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An Untitled Adventure Starring Captain Grey
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| WHO'S HOUSE?! SÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄN'S HOUSE! Lemme hear ya say: WHO'S HOUSE? SÄN'S HOUUUUUSE! |
[30 Nov 2003|08:39pm] |
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If the subject line did not clue you in, or the icon, not only did I finish, but I am brilliant and I love how it turned out.
There are still inconsistencies and I am working on ironing them out--feel free to point out things that bother you or confuse you, including grammar because man... I know it is all crap. I stopped writing for over a whole week, and I then I deleted some of what I had written because I had a better idea.
I went from 32,000+ to 50,000+ in THREE. DAMN. DAYS.
A lot of the original funny is gone because I was going more for volume than quality, but hopefully it is still entertaining.
Now, off to go read everyone else's. :)
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| I hate to do this to you, but... |
[17 Nov 2003|08:45am] |
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I have reached a point where I have to be able to make revisions or I absolutely cannot write. >_< And it is going to just get confusing if you have to go back and read previous chapters every time you want to know why this guys name is suddenly Bob or what scene you missed.
My little survey turned up that a few of you are waiting for the end anyway. (Yeah I am such a dick: "Hey is anyone reading this? Yeah? Okay I am going to stop then." hahhaaHAHAHA!)
Thanks for reading so far--sorry I had to do this. I thought I could make it, but the plot is just getting way too complicated for me to make everything I say permanent--things need to shift around a lot. I will probably still post excerpts and funny bits, and I will post it all at the end of the month so you can go through and read it when it is at least sort of finished ;D
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| Welcome, readers! |
[04 Nov 2003|05:37pm] |
Wow, more people are reading this than I expected.
Just to warn you, I am adding all of you without any discretion, but this is a really disgusting novel. Some of you I do not know all that well, and if you are going to be offended by the chauvinism, racism, other sexism, feces-heavy 18th century living conditions, casual murder, heresy, references to borderline-paedophilia, extremely graphic descriptions of venereal diseases and how they are passed, and probably a lot of other rather distasteful imagery and notions, you should run away very quickly before you get your lunch all over your keyboard.
That said, those of you who have as nasty of a sense of humor as I do, enjoy :) If you also have a NaNoWriMo journal, let me know in this post so I can keep tabs on it!
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| Chapter One's first seven paragraphs |
[01 Nov 2003|02:04pm] |
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This bit I already wrote as a test, before I even knew I was going to do NaNoWriMo. I am not including it in my 50,000 words, and I am labeling it as "notes," but you should have it if you are going to read the story. If you would like to read more of the story, add this account as a friend and it will add you back. Enjoy!
The best thing about treasure that is not your own is that you have absolutely no miserly urges to keep any of it--all you want to do is spend it before someone recognizes a piece while it is still in your possession, hauls you in to the governor's and asks you with a Morse-code bruise what you bloody well know about the sacking of a certain Welsh merchanter named Mary Elizabeth. Really, all you can do is say, "What a boring name for a ship," and hope rope burns are a good deal less painful than the palm of a woman scorned.
So the first thing on my mind is always: spend every blood-splattered doubloon the first night. Failing that, spend it all getting a good elixir for the throbbing headache you will have the next day. And if you still have any left, bury it.
Our prize that fateful Friday night was not nearly the fattest I had seen--the old bitch had been low in the water, but most of it had been coffee, and I hate coffee. I hate selling things. None of my crew likes coffee either, and a damn good thing for them because if anyone had tried to stop me throwing it over, they would have gone with it and been human mocha for the sharks. Once we had lifted all that glorified dirt over the side and searched about, we found the enterprise had not been a complete loss.
Apparently, they had already poisoned the last port, and come away well loaded with coin for their efforts. There were several chests in the captain's quarters as bursting as a Nassau whore's bodice, and more than enough to put the lot of us in a good mood. We were a small crew, and that made more for everyone's pockets. Well, except the poor sap who thought I meant it when I ran up a British flag, but we left his handkerchiefs, anyway.
The man's cabin actually made me ill--I could practically taste his low birth clinging to the gaudy decor. What is it about sliding out between venereal disease sores that makes someone want to buy a bedframe gilded in cheap gold paint? Any street urchin that kills the right person(s) can claw his way up to a good position, but it seems the first thing he does is give himself away by spending coin on evidence that he used to snuggle with rats as a child. He also was obviously proud of his travels, for there were souvenirs from the Orient, Africa, and the natives of the Americas in addition to the usual European baubles. I do not care how exotic something is, ugly is ugly, and I just about lost a whole stomach full of weevils (did I say weevils, I am sure I meant biscuits and salt pork, pardon) over some of the gruesome masks and heathen idols he had cluttering the place.
Still, he was right to keep some of it, if not to display it, because more than one was solid gold or silver, and these I plucked off the shelves and walls with the practice of years, dumping them all into a doubled-up silk pillow cover I had snagged from his nancy bed.
"I bet he's not even a fag1 an' his berth's a sight fussier'n yours," remarked the first mate. I loved Halfbeard like a brother, which is the only reason I let him get away with saying something like that. By only reason I probably also mean that he was about four times my size and could have crushed my skull with one hand, and I had seen him do the same to other men. He never told me what it was that had scarred half of his jaw so that no hair grew there, but I always assumed it was a pack of cutlass-wielding sharks that climbed up the side of the ship and took him unawares while he was taking a leak. Not much less could have taken him.
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