Didn’t make it.

Didn’t make it.

You’ve probably wondered where my updates for Camp NaNoWriMo have been. Well, I haven’t posted them because, frankly, I wasn’t writing. I dropped my word count goal to 12K late in the month and didn’t even make that paltry sum. (For someone who regularly writes 50K or more in November, yes, 12K is a paltry sum.) My final word count as of about 5 minutes ago was 8011, with over 2K of that written just today.

Why couldn’t I make it? Well, for one thing, my inner editor kept slowing me down, making me correct things as I went along. During NaNo, I’m able to put that pesky inner editor in a box and write without thinking about the plot or the characters. Just getting the basic words on the page. Not so this time.

For another thing, I was physically uncomfortable. My desk chair is a thrift shop special and the hydraulics are giving out. It’s also less than ergonomic for my back. More than a few nights were spent tossing and turning because my back was keeping me awake. For the last two days, I’ve struggled with laryngitis, which means repeating myself enough so the family hears me, or writing out notes for the Hubby.

But most of all was my own distraction. I was so easily distracted by games, websites, more games, more websites, the television (which wasn’t me turning it on, I swear!). Just letting myself put visual stimuli before writing.

In summary, I was my own worst enemy for this session of Camp. On the plus side, I have some more of this world set in thick pudding. I’m finding plot holes, rearranging characters, and doing more research into the Mohawk nation, the Roman Catholic Church, and what inventions might possibly be available to the world (which is where the steampunk comes in). Hopefully, I have enough to keep going.

So, before I call this Camp session to a close, here’s one more snippet from the story.

Something in Siobhan flinched and the world went dark for a moment. She lost track of where she was or with whom. The darkness cleared, like a fog in sunlight, and she found herself running. Her chest heaved from the exertion. Whimpering, she glanced back. A short man, no, two short men with long shaggy beards pursued her. She didn’t understand why they ran after her; she hadn’t done anything, really she hadn’t! But the one in front came closer and closer. Her own pudgy legs were tiring after the long climb into the mountains. She tripped, falling headlong into the carpet of pine needles. Pain shot through her knee but terror spurred her to her feet, tears blurring her vision as she limped along.

Another glance over her shoulder told her the second man had dropped back but the first was gaining on her. Strangely enough, he made no sound; no heavy breathing, no footfalls crunched through the needles or swished through the tall grasses. She could see the tower in the distance. If she could make it there before he caught up, she would be safe.

Her viewpoint changed. Now she could see from above as if she were a bird. Viveka was just a little girl, no bigger than her pursuer. Windblown blonde braids bounced off her back with every hurried step.

Part of Siobhan still ran from the little man in the queer old clothes. Part of her could smell his beer-laden breath as he came up behind her. The bird-like part wanted to cry out a warning, to tell the running part—to tell little girl Viveka how close the old man was. Then she was back in Viveka’s form. The man’s cold hands rested on her shoulder blades and gave her a mighty shove!

Terror had given her speed. The shove all but gave her wings. She flew down the hillside, legs pumping harder and faster than ever before. She wept, she screamed, she couldn’t stop herself. Her breath came in heaves and gasps. Her face grew red. Finally, she slammed into the wooden door of the stone tower, bouncing off, flying through the air and skidding through the grass for a good twenty feet. Her vision blurred and, just as concerned voices mumbled around her, went black.

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