Word Count: ...5,540


Naturally, there was an impish--if perhaps ill-advised--dare to dash to five thousand words by midnight. I think 'twas tonight. Things have been a bit foggy this week. [Ah, and I can't help but, er, notice swiveling chairs and wide eyes turning... Oy, to be Tov now and dodge. ^_^;]

Oy, but that's forty minutes to write a couple thousand more words, da?

Too many tramezzi in this Tramezzo, so to speak. There's something in relationship that seems inextricably caught up with time--temporal, yes. People are, no doubt. But there are ages in an angle of character, and where Vetren'iy dealt all with the shattered, bloodied edges of connections snapped, Tramezzo has got to find the flip-side.

Only flipping is more fun in cartwheels than in approaches to telling a tale. Or perhaps in flippant badinage.

But, as there are some edges rubbed raw in Tramezzo, an excerpt: [sadly, speed-written]

:..:..:..:..:..:

( Run Away, So She Said )

Word Count: 1023

It is a weak word count.

Vaguely, I had the idea there was something to write. Most of it ended up in place of philosophy notes--er, I don't think the professor noticed the difference. Anyhow, impish intent aside, my pen must have looked industrious and all that, despite the fact that it wrote little to nothing in the subject of Aristotle or Augustine.


Oy, but I have got notes somewhere--straggle notes, pieces of characters. As far as delineating the novel, doubtless, having character names and pieces is somewhat useful.



Gideon [or Glib]: Glib in being quick to scoff, taunt the things that make no sense. A boy who lost his ties, clings to one girl who's flighty as fate--and as thoughtless--and wears paisley and zigzagged cast-offs. 'An' it's not funny, y'know--what happens when you go dashing off willy-nilly off the skyscraping Time building? or wot happens if it's in traffic now? Think about that, did you?'

Isabel Bernardone: I'm the kitten in the corner, I'd like to run away. I've forgotten all behind me as it's never here today.

Dr. Winn: 'The coping stone,  between this and that--you have all the ages of numbers--but what to do with them? Knowledge is a hanging thread without wisdom to tack it up.'

Wayfarer: Tell me a story. That was that. But, so, so far away--the man bent, held his head. The stars were not his stars; and the roads twined back behind him like veins. Broken. As if they twined in him, he thought--oh, as if; and his heart stuttered 'til the air felt like lead behind his teeth.

Ffraid, Fen, Howell: Siblings. I don't need to know. Frai' does.

Koller [or Kolya]: Lean, flit-eyed young man. Con 'im good, now, yah? But the man didn't glance up. Da-da. For the world wound lies only as well as any ball rolled string--snap. At some point, snap.

Mr. Crickhold: Charming. Broad hands, even stature, dimmed-twinkling eyes and thoughts that run just a moment behind feelings.

Mrs. Crickhold: Mad-clever, but rather crushed. Narrow, smiling woman--eyes that glaze into pleasantry she doesn't quite feel.


...::...:::...:::::...::...:...


Oy, and I haven't the slightest as to where it's going, when, why--'tis a blind corner. Er, the only downside to rushing round corners is being surprised, I suppose. Or being knocked flat. In either case, things may change, disappear; or lose themselves, it seems. Ah well.

story-tellers wayfarer runaway


Put simply, this is NaNo 2008. What is NaNo '08? ...er, well, this. Not to be too terribly Tov-like. But I can't think for other things, being ill and feeling bloody useless with how little I've written. Anyhow, if it were a diagram, it might look like an atom--protons and electrons, lit, planetary, orbiting a nucleus.

The point, you see, was the connection. Characters, as human beings, only go so long without connection--and sometimes the stories even of interiors are inextricably bound up with exterior reaction to others. Begin with a family, da? connections good or ill, taut or loose.

Chissa. Mozhet.

It has been much easier of late to write in Russian and Italian--fragments and distraction.

Title-- Tramezzo (or Glibly, Wayfarer)