Saturday, March 29, 2014

Camp NaNoWriMo

For April I've decided to participate in Camp NaNoWriMo, in an attempt to jump-start my writing again for 2014.  My goal is the same as I had for NaNoWriMo in November 2012 -- start a new Grandpa Anarchy story each day, try to write 50,000 words total and finish as many of these stories as I can.

I of course have a huge file of "story ideas" which I won't be too proud to use, so in most cases I will be grabbing a file with a tile and brief idea for a story and trying to flesh it out into an actual story.  Still, I'm sure once I get started I'll have some new ideas to add to the pile.

In the lead up to this I've been trying to finish some of the stories I've recently started, but so far I have only mostly written one of them, About A Hell Boy.  Still working on it, but here's a chunk of the beginning:

About a Hell Boy
Mark Allen Davis

It was Midnight, and Grandpa Anarchy was tied to a stake.  Beneath the stars on a bare hilltop, he and his sidekick Luftballoon Lad were positioned at the center of a magical circle.  Chalk runes glittered on stone in the flickering torchlight.  In the shadows beyond, soldiers with automatic rifles waited.
One light burned brighter than the rest -- the flaming skull of Death Medal, demonic villain.  His black military uniform owed much to the legacy of the Schutzstaffel, the paramilitary organization of Nazi Germany.  Silver skulls and crossbones glittered, but it was the medals which caught the eye.  There were hundreds of them.  They covered the chest like scale mail, so thick that no patch of uniform could be seen.
"Gentlemen," said Death Medal.  "Grandpa Anarchy, and -- what was it again?  Hot Air Kid?  Bluster Boy?  You are my special guests for an event unparallelled in human history.  For you see, the world ends tonight."
"That's what they all say," Grandpa replied.  "It ain't happened yet."
"Previous attempts by others have been lacking," said the skull-headed villain.  "Mine shall be different.  Can you not feel it in the air?  The world groans in pain this night.  It begs for an end to this farce we call existence.  I shall give it release!"
"You'll never get away with it!" exclaimed Luftballoon Lad.  He wore a costume made of multi-colored nylon that could be inflated like a balloon.
"Oh," said the villain, "but I already have.  I've defeated you two in battle.  Nothing remains but to recite the spell that will summon armageddon."
"Magic spells?  Really?" asked Grandpa.  "I figured you for the uber-science doomsday weapon type."
"You are speaking to a burning skull," said Death Medal.
"Point taken," said Grandpa.  "But..."
"Armageddon?" Luftballoon Lad interrupted.  "Shouldn't a metalhead Germanophile be looking for Ragnarok?"
Death Medal's skull radiated anger, a real trick considering his lack of facial features.  "What I want," he said forcefully, "is for you to die!  Along with everything else in existence!  I want it to explode in one glorious fireball!  It will be the most beautiful thing ever witnessed!"
"You're witnessing this from what safe location?" Grandpa asked.
"Never you mind!" The villain snapped.  "Private Growley Monster!  Bring the book!"
The thing that lurched forward was nearly seven feet tall and covered in fur -- like Chewbacca in Nazi uniform, or an overly-muscled demonic muppet.  In addition, the uniform had a severe case of chrome spikes.  The creature carried a black box of darkly stained wood.  He lifted the lid.  Clouds of vapor rolled forth.
Grandpa raised an eyebrow.  "Looks like you blew your dry ice budget for the month."
"Fool!" Death Medal snapped.  He lifted a heavy black book from the box.  "Do you have any idea what this is?"
"Generic Evil Tome?" asked Grandpa.  "The actual name ain't important.  Seen one of 'em, you've seen 'em all."
"Imbecile!  I hold in my hands the Nigrum Mysticus Grimoire de Daemoniacus Terribilis Apocalyptica...."
"Wow," said Luftballoon Lad.  "Say that three times fast."
"This," said the villain, "is no ordinary evil tome.  In fact, no copy of this exists on earth.  Only the library of foul hell itself holds a copy.  No mere human could have access to it."  he paused, radiating smugness from his flaming head.  "But I am not human...."

It feels a bit too talky to me at the moment.  I think, for the sake of brevity, I need to trim it a little and wrap it up very quickly.  But I should also find a few ways to work in puns or references to heavy metal.

This and the two stories that follow -- If Books Could Kill and Out Of Cheese Error -- are all the same setup with different punchlines.  None of them should be very long.  If I can, I want to finish all of them before April 1st.

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