It’s that time of year again: National Novel Writing Month (Nanowrimo). I’ve participated in Nanowrimo 1.5 times before, but usually find myself too busy as a teacher to dedicate enough time to writing. This year, there’s so much going on that I’m writing to preserve my own sanity—so participation is mandatory(ish).
I present to you my new WIP, dubbed D.o.A., which is inspired by my love for Sailor Moon, my fascination with two novels I read this year (Cole’s When No One is Watching and Jemisin’s The City We Became), the pandemonium that is 2020, and my belief that one day the meek will inherit the Earth.
Mari carries the genetic blueprint for a slain nation in her D.N.A. On her mission to rebirth it, she will team up with four others who were born to protect her. The problem is she doesn’t remember who they are (and neither do they). Meanwhile, her enemy is hot on her trail. This story is set in present-day Charlotte, North Carolina.
Here is the first page (I have no qualms about sharing this here, as this is the first draft and I’m certain the first page will change through several edits; but it’s just to give you an idea what I’m working on while I shop around my first project, FTT).
Mari awoke as the greyhound jerked and swerved to the side of the road. Instantly, she slipped a hand under the waistline of her sweater and pressed her fingers against her lower abdomen. Her fingertips came away bloody. She wiped them on her pantleg and pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the pain. The bus rolled to a rickety stop as she retrieved her duffel bag from the overhead bin, one last dip as the vehicle’s front rim dropped to the ground.
Mari lost her footing, briefly, and grimaced, before righting herself again. She felt a hand brush against the back of her thigh, an inch shy of her ass, and knew it was the man from across the aisle, one row back, before she even heard his voice. He’d been eyeing her all night. “You alright, sweetie?”
She thought of five ways she could have severed his hand from his wrist, but she had to move fast, so she settled for ‘accidentally’ smacking him in the head as she lowered her bag.
“How could I fall asleep?” she criticized herself.
She limped down the aisle, pushing aside panicked passengers as the driver asked everyone to remain in their seats. He was perspiring and swearing under his breath when she reached him. He stopped mid-fuh and stared at her in disbelief, eyes wide and mouth slack with confusion and annoyance. He recovered. “Young lady, would you please…”
“Open the door,” she interrupted. He had precisely five seconds before she opened it for him. She glanced at the convex mirror, checking out the other passengers, and remembered what her dying Keeper, Asha, had uttered to her ten hours earlier.
It could be anyone.
I’m already halfway through the first chapter at about 2,000 words, so I will be starting the challenge with the second chapter and aiming to add 50,000 words to the count.
Actively seeking writing/accountability buddies. Anyone else writing this year?
For my reading friends, what do you think? Is this a story you’d be interested in reading? Comment below.