulders. Dragging his feet over to his writing chair, he slumped down and reached to the notation device sat on the floor. Like an old English oak door on dry hinges the lid creaked open. His hand moved over to the activation button and pressed it hearing a click like the sound of a womans heels on a wooden floor. There was a twang and a woring sound and the thing stated coming to life.
The display glowed with an ethereal light and displayed some arcane runes. He pressed the button that clunked like typewriter keys and some more runes were displayed. After a while they disappeared and were replaced with some Equally arcane pictograms. He wasn’t looking forward to another night of scribing more runes, but he still had a long way to go till he could call his work finished.

-Status update as my main character would view it!

Suddenly, without warning, his device fragmented into tiny pieces under the very tips of his long delicate fingers. Although his eyes widened in shock, he could not see what had caused his trusty electronic device to disintegrate so dramatically. But, as his heart throbbed in fear and panic, a voice behind him boomed, “you shall not write!”
He slowly turned, his blue eyes wider than before. There, behind him, attired in a huge white cloak, with an equally white beard and tired, wrinkled skin, stood the unmistakable form of Gandalf.
“But, Mr Gandalf sir,” wheezed Adam in a petrified rasp, “why would you stop me from writing? You yourself came from one man putting pen to paper.”
“That may be so,” nodded Gandalf thoughtfully, “but to think you can crack out a piece of super writing like ol’ Tolkin is laughable.”
The old man threw back his head and great laughter boomed from his throat, rocking the owl ornaments on their mantel and causing the rafters of Adam’s minimalist home to shudder. So loud was Gandalf’s hysterics, that they did not hear the simple crack from further beyond.
Without warning, a second fictional figure appeared in Adam’s sparse living room.
“Dobby thinks Mr Bryant should write,” the house-elf said firmly. “It is master’s duty to provide the world with his delicate words and sensuous stories.”
Gandalf and Adam stared at the small house-elf, with his wide eyes and tarnished garments.
“Fool of a house-elf!” roared Gandalf, “he could not write a best-seller if I offered him all the money in the land.”
“Not so!” retorted Dobby, “sir has very poignant words inside his head which should be put down on…”
Dobby was cut off by a loud explosion, causing all three to fall to the floor. Plumes of smoke and dust catapulted throughout the house, and, as it began to settle, Adam’s eyes could make out a tall, angular monster in the doorway to his living room.
“Oh crap!” yelled Gandalf, “hide!”
The old man dived behind the sofa as Adam trembled back toward the wall, his mouth and eyes and hairs and every bone in his muscular body trembling in fear as the metallic beast stepped further and further into his living quarters.
Dobby stood upright and pointed firmly towards this new intruder, “Dobby can not let you in. Dobby has told you before, Mr. Iron Man, you have no place in this residence.”
The Iron Man’s eyes flashed a deep crimson and he clenched his fist and went to slam it down on the poor house-elf’s head. But, before impact, a confused hedgehog scuttled out from behind a beanbag door-stop and nudged Dobby to safety saying, “Go you here! Safe you are now. The Iron Man can hurt you not.”
The Iron Man’s rage caused his clanking joints to shake and the red of his eyes began to spread, further and further down his body before he exploded, casting lava-hot slabs of metal to catapult across the living room.
The sudden commotion caused a sea of cloaked red to hurry down the stairway into the living room, as the spiny backed, furry-outline of the Gruffalo motioned towards the now-empty doorway, shouting “Offred! This way!” and the handmaid promptly followed the Gruffalo out into the clear night.
Behind them, in the kitchen, the fridge door opened, and two sons of Adam and two daughters of Eve stepped out, and surveyed the chaos in Adam’s living room.
“Gosh,” proclaimed the eldest boy, Peter, “I don’t think we’re in Narnia anymore.”
“But,” whispered the smallest girl in a frightened tone, “what about Mr Tumnus?”
“I think he went that way,” said a curly haired figure, stood by the window, and Adam struggled to work out if it were a boy or a girl, “oh if only Uncle Quentin and Aunt Fanny were here, they would know for sure!”
“George, don’t be such an ass,” slammed one of her friends, clipping her around the head.
Their dog, a scruffy mutt, ran to the window and began barking at a much smaller and cleaner dog in the garden.
“Timmy,” exclaimed Ann, the bow in her hair a soft, pastel blue, “it’s only Kipper, don’t be so noisy.”
Adam rubbed his eyes, and looked around the room. Could this all be real?
Then, through the doorway, traipsed a little boy carry a matchbox, followed by a little a girl, a man with a sniffy dog, a sniffy dog, a lady without her sausages, a polar bear, and an oompah band.
“Excuse me,” announced the man with the sniffy dog in a proud and pompous voice, “we don’t mean to intrude on your quiet evening in, but this little boy’s lost his beetle, have you seen it?”
“No!” cried Adam, overwhelmed, “no I haven’t seen a bloody beetle anywhere. Why are you all in my house?”
“Because your writing sets my lady garden all a quiver and my inner goddess is screaming out for more,” cooed a girl sat on the couch.
“Who are you?” demanded Adam, his frow borrowed and his hands on his hips.
“I’m Anastasia Steele!”
A huge moan went up from the assembled crowd.
“Oh dear,” stammered Dobby.
“I like not this girl,” whispered the Hodgeheg.
“She seems like a terribly nasty lady,” concluded George.
Gandalf appeared out from behind the sofa and barged Anastasia out of the way and moved swiftly to Adam. He grabbed the handsome writer by the ruff of his neck, dragging him to his desk and throwing him down on the stood.
“Write, for god’s sake, write!” exclaimed the old man and he pushed Adam towards the computer with such force that Adam’s head slammed down onto the table with a massive thud.
Adam sat up. Gone were the characters of fiction from his living room. Gone were the slabs of amber metal clinging to the walls. His rubbed his head, for it smarted, and he looked around confused.
“Oh you’re awake,” came a voice from the kitchen, “you sat down and fell straight asleep. Your head smashed down onto your keyboard.”
“Asleep,” whispered Adam, completely perplexed, “you mean that was all just a dream?”
He sat back for a moment and thought about all he had seen. Then, realising he could never write anything as poor as ‘Fifty Shades of Grey,’ he felt rejuvenated, invigorated, excited to write. His hands flew to his keyboard and he began to type.

So intent was he in his scribing that the klick clacking of the keys has vanished from his hearing. The target word count came and went without him realising and it was only when someone walked into the room with a cup of tea that he looked up for the arcane ghostly display to see that his word count was now 8928/6666

Who says status updates have to be boring.

This update has been brought to you by James Purcell, Adam Bryant and Nigel Crane from facebook!

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