Of course it is. Writing is always revised.

Hi /u/Crystal1501, unlike principal vs principle, 'center' and 'centre' mean the same. The difference is American vs British spelling, just like recognize vs recognise or labor vs labour.

Good one. I do have one nitpick, though. Principle vs Principal.

The principle of the matter is...

The principal of the school is...

NaNo tip: Have a specific time frame you will be writing, and let nothing interfere with it. Not family, not work, nothing. Shut the door and start banging the keys.

Your goal every day is 1667 words. To stay on track, you have to keep banging out 1667. If you get stuck with the plot, describe the scene. Not sure of the scene? Go for character motivation. Confused with your characters? Write about the world. No mater what, you have to write that 1667, so don't allow yourself to get stuck.

A lot of what you write will be utter garbage. Resist the impulse to go back and "fix things", you can do that in December. For mine, I only went back during NaNo and fixed one scene that absolutely HAD to change. All other tweaks happened later.

And, prepare for the story to take wild turns you NEVER expected!

"That seems... unwise", said the human. "Vampires? I'm inclined to believe you are one, after seeing what I didn't believe could exist", referring to the zombie horde. "But the tales of vampires say you kill humans too. Now you want us to let a crowd of vampires into our compound? That sounds just as bad as falling to the zombies."

"It's true we, my kind, us vampires, feed on humanity", said the vampire. "But we are also pragmatic. We need human blood to survive. Zombie blood doesn't sustain us, it makes us sick. If the zombies win this war we will lose too, for a lack of blood. We are parasites. We don't want the host to die. Our interests align."

"Even if I agree, what help can you provide? There are tens, perhaps hundreds of millions of zombies. How many are you?"

The vampire's red eyes bore into the human's. "A scant few thousand. The stories about us have always overestimated our threat, to cower humans away from active resistance. But the zombies are mindless, driven by their ravening yearning for flesh and brain matter. We are not. Our strength is as the hurricane. And, you humans excel at tactical planning."

"A Faustian bargain indeed." Arms crossed, the human regarded the vampire with a calculating view. "Can you limit the amount of blood you drink? The stories say vampires completely drain blood, killing people."

"Yes. As I said, we are parasites. The loss of one human didn't used to matter, when you numbered in the billions. Now you do not. Killing one of you puts us in danger." What might have been a smile passed the vampire's lips. "Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee."

The lost one. The anathema. The only one ever refused entry to both Heaven and Hell. The one who angered both God and Satan, for perverting their followers. The one destined to forever wander the darkling planes.

On one momentous day, the angels came to present themselves to the Lord, and Satan also came with them. The Lord asked Satan, "Why have you come here?"

Satan stood proud, unbowing before the Lord. "We have much to discuss. The anathema nears the end of the darkling planes. Their icy depth will give way to the formless void, and he will soon gaze on the face of the waters."

The Lord brooded. "The Lost One turned my saints ordinary, and following, turned your demons holy. Many have repented and come to me. We are both weakened. In this state, fear may settle on creation."

Satan glanced sharply. "Your own book says to fear not a multitude of times. Guide me."

The Lord gazed at Eternity, at his demense, the vastness of the universe, formed at His command. With His hand he measured the heavens. All was in place.

Firmly to Satan, the Lord spoke. "We have had been at odds since before the foundations of the Earth were laid. But yes, now there is fear. Are you aware of what the anathema can do, should he truly reach the end of the planes, stark in their terror and icy depth? He could speak the forbidden words."

Despite himself, Satan blanched. "But.. that would…"

At that moment there was a sudden silence, then appeared a smoking furnace and a burning lamp, which moved around the Throne room of Heaven. At the same time, a vastness blossomed in the Deep, where formless void took shape. God and Satan stared at each other, both aghast. Then as one, they whispered "It has been said. Let there be light, and there was light."

​

(Sort-of a continuation of this tale).

There are some people for whom the force of life beats strongly. Those whose spirits shine brightly through the aether, confounding the plans of beings which exist in myth. They are beacons, balefires, casting a luster around themselves, an aural glow. Those with second sight can see them through the shade of mystery.

Fred Jones was supremely such an individual. Born in obscurity to ordinary parents, his advent did not go unnoticed by those who see behind the veil.

He was ordinary in mundane appearance, yet his presence drew the eye. Mysterious occurrences followed him as beings of mystery swirled in his wake. Oh, to be his consort would be a great prize indeed! Life force could nurture much.

Great efforts among the unseen followed him, beings of great power to minor sprites moved in competition to absorb his power. Whichever succeeded would feast indeed. They fought to consume him, all bent on bringing his fate to a certain conclusion. Yet his force of life made the sum of their efforts always unknown. Fred Jones was supremely such a one as to confound fate. His destiny was his own.

"And that's why", concluded the Sorcerer Supreme to his wizardly students, "you always need to have a sharp sword handy."