2 definitions by WillohWisp
NaNoWriMo, an acronym for National Novel Writing Month, is an especially sad disease, causing its victims to suddenly believe they can write a 50,000 word novel in a month. It is a particularly horrible form of social suicide, which, once having taken hold, cannot be avoided.
Curiously enough, most victims show few signs of this disease until November, whereupon a sudden impulse to plan out the major plot points in their novel steals the full attention of the victim, alongside excessive stockpiling of caffeinated drinks (Read: Coffee). Otherwise, nothing too concerning will occur besides loudly proclaimed issues with the naming of ‘MC’s.
By the third week, however, typing will have become more frantic, as the victim realises that they are rather behind on their irrational goals. Oftentimes, victims will become irritable; beware touching any of their belongings during this time (Especially the coffee) or disturbing them in the middle of a critical plot point.
By the fourth week, the victim will very rarely emerge to face real life. Approach cautiously, and attempt to calmly and quietly introduce the victim to food, water and rest. They will often suffer symptoms of withdrawal, but the worst is now over.
Sometimes, following November, there will be continuing symptoms. This is known as National Novel Editing Month, or NaNoEdMo. Continue to care for the patient as much as possible during this time. It cannot be helped.
Curiously enough, most victims show few signs of this disease until November, whereupon a sudden impulse to plan out the major plot points in their novel steals the full attention of the victim, alongside excessive stockpiling of caffeinated drinks (Read: Coffee). Otherwise, nothing too concerning will occur besides loudly proclaimed issues with the naming of ‘MC’s.
By the third week, however, typing will have become more frantic, as the victim realises that they are rather behind on their irrational goals. Oftentimes, victims will become irritable; beware touching any of their belongings during this time (Especially the coffee) or disturbing them in the middle of a critical plot point.
By the fourth week, the victim will very rarely emerge to face real life. Approach cautiously, and attempt to calmly and quietly introduce the victim to food, water and rest. They will often suffer symptoms of withdrawal, but the worst is now over.
Sometimes, following November, there will be continuing symptoms. This is known as National Novel Editing Month, or NaNoEdMo. Continue to care for the patient as much as possible during this time. It cannot be helped.
"Say, I haven't seen Julie for weeks. Do you know what happened to her?"
"You didn't hear? She's got Nanowrimo!"
"What? No! That's horrible! Will she be okay?"
"We *sob* don't know. She keeps asking stupid questions that we can't understand - what do dragons have to do with real life!"
"There's no cure?"
"The doctor said no. We just have to wait, and hope. That novel she's writing had better be good!"
"You didn't hear? She's got Nanowrimo!"
"What? No! That's horrible! Will she be okay?"
"We *sob* don't know. She keeps asking stupid questions that we can't understand - what do dragons have to do with real life!"
"There's no cure?"
"The doctor said no. We just have to wait, and hope. That novel she's writing had better be good!"
by WillohWisp April 25, 2010
Some say it thirsts for blood; others say it is an innocent implement forced to do the bidding of murderous fiends. A disturbingly recurrent murder weapon, the Travelling Shovel Of Death appears in multiple different mediums (Usually novels), wherin it is featured murdering an innocent victim.
Henry knew his street well, but he didn't like it. The parameters stretched; the shadows hid secrets; the wind, ever restless, tossed the cloaks of strangers who glared from street corners. But he was sure in his safety. He knew the number of steps to his doorway. He knew where to lift his feet a little higher to avoid tripping on sidewalk cracks hidden in the dark. He knew who to avoid - at least he thought he did, in his naiveté.
A cat was waiting on his doorstep, that night. Dark, soft fur, long legs and a thrumming purr, yellow eyes glinting with reflections of far-off streetlights.
It smiled, sharp, glistening teeth ever white against the shadow of its fur.
In 42 years, Henry had never once seen a cat smile. Perhaps a trick of the light, or an illusion, he thought. Or maybe not. He knelt, looking the cat in the eyes.
It smiled at him, wider.
Wider.
A shadow moved; soft leather brushed against carpet, and a coat loosened its folds. "You're drunk again," said the voice. "Do you know, Henry, how much I dislike drunks?"
The cat hadn't moved; Henry glanced to the side, and caught a glance of soft brown shoes.
"Mr Woon," he slurred. "Ian. Mate. I just..."
He stopped.
Mr Woon smiled at him; a slow, langorious smile, not unlike that of his cat.
Then slowly, deliberately, he rested the shovel's tip on Henry's neck.
"I dislike drunks very much, Henry," he whispered.
Then he put his foot on the travelling shovel of death, and pushed down.
A cat was waiting on his doorstep, that night. Dark, soft fur, long legs and a thrumming purr, yellow eyes glinting with reflections of far-off streetlights.
It smiled, sharp, glistening teeth ever white against the shadow of its fur.
In 42 years, Henry had never once seen a cat smile. Perhaps a trick of the light, or an illusion, he thought. Or maybe not. He knelt, looking the cat in the eyes.
It smiled at him, wider.
Wider.
A shadow moved; soft leather brushed against carpet, and a coat loosened its folds. "You're drunk again," said the voice. "Do you know, Henry, how much I dislike drunks?"
The cat hadn't moved; Henry glanced to the side, and caught a glance of soft brown shoes.
"Mr Woon," he slurred. "Ian. Mate. I just..."
He stopped.
Mr Woon smiled at him; a slow, langorious smile, not unlike that of his cat.
Then slowly, deliberately, he rested the shovel's tip on Henry's neck.
"I dislike drunks very much, Henry," he whispered.
Then he put his foot on the travelling shovel of death, and pushed down.
by WillohWisp September 22, 2011