Nothing?

I started to write a story once about how everything died. All at once every single living thing just died synchronously and the story was not an account of how they died, or how some alien race reacted to their death, or how the world was no better or no worse than it was when man was around - it would be much better off, but probably plant life died as well.
It was about the beauty of everything frozen in time, a plane crashing into the ground so susceptible to gravity; a family dinner; a traffic jam. All things that aren't really all that great, but they're kind of beautiful when you consider that all these things can happen at once. It's a 3-d snapshot where it's kind of beautiful but when you look behind the picture, overall it's pretty crappy.
I never actually finished it, as so much of the things I started. I didn't know where to go, I guess. Where was the conflict? Where were the characters? What would happen next? Nothing I guess...nothing would happen next and that was the meaning I was trying to convey, but that hardly makes for a good read.
So I just stopped. Just as the world in my story instantly died, so did the story.
Maybe I'll type it up if I ever get the inclination.

How to Fire Your Wife

I haven't been writing as much as I'd like to; but, inspiration struck me at about 2 in the morning the other day when I thought: "what if a man lights his wife on fire...but then it's ok that she's on fire?" so I stayed up until 3:30 in the morning, despite the fact that I had work at 7, and wrote that story:

So my wife Peggy and I were arguing one day. Now, we don't normally fight – we're actually pretty happily married – but apparently I had forgotten to take out the trash from the bathroom garbage can, even though it was half-full still, but she doesn't want her dirty used tampons to sit around in case we have guests – even though we never have guests.

So we were fighting about it and she was like, “Reginald, you worthless, good-for-nothing shit! You never do anything right, ever! Even when you think you've done something correctly, you actually haven't!”

“Well, I'm sorry, Peggy, that I'm not some perfect little model husband who went to husband school and graduated Magna Cum Laude. You should have checked my credentials before you took that ring from me.”

“If that's your idea of humor, Reginald, I think that, in retrospect, I most likely should have.”

Unfinished No. 2

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm two things: prone to procrastination and easily distracted.
So while I sat down to type up a lot of notes for my NaNoWriMo (it's still November, right?) I of course put that off to look at all the .doc files I've filled with words and I came across one I titled
"The awesomocity of wordy-dads and sentences-schmentences."
Brilliant, right?
It was supposed to be about a man, Norman Lucas, who could utter single words and create whatever word he uttered (for example, if he held a glass and said "wine" he'd have a full glass of wine, if he said"explode" something would explode).
Things would happen as a result, mayhem would ensue, and etc. but we never got that far. We pretty much met Norman and introduced our plot device.

National Novel Writing Month: Part The Fourth

So this is a little bit belated.
In case you hadn't noticed, I lost!!

I got as far as 32333 words. A massive 50-ish pages. Impressive!!
And then it was thanksgiving, and then it was black friday weekend (a ten-hour day friday as well, to say the least) and also I was sick, and also I was sick of writing.

Don't get me wrong, I love my story, I was excited to share bits of it with you loyal reader(s), but I got so just stressed and fed up that I said fuck it.

Tuesday, the 30th, I was sick and called out of 826NYC and didn't write one single word. It was fantastic. It was spiteful and more of a victory than 50k would have been (LIES!)

But now I'm writing a bit again.

National Novel Writing Month: Part The Third

Day 28 of the challenge is coming to a close and I have a measely 32333 words.
I can only say 3 positive things about this:

1. It was actually a lot more words than I realistically considered myself capable of. When I first started the challenge I thought '50,000 words! Cakewalk!' but inside, my soul screamed "You fucking moron! You don't even know 50,000 words!' and though that didn't make any sense because you can't write a book 50,000 words long and never repeat a word, my soul had a point. 32333 words later and even ignoring the time frame I realize I am actually mentally capable of writing a 50,000 word novel.

2. My longest work at the time was a shitty, pseudo-autobiographical grindhouse b-movie of a novella and clocked in at about 23,000 words. having 10,000 words on that thing and not even being done yet (and being confident that this isn't some pulp piece of shit) is a pretty spectacular feeling. Hell, maybe I'll even surpass the 50k.

3. I can't remember what it was I considered the third positive thing I gained from this experience. But I'd like to believe there is a third thing.

Anyways, though I slacked a bit here and there, and my word count is nowhere near where I should be. I've not given up and I won't quit. I will be proud of whatever word count I reach, and eventually I will have a completed book to be proud of.

I have no excerpt for you because I don't want to give too much away! Sucks to be you!