Camp NaNoWriMo April 2014

 

Tomorrow is the start of April’s Camp NaNoWriMo, a day I have been anxiously awaiting since “winning” National Novel Writing Month in November. But for me, today marks the start of the writing frenzy. I don’t mean to “cheat” by starting early, but this decision comes out of necessity. 

Tomorrow I get all four of my wisdom teeth removed, which means I will be unable to write tomorrow or probably the following day. So, its really not cheating, more of just planning ahead. 

It will be a miracle if I reach my goal of 30,000 words. April is a busy month with recovery for my wisdom teeth, then a 4-day trip to San Diego next week for the National Scholastic Press Association/ Journalism Education Association national convention to take classes and participate in a write-off competition. I will not be taking my laptop with me because I am afraid it would be stolen by my roomates, 3 other students from my high school. These setbacks may prevent me from doing much, but that is okay.

Participant 2014 - Facebook Cover

Now for the good stuff: what am I writing? Well, I will be trying to write a genre and style I have never used before, so it should be interesting. In brief, the novel will be set in the City of Destiny: Tacoma, Washington, in the 2020s. It will follow the life of a young man attending the UW-T to become an Urban Planner, but his family is keeping his dreams from coming true. His family, of course, being members of a motorcycle club responsible for much illegal activity and corruption in the city. 

So this brings me to my conclusion, what is your favorite part of writing a novel? What is your favorite thing to see in a novel?

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The Wall

The Wall scorched the man’s hand, flooding in around his rough flesh and trapping it there for the usual sequence. The man strained as he tried to pull away from the red field, veins popping out through his fit arms.

He knew there wasn’t much time.

He could feel his hand melting into the world beyond. It was like his skin had been pulled apart from the rest of his hand, and then cooked ‘well’ until the very blood turned into its gaseous form. He knew it was an illusion, but the pain was real.

He could recall that he had passed through The Wall many times before, each time worse than the one before. He couldn’t take it anymore: the unnecessary suffering, the draining of strength, and the quickening evolution of fear. He had to escape.

“Relax,” the familiar voice said from somewhere above. “You must be cleansed.”

“Cleansed? You call this cleansing?” He asked, spitting at The Wall. “I got something to tell you, I…agh!”

The pain from the current of electricity that had just passed through him caused him to partially collapse, hanging to the wall by his locked hand. He kicked at the wall, yelling in pain as his toes broke on impact. The rubber-toed shoes were completely stripped by the kick, The red Wall appearing to shimmer with delight.

“I bet you love that!”

The man had this all planned out. He wouldn’t take any more of it. “Hey, I’ve got somethin’ to say to you,” he began, reaching down for his black bag on the floor. “It’s a little song from the old days: we’re not gonna take it, no, we ain’t gonna take it…”

He opened the bag with his free hand, withdrawing a sharp, jagged rock. He raised it above his head and brought it down upon his wrist. He screamed as the pain rippled through his body, but he kept smashing at his wrist, warm blood trickling down his arm and dripping onto the floor. He couldn’t tell if the self-inflicted pain was better or worse than that of The Wall, but it didn’t matter.

He was free.

His hand remained inside the wall, melting as it passed through at a pace slower than a turtle. He began to laugh as he dropped the rock on the ground, looking at his crushed wrist. He turned to run, tripping over his bag as he headed through the corridors. The Wall howled in anger and the ground began to shake and bend.

I’m free!

He had become too weak to go any further. He collapsed to the ground, trying his best to crawl. He heard footsteps and a thousand screams. He felt lost and defeated, yet also victorious and found.

“Come and take me!”

Then the man was lifted by his feet, being hauled along the floor by cold hands. “You have expired. Protocol must be initiated.”

He felt a claw to his head, then a buildup of pressure. He let his mind wander as blood dripped from his nose. His eyes bulged and his ears began to ring. For the first time in his life, he actually wanted to live. But it was too late.

“Protocol requires that I take out the trash.”

It would be the last words the man would ever hear.