Wow! It has been one crazy month! This semester has been just one activity after another. I cannot believe I am almost halfway through my senior year–when did that happen? Trying to savor these last sweet moments of high school before I graduate next spring…
There are only 3 days left in NaNoWriMo–today, tomorrow and Monday. Then, goodbye November! So, how am I doing?
To be exact, as of yesterday (I haven’t written yet today, but plan to) I have written 35,300 words. This is just 14,700 words short of the 50,000 word goal. I could write 5,000 words today, tomorrow and Monday each…it is possible, yes. But likely? Probably not.
So, I wrote 35,300 words this month that didn’t exist in October. And that’s pretty awesome. And I’m going to keep writing next month and the month after until I reach 50,000 words and then on until I finish the novel. I’m not going to give up.
I am now in the beginning of the Middle section of scenes in Scrivener (Act II, some might call it). This section is going to need the most spontaneity since it is the least figured out. Because of this, I am not exactly sure how long this part of the story is going to take. The End section is still looking longer than this one, but only time will tell. I’m excited to see what will happen.
With only a few minor hiccups here and there, overall, the story has been going along quite smoothly and I think that is in part, thanks to Scrivener/my pretty well thought-out outline. I have really enjoyed visiting Bridget’s world again and developing their characters. This story seems so different to the first, maybe because Bridget is seven years older. In Bridget’s Journey she was thirteen going on fourteen, still a child. Now she is twenty-one, very much an adult, having to make her own decisions. But I think another big reason why writing the sequel seems so different to writing the first is because in the first she was not saved for the majority of the book, and in the second she is. In the first, she was bitter, confused and stubborn. But now she is a changed person thanks to Jesus Christ’s work in her life. So instead of being bitter, confused and stubborn, she is cheerful, compassionate and understanding. She is still reserved, a hard worker and still takes things seriously, but she is less selfish. She is a good friend. Don’t get me wrong, though, she is not perfect! In fact, in this book in particular, she still has a lot of changing to do, but it’s different now that she is depending on the One who can really change her.
Today, continuing my much needed Thanksgiving break, I am thankful for a homework-free Saturday to write a blog post and write in my story. So let’s get back to it!
To finish off, I’ll include another excerpt from Bridget’s new story. Please excuse the roughness of it–remember, it’s the first draft! 😉 Enjoy!
[From Bridget’s Journey the Sequel (Title TBD)] Bridget let go of Uncle James’ arm again and made her way down the hall into the parlor. There was a small fire flickering in the fireplace. The mantel was completely dust-free and the cushions of the sofas aired. It really was as if she had never left. She walked into the room slowly, breathing deeply. It smelled like Mother’s perfume. Her smile was watery as she pulled open the heavy curtains and let in the natural light. She turned around, suddenly feeling cold.
And there was Father, his deep voice rumbling as he read from the newspaper, Mother painting in front of the fireplace and laughing.
“You don’t suppose he’ll really become mayor?” Mother’s cheerful voice rang out.
“I certainly hope not,” Father said seriously. “Can you imagine what would happen to our ships if he became mayor?”
“Wouldn’t they all sink?” Mother laughed.
“He’d scare all the fish away.” Father stood, smiling, putting his newspaper down.
“He won’t become mayor,” said Mother firmly. “If he does, I’ll move back to the island.”
“Oh, dear…don’t. If you do, I’ll have to go after you.” Father hugged her from behind and planted a kiss on her cheek.
“Don’t jerk me so! You’ll ruin the painting,” Mother teased. She turned and smiled at him.
Bridget’s eyes overflowed with tears. Her lower lip trembled. Slowly, the warm vision melted away and all that was left were the dying embers of the fireplace. She swallowed hard and wiped her eyes with her gloved hands. She reached in her dress pocket for her handkerchief to blow her nose, but even after having done so, there was a hollowness inside her chest. She closed the curtains again slowly and left the room, the heels of her boots clicking on the wooden floor.