I don’t have the time to make quality blog posts.
It’s sad, but true. And I’d rather make no blog posts than make shitty blog posts. So while I’m up to my buns in school-work-family, I’m going to mostly keep this blog limited to the “8 Sentence Sunday” posts I used to do. Those were neat, right?!
Along with recognizing how little time I have for writing, I decided to stick to a single story until I finish it OR DIE TRYING. I went with The Lightning-Maker’s Daughter because it’s the one on my mind the most often. I have the proto-synopsis posted somewhere around here.
Anyway, with no further ado, my 8 sentences for this week!
The door to the laboratory swung shut, and Mattie eyed the ON lever. Prue could drag her to a ball that was just a dressed-up flesh sale, but she couldn’t keep Mattie from bringing her theory to life.
Mattie grasped the lever with her ungloved hand and pushed up. The lever clicked as it engaged, and Mattie prepared herself for the sounds of the coil coming on.
She waited for ten seconds—ten long seconds in silence and electrical inactivity— before she slammed the ON lever back down to its OFF position. Maybe there had been further sabotage that she hadn’t seen. Maybe being underground interrupted the energy flow she needed.
Maybe her thesis was flawed.
728 words, total 30,400.
Hooray I broke 30,000! But I’m a total slacker and I only broke 30,000 (barely). Exhaustion is getting the better of me. I went to bed early, though, so maybe tomorrow I’ll have more energy for MOAR WRITING!
2,301 words, total 29,672.
I wanted to make it to 30,000 tonight but I just couldn’t stay awake. I’ll get it tomorrow!
So apparently I’m really loving Afghanistan. The words just flow. I have way too many, so I’m going to have a to cut a lot later. But that’s for December, right!?
The research I had to do for this part of the book was pretty intense, and I’m super glad I did it beforehand. Having to do it now would have slowed me waaaaaay down. Finding Pashto words for stuff is hard enough. I gotta go find me a Pashtun.
2,335 words for a total of 27,371. I get the urge to write when I should be doing anything else. I have so much homework. UGH!
I HIT HALFWAY TODAY!
2,882 words pushed me up to 25,036 words.
To celebrate my halfway milestone, I’m going to leave you with my 25,000th word, as well as give you some visual indications of the scene. Hooray! Continue reading
That’s right, kids! It’s time for NaNoWriMo!
Well, okay, it’s time to get ready for NaNoWriMo. But still! It’s exciting!
This is me, y’all. For if you wanted to keep up, be my buddy, or what have you.
I was going to work on a new novel (Cavemen In Spaaaaaaace!) but then I decided that I need to really focus my time and get The Lightning-Maker’s Daughter done with. I have 90,000 words to go, and if I can get 50,000 of those hammered out in a month, that will make the rest of this journey go a little quicker.
Mattie is about to miss the Sentinel’s first port in Rome, so Genya takes her up to the Promenade deck so she can see it. The problem? Mattie’s horribly afraid of being on the airship and has been remedying her crippling phobia by avoiding views out the windows.
She shut her eyes before the view of Rome appeared. A few steps later, Genya stopped and said, “What do you think?”
Mattie inhaled deeply. Just open your eyes for a second, say it’s wonderful, and then go back inside. She cracked her eyes open and was momentarily blinded by the early morning light. She squinted against the glare, and then a golden cupola came into focus. More of the city appeared as her eyes adjusted—peach-colored stucco buildings with bronze roofs; spires of glass and metal; majestic columned palaces; enormous statues of gods and monsters—and she found that she couldn’t inhale. The city of Rome stole her breath away.
Mattie and Genya have a conversation about Frankenstein; Or, The Modern Prometheus, and Genya attempts a joke. A little bit is lost in translation.
To her surprise, Genya reached out and grasped her hand in his. He jumped and clenched her fingers. “Matilda, you must be dead! You did not electrocute me!”
For a second and a half, she thought he was making fun of her. Ridiculing her. Like Frederick would have done. He would have made a comment about avoiding bathing or swimming, and then would have laughed in her face and said something like, “The ideas in your head. Oh dear.”
Mattie has just enjoyed a nearly-silent breakfast with the Cavendish family. The menfolk have vacated the room, leaving just Mattie and her nearly-mother-in-law. Mrs. Cavendish is a little bit drunk.
Mrs. Cavendish cocked her head. “Oh, liebchen, I’m not going anywhere. Not until I’ve had another drink.”
Mattie tapped the side of the empty wine glass. “There’s no more alcohol, Mrs. Cavendish.”
The older woman leaned forward and winked. “There is always more alcohol.” She leaned away and lifted a flask up, pulling it from nowhere, like a magician with a dove. She cackled as she unscrewed the cap and took a long draught.