nano was going great until I got totally swamped with school/work, and I haven't written in two weeks. considering there's a few hours left today, and I have 30,000 words to go...I will not be finishing. and that's okay. nanowrimo was a perfect way for me to venture back into the wild world of writing and I've decided to make my visit a stay, whether that means simply short stories or blogging or something more. I don't currently know, but I know that whatever happens, I will keep writing.
because, as all writers know, you can't just let go.
there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.
maya angelou said that and her words ring true like the first thaw in spring.
winter is ending.
words come and go.
stories stay and matter.
very small excerpt, but that's okay.
always appreciate your thoughts. :)
h
excerpt:
We’ll step forward a few years.
Laurel got her cinnamon rolls (and a harsh scolding) if that’s what you’re wondering though.
The year was nineteen forty two. Laurel was seventeen. James was eighteen. There was a draft. Somehow the world was bleeding and no matter what people did, they couldn’t bandage it enough. A letter came in the mail, a call to action. It was an honor, Caty said. It was a shame, Annie said. But it wasn’t her son. No, not yet.
Goodbyes were heavy on Laurel’s lips, along with something else.
Yes, a kiss.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
because, as all writers know, you can't just let go.
there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.
maya angelou said that and her words ring true like the first thaw in spring.
winter is ending.
words come and go.
stories stay and matter.
very small excerpt, but that's okay.
always appreciate your thoughts. :)
h
excerpt:
We’ll step forward a few years.
Laurel got her cinnamon rolls (and a harsh scolding) if that’s what you’re wondering though.
The year was nineteen forty two. Laurel was seventeen. James was eighteen. There was a draft. Somehow the world was bleeding and no matter what people did, they couldn’t bandage it enough. A letter came in the mail, a call to action. It was an honor, Caty said. It was a shame, Annie said. But it wasn’t her son. No, not yet.
Goodbyes were heavy on Laurel’s lips, along with something else.
Yes, a kiss.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
You sound like Markus Zusak. That is all.
ReplyDeleteOh, and also, I love you. :)
Ahh! I want to read more of your story!! This is leaving me on a cliff hanger. :))
ReplyDeleteBlessings!
-Madi
Your writing style is so refreshing and unique, Hannah. I really love what you said up top about being a writer and the agony of having a story stuck inside you. This is basically my life. xoxo.
ReplyDelete