#first draft done

[naffeclipse]

[aohendo]

Prince for Hire - Draft One Complete

Well, all, my estimate of done by the new year was apparently too generous! Just finished up this first draft of Prince for Hire. Some stats for you!

Taglist (and let me know if you’d like to be added/removed--will be posting a lot of deleted scenes during editing): @whimsyqueen, @on-noon, @cactusmotif, @paradisiacalshroud, @houndsofcorduff, @stuffaboutwriting, @t-lane-writes

Original estimated word count: 80,000

Actual word count: 136,420

Current word count of stuff I deleted: 50,913

Average words per day (including deleted scenes): 965

Date started: 14 June 2022

Date ended: 24 December 2022

Total time with document open: 3147 hours

Chapter count: 45 + 1

Adherence to originally created blurb and WIP intros: sketchy at best

Kiris hugs received: 1

[ioannemos]

so i don’t really draft, as such. at least, not in a straight-forward ‘this is the first draft and this is the second draft’ kind of way. i tend to edit as i go instead

that being said, the first draft of madonna in orange is done! the primary editing will be the pronoun progression, bc it isn’t flowing. i’m going to see if going from 3rd to 2nd to 1st feels better, which will be loads of fun to change -_- oh well

also, it did get over 5k-- all the way to 7k

[pro-bee]

*

[genyathefirebird]

i’m still standing - chapter 6 - 4300

[pastel-princess-goddess]

First draft

I have finished the first draft which has wayyyyyy less in there than what I plan on having in future drafts and the final draft. I’m not gonna link anything until it’s in its final form. STAY TUNED. I worked for an hour and a half last night and most of today on research, finishing the first draft, and more research. So it’s been a busy day today. And guess what? I am doing this for FUN. I am not in any way obliged to do this for any class. I enjoy learning about wars (specifically WWI & WWII) and writing reports is how I learn about things. So even though it’s stressful and stuff.... I am gonna do it so I can learn. Yup.

[frangipanidownunder]

And the first draft is complete! It’s so rough but there’s something to work with. And to say I’m chuffed is a huge understatement. I set out to write a thousand words a day. I never expected to get to 40,000 words and a full first draft. 

If you’re still going, keep at it! You can do it. I’ve got your back!

[pherryt]

YES! PINEFEST IS DONE - i mean, it still needs an edit, and then a Beta but first draft is DONE! with time to spare! so now i can concentrate on the DWBB!

*more crazy dancing here*

[anxiousgrill]

Book Writing - May 15 2017

[kingsofeverything]

...

[likeasage]

I finished writing a book!

[charawrites]

NaNoWriMo

I meannnnn, I think it still counts if you finish your book on December 1st. 'Cause ONE MONTH from November FIRST, is December FIRST. 

Am I right???

Hehe, yay me :)

47, 038. 

[megplant]

we finished the blocks pilot 

[koyakyuuun]

her name is boobs I mean roselyn

[witarticulate-blog]

They assemble at my doorframe, once again. They waver between my world and theirs, Lukewarm sentiment evident in cautious stares. They hover As if frightened I am contagious Somehow. I roll my eyes Gently to blur the boundary- Dusk. I am sprawled. Busied. Still, in  Sweat pants. The room seems hazy, Grey, slow moving shadows Looming around me as light spills in Invasive, uninvited. I can tell in their hearts They disown me, They moan at my lethargy. I do not blink.

They do not see how My eyes hold harsh white lies and  Red secrets that I know are my memories. Edged with tiredness and bitter tides of dried tears, I’m busied by the rush of my skin, I  Force back the bumps, sense the beating of my  Toes crippling around the coldness of outside. I hear thudding in my heart, nicotine  Pumping damage through the only body I have left. My hair clings to my face  As though it tries to suffocate me. My skull thuds and throbs berate me. I’m aware of the noises outside of busy And the stark empty within me. Busied.

I hear rules and words I try to regress in my veins. There’s frowning on my forehead I stifle to understand I wage a fight against all I know and a search for what I don’t, Send my love to the sad part of myself With a hard message because I’m told  “Tough love is crucial.” Brutal. War zones and headphones wage eternally within me. I see faces in the scars on my arms And places in the beatings of my chest. I hold back tears for the bones I used to cherish And hatred for the flesh they force fed me.  I hush away the delusions and dodge the photographs That judge me. I list in demons Daily chores that seek only to test me Whilst concern brews that I’m too cold for comfort now And I quickly fix to curl further inwards, with subtlty. Don’t move too quickly. Don’t wish to anger the springs beneath me; Their twangs inevitably remind me of boomerangs -   Stones cast out to places I’ll never see Feel emotions never meant for me Left instead riddled with superstitions especially sent for me From a distant god insistent on punishing me.  And now I’m thinking about it anyway. See? Such childhood games are hooks and triggers Because when the years steal you, fool  Games become callous  Or tainted. Take for example The stranger in the bar who Asked to play noughts and crosses on My arm full of scars  And chortled hard at the telling lines I found no such laughter within. He made me lose my appetite for pens and paper up to years later. And how I went instead to my mother Crying, forever in remission, pleading, endless admission  Unable to tend to the pain in my skin and above it Dark and trying, underlying collisions Decisions between lying in my bed and sitting in my skin “Why don’t I feel at home here?”

They’re still mumbling at my door Something about disappointment, new ointments Make up to remove the evidence, I’m sure. And I sense their frustration for me. Their eyes accusatory,  Narrowed. I can tell they see scrunches of rubbish in my paper planes and sprawling thoughts  My ideas unfinished like half-way housed hopes Around me. It confuses me,  They think my eyes are pretty  But don’t want to read what I see with them.  I did not earn my eyes, but I strain for my words Why don’t they appreciate what got me to this state No one date but a lifetime’s contribution of Debates between meds or wards  He saids or medical records Hugs or backhands  Ground me or pound me Inserting their constructs around me To ensure I’ll be how they’d want me to be Once more.  While time paces  I’d put on my grandmother’s glasses Hoping I’d see things with her clarity In the musky world around me Somehow, like a lucky charm or safety net But glass doesn’t catch you when you fall And my eyes won’t tell you what I see.  You’d place my young fingers' painting proudly up on the fridge  To display, but delay to seek any beauty in myself now Only see damage Demanding what you want back in me Not for me. Take down the photos and artwork I love from my walls To see the wallpaper you chose  Still shrivelling beneath my attempts to fix it with beauty Not mask it for novelty, You see evil everywhere. You don’t know me or my mind.

So let me explain to you Folks watching unknowing  Judging, bestowing sincere opinions with Unconvincing sympathies Huddled at a door somewhere Pretending to care: I am led but by no means to rest  I cannot sleep. From my bed, in my brain I am busied For I am tormented but trying. Don’t judge me for coping If it’s all I can do to be Then let me be. You call me lazy but I am knocked down Fighting every fibre of my body That is against me And I dislike me already. You think your supervision, words of wisdom Fearful invasion of my space will  Somehow cure me Into reality But I am already fully aware I am busied Like a festival of frenzy Market place mauling  Circus, surplus, stock exchange Sale range I am busied. From my lungs to my fingernails  Pins and needles turn me to dead weight Fitting details. So leave me. You bring me no 'get well soon' cards Because you can’t see my psychology Lucky for you. So, I’ll bring you a rug so you can sweep me under it I’ll be still and silent Go about work, samaritan duties Feeding your garden’s birds And petting strangers’ dogs in streets Offering me no such pity, petty comfort I’ll self-sooth. I am trouble the neighbours can’t know about No kindness for the confused, Then leave me here to grow alone. I’m idle, you’re idol You’re not needed here. For I am busied Surviving.