Sooooo…I’m now 13,000 words behind. That translates into roughly 8 days of writing. And I have 6 days left. *laughs hysterically* *chews on hair* Anyway, since I have no exciting or inspiring things to say (I’m all out), I thought I’d post a horrible excerpt to show you exactly how my writing has deteriorated in the past three weeks. It’s freeing, depressing, and hilarious all at the same time. And mysterious! Will my skill return? Has my inner editor died or is she just quiet? Will she hate me? Will she ever cooperate again? Quick, Frederickson and Elizabeth (my muses)!!! Give her water!! We need her, come December! We only have six days to revive her!
Here are the excerpts. They’re from different parts of the story, obviously.
I woke on my own a few hours later. Richard sat with his arms resting on his pulled-up knees, staring at the flames. I crept quietly until I sat beside him, and touched his shoulder. Startled, he trned his face towards me and inhaled sharply.
“Sorry,” I whispered. “You can sleep now.”
He rolled his eyes at his own jumpiness and nodded his thanks, falling asleep beside Telltale almost instantly. I placed another piece of wood on the fire and watched sparks swirl in the air. Suddenly an alien dropped out of the sky and transported us to the next morning, where things were less boring and there weren’t any more premature romantic foreshadowings.
Second: (note the typos)
“He shrugege.d “If we ride while the sun is up and do’t stop for lunch – “ at this my stomach protested – “and if we go at agood pace, it should take about seven days.”
My eyes widened, and now my rear began to ache in anticipation. “Seven days?”
He looked at me sympathetically. “I know it’s bad if you’re not used to it” he said. “But trust me, by t=day three, you’ll be used to it.”
I watched as he stuck thwo twigs through each fish, which was about the length of a hand from pulse to finger tip, and he handed me one. We placed them over the fire, the fish butterflied and laying with their scales facing down, toward the fire.
“Where are yous siters?” I asked him.
“The youngest is fifteen, and she’s at the palace. She has magic, so ELizabth is teaching her to control it properlu. She has a bit of a temper,” he added with a smile. “Her name is Granolinne. The next one, Serusel, is a guard in the kingdom of Drahmas. You might know the people who live there better as vampires,” he added with a grin. “But they’re not blood suckers. They have silver eyes with pupils like cats, and they have fangs. She’s eighteen. Then there’s her twin, Farael. She’s an earthscout, like me. She’s in India.”
It occurred to me, as I fell into pace, that I was doing an incredibly idiotic thing.
The contents of my backpack consisted of a history textbook, Their Eyes Were Watching God, my pencil case, a large, three-subject spiral notebook, a water bottle, and A SUPER AMAZING SURVIVAL KIT WITH FOOD AND STUFF.
I stopped and looked up at the authoress. “What?”
“Right,” the authoress replied. “Sorry. Continue.”
“Now that you’ve broken the fourth wall, you can stop obsessing over not breaking the fourth wall.”
“I know, I’m excited,” the authoress said. “Now I’ll continue writing where we last left off.”
In books and movies, characters who do these things always have some sort of survival kit with food and a flashlight that they just “happened” to carry around with them. I, however, was a normal person not in a book, don’t even think about breaking the fourth wall again, and all I had were school supplies. At least I had a half-full watter bottle, but Alexis was right: I had no food.
I slowed my pace, trying to breathe deeply despite the pain that was shooting through my ribs and lungs. I wheezed loudly and grasped my stomach, praying I wouldn’t pass out. Especially since Write Or Die sessions are unbelievably intense and should not be done except in absolute emergencies. There goes that fourth wall again. Who needs it anyway.
“Excuse me, but I’m kind of dying here,” I reminded the authoress, who was very relieved to have just passes her word goal.
“Sorry. This fourth wall thing is so distracting,” she said. “Moving on.”
I continued at a fairly quick pace through the forest, but more or less decided I didn’t have to run. Besides, I was going in a different direction than they were. I was probably already way out of their line of search…ing. Searching? Or search? Does that make sense?
“Argh!” said the authoress. “Sorry! Continuing as if nothing has happened.”