Steelgod September: Days Twenty-Three, Twenty-Four, Twenty-Five, and Twenty-Six (14,059 words combined)

on Sunday, September 26, 2010
That averages to ~3,500 words a day, for those curious. Here's the story on what's going on with this.

- I didn't write on Thursday, at all. Due to circumstances beyond my control (and a little silly), I didn't get back from my test until about 9:30, and hadn't eaten dinner yet. So...I ate dinner and played Deathspank 2 instead of writing. Despite knowing it would mess me up if I skipped a day, which it did.
- The day after (Friday) I came home deathly sick, but determined to  write. I managed to churn out a chapter, making me only a day behind.
- The next day (Saturday), I realized my plan for two chapters was actually going to need to be three, so I wrote two chapters that day. Because of this addition, I was still a chapter behind.
- Today, I wrote in two large chunks (6,204 today, for the record), churning out two chapters. Technically I should be up to date now, but I realized the next chapter that I'd planned for one will actually have to be two, so I'm still "behind" if Sep. 30th is my due date. Which leads me to ask: Why didn't I pick a month with thirty-one days instead of thirty to do this? Because I'm crazy like a fox, that's why.

So, 14,059, technically in three days. In terms of actual writing, thats about ~4,700 for the days I wrote (deleting thursday from the equation), which is also quite decent.

I love getting to the end of books. I get crazy motivated to finish it, and the writing usually ends up being really good (these two chapters I wrote today I particularly like).

In personal news, I'm still really sick. I also have a quiz and a paper due Wednesday, and a test next week, but I'm not too worried assuming I get better rather than worse. Plus, I'm all jacked up on Sudafed and Advil, so I should be ok. Is it weird that some of my best writing actually happens when I'm sick? Maybe it's some form of release.

In non writing news, I finished my "ranking" matches in Starcraft 2. I'm a freaking Platinum in the 1v1 group (thats second to best), and my group with work buddies is Bronze in 4v4 (that's the worst, but we are at the top of the bronze ranking). Thus proving I'm a terrible team player, and I'm fairly certain I'm going to get crushed if I play against Platinum people.

I played a bit of the game, and beat the single-player mission. I liked the story, if it was a bit overwrought and melodramatic at times. It knew exactly what fans wanted, though, and gave them just that so it's hard to fault it. It's like Transformers 2, there isn't much of merit in it, but they knew who they were pandering to and did it right. Except Starcraft 2 is WAY better than Transformers 2.

I should give you four quotes for four days, but we are entering spoiler territory, so you just get one.

And here's hoping I get less crazy sick soon.

I stepped forward just in time. Rosemary drew a final line. Though I couldn’t feel the object snap into place as I’d had no part in its creation, I imagined what it must have felt for the Graffiti to complete. The hammer, which had been nothing more than a floating connection of lines, suddenly had weight and form. It fell from the air, where I caught it by its handle.
The feeling was instantly familiar, almost comforting. The “wood” of the handle was rough, with a smoothed portion where one would hold their hand. The head was heavy and strong. 
Careful to not put too much weight on my injured leg, I swung at the chains holding my step-sister. They sparked and rattled as the Created hammer hit. Another strike, and I was falling into the natural swing of it. I was at April’s again, smashing an unruly piece of metal with all the force I had. Again and again I struck, the previously impenetrable metal links giving way under the might of the hammer’s swings. At last, with a roar, I smashed the final piece of a link to pieces. It dissolved to dust under the crushing blow, and Rosemary’s left hand was free.
I wiped my sweating brow with my arm, taking a breather before attacking the other chain. Rosemary twisted her wrist, the bit of chain still attached rattling, making sure it still worked. She was staring at me intently, a look of surprise across her injured features.
I suddenly felt very self-conscious. “Um...yes?” I asked, feeling sweat run down my back. “Did you want me to do something else?”
Rosemary shook her head slowly. “You...look different, Cevan. Really different. I mean...just look at yourself!”
I shrugged and looked down. With my shirt off, one could see the muscles of my chest and abdomen. I’d never really noticed it during my weeks of relentless work with April, but now that Rosemary pointed it out there was no question.
I looked as if I’d been cut out of wood, chiseled from the scrawny, gangly boy I’d been when the Peacemaker had attacked two weeks ago. While not quite as large as the Peacemaker had been, I was certainly well-defined now, with toned arms and chest. I couldn’t keep the grin back as I moved to work on April’s other bound hand.
“Yeah, I guess I finally got out of the cart and got some exercise,” I laughed, smashing the hammer down as before. It felt good, really good, to hit something with a hammer. 


Charlie said...

I hope you feel better soon.

And dang, I feel like that word count jump out of my computer and slapped me in the face. Ouch.

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