This is hopeless. All yesterday, every time I could have opened my NaNo file, instead I clicked on this.
[SQUEE] OMG! OMG! OMFG! It's Paul McGann!!!!!!!!! Karn! Time War! AAAAAAGHHHH! He's brilliant. 7 minutes of pure epic. Now that's more like it, Moffat! [/SQUEE]
Yeah. I had a goofy smile on my face all day. Ok, so it's totally catering to the old Who fans, but so what? So what if it's more fetishizing of the Doctor? Who cares if it's pure fanwank if it's good fanwank? Between this and the release of the lost episodes and more to come, what a fantastic 50th anniversary it is for Doctor Who! "Night of the Doctor" was the best (new) bit of televised Doctor Who I've seen since... I don't even know. It really makes me wish for a Paul McGann series or mini-series. I always liked his audios (the TV movie...not so much), but this takes it to a whole new level.
Yeah. So this stupid TV show is making me happier than my NaNo novel ever could. Ha. I don't know. There's no way for me to do NaNo (all 50000+ words of it) unless I want to, and this year I don't want to that much. Nothing to prove, since I've done it many times before, and the story is a bit meh.
So I tried reading some of the H.P. Lovecraft stories that got me started in this genre (well, by way of "Call of Cthulhu" for the idea that it would be fun as a RPG) in the first place... and it's so depressingly racist. A huge part of the "horror" in it is a fear of "other" races. From reading some of the short stories, it feels like if he ever found out he had a black great-grandmother, he'd want to kill himself or something. God forbid that "swarthy foreigners" should move onto his street! And all those villainous "mulattoes", "hybrids", "mongrels", "half-castes", "Indians", "Portuguese", etc. Geez. And... white men might not be the most powerful beings, around whom the universe revolves. Oh noes! The horror!
So I was taking the piss with my "Sabokan County" with its villainous Indians and the ancient artifacts held by runaway slaves, etc. but it's going to be me who ends up sounding racist. Bah. I need to balance these things:
The "Yesan"? Aye, I know of them.with bits from other points of view. But the whole thing is just going to sound like a racist stereotype now, all around and against everyone. D'oh!
Mongrels and hybrids. A blight upon this state. Why does the governor refuse to have them driven out? A show of force and they will fall. The cowards have no stomach for a true battle. They are weak-willed, decadent runaways and savages.
But you asked me who they are. Very well. According to the tales of the Indians of the lowlands, they are foreigners from over the mountains. They do not speak the local patois, but rather a devilish, uncouth tongue. In recent decades they have mixed their blood with African slaves run away from our plantations.
More than once our militias have pursued them into the hill country, but each time they eluded us with their foul tricks. The dogs lose their scent in the icy streams there. The trappers who habit the woods say that the water is tainted by the vents of hell that are found in the dark, narrow crevasses that split the bare rocks of those hills. The other Indians refuse to set foot in Saboakan country, deeming it a place of monsters and evil spirits. For our guide we had only a French halfbreed who, once fortified by drink and promises of coin, was willing to show us the hidden roads and passages.
Aye, I took part in one such expedition. It was in the fall of the year 1791. We were one score and seven, god-fearing men all, though the halfbreed was a Popish idolator after the faith of his father. He had such a collection of wooden saints and beads, and fetishes of feathers and human hair as his mother had blessed for him. I hold no truck with such blasphemous superstition, but our guide held them vital to our enterprise.
Many a time would he close his eyes, bowing his head and muttering strange prayers over his fetishes and saints. They dangled from the rosaries he held clutched in his hands. These times grew more excessive the nearer we drew to Saboakan lands, until only the threat of the lash moved him to continue on.
It was maddening that the runaways should make better time on their feet than we did while mounted on horseback. Still, their spoor was marked by blood, as the halfbreed found, so they were not traveling unscathed. Surely they could not walk for much longer. They had not much provision: the owner keeps a tight guard on the kitchen. But these field slaves are hardy beasts, and can endure where a civilized man would have fallen.
(Even if I don't reach 50K, I'm still going to write as much of it as I can. Even what I have so far is more than I'd have written without NaNoWriMo.)