We're almost to the end of March. How is it that every year seems to fly by faster than the last? I guess that's what getting old is all about.
Anyway, the end of March ushers in the very beginning of April, which in turn ushers in the lesser-known writing challenge, Camp NaNo. This challenge is very similar to the real NaNoWriMo in November, except for the fact that each writer gets to set his or her own goals. Like, you don't have to write 50K words if you don't want to.
I want to, though. Hopefully. And for once, my Little Writer and I are in agreement on that. I don't know that my life itself is on the same page. I've learned being a mom, wife, and household maintainer doesn't happen in an hour, and it leaves very little focused time for writing. The plan is to plug away, however; see how far I get.
My big writing goal for this year is to complete the first rough draft of The Twelfth Kingdom, my twelve dancing princesses retelling. I worked on it during NaNo last year and since then have gotten it up to almost 100K words. If it's anything like what Secret of the Hazel Tree was, I know I'm going to have a massive book of close to 200K on my hands, but the main point right now is just to finish it. So, Camp NaNo is the perfect excuse to try to carve out time to add (hopefully) another 50K or more onto it.
I feel very ambitious with this project. I'm not going to lie. TK has been a story way too long in the making, and it's cool to actually be FINALLY getting somewhere with it. I don't recall what year it was that the first spark came to me, but it had to have been close to 2012. It's actually kind of funny and humiliating to go back and read those first few chapters again and see how far my writing's come since then. College is good for something, folks.
Anyway, to celebrate the approaching Camp NaNo, I've decided to share a few of my favorite snippets from the last few months.
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| Mock cover for inspiration purposes. |
~*~
Murris handed T a crossbow. “Have you ever used one of these?”
T shook his head.
“Well, learn now or die holding it,” Murris ordered, shoving it into his arms. “Your bolts load there, and then you trigger the mechanism.”
~*~
Waedan pulled a thick, leather binder of paper off of a low shelf behind the large table taking up most of the room. “Have we been that stupid, Murris?”
“I certainly hope not,” Murris said. “But I can’t follow m’lord’s thoughts, so there’s a chance I have been.”
~*~
At first, T was flattered to have been chosen to accompany the general of Fort Kalt on a special trip to the mining camp. But after an hour down the trail, wading through snow sometimes waist-high, he wished he hadn’t been so specifically chosen out. Murris and Waedan both seemed to have the skill of snowshoes down, but T for his life couldn’t figure them out.
They were a large, flat contraption shaped like the bottom of his foot, but broader and extended past his foot on all sides when he slipped them on. Murris hadn’t bothered to give T any instructions when he handed the contraptions over, other than how to slip them on – which was even less instruction than he gave when handing T that crossbow.
~*~
“Wait, wait, wait,” A said, holding out his hands. “You mean I wouldn’t have to go sit in the snow out there tonight?”
“No, I’ll do it,” G reiterated, fingering his eyepatch to lend severity to his words. “Since your gut can’t handle a few hours of cold, maybe your gut can handle a game or two with the boys tonight. I hear they’re itching to play a few card and dice games, and your gut may be the only thing to give them the entertainment they’re looking for.”
A narrowed his eyes. “Pretty sure you’re insulting me there. I’ll have you know that my gut has never been wrong.”
“Never means only a third of the time,” Q quipped, amusement shining in his eyes.
A set his jaw. “Enjoy your freeze time tonight, fellows. I’m off to some cards and dice.” He stomped away, and T wasn’t the only one to break forth in laughter.
G wiped his eyes. “That boy’s more fun to mess with than a kitten with a string.”
“What are card and dice games?” Q asked, looking after A. “He’s not going to get hurt, is he?”
“Not a chance,” G assured him. “They’re small gambling games, and harmless for the most part. He ain’t got anything to gamble, so I’m pretty sure he’s safe.”
~*~
The interrogation went as well as could be expected. Thirrey was happy to spit out curses against the Finden soldiers and Lord Waedan and Fort Kalt and T and anything else in Findenland that he could think of.
~*~
“Permission to spit, m’lord?”
“No, Murris.”
The soldier shook his head ruefully. “I guess that was just the fever talking, then.”
~*~
He slapped his thighs again.
Q frowned at him. “It’s not that funny, A.”
“No, I agree. I’m just cold and I’m trying to warm my legs up.” He demonstrated with another set of generous slaps to his legs.
~*~
But forgetting was not part of Simeanna’s nature. She’d been old enough to remember the plague. She still saw the doctors hovering over her parents, the glittering canopy over their bed, the bottles of medicine that clinked on a silver tray. The plague had taken more than half of their household. She still didn’t know how she had survived. But she remembered well enough living as an orphan in the streets once their riches had been destroyed. Stolen.
Tears stung the corners of her eyes, but she fiercely willed them away, refusing to stoop to dabbing at her eyes with her hand. Now is not the time to be weak.
Not when Terretmere and Veymark would be coming to dinner.
~*~
Are you participating in Camp NaNo next month? Let me know in the comments!
God bless!
