Monday, April 28, 2014

#WIPMarathon Report #3

I missed my monthly check-in on Saturday, but that was because I was at Universal Studios with 45 middle-schoolers (that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it). So here we go...welcome to my bleakest writing report ever! 

Last report word count + chapter count/scene count: 85,746 - 26 chapters completed
Current report WC + CC/ SC: 86,801 - Still, 26 chapters completed
WIP Issues This Month: April is THE WORST. 
Four things I learned this month in writing: 
  1. Writing...
  2. in...
  3. April...
  4. is impossible.
What distracted me this month while writing: Mother in-law's birthday, daughter's birthday, Kid's Fishing Clinic, Dad' birthday, Movie field-trip, Kiwanis One Night, Spring Carnival, Easter, Universal Studios field-trip, Snake Bytes, a bazillion different parent-teacher conferences, grading, and...well, just picture my head rolling down the street, and me trying to catch it so I can screw it back on.
Goal for next month: Starting chapter 27 is sounding pretty good to me right now. 
Last 200 words: Okay, this is the spoiler I avoided posting last month, so if you end up being one of my beta readers, pretend you've never read this. Sound good? (Ifeoma, you're fine--you've read this already).

    He hadn’t changed at all. And I had fallen for it. Fallen for him. 
My knees buckled beneath me, and I lurched toward the nearby police car. The gray was closing in. I wasn’t surprised. I had overdone it. Now that the adrenaline and euphoria were seeping out of my body, I was crumbling just like the light pole lying decrepitly over the van. I clung onto the side-mirror of the police car, letting my body fall against the driver’s door.
Two EMTs ran up. “Miss, are you okay?” They took me underneath my arms and started dragging me toward the ambulance. “She’s going into shock.”
But I could barely hear them. I twisted around, trying one last time to see Stryder. To make sense of anything.
“My name is Stryder Black,” I heard his voice say. “I would like to turn myself in…” my stomach lurched. What was he doing? Fog encroached the edges of my vision. I tried with every ounce of my being to cling onto consciousness. “…for the hit and run of Joseph Tanning.”
Hit and run? What? He couldn’t have…
I sank miserably into blackness, letting the fog engulf me.