Day 2: Getting there

Pulled in 1,762 words today between a Sunday evening write-in and word wars with my friend MightiMidget later over IM. At least I passed the daily quota (1,667). I need to stay ahead though, and procrastination is being far too friendly to me of late. :oP

Here's an excerpt from today's bounty. It's a conversation between Mighty and Boshran, a giant frog guy (loffrax) who is going to offer him the shipping contract. There are two other "men" with Boshran--a foxish kind of creature (nicczar) and fish man (kelptin).

NOTE: I'm not usually not much of a fan of dialect, but this guy isn't a very major character and his way of speech added more words, so... *whistles*

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“Wot’s yer name?” Boshran asked. He pointed a rubbery, green fingerpad at him. “And giv’t ter me straight.”

“Mighty Myllon,” the mouser replied, trying to stand tall to match his name.

The nicczar next to him grinned, his foxish teeth showing, and looked Mighty up and down again. “Mighty Myllon, eh? Mousers name their kitts after attributes.” He nodded to the kelptin. “Isn’t that right, Poshy?”

Poshy nodded vigorously, spurting water from his gills. “Right, that.”

Mighty held in his giant sigh. As though he hadn’t heard it a million times before. As though he didn’t live with this every day--trying to live up to his name.

Why had his parents held such high hopes for him? Why did they make it so hard? He gave a curt nod. “That’s right, sir.” He tried to puff out his chest a little more, realizing at the same time how ridiculous he must seem to these accomplished businessmen.

Boshran cocked his large froggy head as Mighty sat down. “Tis a good name, to be sure,” he said. “Yer upper kin woudda not giv’n that name ter ye if they’s din’t believe ye'ud live up ter it.”

Mighty faced the loffrax. He couldn’t recall anyone ever giving him such an encouragement before. And coming from this old grouchy codger, it had to be a genuine compliment. That type didn’t hand them out as a general practice. He tipped his chin. “I thank you kindly, sir.”

The loffrax swiped a hand through the air. “Tis not a thing,” he replied. “Now, tell me, what uv yer ship? She a mighty vessel, like yerself?”

“Oh, she’s much better,” Mighty said, once again wishing his filter had caught his words before they spouted from his mouth.

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Words to Date: 4,764
Words to Go: 45,236

Day 1: A goodish start

We had a day-long write-in at Panera Bread today to kick off NaNoWriMo right. I didn't get there at the beginning, nor did I stay all day, but I did get a good chunk of writing time in there--enough to write 3,002 words! It was a good haul for a day's work, and I need to keep up on it because I doubt I'll be writing every day during the week. The more words I can rake in on the weekends, the better.

Here's today's excerpt. I liked this conversation that came out between Mighty and the correspondent at the space station Kirkkigaard. Mighty's ship is called Lasso.

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A blip sounded from the console, indicating an incoming message. Mighty flipped the com-switch.

“Lasso. Indigo Foxtrot, niner five two seven."  His chest puffed with pride at the sound of his calling code. "Mighty Myllon speaking.”

“Affirmative, Señor Myllon,” came a young female mouser’s voice. “Pelter Chase on com for Kirkkigaard Space Station. Receiving your request for dock. Confirm? Ready to receive.”

Mighty flipped a blue switch next to the com. “Affirmative. Sending confirmation now.”

“Señor Myllon," Pelter’s voice came back, questioning, "confirm negative cargo aboard Lasso?”

Mighty bristled. “Affirmative, Kirkkigaard. Lasso brings no cargo.”

A pause and a few clicks came through the com. “I’m sorry, Señor.”

A snide remark formed in Mighty’s mind, but he let it go. No need to assault this poor girl for something that isn’t her fault. “Thank you, Kirkkigaard.”

“Call me Pelter.”

Mighty paused, staring at the blinking com diode. Now, that was a little unorthodox. Com techs didn’t usually divert from the usual business communicae. They certainly never asked to be called by their first names.

“Thank you, Pelter,” he said. He was tempted to ask why the familiarity. Was she trying to make him feel better, like there was a mouser on the other end and not just some computerized entity calling him to port? He shook his head and dismissed it. Either way, he was here to do something that would hurt. Friendliness wasn’t going to change anything.
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Words to Date: 3,002
Words to Go: 46,998