National Terrible Unfinished Novel-Writing Month: Day 30

Okay. I’m at 49,283 words but my story appears to be at an end.  The duck has been returned to the viceroy-in-disguise. The defenseman whose cancer was diagnosed just as the Larksville Lions clinched a position in the state playoffs died during a critical third-period power play, distracting the Maynard goalie just enough to allow the winning goal to slide in under his pads.

The time-traveling Nazi failed to get John Wilkes Booth to assassinate John Adams; John Lennon distracted him by letting him play with his iPod Tablet and the Timebike skidded right past the targeted dropdate. The Governor of Za, visiting from the parallel dimension where dogs became the dominant species on Earth, buried the Timebike (and Lozzie, the Hyperintelligent Sidecar) in a cave outside of Bellows Falls, Vermont, where the Green Mountain boys will be able to retrieve it in the books’ sequel.

The pirate angle seemes to have been wrapped up; they sank HMS “Destiny” and its cargo of heavy armament before it could reach the Hudson, and the captain has married the Countess in order to keep her inheritance safe from the Baron.

Oh: the forces of Death, Order, Reality, and Faith. As predicted, their casual Tuesday night game of Trilastero was in fact influencing all of the events taking place in the main story; oddly enough, the character of the telegraph operator was in fact one of Order’s minions, sent to observe the proceedings more closely. It is indeed he who made sure that when Dr. Reggie McMorden Larton “Skeets” Meston “Reggie” de Gormendeau visited the 1973 World Series of Poker, he set down his rucksack (and the three pounds of black powder inside it) too close to the popcorn machine, thus destroying his maps to present-day Las Vegas, 1774 Walpole Mass., and the Moon’s Schickard Crater.

Big kissing scene between Lady Marlene and Vera Milde. There had to be a payoff for the business with the Victory Egg. It just seemed like the most natural way.

I mean, a good Author knows when to stop. Put too much in there, and you wreck the fragile, simple beauty of your narrative.

So that’s it. I’m putting the National Terrible Unfinished Novel-Writing Month quill back into its rosewood presentation case. I’m heading out for a few beers to celebrate my achievement. Also, I know that I’ll be hearing from publishers pretty much the moment this post hits the Internet. I don’t want to reply to any of their begging emails until midnight at the earliest.

You know? Let ’em sweat a little. Maybe if I wait until 2 AM, they’ll up their offers.