Today I’ve written 2,307 more words (so far). That brings me to a total of 7,753 words. Pretty decent for the second day in, though I wouldn’t mind things going a little faster. Things are moving along pretty well and I don’t think I’ve written anything I absolutely hate yet, which is always nice. ;)
Below is a little bit of something I wrote today and don’t hate. This is the first excerpt I can remember ever publicly posting of a NaNoWriMo novel. Heck, it’s the first I can remember posting anywhere, of any NaNo writing, for other people to see. Here goes.
An excerpt from what’s currently entitled Illusions in the Festival Season (but which will probably have yet another title someday):
The weather had shifted while she was speaking with Hadei and finding her way through the school, and it was now overcast and blowy. The sky and ground remained dry as of yet, but Mind would have said it was storm weather. The quad was only somewhat less busy than it had been yesterday, though, and here and there students carried bundles that looked like coats or cloaks, so she imagined that the quad would stay fairly busy even if it came on to rain, unless perhaps it began truly storming. Perhaps there was even magic that could only be done during a storm.
As there was no chance of meeting Lassa today, Artiane moved slowly through the large green area on the pretense of exploring it, though really she was looking for a friendly face — someone to get to know, even if she did not know them already. Partway across the quad, she came across the white-haired boy sitting under a tree, heedless of the small diamond-shaped leaves the wind scattered in his hair and on his shoulders. He was writing in his book again. He looked up sharply, intently, as soon as she stopped to look at him, though she was still at least fifteen feet away.
“Wait,” she said, for he had tensed up and grabbed his notebook and a small bag as if to run off. “I don’t mean you any harm.” He stood smoothly, looking at her mistrustfully, his belongings clutched tight, poised like a wild animal ready to run, but he didn’t move any further. A grayish shadow from a nearby rock moved slightly, amorphously, toward him in a way that had nothing to do with the shadows of the wind blowing the trees and grass. “How do you do that?” she said, curiously.
His mouth twisted, his face and eyes darkening, and he said bitterly, “I don’t.” Then he looked away from her, into the shadow she had been pointing at. “Not always, anyway.” He dropped his bag back onto the ground and sat again, pulling up his knees and writing in his book, apparently ignoring her.