I mean of course I do sleep. Since I left home last week I have slept every every night, at least two hours, often more than four. That’s a bit less than what I’m used to, but I don’t seem to get tired easily. Besides, I’ve had too much fun writing the novel. So don’t worry about me. (Especially you, Ashley.)
I started hitchhiking. Everything seems to be going fine, so I might just as well take a short detour on my way to aunt Renie in Berlin. Perhaps via Rome or Ljubliana, maybe even Moskow, they are all in that general direction. It all depends how I get lifts. It’s November after all.
Oh, I got a message from my boss. He told that since no information had been leaked out and no damage done, the client, whose system I cracker, was happy not to press any charges, but a would start to an immediate work for some major security update. I wont mention the name of the company, but their users will notice a clear change once they are done. The hole is big enough for an elephant, if you know where to look. Ian also mentioned that I still get to keep my job, and as far as they are concerned, I’m on an vacation due to “personal reasons”, akin to sick-leave.
Of course I didn’t go to Amiens, so no point calling the local police. That’s no place to get to Berlin. Why would you think I’d let you catch me. For the record. I’m writing this by the place du 11me Novembre in Paris. My French is going fine, thought I have to admit that without Calva it’s not as easy.
So to the point. You must be dying to find out what happened to Lori, our strange alien princess trying to save the world from her kind. Well, the story goes on. 30 000 words in.
Once the antipsychotics kick in (what Lori thought was the blood containing the soul of some poor innocent IT-engineer, thanks for the idea, Ashley) the Alien medical lab she was detained in transforms into a psychiatric ward. She’s still detained, though and they that she’s just started to recover from an acute psychosis, and might still have difficulty of figuring out what exactly was true. Of course Lori knows that’s just the aliens plot to make her think that they are just a product of her imagination, and she’s not eager to drink any more blood either, now disguised as antipsychotic medication. Yet their story seems to be consistent. Brian even confesses that the episode was triggered when he had raped Lori. When even her foster father Matthew visits her and shows compassion, she starts to yield to reality. When the doctors are finally discussing about releasing our heroine from the facility, her real father Ian, whom Lori hadn’t seen since she was 10 shows up, kidnaps her from the ward and takes her medication away. Ian reminds that Matthew is Brian’s boss, and explains that the blood they are collecting allegedly to Red Cross from the employees of the IT and accounting consulting company actually goes to their own use. As the effect on antipsychotics – or blood, as Lori again understands – wears off. At that point she realizes that if she really is an alien princess, then her father… Ok, I’m stuck here. Any ideas?
Perhaps I should enroll on the storyMOOC myself. My own life would make quite a story as well. Just that… I need to find aunt Renie first.
Ok, I have read your emails. (And Ashley, I can hear your cries of worry all the way here). The place Charly-sisters invited me to was a kind of writer’s camp. Some two dozen people crammed in a house for the weekend, trying to finish a 50 000 word novel during the November. Simply put those are the rules for NaNoWriMo. Apart from cramming to a house that is. Charlys continued their trip today heading for other NaNoers. I got a lift to Amiens and will go on from here.
The daily routine was quite simple. Wake up in the morning and review your text. Over a croissant and coffee plan for the text you are going to write today. Write. At lunchtime discuss about your text. Write. Over the dinner share your text with others and laugh. Write. Sleep. Dream about your story. Write.
The atmosphere was contagious, so I decided to give it a shot myself. I’m somewhere around 20 000 words by now, but I have yet to figure out a plot. Everything just seems to flow together with the characters. Some of the folks here are attending a storyMOOC at iversity, and they kept telling that I should have something called an archplot and something called hook-hold-payoff -structure. I might add one later.
So far my heroine, Lori, wakes up and find’s she’s been abducted by aliens. She has no recollection how she ended up there. As she sneaks out, she learns that their spaceship is parked under the Trafalgar Square. I got the idea as I was passing by yesterday. On the way out Lori learns the aliens eat souls by drinking the blood of their victims. To rule the the world they focus on trades like business and engineering. She tries to tell the police, but everyone just thinks she’s crazy. Finally she meets up with her boyfriend Brian, who has freaked out because of her going missing, and he believes her story. (Now there’s a lesson for you, Ashley!) The boyfriend works as a HR manager in a prominent consulting company, but decides to drop their co-operation project with the Red Cross and instead save the world with Lori. Together they sneak in through the Charing Cross station, but are detected and have to flee through the London underground, and almost get out, when Brian – who turns out to be an alien – betrays Lori and she is detained in a secret medical laboratory. There they try to convince Lori that she herself is actually an alien princess, who, in short of her blood dosage, had forgotten her true identity. Of course she resists such an absurd claim, but once she is finally forced to take blood… perhaps by IV?, her entire view of the world changes and… We’ll, I’ll have to figure that out.
A strange coincidence: the storyMOOC is organized by the Potsdam University. Aunt Renie, would you happen to know anything about that?
And lettuce. And tomatos. Or tried, but unforeseen event involving an umbrella, some toilet paper and a dog changed all that, but I wont go into that. All I really wanted to say is that I made it to and from London. By train.
I’m sorry I left you like that, but I overheard your conversation. But you knew I have to go. If you are wondering, I keep my hiking gear at the back of my closet, in my room, including my boots. I ditched the house before midnight and walked down the railroad most of the night.
Yes, my loyal followers (especially you, Ashley). I promised I’d make blog for myself and I’m positine that you’ll google it in no time. It’s not like the web is crowded with misocynist Fluffies.
So, an update. I’m writing this in Dieppe. I ate at a charming place called biking seagull with Charlotte and Charlene, twins from Leeds, who are writing a road novel for something called NaNoWriMo, and their stories intermingle. I need to check that out. Somehow they decided to add a fugitive on the run to the story. They are staying over at theirs friends and invited me to join. Good, because I didn’t sleep too much in the train and I wasn’t really looking for a night in tent, not at this time of the year.
I’ll have to keep moving. I dear not to think what Renie told me, but I don’t know how much I have time. Could be months. Could be hours. But I DO not want to go down again. And Berlin is still far and away.
Good night, my friends. Don’t try to follow me. I’ll drop you a line from Rouen. Or Paris at latest.