I was on twitter and I saw that someone was doing #NaNoWriMo2019. I had no idea what that was. I know, you would think that as a writer I would know things like this. I guess I live my life with my head buried in the sand.
Anyway this stands for an organization of writers who spend the month of November writing 50,000 words. (National November Writing Month)
First, can I just say that I don't know why they picked November. That's when everyone has to shop for Christmas and bake pies for Thanksgiving. But no one asked me and since I'm late to the party, all I can go is hop on board.
*Me getting on board now*
The idea is that I will write everyday this month. I choose to work on a book called "The Sky's The Limit."
Here is a little excerpt of what I've done so far.
Pulsar grabbed a metal folding chair near a stack of dirt metal shelving.
“Come sit with me, Polly.” Luna smiled at him.
“Yes, Grandma.” Pulsar opened the chair and set it in front of Luna. As he faced her, he considered her strange timing. “Why are you here? It’s three in the morning.”
“When you are old like me, sleep comes and goes.” Luna’s musical voice laughed. “And besides, you like seeing your grandma, don’t you?”
“Of course, I do” Pulsar leaned over and patted her skirt-covered knee. She smiled at the small act of affection he could offer. Over the years, Pulsar had become more knowledgeable about how much sweat he could get on people. He’d been researching his gift and his side effect since he was thirteen. Now he knew what the consequences would be.
Jupiter seeing the hesitation, tossed him the towel. Leaning away from Luna, Pulsar wiped the sweat on his face and hands. This area was cold enough that the perspiration had started to dry.
“I was just wondering why you’re here, but I don’t really care or anything.”
“Yes, you don’t care or anything.” Luna repeated as she looked out toward the piles of trash. Suddenly, her eyes flipped back to his face. “I’m old, Pulsar.”
“Sure, sure.” Pulsar agreed. “But you’re my grandma. You’re supposed to be old. Muhammad Ali says, ‘Age is whatever you think it is. You are as old as you think you are.’” Pulsar smiled at the only women who’d ever saw him as more than a criminal. “You’re still beautiful and smart. Age is just a number. Who cares?”
“Who cares.” Luna’s eyes dropped to her skirt.
Pulsar had no idea what this was happening here. He looked to his brother. Jupiter shrugged and leaned back against the wall.
“I’m going to die.” Luna said after a lengthy silence.
“I know.” Pulsar nodded. “We’re all going to die someday. You always say…” Pulsar summed up a Rumi quote. “Our death is our wedding with eternity.” As much as he tried to dig up his permanent not caring attitude, he found that this time it was difficult. He loved Luna. The idea of his grandma gone from the world made him want to die with her. When she died, it would just be him left in the piles of trash. The only joy he’d have would be the small visits from Jupiter… and the letters from his pen pal.
“Pulsar.” Luna’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “I keep two hearts beating and I’m old. Healing isn’t as easy as it used to be.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going to die soon.”
Currently I just hit 47,000 words. Wish me luck. There is plenty of November left for me to write!
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