This week has been a study in procrastination, and yet I actually got a lot accomplished. I have about 18,000 words left to write in eight days, which I’m not looking forward to, to say the least, but I can see some light at the end of the tunnel. I’m up to 31,874 words right now which is whole lot more than I expected I would have at the beginning of this week. Anyway, about the procrastination…I’ve watched animated movies (Kung Fu Panda and How To Train Your Dragon), watched Combat!, taken a gazillion Combat! screencaps, watched Combat! fanvideos, pinned a ton of stuff, and just overall did a bunch of things that are Not Writing. And yet I have 10,000 words to show for my week of procrastination.
Don’t ask me how that happened, because I don’t know.
Anyway, I have a feeling that this coming week, the very last week of NaNoWriMo (goodness, time goes by SO fast these days), will be a ‘buckle down and get to work for real’ week. Oh, I’ll still watch Combat!, but only in the evenings. I’ll still pin stuff, but much less than I’ve been doing. And every day, I’ll write until my fingers are sore. Or something like that. Because I really, really don’t want to lose NaNo this year, or any year. I think it’s mainly a matter of pride – bragging rights and all that – but I also think it’s awesome to win just because I’ll have 50,000 words of story. How cool is that? (or, in my case, 40K words of Project Remembrance and 10K words of Combat! fanfiction) Now, at this point in the week re-cap post, I usually put a
Combat! fandom picture in here, and this week, it’s going to be from The Clone Wars. (I’ll explain in the next paragraph)
I’m describing the world of Project Remembrance as ‘Clone Wars meets Matched’, and I think that pretty much sums it up. The whole ‘record of dead people’ (and, as it later turns out, people who are still alive) is similar to the Matched trilogy (although I hope not too similar) and whenever I’m writing descriptions of places around the city where Skye lives, all I can picture in my head is the Clone Wars universe, particularly downtown Coruscant. Plus, one of the weapons that Skye uses – a kind of stun stick – is styled after a lightsaber. I definitely don’t agree with everything about the Star Wars universe, but there are some pretty neat things in it.
Snippet time! (and I’m thinking that after NaNo, I’ll write a blog post properly introducing all the characters and more about the plot – sounds good?)
The smell of burning bread and rice sifted up through creaking, crooked floorboards of Nia’s bedroom. For a moment, she just sat there on her bed numbly as she had been doing for nearly an hour as she pieced together memories and dredged up recollections that were a hundred times better hidden. But then she realized just what exactly she was smelling.
“Oh, no…” she whispered. Springing up from the bed, she clattered down the stairs, so differently from the usual slow and steady pace she exhibited; something drilled into her by both her mother and more recently – if you could five years ago – her aunt. Now her mother was gone and her aunt was dead and her uncle was the only one left.
And he was burning their food.
Nia stood in the doorway of the small kitchen, little more than a closet in actuality, and watched the smoke billowing up from the oven’s inside and the stove top. She grabbed a cloth from the laundry rack and gingerly moved the pot of rice to one side and took the bread from the oven. Both foods were irretrievably burnt and even she and her uncle, in their perpetually hungry state, could not stomach this degree of charred food.
What had gone wrong? Uncle Proust, despite his many faults, was usually a careful, good cook with what little food they had.
“Uncle Proust?” she called, even though the scrappy living room was only two or three steps away. Her voice held more anger than usual. Her meal at the cafeteria, something included along with scholarship, had held her over as always, but she was still hungry, always hungry and Uncle Proust had ruined whatever small meal they could have hoped to eat. So, yes, she was angry.
She left the kitchen for the living room.
There he sat, in the only chair they owned, the one he called ‘his favorite’, head set to one side, sleeping. That he had fallen asleep while the food was heating was something she had never known him to do before. And why would he, when each meal was their last until something new was found? She would receive no credits until she won a case or graduated. They relied on whatever the government cared to give to those living in the slums each month.
“Uncle Proust, wake up. The food has burned.”
She shook his shoulder and his hand fell away, a lifeless quality about the way it dropped.
No response. Nia took a step back, hands pressed over her mouth, eyes wide. He was dead. He had died in this house, in this chair, while the food burned and she had known nothing of it. How could everything have continued just as normal while a man died? Nia backed up until she was pressed against the wall, her eyes never having left the still, and now very obviously dead body of Uncle Proust.
What would she do now?
Aunt was gone. Father and Mother were gone. And now Uncle. ~Chapter 4