NaNoWriMo 2012

You may or may not have wondered where my NaNo-ness has been this whole month, except for the few snippets I posted on Twitter. With only one win and two epic fails behind me, I thought I would try a different method this year: no forums or blogs at all. That, my dear friends, was  stupid decision. I lugged myself through to just over 20,000 words before I felt like I couldn’t go on anymore, and on Day 27 I finished with 21,026. So I broke my ban on forum posting and shamelessly begged for someone to encourage me (I felt a little bit pathetic, but you have to do what you have to do). Luckily I wasn’t the only one, and also luckily, Wrimos are truly amazing people. With lots of encouragement and posting throughout, I ended up winning again this year with 50,154 words just before midnight, after writing nearly 17k on the 30th to finish.

 

Some highlights about this year:

-the first time I won I pulled through by using dirty word count tricks like breaking the fourth wall; this year I have 50,154 of solid writing that I can actually realistically edit.

-I had a whole bunch of writing breakthroughs once again

-pushing myself to write 17k in one day was insane, especially since I wrote almost that much in the previous two days and was feeling super tired…I know lots of people do way more in a day, but this is the most I’ve ever been able to write all at once in the same story

-my novel isn’t actually finished yet, which surprised me…I didn’t write just to get it done, I actually wrote to get a decent story out

My stats for this month!

All in all I feel really good, and I most definitely will not be making the same mistake again. I should really know this by noww, but two heads are better than one, and 300,000 heads are better than one, too. So thanks to everyone for your amazingness and for supporting each other this month. A huge congrats to everyone who took part, whether you won or not: you now have words written that you didn’t have before. And write on!

For anyone who is interested, go to NaNoWriMo.org to find out more

Words and Breathing

Breathing is a good thing to do, don’t you think? I think so. Which is partly why the working-title-that-will-possibly-be-the-actual-title of the book from which this excerpt hails is called Taking Breaths. Poetic, yes?
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ONE: DISCONTENT
5 Years Ago

We are at a concert. None of us came for the music, and none of us had even thought about it, but it’s a nice bonus after the conference. Focus on God, revamp your life, then go to a concert. All eight of us, most in 11th or 12th grade, are going crazy, like everyone else in the audience. Confetti and silly string is shot at us out of nowhere, out of everywhere. We are all screaming, jumping, waving our arms. Bright lights, the sound of guitars and drums, neon paint splattering; what else can we do?

Soon I’m breathless, and I go outside, elbowing my way out. I’m sorry to miss even a minute, but my throat is dry and I’m thirsty; I’ve never been this loud in my life. I get a drink at the water fountain in the girls’ bathroom, then look in the mirror and smile. I’m glowing with sweat and I’m covered in neon green, orange, and pink paint. But I haven’t looked this healthy and excited in a long time. This group has been good for me. Church has never been my thing, but this is different. Eight teens, loving life, unafraid, and passionate. I’m not very good friends with any of them, but I love being with them and being a part of their lives; for some reason, the feeling appears to be mutual.

When I leave the bathroom I decide to wait until the next band comes on, and I wander over to the kiosk. The guy working it is reading a magazine but looks up and grins at me; he seems friendly. I smile back and look at the merchandise. It’s the usual; t-shirts, wristbands, hats…but then my eyes touch on something else. The sticks are long and sleek, pale polished wood; no embellishments, just the sticks. A shiver runs through my body at the sight of them. Without really noticing I lean in, examining – no, admiring – them up close.

“Now, this is shocking.”

I straighten, startled, and let out an embarrassed laugh when I see a guy from the group, Michael, standing beside me. “Oh,” is all I can manage.

“I never pegged you as the drummer type,” Michael says. We are standing shoulder to shoulder, and I notice that he is taller than me. His eyes are vivid dark green and his hair is a shade of very dark chocolate, almost black. He always looks so friendly, and I suddenly find myself wondering whether we would be friends if I wasn’t so quiet; it’s a nice thought. After a moment I shrug.

“Well, I’ve never played. I’ve never so much as looked at drum sticks.”

“Before tonight.”

I nod. He studies my face for a moment, and despite my shyness I laugh at his serious expression.

“I can see it,” he says finally, grinning.

“See what?” I ask, sincerely baffled.

“In reply he simply fishes out a wad of five dollar bills and hands it to the magazine reader. “Is this enough for the sticks?” he asks.

The guy counts it, then gives Michael a dollar change. He unlocks a door behind the kiosk, pulls out a long black box with the words “Fearless Drumm, Inc.” written on it in neon green, and hands it to Michael. “Enjoy. These are really good quality,” he adds seriously, his eyebrows raised.

“Thanks,” Michael says, then turns to me, holding out the box.

I am staring at Michael openmouthed. “No,” I say hoarsely. “You don’t even know me.”

Michael laughs and I feel my face getting red. I’m not asking you to marry me, Angela.” Then, in a more quiet voice and with a compelling expression in his eyes, “Just take the sticks.”

Present
“Angela, have you finished the wedding plans yet?”

I frowned. I’d been in a mood this week anyway, and although it was nearly impossible for me to get annoyed with Eric or anyone else, I now found myself irritated that he was doubting my nearly unprecedented organizational skills. “I’ve finalized all the plans that can be finalized this early on,” I said, my tone a little harder than usual. “The invitations haven’t been sent out yet and the caterers haven’t gotten back to me.” As I said this I unlocked my car, got in, and put the phone in the holder, then put it on speaker. My car was warm, having baked for three hours in the afternoon sun.

“You sound stressed, sweetheart. Long day?”

I rolled my eyes and turned the key in the ignition. “You have no idea. I have to drive now, so I’ll call you later, okay?”

After hanging up, I pulled out of the university parking lot. It was Friday and lots of students were rushing out for the weekend, but I’d made sure to get out early. It meant shaving five minutes off of my math class, but I honestly had no remorse about that.

I drove with the windows down and the radio just loud enough to give me a sensation of flying, but not so loud that the car next to me would start vibrating. It was a warm May afternoon, and sun streamed in through every window. Suddenly I realized that, ironically, a song by Mayday Parade was playing. I can live without you, but without you I’ll be miserable at best. I adored those lyrics; once upon a time, this had been my favorite song.

Before I could help myself, tears were running down my cheeks. I hadn’t cried in such a very long time.

Hacking Words

So I’ve started editing my book, Shard, again. I can’t seem to be able to leave this thing alone. Here’s hoping this is the final draft, so that I can send it off to be published. I comfort myself with the fact that it took Pasternak 10 years to write Doctor Zhivago. Not that this is anywhere near as good, but still. Anywho, that said, here’s an excerpt.
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She was beautiful. She was so beautiful that I felt as if I’d had the breath knocked out of me, and I could do nothing but stare, clutching at the wood with my dirty, jagged fingernails. It took all of my effort to keep my breathing quiet so that they would not notice my presence. Shard’s face was grim, his eyes like flames, and the veins in his neck stood out as a show of just how much he had to concentrate to restrain himself.

“What is it you want?” he asked evenly. The firelight, the only glow in the room, played with their features and made Shard’s eyes seem even more fiery. Her own eyes – beautiful and grotesque all at once, burning and sulfurous, as yellow as a cat’s – watched him almost with amusement, almost mockingly. Although his frame was twice as large as hers and he loomed over her, there was some cold strength in her pale face, some steely invincibility in the way she carried herself.

“Jack,” she said in a whispery, smoky voice that somehow filled the room even though she spoke fairly quietly. “I haven’t come for a confrontation. After all, until the warrior who is to kill me is found, there isn’t anything to discuss.” She gave him a deep smile and walked to his desk, where a crystal decanter and two goblets waited.

Shard, I could see, was utterly in shock about what she had said. He whirled around, his frame becoming even larger as his chest heaved with breathlessness, and in a blur he had unsheathed a dagger and held it against the tight, pale skin of her neck, his other arm around her waist. Instead of panicking, she chuckled softly and put the decanter back on the desk.

“How did you find out?” he demanded, pressing the blade harder against her neck. I winced as a trickle of dark blood ran down the knife and dripped off the edge, landing in a sticky pool on the wooden floorboards. “How?”

“You did not think I would sit and wait to be destroyed,” she replied, and now there was an edge of hatred, of sulfur, to her voice. My skin felt cold at the sound of it and chills ran up and down my spine, raising goosebumps and tickling my scalp. “You cannot seriously think me so naive. Of course I know about him.”

Shard pressed the blade even harder against her neck, and now he drew out a faint gasp from her as more blood trickled to the floor. “Perhaps you are more prepared, then,” he growled, his lips close to her ear, his teeth clenched. “But you will be destroyed, and if your own conscience fails to do the job, the warrior will certainly step in. Do not overestimate yourself, Morgala. You are not as powerful as you think.” With that he released her, shoving her forward with such force that anyone, especially someone so slender as she, would have fallen over onto the desk. But she whipped around and steadied herself with surprising grace, her back to the desk and her palms on its edge.

“We shall see, Jack.” She took one finger and wiped the blood from her neck, then smeared it over her palm, looking at it with a somewhat fascinated expression. “But I did not come here for this.” She raised her gaze to his face again. “I came to tell you, if your sisters have not, that I have taken the last free city. Cristalia is all that remains. And it is not too late, Jack, to change your mind. Even now I will offer you freedom and riches – I will even spare your sisters – if you stop your search for the man and return with me. But,” she said, her eyes flickering fiercely, “if you do not come now, there will be no more chances. I will destroy you and all that you love.”

“I told you before, witch. I don’t negotiate with evil.”

Her smile returned. “Very well. For the sake of your mother I extend you these graces, but if you wish to spurn them, there is nothing I can do.”

“My mother!” He took a step towards her and his hand went to the hilt of his sword; his shoulders became stooped and every spring in his body seemed coiled and ready to release; instinctively I hunched my shoulders in a protective posture. “You destroyed my mother,” he bellowed, his voice rasping. “That you even dare to keep her appearance is utter cruelty. You caged her and reduced her to a whimpering mess, and now you say you extend me graces for her sake? No. No, I will not be coming with you.”

She shrugged, apparently unruffled by his outburst. “Very well. You have made your choice. In that case, I give you one final warning.” A grin spread on her lips, and it carried so much mockery, so much seething evil, that I suddenly thought she couldn’t be human. No human face could contort in this way and still be so strikingly, perfectly beautiful. “If you find the man, and he kills me, I won’t be going alone.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you understand?”

Shard did not reply, but realization washed over his features, followed by a flicker of fear in his dark eyes.

“Good.” She began walking towards the door and I backed away from the frame, pressing myself tightly against the wall in the shadows beside his bookcase. If she saw me, or if he saw me, one of them would kill me. I was sure of that. I watched her as she moved gracefully across the little entryway and opened the door, then exited into the cool night. I only had a moment to wonder how she would get off the ship – for that matter, how she had gotten onto it – when a bright flash of light accompanied a forceful gust of wind; then darkness but for the firelight.

I remained in my place, my eyes on the frame where I had been listening. After a moment Shard came out, walking slowly, wearily. He shut the door quietly and turned to go back to the room – but his dark, fierce gaze landed on me, and a malicious, wild expression bled into his features as he walked haggardly towards me. My heart raced and I cowered against the wall.

“No, no, I’m sorry! Wait, please-”


“Silence, you bloody nuisance!” he growled, clutching my shirt and pulling me out of the corner. “How long have you been here?” he demanded.

“I-”

“How much did you hear?”

“Not…I…”

Without waiting for me to gather enough courage to answer him, he dragged me out of the room, kicking open the door. I clutched at his arm as he pulled me across the deck to the railing and pressed me against it, threatening to push me over.

“Wait, please!” I shouted desperately. “I’m sorry. I heard everything, but I swear I won’t tell a soul,” I pleaded. “Please, I’m sorry!”

He seemed about to shout at me again, but slowly the wildness left his face and his expression softened a little. Abruptly he let go of me and stepped back, breathing heavily, his eyes on his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that.” He looked up at me. “Did I hurt you?”

I shook my head a little, my hand on my chest. “No.” But he had frightened me.

He nodded and walked towards the railing again. I put a little more distance between us as he placed both hands on the railing and looked out at the black sea, but I was fairly certain he wouldn’t do anything more. Little flecks of diamond dotted the black expanse where light from the slender, crescent moon was reflected. I was unsure whether he wanted me to leave, but as he hadn’t said anything I decided to stay. There was no chance I would be able to sleep now, anyway.

“Elizabeth,” he said after several long, quiet moments, using my name for once. “Since you have heard this, there are some things I should explain to you. I normally wouldn’t, but you’re quite clever, and I’d rather tell you the truth myself than have you find out some twisted version of it on your own.” He turned to face me, sliding one of his hands closer, and leaned towards me in an earnest gesture. “But you must swear,” he said, his voice suddenly grave, “that you will never, as long as you live, tell another soul what I am about to say. No one else on the ship knows; no other human on Earth knows.” He exhaled. “Can I trust you?”

The question hung in the air, floated in a mass of resounding, sudden silence. Even the ocean seemed to be holding its breath. I stared at him, unnerved by the change in his demeanor, suddenly feeling as though I was not speaking to a pirate captain at all, but to some sort of ambassador or general. I had never seen him like this before; even his face looked different. And what choice did I have? What would he say if I replied that he could not trust me? I closed my eyes for a brief moment and inhaled, then breathed out, “Yes. Yes, you can trust me.” I opened my eyes.

“I know,” he said, then straightened. “Come with me.”