The River Styx as polluted stream of consciousness

Much as I prepared for 24-Hour Comic Day ( ), tonight I decided to see how fast I could write an 850-word piece
of fiction. I’m planning to participate in National Novel-Writing
Month ( ) in November, during which I must write
a 50,000 word novel. That amounts to 1,667 words a day over 30 days,
and various advisors have it that if you can write 850-word chunks
twice a day (say, morning and evening), you’ve done 1,700 words and
are therefore a bit ahead. Hence my 850 words.

I wrote 876 words in 37 minutes and 12 seconds, including one bathroom
break. I obtained a coherent short-short story, covering most of a
letter-sized page in single-spaced monofont. I won’t harm you by
making you read it, but I will tell you it involves a Balrog, who has
become a demon of sloth in this, the Seventeenth Age of Middle-earth,
carrying away a crabby girl named Lucy (no relation) to be distributed
as a fine mist throughout the pits of the Christian Hell. It has a
happy ending.

It’s pretty bad. It tries too hard to be clever. It relies too much on
pop culture. It even contains me as a character. But what are you
going to do? I wrote it at almost my typing speed.

I’m not sure I can write even twice as well if I take thrice as long,
but at least now I have some inkling I can write a thoroughly bad
novel in 74 hours and 24 minutes.


(edit) I mistakenly doubled the time needed. It’s really 37 minutes and 12 seconds, twice a day, times 30 days, or 37 hours and 12 minutes. Not even a workweek!


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