Done and done.

Word 50,000: "open".

Some stats and other fun things to come.

Thanksgiving weekend

Always a tough one. Between feeling the need to sit around and do nothing in honor of any holiday and the need to go out and see friends, not a whole lot gets done. Some quick updates:

Everything is scattered. The main word doc is a mishmash of bits and pieces. I struggle to find things to write about. I can't even figure out an "ending".... This thing is like a big blob of pizza dough...or something. Even my analogies have left me.

But, we are at 47607. A little bit of a push and we'll finish up. So, let's get to it.

Photo backlog

The worst story ever?

At 3,460 words, the story (and description of story telling) that I just wrote, and put in Lincoln's mouth is perhaps one of the greatest literary crimes of this, or any other, generation. And I live in Rogers Park where we are blessed with crappy newspapers and horribly written blogs.

One Nano peptalk this month spoke of having terrible things happen to characters you love in order to keep a story moving. I don't think they intended me to do anything this bad.

This is me, hanging my head in shame.

Frustration

Everything I've read about Lincoln has said that he loved to tell stories. Often, it is said just like that: "Lincoln loved to tell stories." The biography I'm reading now (Team of Rivals) has had a sentence like that, or that sentence, at least five times in the last chapter.

But never are there any examples.

There seems to be a universal lack of Lincoln stories out there. So I'm making one up. And it's gonna be long.

Pho-toe

Word count after today's writing: 43,034. It's a palindrome!

I have officially jumped the shark.

“Whether or not you believe me, what I am telling you is true,” said Ward Hill Lamon to the guard at the Wigwam. “I won a contest at the the newspaper for, how many was it?”
John Jay, standing next to Lamon thought for a second and replied, “Seventy-eight, I believe.”
“Yes, seventy-eight tickets to this event. And so, sir, I insist that you allow I and my friends to enter. To refuse us is to deny the very base beliefs that brings all of us here today, namely the cause of Democracy and the right for a man to be heard in the choosing process of the man who will lead him. We aim to do that, sir. You will not deny us.” Lamon’s friends (all seventy-seven of them) burst into spontaneous applause. Some who knew not what the trouble was even began clapping.
“These tickets,” said the guard (whose name was Worthington Lincoln [no relation]), “are obviously counterfeit. They’re on the wrong colored paper, they’re square-shaped instead of rectangulated; they appear to have been printed on top of invitations to a child’s birthday party; they have the wrong date, time, location, and event name; and to top it all off, they’ve already been torn in half. Plus, there’s no official Republican National Committee hologram.”
“Oh, all of that is easily explained. You see, I left them on my windowsill atop the invitations to my son’s birthday party. Subsequently, it rained causing the tickets and the invitations to bleed together.”
“Your son’s name is Lupita?” the guard asked.
“It’s a family name. We call him Looper,” Lamon said. “The weight of the water weakened the tickets to the point that they ripped in half. What else? The color bled, ink ran, and I can’t be held responsible for the RNC misprinting dates, times, and event names.”
“What about the holograms?”
“What the hell is a hologram?”
“It’s a three dimensional image created by a technique that allows the light scattered from an object to be recorded and later reconstructed so that it appears as if the object is in the same position relative to the recording medium as it was when recorded,” the guard explained.
“That sounds really fucking cool,” Lamon admitted. “But are you sure that exists? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Of course it exists,” the guard said. “Do you think I would make something like that up for my own amusement? It is as real as this digital watch I am wearing and my personal digital music player.”
“Where did you get such wonderful toys?”
“People with legitimate tickets received a goodie bag as well. The RNC was quite generous this year. They also included a laptop computer.”
“A what what whowhoter?” Lamon asked.
“A laptop computer. It is a personal computing device. It allows one to literally carry one’s office from place to place and stay in touch no matter where one goes. I can play games of chance, watch motion picture animations, keep my accounts, maintain my correspondence, and much much more, all in the convenience of a device that weighs no more than sixty-two pounds.”
Lamon whistled appreciatively. “That sounds like one hell of a device.”
“You’d know all about this stuff if you held actual tickets to this event.”
“The way I see it, there are seventy-eight of us and only one of you.”
“Oh my goodness,” said the guard, his hand lowering instinctively to the pistol he wore on his belt. “Are you threatening me?”
“Not at all,” Lamon lied.
“Good, because if there’s one thing I absolutely hate more than anything else, it’s being threatened.”
“I hear you on that, brother. Being threatened is the absolute worst.”
“I’m glad we agree there. Look, I think you gentlemen should just leave.”
“And I think you should know better than to fuck with a native Virginian,” Lamon said.
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” He punched the guard in the face, knocking him out. He slipped the guard’s brand new watch off his wrist. “Come on boys, let’s go. John, see if you can figure this thing out.”