It’s not a writing update day, but I had such a freeing writing hour last night. My regular accountability partner (and friend) Madeline and I wrote together and I gave myself permission to open up to a blank page, no distractions, and write any scene I wanted. I feel like that’s how my last story came together: a series of unplanned scenes where the characters got to tell me who they are. It was also fun to write in a slightly more irreverent tone than I’d planned for this story. All that Percy Jackson really is rubbing off on me.
Here’s just a section of this rough, unedited scene I wrote last night (the first ~250 words out of 900) that I may never actually use, but what the hell. Let’s share:
I used to dream about her. On the list of deeply embarrassing secrets I’ll never tell anyone, this vies for the top spot.
It’s started innocently enough. After that first time — when I saw Clarke run, I mean — I couldn’t get her out of my head when I was awake so it made sense that my envy followed me to sleep. In my free moments, I googled historical running records and proper form and watched replays of Olympic races. At track practice, I studied Clarke. What stretches she did (she stayed in each one for fifteen seconds, precisely), her starting line habits (hopping on the balls of her feet), and even how she held her hands when she was really getting going (always open palms, while mine always seemed to curl into fists).
I figured if I wanted to be the best, I needed to understand the reigning standard.
So when I dreamed of her taking my clenched fist and coaxing it open, I didn’t blink. Why wouldn’t I conjure a specter of Clarke to guide me to victory? Clearly the real Clarke didn’t have any interest in helping me, so my brain compensated.
Then it overcompensated.
Specter Clarke waited for me at the end of a cross-country trail and threw her arms around me. Specter Clarke coaxed my closed fist open and then slid her fingers in-between mine. Specter Clarke whispered more words into my ear than she’d ever said to me waking. I never remembered what she said, but it started to make me feel like I knew her.
Worse — it started to make me feel like I could touch her.
With Love,
Natalie