Adventure #95: KJ The Novelist
Dear You,
Welcome to November!
As you may know, November is National Novel Writing Month. (If you didn't know that, you can read more about it here.)
I'm happy to report that my writing muscles, indeed, have not disappeared or atrophied. They may be a wee bit out of shape, but they're still there.
When I told (my friend) Sheila I'd do this thing, I said that I was planning to write my 1,667 words (that's the count you need to put out daily to meet the length goal of 50,000 for the month) first thing in the morning, because if I don't do it then, I'll find a bajillion other things that MUST BE DONE, and I'll put it off until I'm too tired to write. So. I didn't do it the very first thing, BUT. It's 7:19 a.m....and ta da:
1,670 words! I'm such an overachiever. ;)
Here's a l'il excerpt:
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It wasn’t a cow, but it was roughly the size of one.
“Zach…?” I whispered.
“Callie…?” he whispered back.
“Um…what is it?” I asked, barely audible. We both stood, still as statues, under the light of the moon, staring at the thing that was not a cow, but was roughly the size of one. It stared, unblinking, back at us.
“I…have...no... idea,” Zach said, following each word with a deep breath.
We were in the woods out behind where I lived, woods we’d been in so often before it’d be impossible to count or even estimate the number of times. We used to meet in the middle between my home and the house he grew up in. When we were little, we ran and played and were just kids…and then as we got older, we’d sit underneath the trees for hours and talk. And one day, when neither of us had anything to say, those woods were where we kissed for the first time.
And now, this night in August, a week before my 21st birthday, it was like we’d gone back in time a decade, and were playing make-believe, spinning out of our imaginations all sorts of fabulous new realities, creating worlds that only existed for us.
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I am most likely going to change Zach's name because I hate it spelled with a h, but it didn't seem fitting for the character spelled with a k. I'm thinking about Jonas.
The first sentence came from the eventful morning I had yesterday, which began with very painful-sounding moo-ing coming and the ferocious, crazed barking of what sounded like a pack of wild wolves coming from the pond just behind the woods across the street. (I live way out in the country, in case I've not mentioned that, but NOT near any farms or cow pastures). It was actually two of my dogs, five other dogs...and a deer that seems to have been hit by a car. I won't go into anymore detail than that, but, goodness, that was a horrifying sound, that moo-ing and barking. All I have to say, is I'm so glad my uncle was home, and rushed over to handle it. Because this giraffe is not equipped for that sort of mission.
Anyway, the cow-sized thing in my story is not a deer, or any creature that in actually in existence, but that's how I got my beginning.
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And because (at least for those of us in the United States), November means Thanksgiving, a turkey print:
I took this little turkey girl, who I did for an Illustration Friday prompt last year, and spruced her up a bit, and now she's in the shop!
Gobble gobble!
KJ
