Welcome to WIPpet Wednesday, a weekly blog hop which encourages writers to move WIPs (works-in-progress) to publication by posting excerpts related to the date.We're led by the capable fingers and nimble mind of Emily Witt.
Last week, I was for once running early. This week...well, it’s a different story.
I wanted to do this Sunday – but I had other blogging to do, and was tired all day, and my Accomplice didn’t have to work, so…
I wanted to do this Monday, but I was tired, and I worked on homeschool reports and watched Enterprise, and my Accomplice and I went to work out, and he spontaneously invited me out for dinner, so…
I wanted to do this yesterday, but (you guessed it), I was tired, and my Accomplice went back to work, and I took my daughter to the homeschool community center 40 minutes from home, and then I worked on the reports again, and (you probably guessed this, too) watched Enterprise, so…
And now it’s Wednesday. I was up very early, and took my daughter to do a bit of shopping to provision her for a two day sleepover at her best friend’s (and to get me some winter boots, because the ones I bought last year were too tight, so I gave them to her, and I was still wearing my mesh summer shoes, and I do not wear socks, and my feet were COLD!). I came home just before my Accomplice left for work, and my boy and I are here alone this evening, honoring our sister-sleepover tradition of watching videos together. We just watched Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, which I had never seen, but he was sure I’d love (umm, since it stars Neil Patrick Harris and Nathan Filion, both of whom I have chaste happily-married-mom crushes on, yeah; but it’s good enough that it could have just about starred anyone and made me happy, because Joss Whedon!). Next up is Dead Poets’ Society, because he’s never seen Robin Williams in a dramatic role, he’s a sensitive soul, and I think he’ll dig the Shakespeare, the rebellion, and the layers (my boy is 15, and a thinker, and he loved attending A Midsummer Night’s Dream, so...).
I hope to have this posted before local midnight, but my boy doesn’t enjoy watching videos with me while I tap away at the keyboard with a laptop screen in front of my face. So I’m going to set this aside for a bit, tend to the laundry, nurture my relationship with the most amazing teen I know, and then come back to this…
So...here I am, movies done, bonding deepened, and free to do my own things...like get this posted.
Ava grew on me during the writing of her story. She was a constant revelation. Her struggle is compelling. For me, it goes beyond the issue of whether people should be allowed to choose the manner of their death. She encapsulates my personal attitudes about how children deserve to be treated. It’s an honor to share her voice with you!
In advocating for a dying girl seeking emancipation from controlling parents, can an overburdened young woman and a lonely young man find a future together?
This passage has been rough-edited (trust me, you don’t want to see the muddled-beyond-hope original version! My plan is to begin creating a more structured revision plan once the 24 scenes pass through my local crit group (which isn’t happening, at the moment. Post NaNo, I expect to pick up steam for the next few months.)
Your input is gratefully accepted, and might go a long way toward making this a better novel!
Ava was dreaming of drowning, and woke to find Donovan helping her through a nosebleed.
Today is November 30, 2016
I've got 14 sentences today – I added the digits of the day, month and year: 1+1+3+0+2+0+1+6=14...except that it doesn’t, but I don’t care, because I’ve already picked my snippet, and I’m not changing it!
But Also to Live
“That's better,” Donovan said. “The bleeding's slowed down a little. Do you want me to call the paramedics? They're much better trained for medical emergencies than I am.”
“No!” Ava started to struggle, to try to escape, to break the surface, because she'd come to Kifo not only to die, but also to live..
“All right.” Donovan didn't try to stop her from moving, but he supported her, so that she found herself eased back into her chair. “It's your choice, Ava.”
The certainty in his words and his pale eyes soothed her to stillness. “My parents never thought so,” she said, in a voice choked with dripping blood and gratitude.
“That's not how it works, here, Ava. How you live and die is your choice – isn’t that why you fought so hard to get here?” He gingerly peeked beneath a soft cloth he held against her nose – the thing, maybe, that had made her dream she was drowning.
Will the nosebleed stop?
Is it really Ava’s choice?
Has she won her freedom too late?
Has she won it at all?
Next week, we’ll learn a little more.
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