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Archive for the month “March, 2017”

Camp NaNoWriMo

Camp-2017-Participant-Twitter-Header

Every November, hundreds of thousands of writers all over the world embark on a strange and magical adventure called NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). The goal is to write a 50,000 word novel in just 30 days.

Is this even doable? Definitely. Is the writing any good? Probably not. Are these writers crazy? Oh, definitely.

The goal is to write 50k words, not finish a polished manuscript. Mostly it’s about the fun of writing with other crazy people attempting to do the same thing.

Sound fun? It really is. But you missed NaNoWriMo in November. Oh, no! It’s another seven months before you can throw your crazy hat into the fire.

Never fear. Enter Camp NaNoWriMo–the less intense version of NaNoWriMo. At Camp, there aren’t any set rules. You make up your goal and how you want to track it. Do you want to do the traditional 50k words on a single novel? That’s cool. Want to write one hundred poems, counting lines? Go for it. Want to revise that novel you wrote last year? Awesome. Want to go balls-to-the-wall and aim for 100k words? You rock! You can do that and more during Camp.

And if April is too busy for you, you can always try Camp in July! Yes, two camp sessions every year for your writing pleasure.

As for me, my goal is to write at least 1,000 words each day from a different prompt related to a fanfic challenge I’m doing on LiveJournal. I don’t necessarily plan to finish all of them, but want at least 1k words each. That’s 30k words during the month. With bonus kudos to me if I finish and post at least one a week.

So, anyone else ready to hop on the bus and head off to camp?

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March Round-up

All things reading and writing.

Reading:

Just two books finished in March. I might have finished a third, but life came up. A death in the family, cat went into labor, craziness ensued.

Writing:

44,950 words written in March. 90 day streak!

mar2017wordchart

Editing/Finishing:

I got through quite a bit of finishing/revising/rewriting one of my novella-length fanfics. It’s not ready to post yet, though. I also finished rough drafts of at least eight one-shot fanfics. Two were further edited into finished products. There were a whole lot of unfinished stories thanks to starting a prompt-a-day journal. Kind of counterproductive when my plan was to empty my WIP folder.

Posting:

Mid-morning Interlude (The 100 (TV))
Always & Forever (The 100 (TV))

The 100 (tv) fanfic: Always & Forever

always[Bellamy & Octavia]
Just a little snapshot of a cold night on the Ark for young Bellamy and Octavia.
673 words | rating: G


Bellamy was half asleep when a small hand rocked his shoulder.

“Bell?” Octavia said softly.

“Hmm?” He didn’t bother to open his eyes.

She didn’t say anything.

He counted to ten in his head. He had a test in the morning in physics, and he needed a good grade or he’d be stuck cleaning toilets the rest of his life. “What do you want, Octavia?” he mumbled.

“I’m cold.”

“So?”

She made an exaggerated shiver. He popped one eye open to look at his ten-year-old sister. She wore only her nightgown which was just one of his extra shirts that was way too big on her. Captain Wigglebottom, her stuffed bunny, was tucked tight to her chest. She shifted from foot to foot as if to prove how cold the ground was.

“Bellamy-”

He propped himself up on his arm. “What?”

“It’s cold in here.”

“It is. You should put on some warmer clothes.”

She crossed her arms, pouting. “I only have one outfit and Mom is washing it.”

His face flushed. “Oh.” He glanced over to the empty bed Octavia usually shared with their mom. She’d gotten into the habit of disappearing at night. Bellamy didn’t ask a lot of questions because he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answers.

Octavia bit her lip, waiting. Part of him wanted to tell her to get lost. She had her own blanket, and he needed to get some sleep. But she looked at him with big, watery eyes and a quivering lip. Whenever he got frustrated with her, he tried to remember that she had no one else. Her entire existence was this room. Him and their mom—that’s all she knew. As socially awkward as Bellamy was thanks to his circumstances, at least he could say he had friends. He’d even had a girlfriend or two. Octavia had nobody. And never would. He was her only friend.

He sighed then scooted over, lifting the blanket. She dove in next to him and curled up to his warm body. He yelped when her ice-cold feet touched his legs as she squirmed around, looking for a comfortable position. Sliding his arm under her neck, Bellamy pulled her close to keep her still as much as to warm her. Soon her breathing evened out, and he could tell she was falling asleep.

Bellamy laid back and stared up at the ceiling of his bunk—the little seven by three foot space he could call his own. The bed wasn’t made for two, and even with Octavia’s tiny frame, it was a tight fit. But he didn’t complain.

For one, he was a lot warmer with her in the bed with him. And two, he had to admit he kind of liked having her close. They shared a bed when they were little until around the time he turned twelve, and well, his body started changing. He demanded privacy. At six, she didn’t understand why he kicked her from the bed. Now he regretted it because he always slept better with her near. That way he knew she was safe.

He covered his eyes with his free arm and tried to fall back asleep.

“Bellamy?” Octavia mumbled into his chest.

“What?”

“You’re the best.”

He smiled at the ceiling. “No, you’re the best. Just next time, don’t leave your feet outside of your blanket until they go numb before coming over here. You’re not fooling anyone.” He jabbed a finger into her ribs. She giggled and tried to touch his leg again.

“Okay, time to go to sleep,” he said with a yawn. “Or you’re going back to your own bed.”

“Would you do that?” Her voice sounded tiny.

Bellamy stared at her for a long time. He couldn’t believe she thought he was serious? Octavia looked back at him, eyes wide, her lip caught between her teeth. He brushed the hair from her face and kissed her softly on the forehead. “No. I’ll always let you stay, cold feet and all. Always, O.”

And he meant it.

The 100 (tv) fic: Mid-morning Interlude

interlude Bellamy/Clarke (sort of)

They’ve been on the ground a week, and Clarke has had enough of the whining. She needs a break. Too bad Bellamy can’t seem to leave her alone. Too bad she sort of likes that about him.

1570 words | rating: PG-13


Clarke has had about enough of camp. Of kids whining about splinters and complaining about blisters. They come to her about every little injury or ailment. Not that she can do much to help any of them. They don’t get that, though. They see that she healed Jasper, so she’ll fix them as well.

But I’m not a doctor.

She’s done dealing with them. At least for today. Jasper is out of the woods, and only a girl named Melissa is sick with what might be chicken pox—Clarke’s not sure. Unless someone cuts off an arm, she doesn’t want to hear about it. Of course, they will never leave her alone if she stays in camp.

I’ll just go down to the river and collect some samples. Anything to get away.

She grabs her bag and a bottle of water then sneaks out the gate. Or what will be a gate eventually. It looks like a bunch of junk right now.

Nobody bothers her for fifteen minutes. She sighs in relief. At least she got away without being noticed. Of course that’s exactly when someone steps out in front of her. Clarke yelps in surprise. But it’s only Bellamy. Sometimes she really wants to punch that smug look off his face.

“What do you want?” she says, shoving past him.

“Going for a walk, princess?”

Clarke grits her teeth. “None of your business and quit calling me that.”

“None of my business? You traipsing around the forest alone and unarmed is what my business is all about.”

“Go away, Bellamy. I’m not in the mood to deal with you right now.”

He doesn’t go away. Instead, he falls into step next to her. “Where are you going?”

“Away.” He hates it when she doesn’t let him boss her around.

Bellamy huffs at her nonresponse. She expects him to turn around. Or start pestering her for more details about her destination. What she doesn’t expect is him grabbing her arm to stop her. His usual smirk replaced by a furrowed brow and tight lips. “What’s wrong?”

Clarke cocks her head. Is he serious? She tries to pull free, but he tightens his grip until she glares at him. In that moment she thinks she’s capable of murder. Why does he have to be such an ass all of the time?

“Clarke, what’s wrong with you? You’re acting-”

“There’s nothing wrong with me. I just want to be alone. Okay. I can’t take the bickering and whining and bullying.” She emphasizes the last word then jerks free, turning on her heel. She’s not surprised that he follows again.

“Who’s been bothering you?”

She wonders if she’s imagining the concern in his voice.

“Nobody. Everybody. You.”

He snorts. “Wanna talk about it?”

She stops to stare. “You cannot be serious. Maybe I should be asking what’s wrong with you. Did you hit your head or something?”

Bellamy faces her, crossing his arms. “Why is it so surprising that I’m concerned?”

“Because you’re you. You don’t care about anyone besides yourself. And maybe Octavia.” She walks away again, slipping and sliding her way down a steep hill. She hears rocks falling behind her and knows he’s still following her.

She trips at the bottom, but Bellamy catches her. He gently sets her on her feet again, his hand lingering at her back. Clarke’s heart skips at his touch. She’s not sure what to make of that, but knows she doesn’t like it.

Liar.

“That’s not true,” Bellamy says as they start walking again. “I care.”

She frowns, frantically trying to clamp down on those unwanted feelings. “Really? Should we go over your resume of actions since we landed? Where would we even start? ‘Whatever the hell we want.’ Encouraging Murphy to get into a knife fight with Wells. Oh, threatening Wells with a gun. Letting Murphy bully everyone into taking off their wristbands-”

“Okay, okay, I get your point. You can stop now.”

When Clarke glances up at him, his face is tinted pink and he’s frowning. They walk in silence. The longer they go without Bellamy saying anything, the worse she feels. I shouldn’t care. He’s a jerk and deserves it. And yet her stomach coils into a knot like it knows she did something wrong. But I didn’t do anything wrong—I just told him the truth.

She sighs in relief when she hears the rush of the river ahead. It drowns out her swirling thoughts. Bellamy wanders down the bank, watching the woods for trouble. And brooding. She’s scraping moss from a rock when he returns, his shadow blocking her light. She watches him warily as she stands and shoves the sodden mess into her bag.

“I do care what happens to you, Clarke,” he says suddenly. “I know I don’t always show it, but I do.”

Clarke blinks, shocked by his confession. He looks anywhere but at her, body tense, one hand resting on his hatchet. She’s never seen him so uncomfortable. It’s kind of charming.

She wipes her hands on her pants, trying to put all the facts together in her head. He followed her out here to make sure she was safe. He stayed even after she told him to leave. He still hasn’t left. Would he do that for anyone else? Maybe.

The knot tightens, forcing a lump into her throat. “I care what happens to you, too, you know. You make it really difficult sometimes.”

Bellamy ducks his head. Clarke’s sure she sees him blush, but when his gaze meets hers again, he has his trademark smirk on his face. She waits for him to say something snarky, but he only smiles. “You ready to head back?”

Clarke sighs, looking around for anything else to do, but she’s already taken samples of everything. “Yeah, I guess.”

They scramble up the embankment, Bellamy pulling Clarke up by the hand. He holds it several seconds longer than needed. At least it feels longer. The knot in her stomach morphs into a pack of fluttering butterflies sending shivers up and down her spine. She hates that she kind of likes it.

“So, did you find everything you were looking for, princess?” he asks, interrupting her scattered and confusing thoughts.

She takes a deep breath to get herself under control. “Why do you have to keep calling me that? I’m not a princess.”

He chuckles. “Because it annoys you.”

“Of course you would do that,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.

Forget what I said about charming.

“Come on, Clarke, lighten up a bit.” When she doesn’t say anything, he stops her with a hand on her shoulder. “If it bothers you that much, I’ll stop. Okay?”

She’s not sure if he’s being serious. The look he’s giving her is intense and makes her body tingle all over. “It does bother me.”

“Okay.”

“You’re really going to stop? Just like that?”

Bellamy shrugs and starts walking again. “Why not? I can control my mouth when I want to.”

This makes Clarke laugh. Okay, maybe he can be charming. Sometimes. When he lets himself. She wishes it were more often.

“Can I ask you something?” The look he gives her is skeptical, but he nods. “How come you try so hard to be a jerk when it’s obvious you’re a nice guy? The way Octavia talks about you, you’d think you were a saint or something.”

He looks away, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, she’s my sister, so she has to say stuff like that.”

“I’m pretty sure there are no rules for siblings. She really means it.”

They can see the camp coming into view up ahead. He slows, Clarke matching his pace. “Let’s just say I do what I have to do to survive. You should do the same. Princess.” His eyes sparkle at her glare, and he raises his hands in surrender. “Last time, I swear.”

He walks away backwards, a disgustingly adorable grin on his stupid face then turns and swaggers through the gate. Clarke flushes—she can feel it from the ends of her toes to the tips of her ears.

And sometimes he can be too charming.

She really, really hates admitting that she gets a little thrill every time he calls her ‘princess.’ Especially with that hint of affection in his voice.

She takes a few seconds to pull herself together before entering the camp, hoping her face isn’t too red. Bellamy’s already barking orders at kids who are standing around. Clarke watches him a moment. She doesn’t get him most of the time, but she kind of understands where he’s coming from. He doesn’t have the luxury of being soft if he wants to maintain control. And it doesn’t bother her that he’s in control. He’s a good leader despite his faults. She admires that.

Not that I’d ever admit it.

Marley—the best friend of the girl with chicken pox—runs up in tears as soon as Clarke enters the camp, her face covered in little red dots. “Clarke, look at this. What is this?” She sounds frantic. There are three more waiting inside the drop ship. Clarke sighs. No rest for the weary, I guess.

Or the wicked.

She hears the last part in Bellamy’s voice, and it makes her smile. She follows Marley inside, confident the dim lighting will hide her blush this time. She’ll just have to ignore the butterflies.

 

Six Sentences on Sunday

sixsentences~*~Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project — published, in progress, for your cat — whatever.~*~

From a fanfic I was working on:

Kimble uses the distraction to kick Bellamy in the knee. He collapses, pain shooting down his leg. Kimble jumps on top of him, slamming his head into the ground. The metal decking digs into his temple and tears at his ear.

Bellamy’s pinned down, but Kimble’s about fifteen pounds lighter. And he has a broken arm.

Six Sentences on Sunday

sixsentences~*~Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project — published, in progress, for your cat — whatever.~*~

From another The 100 fic I was writing just for me.

“It’s one of my favorite books. Dorothy is taken away from her dreary, gray world and to someplace colorful and magical.”

Bellamy understands. “You’re Dorothy, and the Earth is Oz.”

Her laugh is hollow. “Some Oz.”

March Goals

Goals for the month of March.

Reading:

Um, actually read a book. Hopefully more than one.

Writing:

  • Continue my streak.
  • Finish writing a story that’s just for me, although I’m really liking the tone if it, so I may possibly perhaps tidy it up and post it. At least part of it.
  • Write several more of these self-indulgent stories
  • Continue my #writeastory (although prompts haven’t been released)
  • Fill a couple prompts in my prompt book
  • Write every day in my new writing journal (mostly just rambling and venting about my writing)

Editing/Finishing:

  • Finish 2nd draft revisions for the novella-length The 100 fanfic I’ve been working on
  • Start 3rd draft revisions for above novella
  • Start taking notes for revising “Unbreak My Heart” (another The 100 novella)
  • Finish and edit at least one more shorter story from my WIP folder

Posting:

  • Start posting early chapters of above novella (one a week)
  • Post at least one short story

February Round-up

Here is a round up of all things reading and writing.

Reading:

Apparently I read nothing in February. Not sure how that happened. I know I tried to finish two books before they had to go back to the library, but became violently ill, so never got around to it.

Writing:

35,900 words for February. Streak now at 59 days!

feb2017wordchartAdded sentences every day to my #writeastory project. It still makes no sense, but whatever.

Editing/Finishing:

Finished and edited two The 100 fanfics that had been sitting around since last summer. But the biggest news is I decided to tackle one of my longer fics. I wrote the last few chapters while revising the beginning. It’s really coming along at around 36k words

Posting:

Follow You Down (The 100 (TV))
Every Time We Say Goodbye (The 100 (TV))

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