Skip to main content

Camp NaNo Week Four

Yes, I skipped week three.  Instead I did a post about my favorite podcasts.  Check it out here.

I currently am 66,897 words in, according to campnanowrimo.org, and I'm 64,226 words in according to Scriptito.  Also, I've cheated and reduced my wordcount goal to 75,000 words.  But!  I'm still writing until the end of August.  I want to hit my 75,000 by the end of July so that I can hopefully get on to the end of The Neif by the end of August.  Or at least as close as possible.  Winning begins today at Camp NaNoWriMo, and as you can see, I still have about 10k to go!

Here's a passage for you from this week, edited for spelling only.

Arka walked through the double-wide door from the path to the foyer of the Reformery.  The waiting room.  Whatever.  
He was shoved aside by rough gloves.  "Emergency!  Make way!"  Four neifs rushed past him carrying another on a stretcher between them.  There seemed to be more like that of late.  This one had its right leg hanging limp off the stretcher, the left arm appeared to have been cut or torn almost completely off from the body, th-
"Delo!" He was running after the stretcher.  
"Woah, friend, stay back." A neif blocked his way, a reformer by his gloves.  "Let us do our work.  Is she your mate?"
"Why does she have to be my mate?  She is my friend.  Can I not have friends with grooves instead of ridges?"  
The reformer bowed his head briefly in apology.  "Just looking for anyone that might be related to her, in case we cannot restore her."  He bowed his head in formal greeting.  "I am Urwes.  We will do everything that we can for her, you can depend on it.  In the meantime, if you are able," he gave the surface of Arka's body a critical glance, "and it appears that you are, retrieve her family, if you know where they are.  The Fourth Elder likes for them to be there when we are finished with our work, no matter the outcome."
Arka squeezed his jaw tight and gave the briefest of nods.  "Arka.  You had better do all that you can."  He gave another curt nod as he turned on his heel and headed back out to the path.  
Urwes did not wait to watch him go.  As soon as the neif had turned he fled down the hall after the gurney.  They had ducked into one of the reforming chambers already, likely the fourth on the left by the ruckus coming from there.  He flung aside the curtain at the entrance and edged in around the cluster of neifs.  "Her name is Delo," he announced to the room at large as he stepped to the side and donned the long, clinging overgloves and cinched them tight above his elbows.
"I know," Delen glared at him from the other side of the table.  The guards that had brought Delo down on the gurney slid it out from under her then made their way out of the room, nodding briefly, the last one letting his eyes rest on Delo a moment before stepping out.  The only two reformers were himself and Delen.  
He stuck his head out under the curtain.  "Need another reformer over here!"  He ducked back in.  Delen was yanking gear off of the semi-conscious Delo.  He held Delo's knee with one gloved hand and pulled a boot off with the other.  It came free with a deep sucking sound.  He grimaced.  "Not good."  The other 
Another reformer stepped from behind the curtain in the doorway and pulled on long gloves.  It was Laeno.  She nodded to each of them as she finished securing the gloves.  "Urwes.  Delen.  Who is this?"
"Delo," Delen answered.  "A scout.  Her right leg had been pierced and is no longer responding to her will.  Her left arm-" she cut the cord holding it to Delo's body with a short knife and the arm fell limp, almost sliding off the table before Delen caught it.  
Laeno nodded.  "I see.  Where do you want me to be?" 
"If you can do the leg, Urwes and I can work on her arm.  The leg should be fine with a normal reforming, although you should make sure there is no debris remaining in the hole.  Urwes, bring the paste, and the wide scraper."  She laid a hand on Delo's good shoulder.  "We will set you to rights soon, sweet friend.  You have fought hard for your existence today, keep fighting just a little longer."  She gave the shoulder a squeeze and Delo mumbled something incoherent, her eyes staring at nothing.
Urwes set down the scraper and the wide shallow bowl of paste used for reforming injuries.  It was a special mixture of Lifebed and wet.  He examined the arm and the way it had separated from the body, peeling down the neif's side like the blades of grasses his mother split when weaving a net.  "Do you know how this happened?" he asked as he held out the arm for Delen to scrape the beaded moisture off.  They needed some wet for reforming, but too much would make the neif a soggy mess that couldn't hold her shape.
Delen shook her head.  "The guards just said she was brought in by a scout and a corraler that found her.  I spoke with her last light, so I know she only went out at lightbreak."  She guided the wide scraper along the curves of Delo's arm, then the rent through her shoulder and abdomen.  
It looked as though Delo had managed to keep it relatively clear of debris.  Delen only had to come back with the tweezers for two black flecks in the otherwise white exposure.  When Delen was satisfied that the injury was clean and no longer moist, Urwes smeared the inside with paste.  Then the kneading began.  An injury of this size took the force of two neif at least pushing together to repair.  Urwes folded up the table on Delo's right side so that there was something to push against.  Standing shoulder to shoulder with Delen, he and she braced themselves and shoved Delo's open side up against the rest of her body, forcing the two to join back together.  They made fists with their gloved hands in Delo's flesh and squeezed, the white mass of her body's substance welling up between their fingers.  When they were satisfied that the two pieces were mated, Delen nodded at Urwes and they took up positions at the head and foot of the table to stretch the kneaded mass back into something resembling Delo's shoulder and torso.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

February Post

Give me a break, I hate coming up with titles.

And the FCC spoke and said, 'Verily, I say unto thee, Verizon and their ilk shall not throttle the bandwidth of those they despise, nor shall they profit from the favoring of entities with greater bandwidth therein.' And there was great rejoicing.  And by great rejoicing, I mean that the internet blew up arguing about what color a dress was.  You go, America, exercise that freedom.

Girls and boys, it's the last Friday in February and I haven't posted anything this month, so here goes.

I'm so glad I didn't try to keep posting weekly, because school owns my life nowadays.  I approve of the once-a-month plan so far.  We'll see if I can do more posts during my summer break (i.e. the month of May).

As you might have guessed, I have not done any editing on Om Nom Nombies.  I haven't written anything more on the first drafts of The Neif or Spitfire.  I haven't even made any progress beta-ing a manuscript for m…

Non-Traditional Plot Structure

Happy Friday friends!  This post is about plot:  what we traditionally think of as plot, and what other options exist in the world.

For starters, let's define the difference between plot and narrative structure.  Plot is (loosely) the events that happen in the story.  Narrative structure is the order readers experience the story events.  Ingrid Sundberg does a good job of differentiating the two here.  (May as well open that up in a new tab and leave it open, I'm going to be referencing her blog a lot today.  She's pretty much already done what I wanted to do with this post.)

If your public education was like mine, you were probably introduced to a figure similar to this somewhere in your English classes:
This is the standard plot that we can fit most stories into.  This describes a plot centered around conflict that follows a traditional three-act structure.  It's very popular.  In the Middle reviews a book that discusses using this structure as a form for your story, an…

Head Games: The Next Project

I am ecstatic to announce my next project, Head Games!

 The origin story on this one is a bit mussed.  I've been sitting on this idea since before I started writing Spitfire, so, a few years.
I was contemplating the Hulk one afternoon, as one does.  It makes sense that he gets giant and violent when he's angry (unless you buy that he's always angry), but I never got why he turned green.  I started thinking about what emotions would look like as superpowers.  I imagined a little girl literally glowing with joy, reading a book by her own light under the covers long after her bedtime.  And it kept going from there.  But most powers were painful in their first showing.  For example, a flash of light from a burst of joy would blind anyone close enough.

So I have a group of people with emotional superpowers.  But they're also super messed up because of what happened when their powers first showed.  And anyone who is ever been told to smile knows that you don't get to t…