Dear Kaerraeuntzai,

Okay, I know you left it late to come into the frame, but I like you, so I'll let it pass. Sure, you may be ever so slightly ripping off everything that was ever cool to me, from the 501st to the Sardaukar to the Darktroopers (and I'm talking Dark Forces, here, not the oddish Dark Empire II incarnation), but that's irrelevant. Sci-fi isn't sci-fi without the super-cool elite bad guy henchmen who are, like, impossible to take down (well, unless you're one of the main characters). That's cool.

What isn't is the fact that you've stolen my first scene. I had it meticulously planned in my head, everything was there, from Corsan's first line when he sees the Planet (which still doesn't have a name, nor a motive for disappearing) isn't there, to Desrael's frantic attempts to discover just what's happening, to the whole 'Net collapsing as Corscar attempts to wipe any mention of the Planet from the annals of, say, everything.

So why are you there staring at me now, waiting for me, waiting to pounce on me as I begin typing? How can I start my novel with only a vague idea of what you're doing, something I doodled in English, and the words "Gravity Remove"? And why, no matter how many times I try to relocate this scene, do you keep pushing it right to the first few pages?

Not impressed. Really, really, not impressed. You do release this means I need a minor antagonist for tomorrow? Chop chop.

- Rootle.

Dear Suitors,

Thank you for turning up, aided and abetted by Ev. You are a godsend. In an extremely good disguise.

Dear Plot,

Thank you for finally showing up, albeit in a somewhat vague and incomplete form. I appreciate it, I really do.

Dear Alicia's father,
Please, get some motives. 'Money,' while a highly probable motive, may lay me open to accusations of one-dimensionalness.
... wait a moment, I'm not actually sure I care about that. Naaah.
But seriously, why do you want Robert? I've told you, he can't see stockmarket prices because predicting stocks is just... not a good special power. Doesn't sound good.
Oh, and a name would be nice.

Dear Robert,
No stockmarket prices! Get yourself a proper power! And BEFORE Tuesday.

Dear Sergeant Whatsyourface,
I appreciate you showing up. Dee is going to get arrested and sent to different prisons numerous times, so would you please think up some methods of coincidentally being there when she is, because I'm sick of disappearing characters. And nameless ones.

Dear Evil Warder,
Name! Evil methods! Believability!

Your loving but steadily-getting-more-worried author,

- Ev

P.S. If all of you nameless characters don't buck up, I'm picking names at random from a baby names site, and one of you is going to be Marmaduke. Don't let that happen to you.

Dear Fosco (nee Fred),

Well, you deserved it, for not thinking yourself up a better name. Anyway, you can blame my dad for it.

Dear COMPLETE Plot,

*Utter, utter glee*

Dear Everyone Else,

*Supreme smugness*

xxx

Dear Spirallily

Okay, so you’re not a character per se, but that hardly matters. I’m writing to you (even though I know you can’t read, you’ll have to get Desreal to use your input scanner-runners or something) just to say thanks. Thanks for being here since the start, thanks for not throwing tantrums or fits or major personality changes my way, and thanks for not complaining about all the damage I’m going to be doing to you. That includes painting you bright orange, but fair enough, that’s not set in stone yet. I’m on the wall as to whether you survive or not, though. After all, letting Tojai Kree hijack you really wasn’t nice, and as for joining Corscar’s fleet, well. Fair enough, if you do go, then at least you deserved it.

Sorry for rendering you spectacularly badly in the horrific biro-and-felt-tip-and-some-water-that-fell-on-you-when-i-was-in-the-sixth-form-centre medium, but I really needed to see just what a Rexen Messomesso-class transport barge looks like. Ahe.

Oh, and Corsan, Aeren, Tojai, Jobias and Generus: thanks for being ready already. Desreal, Corscar, Lady Galactica, the rest of the bloody Spirallily crew – please develop yourself more fully in the next, say, four days.

ellie's blog - ha, as if that'll happen

ellie's blog - ha, as if that'll happen

Dear Dulcibella,

I am so, so sorry.

Dear Dulcibella

I am so, so sorry.

Dee,

All right, scratch the drug-taking brother. How about a drug-taking best friend, instead?

Ev

Dear Joseph,

For such you are now. It's not much better, but at least it isn't Simon, and you didn't precisely assist me in thinking up a name. So Joseph you are, and we'll pretend it isn't after the pretty blonde pointed thing at the Classic FM concert on Wednesday!

I am determined you should not be a pretty blonde pointed thing. You are emphatically not that sort of person at all. And you still need an age, damn you!

Dear Setting,

We're getting somewhere. After 1865, anyway. Very possibly Victorian. Or something.

Dear Ignatia,

You really cannot be called Ignatia, and not for the same reason that Simon couldn't be called Simon and Fred still can't be called Fred. There isn't anything precisely boring about Ignatia, it's just...really.

Dear Actors as A Whole,

Yes, the Arthur Scargill Red Berry Kolchos idea is still off. No, I will not relent. Yes, the liquor cabinet is still locked, hermetically sealed and bricked up. And the brick layer has been thrown away.

Regards,
The author (with gorgeous Christening hair, featuring a sparkly clip)

Dear Deena/Dee

You have a nickname, and possibly a name, depending on how pretentious I think "Deena" is nearer the time. This is good, this is very good. (And, incidentally, we'll never find Peter. Shame on anyone who didn't instantly recognise that quote). You possibly have a drug-taking brother. And you have many, many chase scenes. Now, would you care to introduce me to the villians in this book? And fairly promptly, too.

- Ev

Dear Ariya and Sarai,

I think I need to point out something. You two are on a deadline. When Monday rolls around, you need to be out of my head so I can spend a week doing intensive plotting.
No, you're not helping. Becuase you're not my bloody Nanowrimo story. And you're taking up all my plotting time, and whenever I get an idea, it's about you lot rather than the alarmingly-close Nano.
You have the weekend, and the weekend only. Start winding down operations, yes? I'll pick you up in December, but until then, you're going in the cupboard under the stairs, along with my inner editor.

Love,
Ev

Dear Kris,
The same goes for you, only more so.

Love,
Ev

Dear As-Yet-Un-named Female Actor,

Good news! I have Great Plans for your character. They came to me in a trail of blazing light this morning, as I wandered through the pouring rain, umbrella-less, in what turned out to be an amazing and cathartic moment.

Dear Setting,

AAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH! *claws at eyeballs*

Dear Everyone Else,

Does anyone have any idea when Alice In Wonderland was written?

The slightly less irritable author (and the morning hair has become damp, and extended itself into all sorts of gorgeous and intricate tangles. I can only hope my Plot will follow its fine example)

Dear Actors,

No, no, no! You cannot just decide to uproot yourselves and go off to start a collective farm in Kazahkstan. That is Not On. Even if you would be farming rasperries, loganberries, and all kinds of lovely squishy fruit. I don't think they even Have them in Kazahkstan. Much as I appreciate you taking initiative and trying to do something with your small section of subplot - just...don't. Are we clear?

Oh yes, and I take great pleasure in informing you that I have had the liquor cabinet hermetically sealed. So much for drinking your banana-y way to the Arthur Scargill Red Berry Kolchos.

Dear Fred and Simon,

Working on those names, are we?

The extremely short-tempered author (with morning hair)
xxxx

Dear Plots (Both of You)

Dear Plot,

Thank you for visiting me in the late hours of last night (much more welcome than Paul's textual message with quite violently woke me up :\). You couldn't have come at a better time, because now I know where I'm going to be going with this thing. You couldn't be a dear and flesh out your first half, though? I need something more...meaty...than just killing time hunting disappearing planets until they discover Kenkennel.

Dear Plot,

I'm sorry that you have to die in such a horrible, splendidly violent way halfway through the novel, especially the manner in which it's executed. Because you're such a nice lad and you'd never hurt anyone (except for the one you murdered) and you were only trying to make amends. But with a surname like that, well, it does imply that something's up. And you know how tender he is about this sort of stuff. You should have stayed well away, you really should have. What were you thinking? How about a first name, would that make you feel better? I'm thinking Jobias.

See you both on the 1st November,
Rooty.

Corsan, dearest,

You have a name now, so please, pretty please, stop just changing who you are, because I don't think we can go on together if you insist on being someone new every time I come to visit you. I understand if you felt uncomfortable as a ruthless killer/streetwise punk/unwitting fugitive/unfairly deposed businessman in the Conchordian Undercity (but it wasn't called that then, was it?). I thought, well, it is a nasty place - maybe it'll be good to get you away from all those buildings. So I made you the commander of a starfighter squadron in the Navy Galacticia, and then I even promoted you to having command of your own battleship. So I left you there for three weeks and when I come back, what do I find, but you're flitting along The Run in a converted cargo freigher, pirating. You're not supposed to be a pirate, Corsan, you're supposed to be a bastion of honour and loyalty and help the others grow and develop, before you die in an extremely emotional fashion half-way through the novel. Okay, maybe that's it, maybe you don't want to die, and maybe you want a sub-plot to yourself, rather than just helping the others find their way. Okay. No guarantee on the dying thing, though, and you won't like it when you find out what he's hiding from you. He needs a name, though, as so does she, even if she's already dead. After all, you loved her. Don't you dare change that. You might be the captain of the Spirallily for now, but that could be changed.

Forever yours,
Rooty.

Ahem ahem, look at my technological skill!

Bet you two didn't think I would work out how to do it! But I have and here I am, with drinks with bananananananas in for all. Ahem.

Dear Fred,

Please get in touch with yours truly (the frazzled author) ASAP about a name change. You simply cannot be called Fred.

Dear Simon,

The same goes for you.

Dear Un-named female lead with lots of hair,

Stop mooning over Simon, you aren't going to meet him until Chapter 3.

Dear Chorus of Insane Political Actors in Glittery Dresses,

Please stay in your box until I need you. And note, the liquor cabinet is locked for a Reason.

Ellie
xxxxxx

Dear non-existant characters,

Notice title. I think this is one of my better ones. It does, in fact, encapsulate the entire problem. You don't exist. You have no names, faces, jobs, genders, problems or plots. I have ONE character, who is my age, my gender and ooh, let's see, suprisingly enough, looks somewhat like me. And she has no plot either.
You know I like character driven plots. This doesn't work when there are No Darn Characters.
So. Get in gear. You have two weeks. Actually, you don't, because if I don't have at least some of you by next week I'm going to panic and probably go back to writing fantasy and my (admittedly recently formed) dreams of doing a scifi book are going to be so much intergalactic dust.
Exist, damn you.

Your loving would-be-author

-Ev

Fweee!

...as predictable as that title is, I felt it needed to be said. Thank you Hetty, who is the undisputed master of Blogs and matters related to. Here's to a good NaNo! *raises glass, possibly with bananananas in*