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Current word count:
I broke the 30k word mark and reached 31032 yesterday. (4407 words written since the last check-in). So yeah. Not a big improvement on last week, but I’m happier with the stuff I did write and I did a fair amount of planning and editing too, so I feel like I did more!
WIP issues this week:
I’m still stuck in “the middle”. It’s a slimy bog in there, and not at all easy to wade through. Ergh.
What I learnt this week in writing:
I sort of wrote a whole blog post about that. Something to do with setting boundaries, staying focussed, and trying to keep the flailing to a minimum.
What distracted me this week while writing:
Well, on Monday I found out that I GOT AN INTERNSHIP (unpaid, but it’s an editorial internship in publishing, which is EXACTLY what I wanted, and it’s at an awesome-looking political publisher, which caters to my interests too!) This is after four months of super depressing unemployment in my new home country and I was so incredibly excited about it that I basically just spent the whole day bouncing around the house and Skyping my parents in Cape Town and I didn’t do much writing. I don’t have a proper excuse for the rest of the days, except for Wednesday, when I decided to take my almost-weekly trip to the V&A museum.
Last 200 words:
[It’s about 250 words. I’ve been tinkering with them for days because they’re important. It’s a pre-climax mini-climax. Sort of. Warning: VIOLENCE. Also: SPOILERS, not that that matters much. >_<]
He crosses the distance in a few strides and then pulls out a Code-violating hunter’s gun and shoots the squirming boy in the back of the head, the shot piercing between Berro’s splayed fingers.
Berro whips his hand back in fright, and feels the taut, flailing body beneath him go instantly soft, like a whip after cracking. The stillness and silence after the shot are incredible.
“You killed him,” says Berro, looking down at the blood spattered all over his uniform. He disentangles himself from the corpse and gets to his feet. He’s unsteady and his ears are ringing.
“Yes, I did,” says Undry, putting the gun into his satchel. “I had to.”
“Why?” Berro half walks, half stumbles back against a tree. “You could’ve tranquilised him.”
Undry looks at the dead boy and then at Berro and cocks his head to one side. “We don’t need them alive. They’re more trouble.”
It takes seconds for Berro’s world to fall apart, but he realises during those seconds that it has been teetering on the edge of destruction for some time. He doesn’t feel sick. He doesn’t even feel shocked. He just feels as though he’s been hollowed out. The space inside him is cold.
“This is an outright Code violation,” he says. His voice is thin and flat.
“Is it?” says Undry. “I do believe the Code was drafted, and I quote: ‘to serve the best interests of the Rehtari‘. Would you classify this creature as one of the Rehtari?”