CampNaNo Update: Week Three

Another seven days done and dusted. It is technically the end of week three, but there are 10 days left in this month, so my next update will be once NaNo is finished.

My word count for this week is 3645 words. My writing time has suffered due to it being the end of the school term for my little one, but I have still written something at least. The last 48 hours have wielded approximately 300 words, but I’m planning on a writing slog tonight to get back on track. Thankfully, I was on fire for the first two weeks, so I only have to write 7641 words in the next 10 days- totally doable, right? I WILL do it.

For now, here is an excerpt from this week’s writing sessions:

A hexagonal shaped room with a vaulted ceiling, which by my estimation is situated in the very centre of the castle, holds pews upon pews of indigo robed sorcerers. The way the pews line up perfectly with all six sides of the room, circling a podium in the centre, is highly pretentious, yet masterfully thought out. They rise as we enter, but I’m sure it is for Teal’s benefit and not mine. Every man present glances over my white hair and shuffles in his seat at the confirmation they’ve all been awaiting. It takes all of my will power not to smile at their awkwardness in my presence. It does not bother me in the least for I am used to making people uncomfortable. In fact, I have mastered that particular art form.

I am aware of how my gown billows out behind me, of how the clink of my heels resounds through the hall as I walk with renewed confidence, and for the first time, I wear this gown without my shawl to show my arms and back. Teal did not say a word. Oh, his eyes certainly studied the tissue like scarring, but he kept his mouth shut. Just how I like it.

“Take a good look, gentlemen,” I say, as we climb atop the podium. “Get the ogling out of the way before we get down to the serious matters. I am not sure what fascinates people the most- the crown, the white hair, or the burns?”

Teal’s mouth twitches in a smile, and I watch a room full of men blush with shame. I’ve still got it. Sometimes, I feel like I lose myself with Reed. He’s my happy place, my curative place, and rather than keeping my darkness company, he heals the cracks and shines light on the shadows. The old Ezra would never have allowed her scars to be seen, the old Ezra would never have taken pity on those poor folks in Pontisef, and the old Ezra would laugh at the mere prospect of a new Ezra. It’s time I find a healthy balance; a hint of the old with a shot of the new.

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Content belongs to KJ.Chapman

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