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Re: NaNoWriMo 2013, 14, 15, etc...
Publié : 19 oct. 2014, 16:41
par Jilelminah Black
Joe Le Dingue a écrit :des longueurs, des descriptions et des scènes interminables mais poussées à leur paroxysme, jusqu'à ce que ça en devienne ridicule.
Flaubert power !
Ceci dit c'est un exercice plutôt intéressant de voir jusqu'à quel point on peut pousser les descriptions interminables !
Perso je pars sur une autobiographie fictionnelle qui raconte en gros la relation entre un écrivain et sa muse, avec en intrigue de fond la mort de la fille de l'écrivain sept ans plus tôt, dans des circonstances plutôt floues (puisque pour l'instant je ne les connais pas moi-même, je pense qu'on peut affirmer que c'est flou
), et à laquelle ne semble pas étrangère ladite muse... je ne sais pas comment je vais réussir à trouver suffisamment de temps pour écrire, mais j'ai hâte de commencer ! Et ça s'appelle - pour l'instant - La Sœur du chaos !
Et cette année, j'essaie de moins planifier que l'an dernier, pour me laisser plus de liberté dans l'écriture. Moi qui ne peut pas m'empêcher de tout prévoir à l'avance avec une précision de montre suisse, on va bien voir ce que ça va donner x)
D'autres participants ?
Re: NaNoWriMo 2013, 14, 15, etc...
Publié : 02 nov. 2014, 18:28
par Joe Le Dingue
Un petit extrait de mon nano pas revu, pas corrigé, juste pour rire :
Spoiler (cliquez pour révéler) : |
| Je doute, disais-je, alors, bien malgré moi, j’ouvre un œil flou. Je cherche dans l’obscurité les chiffres de mon réveil en essayant d’effectuer le moins de mouvements possible. Seulement la tête à peine émergée au-dessus de la couette. Tout d’abord, j’aperçois difficilement comme une lueur orange faiblarde devant moi, assez loin en hauteur, à ma gauche. Je cligne plusieurs fois de mon œil ouvert. Je n’y vois pas plus clair. C’est sans doute l’horloge de ma box tv orange dont je discerne à peine les chiffres. Je plisse un peu la paupière de mon œil actif, toujours le même, l’autre étant enfoncé profondément dans mon oreiller avec le reste de ma tête, comme je faisais quand j’étais môme quand j’essayais de discerner ce qui se passait dans les films de boules sur canal +. Sauf que là, c’est pour tenter de lire une bête horloge à chiffres barres luminescents. Je distingue un peu mieux les chiffres. 4h45 il me semble avoir lu. Comme je ne me lève que vers 5h30, ça me laisse encore trois quarts d’heure à dormir. Chouette ! Court, mais pas impossible. Je referme mon œil et je fais une nouvelle tentative de dodo express.
Pourtant, nib, que dalle, rien à faire ! J’ai oublié quelque chose mais quoi ? Voilà, je me remets à cogiter. Habituellement, pour m’endormir le soir, non, je ne me chante pas une berceuse ! Par contre, je pense à des trucs chiant, j’entends par là des trucs ennuyeux à mourir. Ou alors je laisse vagabonder mon esprit, je me promène en forêt, je m’imagine être seul quelque part dans des paysages que j’apprécie, la montagne, l’auvergne que j’aime bien en particulier, La Bourboule où j’étais allé en classe verte en CM2, Saint-Jacques-des-Blats, quelques-unes des vacances les meilleures que j’ai jamais vécues, et ça me suffit, me replonger dans des bons souvenirs, pour m’assoupir…
Mon smartphone ! C’est ça que j’ai oublié de vérifier ! Je rouvre mon œil, le droit, puisque que je suis allongé sur le côté gauche et que ma table de chevet se trouve à droite de mon clic-clac, à une longueur de bras. Je le tends mollement, se bras devant moi en ne manquant pas de faire tomber quelques objets difficilement identifiables dans la pénombre, sans doute mon déo stick et peut-être ma brosse à cheveux. Je fini par saisir quelque chose entre mes doigts goures et paresseux. Je palpe la chose : parallélépipède plat dans un étui cuir. C’est bien ça, mon téléphone. Je me couche sur le dos, enlève avec difficulté l’étui en cuir de mon smartphone, étui que je pose et coince dans un repli de la couette. Enfin, je tâtonne le côté droit du téléphone afin d’appuyer sur le bouton permettant d’activer l’écran sensitif, ce qui me permet de constater qu’en effet, la bête est bel et bien chargée à plus de 80% et que l’alarme est bien enclenchée. Rassurer, je range le bidule dans son étui, que je manque de faire choir par ailleurs, je le repose là où j’ai l’habitude de le poser, c’est-à-dire entre la brosse à cheveux, qui n’est plus à sa place, à droite sur la table de chevet et la boîte de boule Quiès à gauche. Durant la manœuvre, quelque chose d’autre d’aussi indéterminée que tout à l’heure, tombe en faisant un bruit sourd sur le parquet. Et merde ! Je ramasserai quand je me lèverai, dans un peu moins d’une demi-heure maintenant. Pour rattraper ma nuit d’insomnie en aussi peu de temps, ça va pas être simple, tiens. |
Re: NaNoWriMo 2013, 14, 15, etc...
Publié : 28 nov. 2014, 08:57
par eärendil
J'ai pas eu la chance de venir partager mon NaNo encore cette année.
Ceci dit, je suis assez fière de dire que je l'ai fini dimanche soir: 56000 et des poussières. Ca va prendre un travail d'édition du tonnerre parce que j'étais un peu l'arrache, entre l'écriture, la recherche d'emploi, les démarches administratives de retour en France mais bon
Pour ceux que cela intéresse un petit extrait, en l'occurrence le prologue. C'est en anglais car évidemment c'est la langue dans laquelle c'est plus facile d'écrire pour moi (encore). Ca changera certainement d'ici peu mais voilà
Spoiler (cliquez pour révéler) : |
| He sat on the floor in the most remote corner he had found, where no one who came could see him. Though who would visit the library at this hour really? It was late at night – the hall was silent meaning that all the inhabitants of the castle had sought their bed – and he was supposed to sleep. But how could he?
He was way too excited to sleep. He tamed his very own dragon today before his brother who was two years older. How could they want him to lie down in his bed when the magical feelings and wonderful images of the day kept his mind occupied and whirling? For the first time ever he beat his brother at something. Sure Brenin was the heir and supposedly the best at everything but it got annoying sometimes to always hear him say that he did better on his first try. Well not this time! Ah!
So he had come here after dinner even though he itched to visit the library earlier. But dinner was not to be missed or his mother would reveal her darker side – he shuddered at the thought. Once his old wet nurse had left the room that he and Brenin shared and he confirmed his brother was asleep – by jumping on his bed to see if he reacted – he lit a lamp and made his way down here. Good thing he was a silent boy otherwise he would have been caught twice, once by Alberic and once by Conor, the kennel mast, on his way to the feasting hall.
It took him some time to find books on dragons – hours at least – and then he only secured one. It was a dictionary of sort, not particularly interesting. What he wanted to read were some of the stories about them. So he made his way through the rows of books that constituted the castle library: piles and piles of books that all the High Kings of Eirean had gathered and put together even though few people used them. He knew he could find Alberic here at least a few times a day: his father’s seneschal seemed to always find answers in the library. His father also came here but he did not know why exactly. Ultimately he reached the dirtiest and darkest part of the library and there he found his treasure. Dozens – he could only count to twelve yet – of old dusty volumes with a dragon head on their spine and something else: a creature with wings. What could that be? Placing the small candleholder on the ground, he grabbed one book, causing a cloud of dust to gather around him. Inevitably he coughed. Holding one hand on his mouth to avoid making noises he brought the book close to his chest and carefully walked towards that corner where he would remain unseen. He went back to grab his candle and made himself comfortable opening the big tome on the ground and lying on his belly that he could observe the pages at his leisure.
Thankfully there were images and illustrations on the book for his reading skills were still uncertain, though he would never let anyone say so. The first few pages looked to have been written by someone who did not consider children might want to read this book. It was too small and almost too faded to decipher. But there was a gorgeous picture of two dragons: one was black as night though there was something that shone about his colour and his eyes were a deep blue like the sapphire set in his mother’s crown. The other one was white as snow shining in the sun and his eyes were a deep black. They both wore crowns made of gold with multicoloured gemstones. And yet, they bowed – as if in submission – to the man standing between them: well he looked like a man mostly. But his body seemed to hover between the dragons’ scales and the human skin as if he was not sure whether he was dragon or human. His features were similar to man but he had sharp teeth and wings, like those of a dragonfly. The artist drew him very tall and he too wore a crown, though his seemed to be made of golden leaves. Who were they? He looked underneath the drawing where the artist wrote in beautiful calligraphy: The two Dragon Kings acknowledge their debt to King Fionnbharr of Faerie. The next page showed a drawing of the same King Fionnbharr and a woman; she resembled him. Her skin was different; the artist gave it a sense of shimmering like a gem catching the light. It seemed to be blue or green and she had huge dark eyes with long hair. In fact it reached her knees even though it was braided. She too wore a crown, a golden circlet and she was smiling. Her teeth looked sharp as if they were half human, half dragon but she was very beautiful: more beautiful than his mother who was the most beautiful woman in the world. And she looked kind and mischievous. Under the picture, the note read King Fionnbharr of Faerie and his most beloved Queen Oonagh.
On the opposite page he read slowly that legends reckoned King Fionnbharr as the very first fairy in Eirean before men came. He was said to be the son of a dragon and mother earth – that would explain his weird colouring – and to be a very benevolent king, who could hear the voice of the gods because his mother was one of them. At their request, he and his people built the cairns that could be found all across Eirean to protect the faithful, the travellers and those who would seek refuge from evil enemies. Because the fairies blessed the cairns, the author said it was luck to enter it with one of the old folk if one could find them. One day, as he was returning to his holdings at Knockmaa, he got caught in a deep fog that separated him from his beloved and friends. Trusting his mother earth that nothing could befall him he walked through that white darkness and came upon a nest, where to young dragons starved. Believing their mother dead, the gentle king gathered berries and offering prayers to his mother killed a stag – the king of the animal realm in the forest – that he brought back for the two younglings to eat. And lo and behold, these were not any dragons but the Kings of their races. Thanks to the royal meat that Fionnbharr brought them, they could reveal themselves in their true splendour. The Faerie King, humble and in awe though he was ruling his own kingdom, bowed to them and offered his life should they desire it. For he said “I am born of one such as you my Lords and so my life belongs to you as it belongs to my mother earth.” But the two kings bowed instead and acknowledged their debt to the king, for had Fionnbharr not caught that stag and fed them they might have died prisoner of a weak and feeble body. And so there was an alliance between the dragons and the fairies that they would protect each other.
He turned the page but there was nothing more. How did they protect each other? There seemed to some pages missing for the following page spoke of the coming of men to Eirean and how the dragons recognized their superior strength and agreed to serve them. That seemed odd: he had not felt like the dragon he tamed today was less strong than he. It rather felt as if the beautiful animal decided that they could trust each other and fly together. He was convinced that if there had not been trust, he would not have been able to ride his new companion. But maybe he did not read this too well: he had a new purpose. He would perfect his reading and his letters so that none of these books held any secrets for him. He wanted to know everything about dragons and these fairies. They must have been more than creatures of legend… |