Another Month, Another Book

I'm winding down now. Today was a progressive day, and always is when all you have to look forward to is killing one of your characters. Am I sadistic? No. Just some things have to be the way they are, and history must play itself out as I see it.

My current project is a massive one, but so far the progress of my work is going according to plan. I'm a novelist, and I'm working to re-write my first two novels word for word, but before I can even write Chapter 1 of my first novel once again I must complete a pile of books that are vital towards that goal. Books that dictate how the fist novel will play out. Books which will establish the mindsets, thoughts, and feelings of every single character I ever create.

I'm writing History Books.

A completely fictional history needs to be written in great detail for me to get an accurate measure on the world and how it has shaped and how I will shape it. My current goal is to write a complete record of 1500 years worth of history. The amount of history per-year increases exponentially as I grow closer to the opening of the first novel, making each installment longer and more detailed than the last.

My first History Book I wrote during the month of October and finished it on October 31st at 15k words and no illustrations covering 111 years.

My second History Book I've written throughout the month of November and is scheduled to be finished on November 30th capping out at what I assume will be 21k words complete with illustrations and maps drawn by me covering 210 years.

I'm doing this because I feel I must. The world I've created is vast and covers several cultures, religions, and beliefs. My first attempts to write the novels I had to fabricate these structures as I wrote the book --- in the end I had more exposition than I wanted. So I'm covering ALL the exposition first, so by the time I get to the first novel again I'll just be purely focused on actually writing the bloody story for a change.

Oh and my highlight of the night:

"All at once the insects fell from the sky and rained down onto the dying and bloodied soldiers. They curled up, still and lifeless. But the damage had already been done. Dessandra, too weak to stand, fell to her knees. Many were too afraid to approach her — they feared her power. But Dharen marched right up to her, dead insects crunching under his boots. Dessandra looked up at him, dazed and unable to act. But Dharen did not pay her mercy. As he looked upon her all he saw was the cause of his father’s death. He grasped her by the hair and drove his sword straight through her chest. "

- N.J. Rockingham
TemperWolf TemperWolf
26-30, M
Nov 30, 2012