r3x

Day three 1PM, 1274/3334

Still haven’t even hit day one’s benchmark and I’ve been trying to not write about my process, lest I waste my precious moments of free time, but I keep hearing this idea instead of what I need to. I figure then that I’ll get this idea out and move along and who knows, maybe someone will read it!

Forcing myself to write every day, at every opportunity, I’ve found that even as I try to adhere to the NaNoWriMo spirit of “press on and not go back”, it’s nearly impossible for me. I’ve known this fact for some time now, but usually its not as obvious when I only sit down a couple hours at a time a few days a week. Not to put too fine a point on it but, I feel that I write like many paint. When working on a scene, I’ll write a sentence with little effort and then move on—rinse, repeat, and so forth. These paragraphs are rough and full of generalizations.

Eventually though I can’t really put down anything anymore. Every sentence is wrong, my momentum dies off, and I stall. Once I’ve hit that wall, I find the only thing I can really do is go back and try to recapture the flow. Reading over, my fingers move on their own almost, changing this word, adding in a new though. The formerly dinky sentence becomes a paragraph, then two, then four and by time I’ve gotten to where I stalled out, I have the momentum back and I go at it again.

Obviously this cycle doesn’t contribute to a quickly growing word count, but does create a smoother piece. In the context of NaNo it’s the the best strategy, but I’m stuck with it. That is, unless ya’ll have some advice to just write. Besides, well, just write XD.

’til next time~!

609/50,000

When we first started North, I didn't think that my life would take the dramatic turn it was about to. Granted, yes, things had already begun to change, year's end was coming after all, bringing with it the first breaths of life. With my mother's passing from her sudden illness the seat of the High Mage was left vacant. Surprisingly, I found myself sitting there in her place. Figuratively anyway, currently I was on a horse as part of the caravan to commit her remains to the catacombs in the Wystic capital of Enthi.

“What I don't get though is, why me?” I had said the same thing a number of times over the past few days. To an extent, it was actual curiosity, but not enough to really follow up on. No, for the most part, it was all a ruse to dodge the condolences of yet another someone who had just joined up with the caravan. I'd found that by looking like I was wrapped up in conversation with people who looked like my advisers, people left me alone. Which, after the funeral in Magian, was all I wanted. I was tired of being told that death was something I would get used to. Tired of being told how great a mage my mother was. Or how much she would be missed. Or that people were behind me, that they supported me over Gar-Neil of the Neilan Loh clan.

Like the last forty times, Lysander responded quickly, with a snap more than an answer. “Like I've say every time, the council picked you. If you're really curious, ask them!”

Glancing over at him under the hem of my hood, I gauged his mood. The two of us had been friends for years and, between his easy going nature and expressive face, I could read him like a book. Currently though, there wasn't much of him to see, only his amber eyes and the dark skin that clung to the bridge of his nose. He looked like a pile of cloth sitting on a horse, with his long frame crammed into a series of right angles by the saddle and stirrups. A heavy wool cap was pulled down so that it almost covered his eyes and the collar of his tar smeared sea coat was turned up against the soft winter wind and a scarf obscured everything below his stout nose. His arms were folded over his front, the reins dribbling out from the folds of one arm. His hands, hidden by the folds of canvas, held them just tight enough to keep his horse pointed in the right direction.

“I mean, there are plenty of others who are just as strong in magic as I am.” I continued on as if he hadn't responded.

“They want someone from your generation, Rex,” my father said from behind me. “Someone with new ideas.” his voice sounded hollow, his words had no life. Not that I blamed him, Mother had been everything to him. His once rosy complexion was pallid under his beard and the life seemed to have gone out in his once bright blue eyes.

“Then why not Silvia or one of the Dran Clan?” I said, making sure my voice carried.

Lysander turned as best he could without exposing extra skin and gave me a look reminiscent of the time I suggested we jump on a dragon. “Do you really want her in charge of the continent?”

A silvery laugh echoed back to us. “Talking about me, cousin dear?”

Somehow, Lysander managed to look guilty with just his eyes.