A winner is me: my extremely lumpy, extremely jumbled draftbeast, which lurches along under the title Salvaging Angels, weighed in this afternoon at a robust 55,692 words. A majority of them are the wrong words, or go haring off in strange directions, but that’s all right, that’s what NaNoWriMo is for, and I’m sure they can be coaxed into shape if I decide to make something serious of them. Which I might; I don’t usually write science fiction, and it’s been fun. Though I confess in this very rough draft a liberal arts major’s sad tendency to invent future technologies by tacking the word space as a prefix onto current technologies. (E.g., spacetoaster.)
As Mishell and I have been known to tell one another: “Forget it, Jake; it’s alpha draft.”
I’ve excerpted part of the beginning below, for your enjoyment or chagrin or incredulous mockery.