Well Jerry, this is the post you have been waiting for since the end of November. For various reasons, it has been metaphorically gathering dust in my draft box for some time now. But no more. So grab yourself some popcorn, because my
infamous blog about NaNoWriMo is finally here.
By now I’m sure, Jerry, that you’re very familiar with this bizarre trend, considering One Room has been participating in it for years now. For the readers who don’t yet know what those dreaded words entail, consider yourself lucky. NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month – a sentence that instills dread into the hearts of many a student. NaNoWriMo is pretty self-explanatory. It’s essentially a challenge for people of all ages to write an entire novel in 30 days. Seems simple enough, right? Wrong. It’s actually the hardest school assignment for me to complete on time every year.
As you can tell by the title of this post, I’m not exactly a fan of National Novel Writing Month. At all. To the three people that actually read my posts, this shouldn’t come as a surprise considering the general dislike I’ve expressed towards writing in the past. Creative writing is probably the most challenging for me. I’ve been imagining stories in my head daily since I was a kid. I have thousands of abstract concepts floating around in my head at any given moment – trying to form them into coherent thoughts is like pulling teeth. This coupled with the impossible time constraints and unattainable goals of this particular challenge absolutely ruin the NaNoWriMo experience for me. This is not to say I dislike novel-writing as a whole, however. In fact, I quite like the idea of using it as an outlet for unique and individual creativity. After all, the world was built upon stories and it would be a terrible place without them. So if you’re someone who enjoys the stress of National Novel Writing Month, that’s great! I’d even say I envy you. This is just my personal opinion on the NaNoWriMo challenge and I understand that not everyone can relate.
Now with all that being said, it should be noted that this post actually isn’t supposed to be my opinion on NaNoWriMo. The real assignment is to publish a segment of my chaotic mess of a novel that I will inevitably regret for the rest of my teenage years. Cool.
Welp. Before I plunge into the sea of regret, here’s a little backstory. Because of my crippling perfectionism, the plot is nowhere near concrete. My imagination can be pretty turbulent which causes me to change stories often. So instead of trying to repress my crazy mental storm like I’ve done every year, I decided to embrace it by writing whatever nonsense pops into my head. Initially I wanted the story to be just science fiction for the sake of time, but of course that wasn’t good enough for my brain’s impossible standards. It ended up being a bizarre combination of paranormal, thriller, and science fiction with a horror vibe. It’s ridiculous, but it will all come together soon enough. There’s a method to the madness…. somewhere.
Soooo without further ado, my novel…
I open my eyes and suddenly I’m met with a wall of scorching heat less than a foot away from my face. My body instinctively flinches backwards away from the fire and I desperately try to assess my situation. The ship is in flames and only a sheet of glass separates me from the growing fire. I have only a few precious seconds to escape before the flames reach the fuel tank. The ship’s power is completely down, so I muster all my strength to pry the hatch open. When the latches finally give way, I grab my com device and leap from the cockpit of my beloved starfighter. My body tumbles to the ground and I waste no time seeking cover from the impending explosion. The ship violently explodes within seconds. I quickly hide behind a large, crystal-like bolder not far from the wreckage, hoping it will shield me from the falling debris. My heart thunders against my ribs as I lean back against my temporary refuge, taking in my surroundings. The ground beneath me is like rocky sand. The color is an unsettling jet black, like a black hole waiting to consume me at any moment. My eyes look to the mountainous horizon, the ominously dark sky above it sends a chill down my spine.
As the adrenaline from my near-death experience begins to wear off, I become aware of a stinging pain from the upper left portion of my face. Small rivers of blood trickle down my cheek, so I press my sleeve to the wound in an effort to stop the bleeding. I search my body for additional wounds, finding a large gash on my left shin that will inevitably need stitching. I reach for my earpiece and call to my ship’s AI for help, “Kali. Kali, status report. Come in, Kali!” No answer. I curse inwardly as the gravity of my situation sinks in. I am stuck on some godforsaken planet in the middle of the Maelstrom Nebula, alone. No supplies. No ship. Great.
Fortunately for me, you’ll just have to use your imagination to figure out the rest, Jerry. I can assure you that my novel will never see the light of day. This post is long overdue, but hopefully this piece of my skeleton of a novel was interesting enough.