I’m over half-way done. After more than two weeks, I’ve found myself getting into a nice rhythm, the feeling of a habit slithering into my bones to find a place of rest.
There have been a few nights I have dreaded writing 1,667 words, not sure if I could even come up with 300. But I almost always do.
The trick? It’s obvious. And it’s not new.
That’s it. Don’t care what it might sound like or look like or what plot holes it might lead you to. Just write.
Who cares if it’s bad? It can be ripped out later. And you can always write something else tomorrow, maybe using some of the ideas you discovered the previous day while meandering. Those ideas might be drab in one circumstance, but shine like the sun if given different scenery.
Here’s another excerpt, without context:
I sat down after one last pull, with Tharanga’s body halfway out of the water. He was so heavy. I looked out as the water calmed down and the fish dispersed, their job done. I didn’t have time to sit and ponder the mystery of it all. I put my ear on Tharanga’s chest, and could feel no movement. No breathing. How long had he been without breath? Was it too late?
I didn’t know what to do so I reached out with my bond. I couldn’t feel him, but I could feel around him. I could make out the contours of his…something. His soul? Did animals have souls? I knew the answer as soon as I asked it. Of course they did. At least, there was no doubt Tharanga did.
I turned my perception toward myself and felt the contours of my own self, my own soul. I reached out and put both of my hands on his head, similar to what I did the day I had named him. In many ways, my naming him had created these contours that I could feel. I put his name at the forefront of my mind, thinking about why I had named him so. The familiarity. The certainty.
I don’t know how I did it. To this day, I still don’t understand it. But I moved the contours of my own soul and intersected it with Tharanga’s. I felt part of my self leave, and Tharanga’s chest move as it filled with air, then a hacking sound as water spewed out of his mouth, in several convulsions.
If I hadn’t already been wet, I would have found this disgusting. I’m sure at one level I still found it gross, but my relief swept all other feelings away. I sat there a while and just hugged him. Feeling him breath. His eyes remained closed, but I knew he would be okay after enough time.