Ok, tonight was my first foray into my NaNoWriMo entry.  I spent an hour and a half, and about half of it was spent looking up words, figuring out names for some of my characters, and finding a synonym for “candle.”

Anyway, I managed to eek out 350 words or so.  In the scope of 50,000, it’s a drop in the bucket (probably less than that, actually).  However, I did enjoy the 350 words I created, and the process of sitting down and writing has generated a lot of ideas for tomorrow’s efforts.  I’m making notes, and getting excited for what this will shape up to be!

My entry is entitled “The Book of the Universe.”  That’s all I’m going to disclose regarding the entry itself, but here are the first 350 words.  Enjoy :)

Chapter 1: Ancient of Days

The light from the lone candle cast long and warm shadows over the sparse, wearing-down inhabitants of the study.  It was not a study in the fashion of other studies; were it not for the small, weary writing desk and the cracked wooden stool, the room could scarcely have been distinguished from an abandoned closet. In such a condition, then, it is quite understandable that the the meager light from the simple, dripping taper had few places to explore, and so finding no compelling reason to do otherwise, contented itself with creating something of an ethereal halo around the head of the sullen Mr. Cain.

This state of affairs suited Mr. Cain splendidly, for he was not one to take particular notice of the meanness of his surroundings, the loneliness of his furniture, nor the gallant efforts put forth by the candle light to transform his rather haggard appearance into that of the angelic.  In fact, had these distracting phenomena been brought to his attention by some unwelcome bystander, Mr. Cain would have squinted his eyes and harrumphed in the manner for which he was known and despised, the first moment ejecting the harassing interlocutor from his presence, the next proceeding to frantically scramble to retrieve the singular focus of mind from which he had been so discourteously disturbed.  And, without question, he would have immediately extinguished the mischievous candle and searched for another more suited to being about the business of a candle and less inclined toward such optical theatrics.

Mr. Cain’s lack of regard for such matters was, of course, not that he particularly disliked furniture, nor that he was simply stricken with the malady of being completely incapable of decorating a study in the style of a proper study, as some older bachelors of his station might be prone. To the contrary, the reason that Mr. Cain could find no room for anything but his weary writing desk and the cracked wooden stool was on account of the book.