#NaNoWriMo2015 Week Two
I have discovered that I’m not as disciplined as I need to be. I don’t follow the schedule I set up for myself that gives me four hours of writing time every day during the week. This made me sit down and seriously consider if I have the drive and desire to be a ‘real’ novelist.
So, I’m standing at a fork in the road, trying to decide if I want to knuckle down and pursue my dream life of writing books for a living or if I take the path where I pretend I’m a writer.
Or it could be the SAD talking. Moving from Arizona where we had over 300 days of sunshine to North Dakota where there are considerable LESS days of sunshine is starting to take a toll on me. By the way, SAD stands for “Seasonal Affective Disorder.”
recurrent winter depression characterized by oversleeping, overeating, and irritability, and relieved by the arrival of spring or by light therapy.
Hubby keeps reminding me to order one of those really expensive SAD lights. I’m thinking replacing all (and I do mean ALL) the light-bulbs in the house with “Daylight” bulbs would be cheaper and easier. I’m talking even the bulb in the fridge and the oven. I have them in the living room and I have to remember to turn them off around 8pm otherwise I end up staying up until 11pm because I’m so awake and wired. About an hour after I turn them off, I’m falling asleep on the sofa and have to drag myself to bed.
SAD is the number one reason that I left Alaska. OK, it might have also had something to do with hubby and his affair, but that’s a ‘nother whole train wreck. It’s my story and I’ll tell it the way I want to.
Anyway, back to my NaNoWriMo2015 update, because that’s why you’re here, right? As of this moment, I’m sitting at 20,656. I’m in the middle of Chapter 7.
For the heck of it, I’m posting a small sample (you can look away now):
The putrid muck sucked at her boots with each step, pulled at her leggings and clung like a whimpering child to her cape. Traveling on the path was so difficult and treacherous that it made riding her horse, Pharaoh, impossible and dangerous. If he slipped and fell, she could easily be pinned under his massive weight and suffer serious injury. A fate she’d prefer not to tempt, especially when so much and so many were depending on her. She hated the stench of the rotting vegetation. She hated the swamp. She really hated being filthy. But more than all of that, she hated the man she was looking for. Terra cursed his name for the tenth time since they stepped foot in marshy nightmare.
“When I get out of this sweaty, humid hell, I’m gonna have a tall, cold ale at the Black Bull,” she mumbled to herself. “No, first I’m going to kill him. He’s going to pay for making me play hide and seek with those bloodhound enemy patrol bastards. And for making me cross this forsaken swamp that smells like an old drunkard’s bedpan. Then I’ll indulge in a well deserved Ale. Or two.” With her free hand, she tightly gripped the hilt of her short sword hanging from her belt and wished it was the handle of a cold mug.
Terra mindlessly tugged on her horse’s reins again to coax him into following her. If the swamp wasn’t fighting her, it was her stubborn but faithful companion. At least she could count on him when she needed him. Unlike certain males of her species. Pharaoh raised his head and sniffed the faint breeze, nervously glancing back down the path. His snorting shook her from her thoughts of Adam, the man who twisted her feelings like rusty barbed wire around an old fence post, and brought her back to her current situation.
She meticulously scanned the lifeless, monochrome landscape, looking for signs of movement or her pursuers. Dusty gray Spanish Moss drooped from the sagging branches of the large, dying Cypress trees. Here and there, choking Kudzu vines completely engulfed stands of trees, creating an impenetrable wall of thick vegetation. Nothing moved as far as she could detect, but Pharaoh’s nervousness made her edgy. Her imagination was starting to play tricks on her. She imagined fanged, mutated beasts laying in wait, ready to pounce and feast on her innards. She forced that image out of her mind by focusing on what brought her to this humid, odoriferous situation.
Yep, it’s one of those “shitty first drafts.” But I can’t wait to finish the whole thing and start in on the edits.
How is your journey going? Please let me know in the comments!