you're not going to slow it down

Word Count: 40,003

Dillema! The story is more or less complete, and I am 10,000 words shy of my goal! There are a few scenes to be written here or there, but certainly not that many words worth! This may be tricky to overcome.

Not really a night, but a successful day, I'd say.
Word Count: 36,126

The ending is completely written, all the way to 'the end'. I now have roughly 10,000 words with which to craft a whole lot of the middle into a story that leads from here to there. I may be able to do it, but I suspect this story will need to surpass 50,000 words when I go back an edit it into a final form sometime later.

All in all, I am in love with it, and I still don't feel sick of writing as I often did at this point in each previous year. I will probably work some more on it today, because now it's all the downhill slide.

If you're Nano-ing too this year, keep it up. If I can make it, you can. Just keep writing, just keep pressing on. The finish line is more fun when lots of people make it there!

It's getting harder and harder to have samples that aren't full of spoilers!

Word Count: 30,008
Writing Sample:
Albreicht’s style was unique – he employed the full length of his sword and kept it close to his body, using moves that caught the other’s blade on the flat of his sword, then spun to deflect the momentum of his attacker for longer than they had originally dedicated. He used the proximity of his body to the other’s to keep track of where exactly his strikes would land, free hand seizing the other’s sword wrist if it could be had.

It was a risky style – a misplaced deflection or a devilishly employed offhand weapon would have ruined it, but he seemed to judge perfectly where each strike from Mosni would land. Albreicht’s strikes were mostly reactive, using momentum already expended to carry himself out of the way of a committed attack. Mosni learned to attack with reserve, and then they finally began to have more even matches.

Word Count: 26,231
Writing Sample:

Without thinking, she stooped to get on her boots. As she sat down, her contact with the forest floor increased, and she remembered why she had come down, sleep hazed and tired. Forgetting her shoes, she closed her eyes and focused – and when that brought little more than the usual rustlings she felt, she let go of focus. Allowed herself to drowse a little, her thoughts on the cool grass below her, the firm tree trunk behind her, her companions’ soft breaths as they slept uninterrupted above.

There was a rhythm here, in all of the forest. Each being left a ripple of motion where it touched, distinct from the stirrings of tree limbs in the wind. She let her breath slow, felt her own ripples in the flow of the place around her, and then felt where they crossed with the tides of others. She realized that distantly, she could feel the faintest touches of those besides hers and her companions.

Word Count: 22,041
Sample Writing:

“I once tracked a hind as white as the snow,” Albreicht began, making a little gesture with his hands that Althea had only recently learned the meaning of – it was an oath, a swear, a signal of telling the truth. “And as silent.”

“’Tis a tall tale,” Mosni turned to explain to Althea, rolling his eyes a little at the brag. Over his shoulder, Albreicht caught her gaze and winked. “White harts, white hinds – they are not of this world. ‘Tis said they can pass beyond this plane, but hunters desire them more than aught other. Unluck falls upon those who chase them, doomed to chase forever but never catch – though tales promise untold riches if you can.”