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A milestone. A very late one, but a milestone nonetheless.

I have no idea what that goal number is supposed to be.
And Nanowrimo's word counter counted my novel with 40 less than OpenOffice's word count did. I guess 40 out of 25K is nothing to worry about, I just have to make sure I'm at least a hundred over 50K when I'm done.
And here's a bit, very rough, that needs work on the descriptions of the music bits. I went on for paragraphs like this, with irrelevant details of the natural life and psychology of demons, too.
Leonard ignored him, then reached up with one arm pointed to the ceiling, and then brought it down like a shooting star across the strings. The guitar screamed, but not a scream of pain. It screamed like a lover in the throes of ectasy, and didn't let up. The riff sustained and modulated, ranging across a dozen emotional chords. Tens of demons in the audience felt something resonate, something they'd forgotten about or hidden or denied. Then Leonard let the first wail die and the others struck up the music, starting with the opening from U2's "In The Name of Love."
It didn't stay that for long. Not even past the first chorus of the song. They weren't playing, they were jamming. Mike's drums thumped in the back, setting the ryhtym of a march, or a heart, and skipped a beat like when the look of true love takes your breath away. The courage and the excitement of new love carried the beat along and through the whole ampitheater and beyond.
Eric's bass supported the other guitars with solid chords in the background, there and inescapable as the memory of the one you've loved for years. No matter where the music went, it was right there, the stable foundation for the others to make the soaring leaps of melody from.
Keemaya followed Leonard's lead, bridging between his flights of fancy and the core of the music, pulling him back when he got too far, pushing him on when he stalled, taking the lead when he took a breath, and provided the bits to keep the whole together and not from just flying apart.
And Leonard flew. Aeons of love and lonliness snarled out from his guitar and his voice, always coming back to the same strands of hidden hope. He sang with the voice of an angel and rocked like a demon, and every ounce of lonliness and despair poured into the music was washed away by the sheer joy and bliss of re-found love in his song. The angst and joy of angelhood and demohood, eternities of emotion, boiled down to minutes of chords and emotion and thrown out into the faces of the assembled demons without the savage joy of not giving a fuck what any of them thought. They rocked from the deepest depths to the highest palaces of Hell.
Most of the time, demons can ignore the songs of the angels. They used to be angels, after all, and have heard them all many times. They had sung them, and now had banished them from their thoughts. They knew the words, and the replies, and most importantly, they knew how to tune them out. But Leonard was no angel, and his song wasn't the song of an angel. He had shared their experiences and life and knew how demons thought. He sang in their words, to their lives. In ways they couldn't dismiss so easily.

I have no idea what that goal number is supposed to be.
And Nanowrimo's word counter counted my novel with 40 less than OpenOffice's word count did. I guess 40 out of 25K is nothing to worry about, I just have to make sure I'm at least a hundred over 50K when I'm done.
And here's a bit, very rough, that needs work on the descriptions of the music bits. I went on for paragraphs like this, with irrelevant details of the natural life and psychology of demons, too.
Leonard ignored him, then reached up with one arm pointed to the ceiling, and then brought it down like a shooting star across the strings. The guitar screamed, but not a scream of pain. It screamed like a lover in the throes of ectasy, and didn't let up. The riff sustained and modulated, ranging across a dozen emotional chords. Tens of demons in the audience felt something resonate, something they'd forgotten about or hidden or denied. Then Leonard let the first wail die and the others struck up the music, starting with the opening from U2's "In The Name of Love."
It didn't stay that for long. Not even past the first chorus of the song. They weren't playing, they were jamming. Mike's drums thumped in the back, setting the ryhtym of a march, or a heart, and skipped a beat like when the look of true love takes your breath away. The courage and the excitement of new love carried the beat along and through the whole ampitheater and beyond.
Eric's bass supported the other guitars with solid chords in the background, there and inescapable as the memory of the one you've loved for years. No matter where the music went, it was right there, the stable foundation for the others to make the soaring leaps of melody from.
Keemaya followed Leonard's lead, bridging between his flights of fancy and the core of the music, pulling him back when he got too far, pushing him on when he stalled, taking the lead when he took a breath, and provided the bits to keep the whole together and not from just flying apart.
And Leonard flew. Aeons of love and lonliness snarled out from his guitar and his voice, always coming back to the same strands of hidden hope. He sang with the voice of an angel and rocked like a demon, and every ounce of lonliness and despair poured into the music was washed away by the sheer joy and bliss of re-found love in his song. The angst and joy of angelhood and demohood, eternities of emotion, boiled down to minutes of chords and emotion and thrown out into the faces of the assembled demons without the savage joy of not giving a fuck what any of them thought. They rocked from the deepest depths to the highest palaces of Hell.
Most of the time, demons can ignore the songs of the angels. They used to be angels, after all, and have heard them all many times. They had sung them, and now had banished them from their thoughts. They knew the words, and the replies, and most importantly, they knew how to tune them out. But Leonard was no angel, and his song wasn't the song of an angel. He had shared their experiences and life and knew how demons thought. He sang in their words, to their lives. In ways they couldn't dismiss so easily.