Oh, wait, first I want to say a HUGE thank you to all who left encouraging comments on my last check-in. You guys are amazingly inspiring. I mean it. A kind word goes so very far when the day has been less than awesome. Also, I read most of last week's check-in posts from my phone while riding in the car or waiting in the check-out line at the grocery store so, I didn't get to comment much. I must say, this group is FULL to BURSTING with wonderful writing talent! I loved seeing how everyone commits to their project and pushes through the obstacles. It makes me want to try hard, push farther. And that is what #WIPMarathon is all about! Am I right? So BIG thank-yous to everybody!!!
Now, on to the check-in!
Last word count: Somewhere about halfway through the book (revising).
Current word count: Somewhere a little past halfway through the book. (Total weekly word count was probably around 2k *holding my head high*)
WIP issues this week: There were no major issues with the MS (probably because I didn't get very much done).
What I learned this week in writing: I learned not to compare my writing to other's. Though it seems no matter how many times I "learn" this, I still tend to do it. I have to remind myself that my style is different, my words are different, my characters are different. Uniquely me. And that's alright!
What distracted me this week: We started home school this week. CRAZY!!! Most of my attention was directed at trying to manage our new schedule. Hopefully, things will level out next week!
Last 200 (actually, it's more because I couldn't figure out where to break the scene):
“You’re saying there is no right or wrong? There’s just… what?”
“Shades. Shades of right and wrong. What does your conscience say? That’s the question you need to answer in order to make a decision.” I hold in the next part but then go ahead with it. “Always let your conscience be your guide,” I sing-song.
“What is that?”
“It’s from Pinocchio. The old Disney movie. I’ve never seen it, of course, but my mom used to sing it to me when I was little. When you get in trouble and you don’t know right from wrong, give a little whistle. Give a little whistle. And always let your conscience be your guide.” I include the whistles for effect.
He’s quiet for so long I fear I’ve broken his brain.
“Your voice is beautiful.”
Whoa. And what? A compliment from he who ‘does not like or dislike’. I remind him of that fact. “But Ten Sixty-four,” I drawl. “You do not like or dislike.”
“True. However, my conscience tells me your voice is beautiful. Also, call me Isaac.”
“It’s just the caverns. Good acoustics. Makes it sound better than it really is.”
“I’d like to know how you made the whistle.”
“Oh, um…” He knows how to build a fire with q-tips, kill an elder with his bare hands, and speak six different languages but doesn’t know how to whistle? “Well, Isaac, you make a tight little o shape with your lips and then you just…” I whistle. “Blow.”
I know he’s trying it, even in the dark, because I can hear him blowing. But of course, no whistle.
“It takes practice.”
For the next who knows how long, there is nothing but him blowing. Over and over. No resulting whistle. A slip of moon inches across the cavern noting the passing of time. I’m tired. I haven’t slept in 24 hours? Or is it 36 hours? Far too long.
I’m nodding off when he declares, “It’s impossible.”
“Practice,” I say.
“I just did. It doesn’t work. Have you taught me wrong?”
“No! It’s just not easy. You have to work at it. Took me like, I don’t know, two years, to learn.”
More blowing. More non-whistling.
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