Camp Nano update…etc.

Hello, fellow Wrimos, friends, writers, followers, people and plot wolves waiting to murder me in my sleep!

Anyways, I found that I’ve been a little distant since Camp Nanowrimo 2016 started. I guess it’s because I’ve been busy catching up on my word count and catching plot bunnies.

And then, GAH! This morning I realised

WE’VE ONLY GOT 6 DAYS LEFT? WHAT?

So here I am, giving the writers among you some word count climbing tips, an excerpt of Masqueraded, my Camp Nano novel and just little writing updates.

If you’re STILL hurrying to up your word count, I’d like to recommend these:

Think about what you’d like to write…or even write it first!

I sometimes take time to fully map out my ending, which I’m dying to write. I don’t really know why it works, but thinking about it just motivates me to write more and more until, on the last day (*weeps*) I CAN FINALLY WRITE THE ENDING!!!

Take your time to phrase everything…

This is a little sneaky. For example, if I want to say

I stand there, swaying, my eyes wide, my hair framing my face. 

I’d probably phrase it like this:

I keep standing there, swaying slightly, my hazel eyes wide, my dark brown hair framing my face. 

And that’s five more words already! Sometimes I need to restrain myself and not get too carried away or it’ll sound weird.

Write without thinking.

Maybe you guys do that already? But just write and STOP yourself from reading back. Hurry through everything until you hit the designated word count. Come on, you’ve got all of August to edit it and I’m going to open up a beta-read swap service soon!

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Ah, and now is time for a little break…lose yourself in the world of Eirene by reading an excerpt from Masqueraded, in which Casya is in a Hype (an amplified version of reality) for an evaluation…

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Excerpt from Masqueraded

I run towards the river, my feet flying, my arms tucked in slightly to avoid hurting myself with the knives.

It’s a good thing I am running.

My ears take a minute to realise what it is behind me. The hard thumping against the ground, light but hard at the same time, muffled sounds of growling.

I can’t hold it in. No way.

I swiftly turn around my head, slowing slightly, to see what it is that pursues me.

Rats.

About ten or fifteen of them.

Yet they can’t be rats. Rats aren’t as large as cows, they don’t have wickedly sharp incisors capable of ripping me to shreds, or those gleaming black eyes as big as plums.

The creatures are approaching me, their paws racing along the ground, making very little noise, but it is the infernal growling that makes my blood freeze.

My heart rate climbs at an abnormally fast speed, and my running quickens as I fight to get away from the horror behind me. As I run, I ready my knives, clenching my fists tight around them.

I also realise something. There’s a river. No bridge.

I can’t swim.

My dad never taught me (as if he would), and I didn’t have a reason to go to the beach and swim anyway. My days are spent at the cliffside or at Harper’s. And Harper is basically scared of the sea, so no swimming.

How the heck am I going to get away?

My face flushes red from the excessive sprinting, and I am locked tight with fear.

The river is in front of me now, and I hesitate, looking behind me. The rats are scurrying towards me, fangs bared, no doubt craving for a pint of my blood to quench their thirst.

No time, I have no time to hesitate.

I slide in the water.

It’s cold, and the minute waves lash over my, wetting my already dampened hair. I try to remember anything I know about swimming, and keep my hands limp, but still clenching the knives.

I think you propel your hands and feet to get going. Holding onto this uncertain fact,  I madly jog my legs and move my arms, trying hard to keep my body from stiffening into a stone. To my surprise, I move a little further into the river.

The rats are just a few metres away from the bank. I hurry to move myself, but find my body being dragged down.

For a split second, I am consumed with the horror that something might be tugging me down to my watery grave. Then I realise it is my belt. It’s dragging me down, a force that I can’t resist.

Fingers quivering from the icy water, I hasten to unstrap the heavy belt from my waist. Finally, I get it off, and attempt to fling it across the wide river to the opposite bank.

My recent knife throwing has evidently strengthened my muscles. The belt flies through the air and lands with a loud plop! on the grassy plain.

Okay, belt done.

Rats in.

In the time I have spent unlatching the belt of knives, the rats have neared the bank. Their eyes gleaming, the creatures bound into the water.

I’m dead.

I swim the best I can, flinging my arms about and moving my legs, holding onto my only way of self protection- the knives. The bank is still a world away, and what would stop the rats from ripping me apart when I get out of the water?

My heart seems to freeze solid from the terror. The growling of the rats slowly near, and one of them is just a few inches away from clawing the sole of my feet.

Instinctively, I turn around in the water, and throw my knife into its eye. Asher’s training with me seems to have paid off, because those numerous sessions of knife chucking and practice combat with him made my aim incredibly acute. The animal howls as the blood gushes from the puncture and drenches its soiled fur. It sinks into the water, which turns a deep, vomit inducing crimson. The smell of blood lingers in the air, as a pair of rats bares its fangs at me and traps me in between them.

I hold my breath and duck into the murky depths of the water, my eyes struggling to open. I slash my knives across their hearts, and stab another in the skull as I surface. I do a quick head count and see that there are nine more of the rats.

Oh great.

I hurl my knives like I never have before, killing the animals one by one until only two remains. Breath heaving, I impale my knife in their stomachs and watch the blood spurt from the deep wounds.

Pain.

And I see my own blood joining the already crimson water.

I suppress a scream and look to my attacker.

The first rat I murdered has its sharp claw in the air, stained with my blood. It pierced me just at the hip.

“Not dead yet then?” I say.

I jab it several times until the twitching of its eyelids stop, and let it sink beneath the waves. Breathing rapidly, I swim slowly through the red water and lift myself to the edge of the river to examine my wound. I make sure my feet is well out of the way of any possible rat survivors before turning my eyes to the bloody mess at my side.

It hurts horribly, even though it’s not too deep. Just a thin scrape about a centimetre deep. I tear the stained part of the T-shirt away and rip away the hem of my jeans to wrap up the wound, tying a secure knot. It dulls the sharp pain slightly, and I can walk okay, plus the bleeding is somewhat receding. When I feel a little better, I strap the belt of knives back on.

I can’t really see anything other than the swaying grass stretching endlessly in front of me, but I manage a quick walk that borders on running.

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Is that a little long? I apologise. I welcome any sort of critique, praise, anything at all in the comments or by email! Honestly, this part is my favourite…

Camp Nanowrimo July 2016 is nearly at its end, and I’ve really enjoyed the company of my wonderful cabin mates, which includes Kellyn Roth (you can find her blog, Reveries, here), Selene Silver (her blog is Hearth) and 3 other equally talented writers! I’m running towards the finishing line, and I wish all your Camp Nano participants good luck, because

Sprint on Wrimos! And happy reading to anyone else who happens to be reading this!

With the very best wishes,

Coralie xx