Year End Summary

Year Total: 1,110,118

Increase Over Year Prior: -29,964

Novel Total: 11

Increase Over Year Prior: 0

Longest Novel: Treacherous Impulses, 120,023 words, 222 pages

Shortest Novel: Unriddling Clues, 90,001 words, 164 pages

Summary of the Year:

Well, the end has been reached once again, and it's been quite the journey in which I only actually had one rewrite project, that being Loveless, which I increased over its previous incarnation by 15,000 words.

Last year I'd said I would also rewrite my first-ever novel — which was itself originally only a little longer than the amount of words I increased Loveless by — however I found too many obstacles for me to overcome with it at the time, including there being a cast of four main characters, two of which were siblings, and so shelved it for now.

Already I've got most of next year planned out — in fact, by the time I begin writing next year I'll only have two books left to plan — and I've added a few more rewrites. This isn't because I'm running out of ideas, though, it's just that most of my ideas are sequels to stories featuring characters I've already used, and I'd like to hold back on writing the sequels until I feel that the first books are more what I'd like them to be.

Some of the revisitations that can be looked forward to are the first-ever thriller I wrote — although you'll have to wait until next November for it — as well as the first of the fantasy Sagas set in the fictitious world of Ureonaiea with Aissure, among others. There's also the first of the western novels, such as the ones set in Wyoming, Idaho, and Texas this year — this one being set in Montana — and, the rewrite I'm looking most forward to at the moment, one set in the world of Thoroughbred horse racing.

New projects will include some settings that I've wanted to do for some time — including a story featuring pirates, and another featuring spies — along with quite a few other projects I'm really excited to write.

This year was a good year, with a lot of new projects, and I was very pleased with a lot of them — especially Treacherous Impulses, which was a lot of fun — but I think it will be fun to go back and revisit some previous stories, making them better yet next year.

Before I close out again for another year, I know it's become predictable — and being as my goal was 70,000 over that of the whole event it really shouldn't be a surprise — but I am, again, a

It was fun, as always, and I encourage anyone else who's interested in writing their own books to check out NaNoWriMo site, or the site for their summer program, Camp NaNoWriMo. They're really awesome programs, and it's really fun to join with a community of writers, it makes things seem not quite so lonely.

Thanks for coming along again for another year, it's been fun, and I'm really looking forward to next year. Hope to see you all on December 30 when I set up my first novel of the new year!

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone in the US, Merry Christmas to everyone else!

R.A. Millet

Quagmire: Day 20

Word Total: 120,004

Year to Date: 1,110,118

Summary of Events:

Jesse went to call the gangsters, lifting a handbill with their number on it off of his neighbour; unfortunately everyone wanted the $6,000 the gangsters were offering for information, packing every phone booth and prompting people chase him as well. He got to the Tribune building and had to try multiple times before he got through to the gangsters and told them to meet him. He then confessed to them that he was Jesse "Hawkeye" Haden all along and it was their own fault that he'd ended up being privy to their secrets and then worked to convince them that he wouldn't publish anything more about them in the newspaper . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

""What are you going to give us to assure us that you are not lying?" the boss asked.

"I will not give you anything," Jesse replied. "I will not be bound to you and I will not have you as a millstone about my own neck."

"But we have a right to slaughter you if you don't keep quiet like you've said," the boss said.

"And you really think you're going to be able to catch me?" Jesse asked.

"Yes," the boss replied.
"Surely you've not already forgotten what I've already told you," Jesse said. "I am Hawkeye."

"But what does that even mean?" the boss asked.

"I served during the war — as I think you should have inferred already — and it was noted among the men of my unit that I was a superior marksman," Jesse replied. "My superior officer made note of it as well, likening me to a hawk, which has such keen eyesight that it can see prey as small as a mouse from as much as a mile in the air. My fellow men took his specific wording that I had a hawk's eye, eliminated the S, and compounded it into the moniker Hawkeye."

"How many did you kill?" the boss asked.

"I don't know, and I am grateful that I don't, the fact that I remember anything of those years is not something that I am proud of," Jesse replied. "I should never like to suffer such experiences again, although unfortunately I live in Chicago, and at the rate things are going so far I have a feeling I will be burdened with like instances in the future."

"So then how do they know you were accurate?" the boss asked.

"If you have any questions of my accuracy all you need do is speak to Redmond's uncle or a member of his gang and you will have your answer," Jesse replied firmly.

Redmond's face blazed. "He's still out there?"
"He offered me a handsome sum to kill you," Jesse replied. "But, I'll have you know, I refused it."

"No one can kill me!" Redmond snapped, drawing his gun, lowering it into place, and firing.

Jesse didn't move. To have repeated Redmond's manoeuvre would've been to kill him, however Jesse had no intention of breaching his personal resolve of not killing a man during peacetime — if that was what this could even rightly be called.

Redmond aimed again. "I tell you no one can kill me."

Jesse drew his gun and fired, prompting Redmond to drop his gun when the bullet from Jesse's struck his in the chamber and caused a small explosion that was little more than a flash really.

"I will not kill you," Jesse replied. "But neither will I be killed. Not by you, not by your uncle, not by Miro Gronchi, nor by any other gangster, criminal, hoodlum, or even law-abiding citizen who might deign to bring about my demise.""

Year End Summary to be posted tomorrow.

Quagmire: Day 19

Word Count: 114,041

Summary of Events:

Jesse woke up to find his clothes missing and found Rose was washing them at the boys' behest; she ordered him to have a bath, which he obliged to, only to have his mother intrude on him and embarrass the daylights out of him. He went to the speakeasy again to find it empty before being confronted by the gangsters, who'd been at their man's funeral, and who told him they'd upped their reward for his capture as Jesse Haden to $600,000 for the latest articles he'd written. Jesse was in his room talking with Georgia when Rose came in, frightened about men with guns stopping at the door . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

""I'd started down the stairs to answer the door when Mr. Nichols got there," Rose replied. "They left him with a paper and I heard him tell Mrs. Nichols what it said."
"What did it say?" Jesse asked.

"You said you were in danger," Rose said. "But you said you didn't want to tell me what kind of danger until you were safe. I don't care if you're safe. I want to know what the danger is."
"Rose, I asked you a question first," Jesse said.

"It said that there's a six thousand dollar reward for any information on the whereabouts of Jesse Haden," Rose replied. "And Mr. Nichols said he was of a mind to call the number on the paper and tell them your whereabouts are here, upstairs."

"They're getting downright desperate," Jesse muttered.

"This is about that money in your drawer, isn't it?" Rose demanded.

"I told you, that isn't money," Jesse replied.

"And you lied to me!" Rose snapped.

"You looked in the drawer, didn't you," Jesse asked flatly.

"Yes I did," Rose replied.

"You didn't find–" Jesse caught himself before he finished.

Rose tilted her head to the side and raised her eyebrows. "What?"

Jesse dropped his shoulders. "It's my own fault, Rose, all of it."

"What is?" Rose asked, her coyness disappearing at once, replaced by concern.

"I ended up being mistaken as a gangster," Jesse replied. "And I had the ability to tell them about their mistake right away, but I didn't."

Rose looked almost ready to faint.

"I played along, I thought I'd keep it up a bit, and I got secrets and published them, so now they want me — dead or alive — for a million dollars," Jesse said.

Rose's eyes widened.

"They don't even know they want me for that much," Jesse added.

"What do you mean?" Rose asked.

"Very few of them are convinced that I'm a gangster, especially being as I lied that I look a lot like Jesse Haden," Jesse replied. "And they want Jesse Haden for six hundred thousand dollars."

"So what's the four hundred thousand then?" Rose asked.

"That's what they want me for as Hawkeye," Jesse replied.

"Hawkeye?" Rose asked.

"My nickname from the army," Jesse replied. "I used it when I encountered a man in the dark and deliberately shot him to wound him at the back of the head. I later found out he was a gangster from the gang I've been pretending to be a part of."

"Jesse, you said you swore to Da you wouldn't get into the gangs," Rose said.

"I know," Jesse replied. "That's why I should've gotten out of it right away, and I didn't. I'm pretty sure what cover I have is falling to pieces, and I need to keep it from killing me."

"Jesse, why did you do this?" Rose asked, tears in her eyes.

"I don't know Rose," Jesse replied. "But it's all going to end, some way or another.""

Quagmire: Day 18

Word Count: 108,006

Summary of Events:

Jesse arrived home and tried to convince Rose he hadn't consumed any liquor, when he had — although he was unsuccessful. He went to interview policemen about the raid for a bit more of an in-depth feature on the raid, but found out that some gangsters were planning to steal the trucks with the collusion of a police officer instead. He had a discussion with Rose — including confessing that he had, indeed, had liquor the night before — and apologised. He then went to watch the attempted robbery and saw two groups of gangsters try to break in before fighting with each other and the police; in the end three trucks were successfully stolen before the police gained control of the situation, Jesse's mind wandered back to his war experience due to the carnage . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

"There was no birdsong, there was no life, no grass, no trees, absolutely nothing other than pure desolation, the air filled with a fear that one could almost taste as they waited for the shout.

Figures surged up out of the trench across the no man's land. He was too numb to put the rifle to his shoulder and fire at them as the men around him were doing, causing bodies to twist in anguish and fall.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and Jesse startled violently. The muted lighting of a cloudy day in France disappeared for the darkness of another night in Chicago. The officer startled slightly.

"Are you alright?" the officer asked.

"As good as I can be," Jesse replied quietly.

"Here's our tally of dead, everything's cleaned up if you want to have a look around," the officer said.

Jesse took the paper and looked at it. He'd just watched the deaths of another half a dozen men: two police officers and four gangsters. He'd been under the impression that there would be a lot more dead, but he was rather grateful that there weren't.

Folding the list, he pocketed it and turned around to see that all of the undertakers' vehicles had left and lights were on in the warehouse.

Jesse went through the open door and found a rather vicious, blood-spattered scene, as well as a lot of broken glass and spilled liquor. He was almost tempted to leave, but he refused to let himself. He noticed some officers holding out glasses and another was doling out liquor from the back of the last truck.

"You want some?" the pouring officer asked Jesse.

Jesse nodded and made his way closer, moving his eyes over the scene of spilled liquor — in some places mingled with blood — and broken bottles, noting places where bullets struck the truck, or bottles in the truck, causing there to be liquor stains down the sides, burst the tire, punctured the door and fender, or even glanced off of the floor.

The officer gave him the bottle and Jesse drained it without taking a breath. He gave it back to the officer, who tossed it to the floor so that it broke.

"Just another casualty," he said.

Jesse nodded as the officer reached back into the truck and grabbed another bottle.

Men eagerly held out their glasses for more. Jesse took an entire bottle for himself and threw it back rather quickly. He needed more to steel himself against the memories this was rekindling for him.

He went to take another bottle, but he stopped himself, he'd seen enough of the scene, he could just go home, write the article, and drink one of the bottles he had there to clear his mind of the horrors before going to bed."

Quagmire: Day 17

Word Count: 102,024

Summary of Events:

Jesse tried to smuggle Georgia back into the house after their outing, but his mother suspected right away and they got into an argument that prompted Jesse to leave in fury, followed by Georgia; he then ran into the downstairs neighbour, who insulted him and Georgia and prompted Jesse to fight with him. Jesse attended another gangster meeting and learned that they were going to collect four truckloads of liquor north of Chicago. Jesse snuck along in the trunk of one of the gangsters' cars, as he'd tipped off the police and didn't want to be identified as who he really was in front of the gangsters; when the car slowed down he looked to see what was going on and saw two of the gangsters' vehicles heading back the way they'd come . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

"Jesse quickly slid out of the trunk and crawled for shelter as the third truck roared by. He watched in hiding as all of the vehicles turned around and went back. He then looked up toward where they'd originally been heading.

Flashlights shone in the distance and there was a crowd of cars around four trucks full of crates. Jesse smiled to himself: the police had, likely, initially, sent a few men to check out the validity of the claim, and upon meeting the gangsters who were bringing the illegal liquor into the country, they'd called for backup and were now arresting the couriers.

Quietly Jesse crept toward the scene, where policemen were manhandling gangsters into their cars. He was going to want a ride back in either the trunk of one of the cars, or the back of one of the trucks, and then he'd have to find some way to conveniently appear when they arrived back at the detachment with their booty.

Jesse could soon hear what the officers were saying:

"Those vehicles that turned around there must've been the men coming to pick this up," one said.

"Too bad it was too dark for us to get their plate numbers," another said. "We would've been able to catch them and shut down whatever they're running."

"Exactly," a third one said. "Probably why they turned around so soon."

"Not that it really matters," the first one said. "If these are their sole suppliers then they aren't getting any more liquor and will likely close up shop in short order anyways."

"So what are we going to do with this lot?" a fourth officer asked, walking into the conversation, indicating the trucks full of liquor.

"We'll haul these boys in, get some press to come take pictures of our prizes, dump a little liquor ceremonially, and then give everybody a bottle on the quiet, divide the rest between ourselves, and go home," the first one replied.

"But it's illegal to have liquor!" the fourth one protested.

"Boy, you've got a lot to learn," the third one said. "The only people in this country who wanted that law were the women, especially those of the WCTU, and they're the domineering sort that forced their husbands and sons to vote dry — if they didn't even somehow fill out the mens' ballots for them — we didn't vote for this, but we don't want to paint the picture that we're contravening the government's orders. This is all for show kid."

Jesse raised his eyebrows in surprise. He knew that, in truth, many people — including himself and the editors and owner of the Tribune — didn't support the idea of Prohibition, but had somehow ended up with it forced upon them, but he wouldn't have expected this sort of action or thought."

Quagmire: Day 16

Word Count: 96,034

Summary of Events: 

Jesse found out that Rose had been unkindly treated by a gangster affiliated with the group his fellow reporter had been a part of and so went and tore a strip out of them for doing anything to her before meeting Redmond Fylan's uncle and convincing him to leave him alone. Noting that Georgia seemed bored out of her tree, Jesse snuck her out for a walk and they came upon a woman whose car was on fire; Jesse rescued her child from the car and got them to a neighbour's house while he went to call for help at a nearby phone booth . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

"He hung up the phone just as an explosion shook the ground. Jesse turned and saw a more spread out flaming wreckage that looked nothing like a car, and flaming debris sitting all over the place; thankfully the rain was keeping things under control, and being as the ground was already moistened the flames weren't spreading very easily.

Unfortunately, however, many windows were broken as a result of the explosion, including those of the house where Jesse had left the woman, her child, and Georgia.

Jesse turned the phone booth's handle to get out and see how they were faring, but it wouldn't budge. Jesse shoved and kicked at it, but it appeared that the force of the explosion had jammed the door.

Or, at least that was how it appeared until Jesse noticed flames climbing the side of the phone booth, travelling rapidly over the flammable paint.

Jesse turned back to the phone and inserted another coin.

"Operator, how soon are they going to get here?" he asked.

"I don't know, but they're on their way sir," she replied.

"I'm trapped in the phone booth and it's on fire," Jesse said.

"I'll let them know," the operator replied.

Jesse hung up and worked to take deep breaths and keep himself from panicking, despite the fact that flames were crawling the outside, and also starting to lick toward the interior.

He kicked the door again, then paused a moment and drew out his gun. Firing it in such a confined space would do murder on his ears, but he had no choice, if the door was merely jammed by the force of something having struck it, the shot should get him out.

If there was something in front of the door, however, the shot would be wasted. But at least he had to try.

Aiming squarely at where the door pin ought to be located, Jesse fired, cringing at the deafening report of the firearm. He then kicked the door again, but it still didn't give, there was something against the door from which the flames had originated.

Jesse threw himself against the door as the flames started to come even more into the booth, filling up the air with acrid smoke.

He heard sirens and clanging as he pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and put it over his face. He didn't have time to wet it with anything, and he was sure it would do well enough on his own.

Viciously he threw himself against the door again. He could hear muffled shouts, then thudding and the splintering of wood before there was a rush of cool air and a roar of fire. Hands seized Jesse and hauled him out into the rain again.

Jesse collapsed to the ground and gulped in deep, rain-sodden breaths of fresh air while the firemen rushed around tending to the flames scattered about."

Quagmire: Day 15

Word Count: 90,003

Summary of Events:

Jesse went to the speakeasy, but didn't find Robbie, so he left a message with the waitress. He then attended the funeral of his fellow reporter and got into a discussion with the gangsters that his fellow reporter had been affiliated, which led to them taking him to one of their hideouts. At their hideout Jesse got into a discussion with a higher up who threatened to turn him in for reward money, but he convinced them to let him showcase his aim skills in hopes of convincing them not to . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

"Jesse walked over to the nearer wall of the warehouse. The leader stepped in front of him, holding out the penny between his fingers.

"You're too close," Jesse said.

"Too close?" the leader asked incredulously. "There's fifteen feet between us!"

"As far back as you can go," Jesse replied.

"There's no way you're going to hit it from there!" the leader protested.

The other gangsters murmured as well.

"That's where I want it," Jesse replied.

Although looking rather unsettled and reticent, the leader backed up all the way until he was against the other wall of the warehouse, holding out the penny between his fingers and as far to the right as his arm could reach.

Jesse fixed his gaze on the penny, which he could just make out — having a silhouette on a light background was a lot easier to pick out than a copper coin on a dark brick wall, although having the light fingers flanking the coin helped.

He drew out his gun and stretched his arm straight out, lining up the sighting notch with the penny. He braced his arm to keep it level and fired.

The leader jumped back after a moment and the assembled gangsters hurried over, one bringing something back to the severe-faced man. Jesse raised his eyebrows.

"Impressive," the severe man said after rolling the penny Jesse could tell from his position was obviously rather damaged in his fingers for some time.

"Based on the incredulity with which you and your men regarded that display I am assured that neither you nor any other man in this building, although he may attempt the feat, would necessarily be successful in accomplishing it," Jesse said.

"No surprise that you're English," he said. "You speak in the same fancy way they do and everything."

"I'm merely fond of utilising the greatest quantity of words contained within the dictionary, as I believe that meanings are well wise to be considered and the words appropriately used," Jesse replied.

"What are you saying?" he asked.

"None of your men are wont to challenge me and see if they have such exceptional aiming abilities as I," Jesse replied.

"I'm wont to," he said. "Get out another penny!"

The leader did so, although he looked even more uncertain than he had when it'd been Jesse's turn. Jesse smiled, but kept his mouth shut.

"And I don't even need to brace my arm to do it," he said.

Jesse leaned casually against the wall and watched as he lined up, although muttering curses under his breath, and then fired.

The leader cried out and clutched his hand to his chest. The other men hurried over, escorting the wounded leader, whose shirt cuff was stained red by the time they'd crossed the building.

"It's in my arm," the leader whispered, looking frightfully pained.

"I aimed for the coin," he said irritably.

"Here it is," one of the other men said, proffering an unscathed penny."