Week three of NaNoWriMo has arrived and it has gotten harder and harder to keep up with the 1.667 words per day. Not only is it harder to find the motivation, I also got a bit more school work to do. New classes at my university started and I’m already behind (oops), but I also have to attend more classes and work more on projects. So time is a bit of an issue. But somehow I’m still on schedule.
What’s my story?
If you have forgotten what my story is about, it’s called Making Mountains Bow and it’s Mulan retelling/inspired mixed in with elements from How To Train Your Dragon. The story is set in modern-day China and is about a transgender boy. There’s war, dragons, family, tragedy, joy and a lot of amazing characters that I love to pieces.
Unfortunately, I had to kill one of the characters but let’s just forget I did that, okay?
I’m currently at 31.469 words, and I’m planning to get to 32k tonight. This week has been pretty hard to write every day. On two days I barely wrote and I had to catch up later. I’ve tried new ways of getting motivated to write, including word crawls or whatever they’re called and doing my own sprints. I always do a lot of word sprints on the NaNoWordSprints twitter which are amazing, but today I tried doing using the NaNo timer again, and it worked pretty well. The word crawl really didn’t work for me. If you don’t know what it is, it’s this sort of game on the NaNoWriMo forum and there are tasks related to a fandom. I tried the Doctor Who crawl and I gave up after the second step because I didn’t see any point to it.
The sun had set and what was left was the memory of shadows and the wisp of day. It was kind of magical, he thought, and if he weren’t in a training camp getting ready for war, he would have taken a picture with his phone and sent it to Guiying. He knew she would paint it, and it would hang up in the store and it would be the prettiest thing he had ever seen. With soft brushes, the stars would slowly come alive on the horizon, in a sea of blue and black. His brain painted the picture and he was determined that when he returned home, if he returned home, he would tell her about how the sun went asleep, and how the night sky came alive.
“Maybe we’re both foolish then,”
“Yup,” he said staring ahead. “But at least we’re foolish together.”
He pulled her in a side-hug, their sides colliding, holding each other, finding comfort in each other’s warmth and just knowing the other is there, experiencing the same things.
“Why are you here?”
He could have seen the question coming, but he didn’t and it came sudden. What was he supposed to say? The right thing or the true thing? The right thing would be to say he was here to fight for his country, to save people and to fight for honor, but the true thing was nothing like that.
“To reinvent myself,” he said, “to escape, to be myself, I guess.”