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1) To allow me to put all my research in one place in a way that makes sense,
2) To allow me to share any and all information about my writing with whomever takes the time to read it,
3) And finally, to let me talk about the writing of others.
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Camp NaNo Week Two
Good Morning, friends! I hope this finds you well. At the end of this week of Camp NaNo-ing, I have 62,853 words by their count, and 60,382 words by Scriptito's count. Yes I'm a little behind, but I haven't written anything yet today. I still have time.
Also, last week I cleared 3,000 views total for the blog. Thanks!
Here's another selection of The Neif from what I've been working on this week,again only edited for spelling. Enjoy!
She glanced up at the feathered flyers making their chatter in the trees. She was not so far from the tree where she had nearly met her own end. She unlashed her coracle and poled away, in the opposite direction. She made her way slowly as the poles floating behind her liked to get caught on floating moss and grass, and narrow passages. At one point, the poles were lodged between two bends facing opposite directions, like the bends a swimming vine could make with its body. By the time she got the poles unstuck and was on her way again, she was beginning to feel her body get sticky in her boots and her gloves. She looked up at the disk again to check its position, and a shadow passed in front of it. It was the black and white feathered flyer.
Scowling, Delo leaped out of her coracle and onto a bunch of roots sticking out of the wet. She flattened herself against the trunk of the tree they were connected to and froze. While she would hate to lose what she had gathered today, it was nothing compared to an end of her existence. The shadow passed again, and Delo could hear how the other feathered flyers, and even the leaping swimmers had gone silent. I cannot fly away or drop under the surface of the wet. They plan to hide and leave me as an offering to the thing. She could not see it in the sky, so she edged around the base of the trunk, hoping to find a more suitable hiding place, or at least one less exposed. This tree was one of knobbly surface, and the roots were more like piled record cords than the fingers of a hand spread wide. She had to climb up, down, and over to negotiate their surface. It was not easy watching the sky with one eye and where she was going with the other, but she was able to do it without putting too much strain on her concentration. She smirked. I bet Arka's never done that. She had passed half-way around the trunk and still had not found a place that suited her better. She stopped moving and listened. Even the four-winged flyers had ceased buzzing around and were nowhere to be seen. Even though she couldn't see it, she was sure the feathered flyer was still in her area. It must have a nest nearby to be around so much. That means there will be more of these feathered flyers soon. She should probably mention it to her guildmaster, only every/by the time she managed to speak to him, he had always heard the news long before. She flattened herself against the bend in the roots where she was and watched the sky once more. It was not so bad when there was moving air to keep the wet air from letting moisture gather on the surface of her body. A few of the four-winged flyers skipped out over the surface of the wet. Taking another cautious glance around the sky, Delo climbed up out of the roots and over to her coracle. A few of the feathered flyers whistled and chirped above her. She was safe.
Delo poled her way through the passages and out into an open area. She normally would have poled along the edge of the trees, but it had been some lights since the last wetstorm, and the level of the wet had dropped, exposing many roots and making the going treacherous. She decided to go through the open and use the time she saved to collect more orders when she returned to the enclosure.
A leaping swimmer put its eyes out of the wet next to her, and its gaze followed her as she passed. It was small enough that it posed no threat to her. Even if it decided to leap into the coracle with her, the tiny craft still would have floated. The eyes popped back under the wet with a noisy jerk. That was strange, she hadn't done anything to startle it. Then Delo was covered in shadow and bodily lifted from the coracle. She found her feet dangling over the surface of the wet. Her right shoulder and arm were pinned against her body by one giant claw, and her left arm held out in the grip of another. Before she even looked up, she knew what had her. She was in the grip of the black and white feathered flyer.
Delo pushed down the bubbling panic she could feel rising in her spirit. Her mind raced, trying to remember anything Wekna had told her that might help her as she was pulled up over the tops of trees and watched the wet become only a small glint below her. By the Elders, we are moving fast! Her memories came up empty, and she tried to think of what Raena had taught her. She could have her pride when she was sure that she wouldn't lose her existence. But even the neif that knew it all had failed to tell her something of use. She decided to forgo what others had said or done before and act on her own, without fear, or at least with as little as possible. If I meet my end, I will know I have done all I can.
Delo glanced up at where her left arm was held in the claw. She couldn't move her elbow, but she could rotate her wrist as much as she wanted, and had a little bit of motion in her shoulder. Unfortunately, her pointed pole was shoved up against her body long-ways with her right arm. She had her belt knife and a length of cord on her belt, her pack on her back, and that was it, excepting her boots and gloves. She tried turning her left shoulder to get her hand closer to the knife at her belt.
She must have moved enough to attract the attention of the beast, because it brought its feet forward and ducked its head for a moment to look at her. Grimacing in effort, Delo tried once more to turn her shoulder in such a way that she might reach her knife. She made it closer this time, only a few hand-breadths away. The feathered flyer swung her forward and its head ducked again. Delo strained for the knife. The beast's head came at her, beak open. Delo jerked her head to the right and felt a sharp, searing pain in her left shoulder. She yelled, and the beast's head went back up, leaving her in peace.
Opening her eyes - she must have closed them when the thing bit her - she slowly turned her head to the left. There was a huge chunk missing from her left shoulder. She felt the legs swinging forward again and she jerked her head away just in time as the beak came back. This time it pulled her out of the claws, and she had her right arm free. She swung her pointed pole with all the strength she had at the head of the beast, screaming as she felt her momentum send the beak deeper through her shoulder and into her chest. The pole bounced off of something and again she swung. She felt the feathered flyer's jaws drop open and was deafened by a piercing scream from its mouth, so she must have hit it hard enough.
Delo opened her eyes again. She was dropping towards the earth fast. She could see trees below her, but nothing of what was beneath them. She reached for her pack, but only her right arm moved. Her left was flopping in the air as she fell, smacking into her in a sickening way. She couldn't feel it anymore. Delo slid the pole behind her pack and reached for the cord at her belt with her good arm. She grabbed the cord and clamped her mouth around it, trying to tie a knot with one hand. She managed to get a [type of knot] done, though the loop was pitifully small. Delo hurtled past the first branch. No time to worry, no time for fear.
Looping the loose end of the cord around her wrist several times, Delo cast out the loop towards the branches below her. She fell through them, stretching out her good arm and legs to try to grab one, but was only slapped in the face by a few twigs. She jerked on the cord and it came back to her, catching nothing. She could see a few more sets of branches below, and the glint of the wet beneath them. Elders, I may have done all that I can, but I want to live! She cast out the loop again and stretched out her limbs.
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…
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…
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…