Instead of writing one novel, which can really wear a person out, I want to write a bunch of  short stories.  If a NaNo attempt is partly a terrible decision, here is the other part: I want your suggestions for titles of stories.  Not plots, just titles.  I already have a few titles in my head, like the following which I found while cleaning up some old documents (and can’t even remember writing).

JT Admiral Makes a Sandwich

“I’m hungry,” JT Admiral announced to his empty office. The office, unsurprisingly, did not respond. Satisfied that the room hadn’t gained sentience when he wasn’t looking, JT set out to make a sandwich. His quest was quickly curtailed by the fact that Omega 12, the curiously shiny space station he called home, was under attack by an unknown force.

“Egad!” he exclaimed.

“Admiral!” a nearby crewman of some sort shouted, “The station is under attack by an unknown force!”

Having recently used ‘egad’ to express surprise, the Admiral needed to choose a backup interjection.  “Gadzooks!” he exclaimed.

It’s sort of cheating since there’s a bit written already, but I just won’t apply it toward my word count.  So then, dear readers, toss a few titles my way and we’ll see what sticks.

It has been said that in space, no one can hear you scream. It has also been said that the first sentence of a novel shouldn’t be written in passive voice, so let’s get back to space. This is a story that takes place in space, insofar as Earth is in space and it can be safely assumed that the action of the story takes place on said planet. Currently, there is much screaming and it’s doing an admirable job of being heard. This is okay. Our opening statement does not apply, for “space” is being used as shorthand for “the vacuum of space,” and not the concept of outer space. Of course, this also ruins the claim that the story takes place in space. It’s a shame, really. I do so love a good space novel.

This was the original (and frankly far better) beginning of the novel, before I added all of that stuff about murder and pies. This lead into what became the second chapter, where Richard was stuck in an awkward conversation with a crazy guy. Richard snapped, and started screaming. I changed this because I wanted Richard to be laid back and sort of ambivalent about the state of his life. He’s not a screamer. He really should have been.

Amongst the mementos was a beat-up old badge that PT would always say had saved his life by deflecting a bullet. The truth was that he had dropped it during a routine traffic stop, and it had been run over by a bulldozer that was being operated nearby. Still, it instilled in the rookies a sense of honor or something, and they proudly wore their badges confident in the knowledge that a relatively small area of their upper torso was reasonably protected from small caliber firearms. By the time they had been on the force long enough to realize that this was completely impossible, they generally had a favorable opinion of PT and politely avoided mentioning it.

This was part of the description of PT and his office, which was full of interesting bits of his history with the police. Something about this paragraph just struck me as completely right, almost as though it was taken from a real novel.

“Sounds good to me,” Richard said. “It feels like I haven’t eaten in days.” This wasn’t far from the truth, as ramen noodles and mustard sandwiches barely counted as eating. Richard would be considered a starving student, but since he didn’t attend school he was mostly just starving. He silently hoped that Holly would be picking up the tab for lunch, though he was pretty sure he could outrun her if she demanded his half of the bill.

Every now and then the characters surprised me. I didn’t know this about Richard until it was on the page. Unfortunately, it was much rarer that I would have liked.

Robert Langdon gets dragged into the mess after the police turn up some strange symbols at the scene of the murder. Holly didn’t have to read the other Dan Brown novels to know that’s how they all went. How is it that the expert symbologist from Harvard always just happens to be in the right place to help? And what the hell kind of job is symbologist? Holly was certain that wasn’t even a word.

This was my attempt to describe the plot of Dan Brown’s next book as vaguely as possible, and pretty much sums up why I can’t recommend his novels to anyone.

And that is really all of the novel that was worth salvaging. I may steal a line here or there for Megalomania!, which I can now work on with greater aplomb. For next year’s NaNoWriMo, I will be writing sci-fi, no question.

The Dan Brown Code was a flimsy idea based on my flimsy understanding of mystery novels and the utter inability to just let wacky things happen and move on. The reason Megalomania! works (as the overall concept of a story, if not the exact words I wrote) is because of its structure and adherence to “reality,” the very same two things that make The Dan Brown Code a colossal failure. But I’m not too upset. I had no drive to see Richard and Holly to the end of their story.

I’ll just chalk this up to the nature of NaNoWriMo. I’ve seen many people who succeeded one year only to fail the next. Though the reasons differ, I think a lot of it is overconfidence. Of course I can write a novel this year! I did last year, didn’t I? The third year in the sequence will see a return to success, however. I know I can do it (Megalomania!) and I know what not to do (The Dan Brown Code). Besides, this means that there’s one less novel of mine for people not to read.

I think I’m going to take the adventure and run with it, and maybe even try to tack on some silly. That is, if I even have any hope of finishing at all. So far behind…

My characters are all stuck in ruts, it seems. I know that exciting things will happen to them, but they’re just sort of milling about waiting for me to get them there. Maybe I should take a cue from Dan Brown and make little bite-sized chapters. Or not.

Murder. It was always the murder. It was never a braided kitten, or perhaps an accident of the hornada one. The firemen generally inside for the kittens were called, although, and the assassins were not generally great in merchandise cooked to the furnace. Of course, they had to eat at a certain point, but they ate probably something smooth like tofu or the British food. The dessert would consist of empanada of the apple… a murder of. But mainly empanada. Man, he was hungry. The detective reached closest in the car of the squadron to call after the reserve in the form of pies.

After a bit of creative rearranging, the first and sixth words of my novel are now “murder,” and Detective Delano “PT” Planine-Troiani is on the case. This has the unfortunate side effect of creating three sets of characters, much like last year’s novel, a situation I was trying to avoid. To make it seem less like a total ripoff of last year, I will not be pairing the detective up with anyone. He’s a loose cannon who doesn’t play by the rules in the corrupt precinct of a city gone mad. Or not. Besides good ol’ PT, we have:

• Richard Hunter: aspiring writer, Dan Brown fan
• Holly von Grall: free-lance reporter trying to get her big break
• Stanley Sykes: obnoxious creative writing coach, bad author

As well as your usual collection of minor characters like Sal, the grizzled crime scene investigator and Bramlet Abercrombie, the uh… Australian zeppelin pilot with a heart of gold? I just want to use that name for someone, at least. Anyway, I’ve uploaded the first chapter to my NaNo profile page for perusal, if you’re so inclined.

Also, my style seems to be suffering. I really like how I wrote Megalomania! barring a few awkward parts that a little editing could fix. Now my narration just seems clunky and unwieldy. I read a bit of The Da Vinci Code to see if I could lift Brown’s style for comedic effect, but all that did was make me realize he has no style. Aside from chapter breaks every three pages, which really doesn’t count.

I’m going to try writing on my laptop for a bit. Maybe the increasingly uncomfortable heat it generates in my lap will spur me on to writing greatness.