I won NANO with 50,009 words at around 7pm at my local write in, and didn't even finish Dom Sanders story! I am still chugging away at it, and I dread the day I finish because then I will have to slice it apart with a bright red, Christmas pen. No way any agent is going to take me seriously with a middle grade novel that is over fifty thousand words! Guess I have no excuse now not to reach writing goals. No one ever said I wasn't a determined sort of person. In fact, all my parents would confirm it.
Of course, I didn't stop there. Literary four hours later I began prepping MOON DAUGHTER RISING query letters for Pitchwars (If you don't know what that is and you are a writer, check it out here! Brenda Drake is amazing!). Fingers, toes, eyes, and nose crossed that one of the four A-WE-SOME mentors fall in love with this story as much as I do, and we can team up and rock the socks off the competition. And no, I am NOT trying to sweet talk my way in (chocolate anyone? teeheehee). I would never do that. But seriously, I have fudge.
And of course, I have not one, but two writing groups I am active in, and Kitsap Writer's Group's next meeting is a christmas party too. We are all writing a Christmas flash fiction piece. I just finished mine. Did anyone out there know that Santa was seduced by a vampire and conceived a child? I didn't either until I wrote it half and hour ago. I put an excerpt below for all my readers! Would love some comments!
Thanks for reading!
I saw a hooded figure holding a light go around a corner of Santa’s workshop, and I grew suspicious. It was way past curfew. No one should be up so late. And why would they? We had worked hard all year and deserved our two day nap.
But I was curious, and furious. Why did this person, whoever they were, have to interrupt my sleep? And why did they not need their own? I grabbed my robe and wrapped it around my body before heading to the door. I envied the deep breathing of my fellows still tucked into their beds. I pushed through the first set of doors and waited for them to close before breaching the second set. An arctic wind slapped me back. I put my head down and raced like a bull around the same corner and rammed the person hard before sprawling on the ground.
“Why are you out past curfew?” wailed a female voice.
“I could ask you the same question!” I said from the ground.
“Bristle, is that you?” two mittens pulled the hood down to reveal the pale face of Chelsea Claus. But her eyes, her once beautiful blue eyes, burned red and stale.
“Yes, it’s me. Are you okay?”
“No,” she stated.
“I can’t watch my father give presents to little human brats another year! For centuries I have watched him and never understood how he could stand it: The dirty fireplaces, the horrible weather, the naughty list growing longer each year yet still giving presents to all of them. He deserves better than this. And I am going to do something about it.” Her eyes flashed and popped like a bonfire as she spoke. But then they simmered down and she said, “You have always been a dear friend. Will you help me?”