Daily Excerpt Post - November 1st

[alison-sky.livejournal.com]

This is where you can take a snippet from your writing from today that you want to share with the other members of the community. And feel free to comment on other people's snippets.

We're all about love and support here, and this is a great place to give it.


Comment limit is 4000 words. Please do not post multiple comments to show your entire NaNo.

Comments

Blasphemy

[stephs-nano.livejournal.com]

She pulled her hand back abruptly, as though the contact had burned her. “I have to go,” she said quickly, turning toward the door. I grabbed her arm.
“I want to know how you knew I was here, and not in Manhattan,” I said.
Her blue eyes seemed to flash red, and in my shock, I let her go, taking a step back. She took advantage of my surprise and hurried to the door, pulling it open. I ran to the window and looked outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.
The only movement was the wind stirring the leaves in the oak tree outside.
Gisella was gone.

[dragonbloodink.livejournal.com]

The very first words of my very first NaNo attempt!

A Meaningful Life

Is there a god, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob? I always believed so. I've never met Him, even unclothed from my body as I am now, but I could not find my mother, father, or sister in this wide universe, either, no matter the ages I searched or the speed of thought with which I traveled. If He is out there, I don't blame Him for not putting in an appearance. I have spent the time since my birthday being lost in this miraculous universe. I can't blame Him if He is off wandering in the glory of creation, too, and just forgot to come home.

When you're like this, it's easy to forget things, because what seemed important a moment ago loses all meaning in the next as a star tears itself apart in front of you and you think, "Next time, I shall dive into its heart and dance." I have traced with my incorporeal fingers the great Pegasus rearing in the sky, but I no longer remember my name.

I became a specter on the twenty-third birthday I shared with my twin sister. Her name is also lost to me now, eaten by the clouds of dust that drift the space between the stars, but the feelings of love still come when I think of her—vibrant, and breathing in and out, glossy with a light sheen of sweat from the unexpectedly hot fall day and her eighth month of pregnancy. She was due in November, and we teased her mercilessly about keeping towels and scissors on hand should she pop out my nephew at the Thanksgiving dinner table.

We were gathered around the rickety old picnic table, nails cut deep into the ancient wood that had seen snow and rain and little girls dancing in leis from the daycare my mother had run from our home when my sister and I were infants. That old table had seen more life than we, put together with much heaving and gasping by my father and uncle the year my parents moved to our town soon after they’d married. She had looked on, already aware of my sister and I, though she hadn’t told her husband. “He broke down and cried,” she told me, when I was of an age to understand such things. And even then I had wondered that my stoic, solemn father had shown such emotion. He rarely did in our daily lives.

That day, the picnic table was witness to white cupcakes, beribboned presents and unspiked punch, though I had a bottle of my favorite white wine chilling inside. The leaves had changed and fallen, leaving piles of crunching husks to drift around the back yard like great migrations of dead butterflies. The wooden birdhouse I had made at summer camp in third grade still dangled from the oak tree that oversaw the comings and goings of our family, the fishing line anchor frayed at the end but still holding strong.

“We should really get rid of that old thing,” I said, handing Sister a cupcake. “It’s hideous. Mom, didn’t you say you wanted to try and plant some begonias next year?”

Mother. My mother was still strong and youthful for having raised two daughters and worked a challenging job for more than forty years; when people asked me why I had gone into teaching, I always pointed to her, as if I needed no other reason. “She’s been a teacher for as long as I can remember,” I would say. “She started teaching Sunday school as a teenager, and loved it so much. She always encouraged me to do the same.”

“Don’t you dare get rid of that birdhouse! You gave that to me for Mother’s Day,” she had exclaimed, pushing her sunglasses up on her graying brows. She refused to dye her hair, calling it—and her wrinkles—a well-earned sign of her experiences. Personally, I thought she simply didn’t want to sit in place long enough for the hairdresser. Teachers learn to be creatures of movement, swooping in on wings of strict compassion as if the world would fall apart should they be a single moment late. My mother was of this breed; though we complained long and loudly about the eyes we swore she had in the back of her head, Sister and I had navigated the difficult waters of puberty without beaching ourselves on the rocks of adulthood thanks to her.

[colbyucb.livejournal.com]

She passed beneath a giant stone archway that seemed to touch the sky, the construction there to signify moving from one section of the Hive to another. Buildings of the northeast quarter rose before her, the tri-domed bar of the Dustmen faction and the open-air monument to those that had died over the years being important landmarks, but this quarter was dominated by the Mausoleum. Its entrance, too, was a dome, but it was easily ten times as big as the Gathering Dust Bar, and it was circled by a fence wrought of iron and stone. The stink of embalming fluids and rotting flesh was largely confined to just outside the Mausoleum, but there was no doubt that the scents wafted throughout the quarter and mingled with the bodily odors of peasants and merchants creating a unique, if unpleasant, sensory experience.

[wonderlandwords.livejournal.com]

Chapter One - The Threat of Reality

Marie was the first to speak, being the more emotional of the two and currently the most distressed. "They want to send Louis away!"

A grumbling noise emenated from that area as the unseen voice processed the information.

The little girl started crying again. "Don't let them! You're guardian angels, right? Don't let them take Louis away!"

The voice softened and made soothing sounds, coming closer to the little girl. Even before it spoke, she could feel herself warmed by an unseen force. "Fear not, child. We will always be there for you."

[jediknightmuse.livejournal.com]

The story is called Kalevalis: Wizards of the Sky, Book One. I have no chapter title for this chapter or any of the others at the moment. D:

Chapter One- currently untitled

The familiar sound of swords clashing against each other rang through her head as Raewyn Taivas walked from the barracks and to the practice yard of the Kalevala palace. It was a sound she had grown much accustomed to in the seven years she had been a member of the king’s Royal Guards.

She entered the practice yard and walked to one of the racks where several practice swords hung, her dark green eyes searching for the blade she had found worked best for her. Behind her, several of the other guards continued their practice while some of the higher ranked guards sat watching, cheering their comrades on.

“Hey, Taivas,” a voice called.

Raewyn turned as she lifted one of the lighter blades from the rack to see one of the other guards walking over to her. He was of the same rank as her, with only one year ahead of her in experience.

“You up for some practice?” Tristan asked.

Raewyn smiled, “Of course. The usual?”

The other guard nodded, “Loser does the winner’s weapon cleaning for seven days.”

Tristan grabbed a sword from the rack and followed Raewyn towards the middle of the practice yard. The two faced each other, green eyes meeting blue, and lifted their blades in front of them.

Raewyn placed one foot out in front of the other, watching Tristan carefully as she waited for her friend to make the first move. The sounds of their blades clashing together mixed in with the sounds of the other guards who practiced. Their duel had begun.

Raewyn pivoted on her right foot, spinning around and bringing her blade toward Tristan’s side, which was easily blocked. Raewyn’s eyes lifted up towards the sky as she waited for Tristan’s next move.

A quick image flashed in her mind: she saw a cliff overlooking an ocean she could see in the distance, with a palace at the edge of the cliff.

The image vanished and suddenly she felt Tristan’s foot against her stomach. The force of the kick sent her back and towards the ground, landing hard on her side as her sword flew out of her hand.

-------
I don't like how this started out, but...oh well. It's just missing some "oomph" and I kinda struggled with figuring out how to start. I don't even feel like I know the main character very well at the moment. /ramble

Blegh.

[talim.livejournal.com]

Quaint, green countryside gave way to the big, bustling city, and in that moment, panic struck. It wasn’t mass chaos by any means, for all was calm on the train that day; no, the source of this distress could be traced directly back to one shaking, highly uncomfortable girl, seemingly having realized just at that very moment that her life was about to change completely. And it must have dawned on her, as well, that there was no way she could possibly ever turn back.

All manner of agitated thoughts raced through her head, the rushing sound that accompanied them almost deafening, and she started to wonder just what had possessed her to even consider this ridiculous expedition in the first place. Certainly she would receive a better education out here, have better opportunities, but was this really necessary? She could have settled. She should have settled. She saw herself in her mind, fourteen years old and young, young, so young, listing the reasons one by one: Too risky, too far away, too much money for her parents to spend...

This chain of thought could have continued for hours, gone on and on until she simply picked up her bags and picked up her pride and got on the train back home, running into her mother’s arms where it was safe. But at that moment, everything stopped and the view out her window was suddenly still. There was the sound of people shuffling around her as they streamed out into this amazing new world that they so easily took for granted, the streets and the buildings almost speaking to her, seeming to tell her but one thing: “This is your life now, Ayaka. Get used to it or don’t.”

So she made her decision. She swallowed hard and stepped outside.