1,000 A day

[Vodstok]

Words, that is. I recently read in an interview with R.A. Salvatore that he writes 1000 words a day when he is actively writing a book. sometimes more, especially if he is on a roll, writing a battle or something.

So i figured, i have a hell of a novel brewing in me, so i should give it a shot. 1000 words a day is roughly a page and a half a day, that is a complete 350 page novel i less than a year. Last night i wrote 1015 in less than an hour. That is a career i think i could handle.


I also decided i would paste what i wrote here just to show off and get some feedback. Anyone who read my story Emberwind last year, this is set in the same world.

A cookie to whoever can identify the reference to classic horror in this:

The half moon created shafts of pale light through the trees surrounding Willowbough Keep. The entire area appeared in shades of grey, save for a single window lit with the yellow light of many candles. The servants had taken their rest for the night, and only the night guard and a single noble were stirring at this late hour. The entire valley was swallowed in mist, as it was every clear night, starting in early spring and lasting through the mid fall.

Ehrvis Svartendelikt flipped slowly through the yellowed pages of a tome his assistant had a acquired for him, absently eating either sliced apple or strong cheese from the platter the servants had brought to him that evening, or sipping the fine red wine from the local vineyard. He perused the pages casually, as one might browse a book of pictures. This book, however, contained much more than simple pictures. It contained incantations, sigils, and recipes, all revolving around the study and art of necromancy.

Ehrvis paused on one page, setting down his wine after a partial sip, his eyes scanning the words of the page. He gulped the little bit he had in his mouth then let out a low, pleased whistle. This particular spell would allow him to crush the heart of a victim simply by uttering the words and crushing a parchment cutout of a heart. He reached over and pulled a strand of cut silk cloth to mark the page before continuing on. Oremorag had done well in procuring this book. It was filled, gilded cover to gilded cover, with powerful spells and enchantments. It was rare that one as practiced in the mystic arts of death as Ehrvis could find something truly new, and so far this tome had not one thing that he already knew.

Orem would be rewarded handsomely for this.

The Necromancer’s thoughts drifted away from his new book and his loyal henchman to Orem’s apprentice. Shan had been missing for weeks now, and Ehrvis could only conclude that he had failed to get out of Deep Fire’s dungeons alive. It was a shame, he thought, but no great loss. Shan had been ambitious, and was actually quite a talented wizard, but he was an evoker by trade, attempting to break into the school of necromancy. But his skill in the black arts was lacking. It was one thing to learn how to wiggle one’s fingers and shoot balls of flame, or blasts of lightning, it was quite another to meddle with the very essence of life and death itself. It required discipline, and above all patience.

In Ehrvis’ mind, necromancy was an art, and only the truly talented could become accomplished in it. Orem was a prodigy. Ehrvis had discovered him early, and the young man, back then, had a true knack for the dead. No one he had ever met had more skill with raising the dead. Give Oremorag access to dead bodies, and he could conjure up zombies, and walking skeletons. Given enough time, he had even shown Ehrvis how to mold several bodies into a single, hulking undead abomination.

Ehrvis had a black heart, devoid of any feelings of warmth or empathy for any other, but he had a small warm corner for Orem. He truly loved him like a brother. Orem had agreed to taker Shan on as an apprentice, mostly because Ehrvis had convinced him that he could be of use in doing away with the little Willowbough wench, Vildree. The plot had been simple enough; Orem and Ehrvis had previous dealings with the dark dragon Deep Fires, a black beast from the deep underworld that fancied itself a god, complete with a cult of zealous followers. The two necromancers had amused the creature with undead “toys” as it called them.

They arranged for Vildree Willowbough, the only child of the widow Shandrelle, the new bride of Ehrvis, to be kidnapped by the cult, for mutual gain. The cult would sacrifice the girl in one of their rituals, to the greater glory and pleasure of their god figure, and remove the only heir to the Willowbough duchy. Some clever charms had helped in getting Ehrvis married to the widow in the first place, though it hadn’t been easy; she had been an accomplished sorceress herself. It had taken a great deal of work and time to manipulate the woman after the disappearance of her daughter to transfer the inheritance to her new husband, but not too difficult. Ehrvis played the role of the doting husband well, and never let on about his necromantic pursuits, going so far as to avoid practicing or even reading about it once he was living in her home, to erase any possibility of suspicion.
He had been patient, gaining the trust of her and her daughter, not to mention the many servants in the household. Once the girl had been taken, and his position had been solidified as the living inheritor of the duchy, the duchess had suddenly fallen gravely ill. Her loving husband waited on her during the short, painful run of the disease, and even wept openly at her funeral.

He maintained a somber attitude in front of the helpers, not wanting to let on his elation at the woman’s demise. In less than two years, he had moved his position from a petty viceroy of an outlying protectorate to the Duke of Willowbough’s lands, an official member of the government, with money land and power.
Shan’s disappearance had him a little concerned, however. He had been sent out with a rather formidable group, hired to bolster the illusion that he wanted his dear stepdaughter back at his side, especially with her mother so ill. Had Shan been caught and summarily defeated by the group? Perhaps, but he was confident that the mixed group of a human, half elf, dwarf and their wolf was not equal to the task of rescuing a girl from a band of bloodthirsty cultists and a dragon that drew its might from the very darkness of the underworld.

[ferretchucker]

I have about 50 unfinished novels on my computer. The best one so far is my retelling of the snow white story. I just find it so hard to drag things out that long. It's like my beginning takes 3 pages, the middle about 10, then by the end I've only got a 20 page "novel". Here's what I've got so far on the Snow white one.


The seven dwarves


I

It was a cold and stormy night. Rain drops pattered on the castle and dropped down to the floor. The soaking wet grass was littered with puddles and small streams. Worms came to the surface to writhe and wriggle in the soft mud as they did their duty to the garden and consumed all of the bad substances in the earth. A snail came out of its shell where it had been hiding from the birds and squelched through the puddles on the road. There was a leaf of cabbage the cook had thrown out the window of one of the towers after the cat had found it and it was laying there on the road just waiting to be consumed.
The snail slowly moved along to it leaving a glistening silver slime as it went like a long thin mirror. A sickening crunch then squelch. A carriage wheel smashed the snail and turned him into a puddle of green and grey. The black carriage bumped along the concrete splashing the green bushes as it went. Two coffins lay within it. The two boxes jumped a few inches up as the cart went over bumps in the road.
Two large wooden doors swung open to administer the hearse. Two white horses trotted along the cold stone floor and were released into their stables. The king’s chief Butler walked from the stairs over to the cart with eight other men. The carriage driver recognised one of them as the king’s second child Isaac. He looked solemn and slightly surly. The driver expected he had been drinking. They opened the back doors of the cart causing one of the coffins which had been bumped over to the door to fall out. As it fell the lid fell off revealing a sight that made one of the men shout out in prayer.
“You blundering fool!” screamed Isaac at the top of his voice, tears dripping down his face, “My father specifically asked you to drive carefully in case this happened!”
“I am sorry m’lord but if I drove any slower, they would have caught up with me. I couldn’t risk that, not after what’s happened.”
Another one of the men looked horrified and turned tense.
“You are not trying to tell me they followed you?” asked Isaac sounding even more scared then when the coffin, which still had not had it’s lid replaced, fell open. As if on cue a scratching sound came from several yards away at the door. All ten men looked over there. Bartholomew, the Butler ordered one of the men to go over and check it out. James, the fattest of the ten crept over to the door. He undid the bolt and opened the door a crack. The pale moonlight shone in and illuminated the coffin which had fallen open. One of the men was sick.
“Nothing there,” said James, the man, slowly. The driver was walking over as James opened the door a little bit wider. Suddenly, the entire mood changed. There was banging and screaming as James’s head was pulled through the door. Five of the men including Bartholomew, Isaac and the driver ran over to him and grabbed onto his limbs trying desperately to pull him back. A deafening screech filled the air as lighting flashed and the rainwater trickled in. It was red.
They made one final pull and managed to pull in James. There worries weren’t over though. The door was opening as one of the creatures arms shot through and started thrashing around for more. Bartholomew ran over to the left side of the door and threw all his weight at it, Isaac did the same. Shrieks cut through the clanging as the creatures arm was slowly crushed. Bones crunched and splintered as the arm thrashed more wildly. Blood started to appear trickling down the wooden doors and one finger turned blue. A blood stained bone cracked and shot through the skin. A tear formed along the pale, strongly veined flesh shooting wildly down the creatures arm and muscle, veins and bone were revealed. Finally, the doors shut together. The screams of the creature almost shattered the windows. The men just managed to hear a window upstairs open as the cook poked her head out to shout at what she thought were no good homeless teenagers . A thud as one on the creatures jumped up the roof of the smaller tower and grabbed the head cook. Her screams met with that of the one armed creature as she was thrown down. The men could hear her being dragged off into the woods. Isaac ran over to James only to see that he was not breathing. He was not breathing because the front half of his head had been bitten off. Finally, the man who had been sick fainted with a small thud.

[ferretchucker]

II

The two coffins were lying on a marble table each. They had been carried up there by seven of the original men and the driver. Bartholomew had got two men to carry up James’ mauled body to one of the storage rooms. A coffin was being made for him. Up in the coffin room five men stood silently gazing at the two corpse boxes. Bartholomew, Isaac, the driver, King Albert of Glenwick and a doctor. Isaac was occasionally letting out a small sob and Bartholomew would check out the window.
Footsteps drew closer to the room. Up the stairs heavy boots made a loud thudding noise like the beat of a bass drum. The door on the east side of the room swung open to reveal a man in a large coat with sheep skin trousers on. He had large black boots with blood splattered on them. His black beard and long hair made it hard to see much of his face, but what could be seen looked petrified.
“Thomas,” said Bartholomew “thank you ever so much for coming.” The man looked down at one of the coffins and winced.
“Can we get this over and done with?” asked Thomas “I don’t feel safe near that.” He nodded at the window.
“Very well then,” said Isaac “You told us that my step mother gave you a command. Take us through what happened.
“The Queen told me that she had a, a friend. A friend who would tell her anything. She said he lived up in her bedroom but nobody knew he was there but her. Her and me. He would tell her every night that she was the most beautiful woman of all.”
“You do not mean to tell me that she had a man with whom she kept in her bedroom? She was not having some kind of relationship with this man of which you speak?” asked Isaac sounding enraged at the thought of his step-mother commiting such a blatant lack of respect for his father.
“Yes, that is true, but one day.” Answered Thomas “She found him saying that the Princess was the most beautiful.”
“So that’s what she meant,” said Isaac to himself. He looked up to the others. “My sister told me she had met a man, a man who she found standing at the window in Father’s room. She said that they were seen sharing a kiss. I thought she was speaking of a dream.”
“The queen told me that he betrayed her. She ordered me. She ordered me to take the princess out into the woods and kill her. She told me to bring her the princess’s heart.” Said Thomas hastily “I couldn’t go through with it, I took her out into the woods and told her to run away. Instead I killed a dear and brought back its’ heart. All was well until earlier today when the man delivering a message by horse asked the Queen why he had seen a girl who looked like the princess hiding in a tree with her hair messed up and with blood all down her dress.”
“Why didn’t the messenger stop?” Asked Isaac.
“In case it was the crying woman. He had heard the legend of the crying woman in the woods who drew you close then slaughtered you fiercely.” answered Thomas, “anyway, the Queen was furious. She ran out to the woods screaming the Princesses name. When I found out the Queen had left I jumped on a horse and rode out as fast as I could. When I met her she was red in the face.” He paused for a moment and gulped. His voice suddenly got a bit croaky.
“Princess Jane came out of the darkness with twigs in her hair, tears in her dress and horrific bruises and cuts covering that of which I could see of her. She tried to keep on running but the Queen stopped her. She started to strangle the princess. That was when they came. I, I, I tried to help but there were too many of them. The screams, they were horrific. I tried so. I barely got away.” He covered his face and walked over to the window.
“They will come for me. Now they know I saw them and I got away they will stop at nothing to kill me.”
All was silent. Nobody knew quite what to say. Thunder sounded and flashes illuminated the outside. One of the many lanterns crackled fiercely as a spark flew out, landing on one of the coffins.
“Open it.” Said a tired sounding voice. It was King Albert.. “I want to see my daughter, I want to see what they did to her.”
“I wouldn’t advise it your majesty,” said the driver, “when I picked her body up and put it in the co-“
“I said open it!” shouted the King causing Thomas to turn around. Bartholomew and the driver did as they were told. Bartholomew’s usually cheerful looking face and bright eyes were dull and full of sorrow. They removed the lid and placed it on the marble floor, trying not to wake up the king’s youngest child, four year old William.
A girl of no older than twenty five lay in the box. Her blonde hair was stained with green and brown. She was missing three fingers on her left hand and there were scratches all over he forearm. A large chunk near her left elbow was hanging on by a thin layer on skin. The white bone was visible through the torn muscle and tissue. Her neck consisted of three thick strands of skin. The rest had been torn off. One of her eyes was missing and the skin around it had been torn off.
Her other eye was completely purple, likewise to the area around it. Her nose appeared to be broken and swollen. Her mouth, which was open, was a pool of blood. There were bits of her gums floating in the scarlet liquid. The most shocking thing however was her left leg. It appeared that the creatures had wanted to lift it up from the knee the wrong way around. It was bent upwards and parts of bone were sticking through the skin. There were many chunks in it and hundreds of scratches. All over her were bite marks and bruises.
The men were about to open the second coffin when the king stopped them.
“It is her fault this happened. Throw her outside and let the crows get that hag. As far as I’m concerned she’s nothing but a wretched, horrible looking old woman who doesn’t even deserve hell,” snapped the king. Tears were trickling down his wrinkled old face causing his grey beard to shine slightly in the light of the lanterns.
“Bartholomew, show these men to their rooms. It is too dangerous to go out now. They can leave in a carriage followed by two guards tomorrow. I think Isaac and I would like some time alone with my daughter. Do not wake me in the morning for breakfast. Tell Prince Charles Ming I cannot go to his Ball on Sunday. I don’t quite think I’m ready for that. They closed the coffins and left the King and Prince standing there. As Bartholomew closed the door he heard them talking to Princess Sarah.

[ferretchucker]

III
It was morning. Isaac hadn’t closed his eyes for the entire night. Whenever he tried all he saw was his sister being killed by those creatures. At around three o’clock in the morning he got out of bed and took a walk around the castle. He purposely avoided his little brother’s room. He knew if he went near it he would tell his brother what happened. He wasn’t ready for that yet.
The prince try to recall what had happened in his head. His sister was in love with a man his step mother was in love with. His step mother then tried to have his sister killed. Isaac walked along running this through his mind, trying to work out anything, anything at all which made have made the queen act so irrationally. It was then that it struck him.
The man. The man his sister had been in love with was still in the castle somewhere, he may not even know what had happened. Isaac broke into a sprint, passing one of the early morning cooks getting ready for breakfast. The rosy cheeked woman did not smile at him though. She only hung her head in an apologetic manner.
The wooden door burst open. Alan had been waiting in the kings room all night for the queen to arrive. He woke from his light doze with the noise of the opening door. He felt his inner pocket. The knife was still there. All ready for it. He had the vial of poison. One stab of the coated dagger would finish off the queen for what she had done to his love.
Alan stretched his head out just far enough to make out a tall, quite muscular figure in the doorway, looking around. It wasn’t the queen, so who was it? Alan shuffled along the floor further, but then the figures head turned. It had turned and was looking right at him. Alan wasn’t sure if the figure could see him though. Maybe it was too dark. But the answer came.
“Good Morning, I don’t think you’re meant to be in here,” Said the figure in the doorway.
*
Bartholomew was awake and bustling around the kitchen, giving orders. He had been up for five hours already, and had only drifted off to sleep seven hours ago. The butlers life usually consisted of late nights and early mornings, burning the candle at both ends one might say, but even this was a bit much for him, and the lack of sleep had affected his mood, which, on top of the death of the Princess and the revelation of what the queen had done, the usually bright and cheerful Butler was one that you would not want to be around.
“Keep it moving, that bread needs to be done in five minutes!” shouted the butler, passing one of the cooks.
“Will the king even have his appetite?” replied the cook, “after what’s happened, surely he’d rather mourn his wife and daughter.”
“Hold your tongue lest you’d like me to cut it off! You do not know what you are talking about, and do not mention that woman in the castle ever again?”
“Which woman?” asked the cook; none of the staff had been informed of anything except the deaths.
“The ex-queen.” Answered Bartholomew. Before the cook could take the matter any further, a loud clang across the other side of the room sent the butler away. Another one of the cooks, the latest addition to the cooking staff, had dropped the butter dish and it had hit the side of a pot above a fire. As a result, the butter had melted.
“You fool!” shouted Bartholomew, “That was one weeks worth of butter! Leave, now!”
“Sir, I think you need to calm down,” Said one of the older cooks, Leslie.
“Yes…yes you’re right. I’ve got a lot of things on my mind. And…get all the staff in here.”
“They are sir…” said Leslie.
“No, all the staff. From the whole castle. I want them to meet me here in ten minutes. All the guards, everyone.”
The cooking staff looked at each other, then all left and spread across the castle, spreading the message. Within fifteen minutes, every chambermaid, cleaner, cook, guard and gardener was inside the kitchen. It was extremely crowded and it was a bit claustrophobic. Bartholomew climbed on top of a worktop, which was quite difficult considering his age, put his thumb and index finger inside his mouth and whistled. Immediately all went quiet.
“Everybody…there isn’t any really good way to tell you this. We are all in severe danger.”
Straight away, people began to move around in a panicked way and an unmistakeable sense of fear shot through the room.
“Now. There are certain actions that must be taken to ensure all of your safety. The first, nobody leaves this castle after dark. No exceptions. The second, do not leave any windows or doors open. The third, all gardeners must be in at least a group of three, with at least one guard.”
“What?! We can’t do that! There’s not enough time in the day to cover all that land if we’re all clumped together like a pack of foxes?” Shouted one of the gardeners. She was an elderly woman and was known for arguing. Three years ago she got in a conflict with one of the other gardeners after accusing them of stealing. The argument was settled but Bartholomew still didn’t like her very much.
“Be quiet! This is for all of your safety! One of…one of our staff died last night. I don’t want a repercussion of that!”
The room suddenly fell into a state of panic. People shouting, moving around and knocking things over. People rushed out of the room shouted, but none left the castle, for fear of being killed by the unknown to them force that had killed one of the peers. Outside the kitchen, in the passage leading to the dining room, the King was suddenly shocked by the sudden appearance of half the castle workers rushing past him. One of the women screamed they were all going to kill her. Bartholomew followed, shouting after them to stop, but was in turn stopped by the king, who pushed him into the dining room.
“What on earth were those people so scared about? You did not tell them of the current situation I presume?” said the King.
“Yes…well, not all of it. I simply gave them warnings of how to keep safe.” Answered Bartholomew.
“Well that is the worst possible thing that you could have done! Now the castle will be working like a broken clock!” shouted the king. Bartholomew stepped forward so he was only inches away from King Albert.
“I will not put your bed being made and room being cleaned before my staff’s lives. Now I realise that you are under an immense amount of stress, but so am I. I have served in this building for over six decades, I served your grandfather. I love this family like each and every member of it were my own. I’m nearing the end of my time and still haven’t done anything that will be remembered.”
“How dare you say that? It will be a long time before you are forgotten.”
“Wait, let me finish. Your father used to always say, ‘People always say I have five children, but I don’t. Everybody in this castle are my children.’ Your father was a noble man, as was his father. I have seen people come and go from this castle. I dedicated my life to this job so much, I missed my own daughters death. I have a year at the most left. I’m surprised I’m still alive now. I have seen seventy eight years. I don’t know how could have survived that long, but I have. Now, if I dropped dead now, I will be remembered as the man who kept this castle going, and lived for two lifetimes. But above all, I want to be remembered as the man who loved, and protected the people of this castle, my children.”

[ferretchucker]

IV
“I think it’s time we had a little chat, don’t you?” said Isaac. He paced around Alan, who was sitting in a chair. Isaac strolled over to the door and locked it. They were in one of the many rooms used for storage of old objects. The trouble was, once an object got old, dusty and tattered and was moved up there, it never came back down, so the rooms were nearly always deserted and took up space, much to the annoyance of many staff who live in the castle and have to share rooms and even beds.
“Listen to me, the Queen set up Jane’s death, you must let me kill her.” Said Alan, getting up.
“That woman has been taken care of, and will no longer be referred to as ‘the Queen’. You obviously do not know what happened.” Replied Isaac. He told Alan of the woodsman not going through with the murder, the Princess being spotted, her and her step mother’s death and then, the events of the night before.
“It will kill me inside, knowing I will never be able to attend my one true loves funeral, but at least she is at peace now,” said Alan, hanging his head.
“My intentions were to kill you, but now…now I have other ideas. The demons that haunt us and everybody else in the castle, have you any idea what they are?” asked Isaac.
“I grew up in a village the other side of the woods. In that village there were many stories of them. My mother told me they were once us, a clan living in the woods. She never did tell me any more than that. I asked everybody in the village but none gave me an answer.” Said Alan, who was obviously straining his mind for any other memories of stories about the seven demons.
“This village, how far away is it?”
“It was easily a day in a carriage. But it is gone now. Darcelarke is gone.” Said Alan, and a tear came to his eye.
“You were from Darcelarke? But, they said nobody lived.” Said Isaac. Darcelarke was the infamous village that was destroyed by the demons. It was when the demons attacked the village and eventually destroyed it, that they began targeting other villages throughout Glenwick. No others had been destroyed but Farstead had been severely damaged and Marbford had had it’s fair share of attacks.
“I was out hunting when it happened. I returned in time to…in time to see them take my mother. Flames everywhere and screaming. My house was a pile of rubble and everybody was slaughtered. I ran, I was cowardly and instead of saving my dear mother, I saved myself.” He put his face into his palms, but then looked up.
“I’m so sorry, I-” he was cut short by Alan who was suddenly standing up.
“We must go to the stables now. There is a man who can help us. Get a sword and some kind of armour. We need to go deep into the woods where the sun doesn’t hit the earth. I will meet you outside the stables in five minutes.” With that, Alan ran to the window and opened it. He got some pieces of cloth and began tying them together. “You need to get ready so we can leave immediately.” He said to the Prince who left the room. As he had promised, when the Price arrived outside the stable doors. He had a small knife in his hand and nodded at the prince. The two quietly opened the stable doors, got two horses and rode out on them. Within a minute they were in the woods the a couple of minutes after that, they were in near darkness.
“Where are we going?” shouted Isaac.
“I’m not entirely sure. All I know is that he lives just south of the clearing of the dead.” Answered Alan.
“We could be travelling around these woods for months!” replied Isaac.
“True, but when we do find him, it’ll be worth it!”


That's what I have so far. I should really finish it.

[Vodstok]

http://www.englishforum.ch/attachments/family-matters/98d1158920230-kindergartens-oerlikon-zurich-hijack.gif

Not exactly what i had in mind when i posted this.....

[ferretchucker]

I know, but I've been waiting to post that for months. Anyway, I did forget to mention, great start, and if you can keep it up for the rest of the year, it should be good.


There. Happy now?

[Vodstok]

I know, but I've been waiting to post that for months. Anyway, I did forget to mention, great start, and if you can keep it up for the rest of the year, it should be good.


There. Happy now?
:) .

[Geddy]

Good job, man I liked it a lot. Do you have a link to your Emberwind story? I'd like to read it

[Disease]

I read an interview with J.G Ballard a few years back, and he stated that he writes 1000 words a day minimum.

I don't often go past 500 and some days none. It kind of spurs you on to be more productive when someone you respect reasons like this.

I think even if half of what you write in a day gets scraped it is still aq good habbit to get into.

My problem is I need a new dictaphone, I might get one next week when I get more cash. My last one was stolen and I took it as it was, I didn't run out and buy a new one, I just wrote less and let my ideas slip away.

[Vodstok]

Good job, man I liked it a lot. Do you have a link to your Emberwind story? I'd like to read it
thank you :)

Ask and ye shall recieve:


http://horror.com/forum/showthread.php?t=27581

[Roderick Usher]

Good work, Vod. It is important to keep yourself motivated.

I don't count words on screenplays, but we shoot for 10 pages a day when we're working, and finish a first draft in about 10-15 days. But we also take quite a bit of downtime in between gigs to rest up ad come up with new ideas.

I did a full-script dialog polish with a few changes today...it took about 6 1/2 hours. Probably 20-30 full pages of writing all-told on a 103 page script.

Did 5 pages of rewrites/added scenes on another script yesterday in about 45 minutes.

When I write short stories I finish them in one shot and they tend to be 1500-3000 words a piece.

But that's my job.

On a related note... GIALLO started shooting today, L.A. GOTHIC is coming together, we have a cool, young horror director attached to the script I rewrote today (more on that as things progress) and our latest script (non-horror) called THE TOKAREV is getting quite a bit of attention:D

[Vodstok]

Thank you :)

2 days and 20031 wordsd so far. the small daily goal is pretty comfortable, and only seems to eat up about 30-45 minutes, which means i can fit it in to my schedule.

Its fun too :)

[Doc Faustus]

I just did a three day novel. First I read someone saying 1000 and I did 1000 for a bit, then I read Stephen King's on Writing, where he recommends three thousand. I'm with King. If people are into a videogame, they'll play it for four, five hours. It will be the duration of their leisure time, but if they're trying to write something they might just spend twenty, forty minutes on it. For a while I was way off track and only writing a thousand or so once a week, but I'm back on the wagon. Three thousand's the way to go, definitely. It's about two hour's work most of the time and when it's done you've really got ten more good pages.

[Vodstok]

I just did a three day novel. First I read someone saying 1000 and I did 1000 for a bit, then I read Stephen King's on Writing, where he recommends three thousand. I'm with King. If people are into a videogame, they'll play it for four, five hours. It will be the duration of their leisure time, but if they're trying to write something they might just spend twenty, forty minutes on it. For a while I was way off track and only writing a thousand or so once a week, but I'm back on the wagon. Three thousand's the way to go, definitely. It's about two hour's work most of the time and when it's done you've really got ten more good pages.
Unfortunately, i dont have 2 hours a day, otherwise i would love to reach for 3000.

[Doc Faustus]

Understood. I was more thinking about how people do spend their free time when they could be writing. Of course, it's important to let yourself be loose for work, but the temptation of going out for a beer or videogames or all kinds of things so often come up and writers forget that writing is what they love to do, more than those other things. Even if writings you're job, you're doing your job because you love it.

[Vodstok]

Understood. I was more thinking about how people do spend their free time when they could be writing. Of course, it's important to let yourself be loose for work, but the temptation of going out for a beer or videogames or all kinds of things so often come up and writers forget that writing is what they love to do, more than those other things. Even if writings you're job, you're doing your job because you love it.
I dont drink during the week, and as luck would have it, it is way easier to open word than to fire up Bioshock or FEAR, so its just easier :)