I’m up to 46000 words. I still have seven days left, and just under 4000 words to write. Unless I am hit by a meteorite, I think it’s fairly safe to say I am gonna succeed at my first ever NaNo. My goal is to reach the word count by tomorrow, although I don’t think the story will actually be finished within 50K. So I’ll spend the last few days of Nov tidying up loose ends and finishing the plot.
So far my poor MC has been hammered by a hailstorm, tornadoes, a bushfire and I’ve yet to add in a landslide on a visit to Lismore. And yes we do get tornadoes in Australia, I did research ;). It’s really fun writing natural disasters, and I am less freaked out about inaccuracies than I would be if I wrote say a plane crash (which I did consider). It’s also fun drawing from life experiences to add a bit of extra colour and depth. I have come to the conclusion that I need to view my life as a source of writing inspiration (yes yes, not that much of a revelation) but this means seeking out new experiences and instead of saying “No I can’t afford xyz” embracing what I can to enrich my writing. And be alert for the little oddities in life that make it all the more colourful.
So here is an excerpt from what is tentatively chapter nine… I know, I’ve missed heaps of back story so you’re gonna be wondering what on earth is going on hehe. This scene was so much fun to write so I’m sharing.
His eyes widened and he shook his head, gripping my arm back. “Lauren don’t be crazy!” I wrenched my arm from his grip and bolted for the doors, and before anyone could stop me I was out, staggering in the wind and gasping for breath as the gusts ripped the air away from me. Mark barrelled out and I drew on all my plentiful adrenaline and dashed out into the thick of it, heading for the beach. The squealing of the wind ate my mind until I was sure I would go mad, surrounded by gibbering ghosts. The sound of smashing and crashing snapped me out of it and I cast a desperate glance around to see a haunting white funnel bearing towards me, spinning madly and tearing tiles off buildings as it went. A car went up and was flung away like a child’s toy, and I put my head down and ran.
I sobbed when I saw the ground change to sand, and I laboured to remain upright on the slippery surface, hounded by the wind as I was. The tornado was unerring, a tracker dog on my scent, following as I splashed into the sea and hurled myself in past the breakers. I swam desperately, fighting to get as far out as possible, the glimmer of a plan forming in my brain.
The sea lifted me, adding momentum to my desperate flailing. At eight months pregnant I wasn’t the strongest swimmer but I had the advantage of a friendly element. The tornado seemed to hover uncertainly on the beach, whipping sand up into its funnel, then dissipated and shrunk upwards into the cloud. Treading water, I turned a slow circle and watched a water spout form out to sea. It moved toward me, quieter than its dry cousin but still roaring with rage. Calm, I watched it approach. The sea churned and I should have been tossed around madly, but the sea around me was as calm as I was.