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After four days I have 4463 words. I need to average at least 700 more words a day than I've been doing if I'm to make the full word count this year. Meanwhile, here's some intrigue:
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NaNoWriMo update
Nov. 2nd, 2007 06:34 pmOK, site's working now. Here follows the chick-lit portion of Invulnerable the sequel to Supervillain:
Amanda ventured towards the plus-size boutique. Had to find something professional-looking to wear to the interview, even if it was a formality. Something formal for the formality. In any case, she needed new mufti - F5 had been training her up the last few months, and her old clothes were now baggy in some places and too tight in others.
She had picked this shop because the window displays usually showed outfits with some sex appeal, not "panzer print dresses" as Victor had once described them, but it was still the sort of place that had cute chimes hung in the doorway, and they gongled as she ducked apologetically in.
"And how are we today?" chirped a salesperson. Damn.
"Fine thank you." Amanda hoped she hadn't sounded too monotone; she had no wish to be rude, but she never knew what to say, and had hoped to look around on her own before being noticed. Must ask F5 to move on to some stealth training for her. In the meantime, she straightened up and attempted to look like a dynamic career woman. She skimmed through a rack of knit tops, not daring to look up in case her eyes met the salesperson's. They were lovely sophisticated tops, actually, in good-quality black and grey jersey, neither too thin nor too shiny. The sizing worried her - she'd gone for the stretch fabrics first because she knew anything else was going to be a problem fit, but she suspected that no matter what, the smaller end of the range was going to fit her like a cropped baby T, and the upper end, like a potato sack.
She tried the next rack - better. These at least tied at the waist. She picked up a wine-coloured tunic and examined the label: 22. She knew that was larger than her usual clothes, but how large? It looked as though it could easily accommodate her bust, but was oceans too big in the waste - still she could shorten the ties, and being intended as a tunic it wouldn't be too short on her like most blouses. It was the width of the shoulders that concerned her. Very few women, whether a 4 or a 14, were able to bench-press a [?]. She draped the tunic over her arm and moved on. No point in going through the hassle of asking for the fitting room until she had more than one piece to try. An obscure dread filled her that the salesperson might want to fetch items from the stockroom.
Amanda sighed, but quietly, still wishing to defer attention until it had to be accepted. She was kidding herself - her new clothes couldn't flatter her figure, not when she was living a divided identity and her crimefighting costume was, without exaggeration, vavavoom. You know now, she reasoned, that you can look good; you get to show it off every time you pluck kids from a bus crash or toss a zombiedroid across the city square. You can afford to hide it ten or so hours out of the day.
She wondered if she could at least get herself a cute handbag.
Amanda ventured towards the plus-size boutique. Had to find something professional-looking to wear to the interview, even if it was a formality. Something formal for the formality. In any case, she needed new mufti - F5 had been training her up the last few months, and her old clothes were now baggy in some places and too tight in others.
She had picked this shop because the window displays usually showed outfits with some sex appeal, not "panzer print dresses" as Victor had once described them, but it was still the sort of place that had cute chimes hung in the doorway, and they gongled as she ducked apologetically in.
"And how are we today?" chirped a salesperson. Damn.
"Fine thank you." Amanda hoped she hadn't sounded too monotone; she had no wish to be rude, but she never knew what to say, and had hoped to look around on her own before being noticed. Must ask F5 to move on to some stealth training for her. In the meantime, she straightened up and attempted to look like a dynamic career woman. She skimmed through a rack of knit tops, not daring to look up in case her eyes met the salesperson's. They were lovely sophisticated tops, actually, in good-quality black and grey jersey, neither too thin nor too shiny. The sizing worried her - she'd gone for the stretch fabrics first because she knew anything else was going to be a problem fit, but she suspected that no matter what, the smaller end of the range was going to fit her like a cropped baby T, and the upper end, like a potato sack.
She tried the next rack - better. These at least tied at the waist. She picked up a wine-coloured tunic and examined the label: 22. She knew that was larger than her usual clothes, but how large? It looked as though it could easily accommodate her bust, but was oceans too big in the waste - still she could shorten the ties, and being intended as a tunic it wouldn't be too short on her like most blouses. It was the width of the shoulders that concerned her. Very few women, whether a 4 or a 14, were able to bench-press a [?]. She draped the tunic over her arm and moved on. No point in going through the hassle of asking for the fitting room until she had more than one piece to try. An obscure dread filled her that the salesperson might want to fetch items from the stockroom.
Amanda sighed, but quietly, still wishing to defer attention until it had to be accepted. She was kidding herself - her new clothes couldn't flatter her figure, not when she was living a divided identity and her crimefighting costume was, without exaggeration, vavavoom. You know now, she reasoned, that you can look good; you get to show it off every time you pluck kids from a bus crash or toss a zombiedroid across the city square. You can afford to hide it ten or so hours out of the day.
She wondered if she could at least get herself a cute handbag.
(no subject)
Oct. 15th, 2007 10:20 pmI'm not sure where this is going but it's been rattling around my head in a while:
Two Foxes, Looking in the Window
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Two Foxes, Looking in the Window
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Victor checked into a hotel room and spent that night and the next day staring up at the ceiling, listening to old metal anthems on the satellite radio. ( Read more... )
Last Chapter of Supervillain
Nov. 30th, 2006 10:53 pmI tied up all the loose ends and even went back and worked in a subplot about Amanda's sisters' new scam at the last minute but the half-scale novel still clocks in at 24599 words, according to my counter. Oh well.
Stephen examined the photos of Vermin's wrecked lab; Assassin Bug had taken them the night before after Roadie had finally given up and acknowledged that there was no way he could fit into the tiny lair, even through the service entrance. Every so often he would note a detail that seemed potentially significant, and place it in Roadie's head for reference. The big tech was hunkered over a couple of cheap camera phones, a regular digital video camera, and a few of Vermin's gadgets they'd captured over the years. He picked up on of the phones and gazed at it, chewing his gum meditatively.( Read more... )
Stephen examined the photos of Vermin's wrecked lab; Assassin Bug had taken them the night before after Roadie had finally given up and acknowledged that there was no way he could fit into the tiny lair, even through the service entrance. Every so often he would note a detail that seemed potentially significant, and place it in Roadie's head for reference. The big tech was hunkered over a couple of cheap camera phones, a regular digital video camera, and a few of Vermin's gadgets they'd captured over the years. He picked up on of the phones and gazed at it, chewing his gum meditatively.( Read more... )
The Obscurant glanced back at Amanda folded into the back of the car, still passed out ( Read more... )
I don't know if anyone's actually reading this, but here's Act II of Supervillain:
The alarm broke in on them in the dark, and they struggled to get up when they had been so warm in bed, but Victor was used to odd hours.
"Mesmer raspberry teacup?" murmured Amanda, but she got up too, and put on her new utility belt. Victor returned form the bathroom and she went in to brush her teeth and wash up before putting on her gloves and her improvised cowl.( Read more... )
The alarm broke in on them in the dark, and they struggled to get up when they had been so warm in bed, but Victor was used to odd hours.
"Mesmer raspberry teacup?" murmured Amanda, but she got up too, and put on her new utility belt. Victor returned form the bathroom and she went in to brush her teeth and wash up before putting on her gloves and her improvised cowl.( Read more... )
