So what’s my novel this year, you ask?
Um… It’s really weird. It’s about this kid and then his trans friend is staying with him. Then they move… blah blah blah.
How far has my writing progressed over the course of this year, you ask? Damnit, this means a lot of copying and pasting. Okay, here goes:
Excerpt from The Vision Stones:
“When Ristle woke up, he didn’t want to be awake. He didn’t know what he wanted. All this sorrow made him feel bored. He was numb, and he wanted to feel again. But it wasn’t boredom. Because when you are bored, you can sometimes distract yourself. This kind of sorrow, you can’t distract yourself at all. But you can try.”
Excerpt from Setting Sunrise, written later that year:
“I think the strangest thing about Kloeva was the fact that she told me and reminded me constantly that she was not my mother. My mother, she said, was wandering out there, somewhere in the universe. She told me never to call her mother, or mum, or mummy, momma, or mom. I was to call her ‘Fox’.
I’m not sure why she insisted on being called Fox. Perhaps it was her silvery hair, so much the same color as a small fox’s coat in the spring, or maybe it was because she could sit still for so long, anticipating, the way a fox watches a seal hole out on the ice. [Note–I know foxes don’t watch seals] We didn’t live on the ice, so we didn’t come across seal holes, but Fox anticipated the chicken being done, so that I could set the table and she could test out a piece of golden-brown skin.
My mother, she told me, was a beautiful woman, who shone like the rising sun. Or the setting sun. It depended on what sort of a mood Fox happened to be in. Mostly, she was quiet, wise, strict, and still, like a fox stalking a grouse in the long grass just outside of our house, in our wooded backyard. Fox called it our own, private ‘Sylvareglum’, which she said was a forest kingdom.”
Excerpt from The Boy and the Phooka, also from that year (or possibly this year, I have no idea):
“Zeb picked out a piece of broccoli and dipped it into the ranch. The fuzzy-ish texture and nearly-spicy taste made Zeb smile. Meanwhile, Leigh tore open a peanut-butter granola bar and poured herself a glass of cola.
“These are good,” Leigh said, pointing at the bars.
“I don’t like peanut-butter,” Zeb answered, shrugging his shoulders.
“Hmm.” Leigh took another bite of her granola bar.
Zeb reached over to pick up the lemonade, but knocked over a bottle of water, instead. Leigh put down her cup in the blink of an eye, and, in one fluid motion, bent her knees and caught the bottle, grabbing it in her lap. She set it back on the table and looked at Zeb as though to say, “What?”
“Eh, I guess I just have quick reflexes.”
“Guess? You do!”
“Thanks.” She smiled. Zeb grinned. He had made her smile… “
Excerpt from I Speak For Myself, this year:
“The baskets were large and simply woven from tree fiber soaked in water. I marvelled at their designs until the merchant, a young woman with dark eyes and a shaved head, showing that she was an unmarried virgin of age, asked my mother if I would like one.
“We do not have enough goods to trade for something as beautiful as this,” said my mother.
“I have something,” I said, and reached into the pocket of my denim jumper. I pulled out a shiny nut and a piece of quartz with a hole through the middle. The latter was a bead that had fallen off of my necklace the day before.
The woman opened her hand and accepted my humble pay. “I am sorry,” she told me, “but I do not think this is enough for one of these.” She held up a large basket. “But I do have something for you.” She reached under the booth, where she probably kept a chest of backup goods, and pulled out a tiny, magenta and blue coinpurse. It was made with human embroidery thread, a complex pattern without the holes and bumps of one of her baskets. “Take this one, instead,” she said, “I wove it this morning.” She dropped it into my waiting hands.
The purse had a tiny drawstring on it. “It is beautiful,” I said to her. “Thank you.”
My mother smiled, but as soon as we were out of earshot of the merchant, she leaned down to me and whispered, “That present was a mistake. That woman used something human to make it. Throw it away.”
I looked at it, trying to find good words. My mother was a proud woman, too proud to not be ignorant at times. “Mother,” I said, “You never threw me away, did you?” She looked at me, silently, and I could tell that she was praying.”
Excerpt from Rani Reads the Entire Library, also this year:
“In the morning, Rani returned to the library and found Florence sitting behind her desk.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Hello,” said Rani. He gave her back Encyclopedia. “What book do I read next?” he asked.
She opened a drawer in her desk and took out a little piece of paper that said “Rani’s Books” on it. “It’s called Plants, and it’s on shelf one,” she said.”
And, most recently written, an excerpt from this year’s NaNoWriMo book:
***ALERT! THE FOLLOWING PASSAGE CONTAINS CONTROVERSIAL THEMES AND FOUL LANGUAGE. PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!!***
“I removed my black slacks and white button-up shirt and replaced them with something much more… flamboyant. A rainbow tutu, turquoise leggings, a bright green t-shirt, neon pink socks, and rainbow legwarmers. Right. I hope I didn’t blind anyone. I leaned over my dresser and studied my reflection. I rubbed glitter over my eyes and sprinkled it in my hair. My eyelids quickly became clouded with green eyeshadow and I applied ochre lipstick to my upper lip and white to the bottom one. Then I looked in the mirror again. What the hell was I thinking? I looked like a fucking idiot. Oh well, too late now.”
Okay! Thanks for listening! I actually planned on only including the first and last excerpts, but yeah… whatever.
See you soon,
Changuita! o(•-• *)o