Not NaNo speed, but I am writing . . . on two stories, with a goal to finish them by the end of the year.
The first one is DRAGON DAYS OF SUMMER, the fourth book in The Goblin's Apprentice series. I'm currently at 20,414 words, and I expect to hit 65,000-75,000 words at the finish. It's a little long for MG (middle grade), but that word length isn't too hideous. TROLL (book three) came in at 66,000 words.
And only JK and her editing team knows how long the Deathly Hallows is . . . well, lookie there, Answer has the answer to everything. Book 1 Sorcerer's stone--76,944 words, compared to book 6 Deathly Hallows--204,796, but the longest was Order of the Phoenix at 257,046.
Who knew, right?
I was slightly stuck in this story, and to be perfectly truthful, I don't like how I wrote through this particular scene, but the story is almost to the point where I know exactly how I want to write it. Oh, that doesn't mean there won't be misbehaving scenes, but hopefully they won't stop me cold.
The other story is called FIRE WITHIN. It's under the Mystic Elements tab on my blog's home page. It's technically a "New" adult urban fantasy.
What is "new" adult?
It's one of those catch words that editors and agents toss around. Basically it's not YA (young adult), which is usually considered a high schooler, mid- to late- teens, though sometimes it can go a little younger or a little older. I consider the age of the character to be in their early twenties. Out of high school, but still unrealistic as to what life is all about.
This was the story I worked on the most this week. It's a lot more hard hitting with nasty language to boot. Sorry, but that's the way the character needs it to be. She's at a hard place in her life.
This is a rough draft, so there might be mistakes, booboos, and errors.
Please forgive, but there is a reason it's called "the writing process".
If you have any kids (12 and under) who read my blog, then you might want to keep them from reading this little excerpt.
The Fire Within
Footsteps echoed down the metal corridor. Quincy Jones’s eyes opened as she listened to the cadence of two pairs of heavy steps. To her knowledge, her cell was the only one occupied at this end of the hallway. They were coming for her. She would have company in three, two, one . . .
The small metal window in the steel door scraped open. “Warden wants to see you, firestarter.”
God, she hated that name almost as much as she hated the asswipe who used it—Cunningham. “I don’t suppose Warden thought to provide me with some clothes, did he?” In first two days she was imprisoned, she had burned up five sets of scrubs, the mattress covering the bare springs that formed her bed, and she had blistered the paint off two-thirds of the cell walls. Other than acquiring a fire retardant blanket, nothing else had been replaced.
“You’re in luck today. He didn’t want to see your lily white ass traipsing down the halls disturbing the other patients.” Cunningham gave a greasy chuckle.
Patients, my ass, this place was more like the Hannibal Lector wing for criminally insane psychopathic murderers, she thought, as a set of gray scrubs were shoved through the hole. At least it wasn’t one of the bright orange jumpsuits that the total loser whackjobs wore—besides orange would have clashed with her maroon hair. “You have exactly two minutes to get dressed. If you aren’t ready, then too bad, you can walk the gauntlet naked.”
The metal springs on the bed squeaked as she rolled off the frame and padded over to the door in her bare feet. Long ago, or was it just days? She tried to hide her nudity, but soon gave up. Cameras watched her every move. Cunningham called it ‘suicide watch’. Maybe it had been valid when she first arrived, but not any longer. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to suspect they watched her just to jacked off in the control room.