I REACHED 50K!

I did! Hurray!
Granted, I'm not sure I like the last ten thousand words, but now that that scene's in there I don't think I can take them out... oh well.
I'm actually nowhere near the end of my novel, though--there's something I still want to include and they have to travel for a day or two to get there. So that's one thing on my list of things to do now that I've reached 50k.
Other things:
a) Give Jindal some attention, the poor dear.
b) Work on Blood-Red Sun. I've been having more ideas for it recently (when I should have been brainstorming my novel)
c) Start dealing with college stuff again. (This should probably be first on my list.)
d) Design and draw a picture for a Christmas card. This is highly tentative.

...My brain hurts.

I'll try to grab a fictionpress account and toss the story up on there sometime soon.

Jindal needs to be taught the facts of life. Also, remember remember.

Also, he needs to SHUT UP BECAUSE I'M TRYING TO WRITE A NOVEL HERE, but mostly he needs to be taught the facts of life.

Word count: 13779

Two things happened today. Well, more than two things, I suppose.
First of all, it was the fifth. As is fitting I wore black. Yuck. Remember remember, the fifth of November... did you know we the L fans adopted that? Yes, I am fairly certain that we did.
It was the first day of the new quarter. I am now in R.G.'s English class! Also in Elements and Principles of Design. Gah. Can we get to the DRAWING bit already? This is boring!
ALSO WHITE THINGS FELL FROM THE SKY. NOT VERY MANY WHITE THINGS, BUT DEFINITELY WHITE THINGS. It is only the fifth of November. T_____T Why should snow fall from the sky now?
Finally, Jindal and his Twili history are preying on my mind. Jindal revealed to me yesterday that he is very fond of Dawdon. Very fond. In fact he's saying that Dawdon is his beloved. This is a problem; Dawdon is male. Jindal is male. Midna is supposed to be Jindal's greatgreatgreatgreat etc granddaughter.
SOMETHING IS WRONG HERE.
Several times I have told Jindal that in order for this all to work out, he has to express interest in someone who HAS A WOMB. *shakes head wearily* Look, I know that Dawdon is dear to you, but... this just doesn't work, darling.
Anyway, here's what I have so far, continuing from an earlier entry, I think... Twilight Princess spoilers, of course.
--

Consciousness came back to me slowly. You… have never felt being a spirit, correct? We all did that day. It was like being only half-there, like having pieces of your soul break off and disintegrate. I was unwilling to move, even when I had regained full consciousness, and instead I stayed lying where I was. I, the prince of my people. I didn’t yet know I would soon be their ruler, but still, I could have been stronger.

I did not get up until a man came running up to me.

I had seen him before. He was one of the strongest warriors of our tribe, and father had commended him once or twice.

“Prince,” he said to me, looking anxiously into my face, “there is something I must show you. Come with me.”

He offered me his hand to help me up, and I stared at it for a moment. Pathetically, I did not want to get up. I just wanted to lie around until I felt better, and if I never felt better then I was fine with staying where I was until I died.

But he said “Prince, please,” and grasped my arm, half-forcing me to stand. So I went with him.

Around me, things looked strange. The light seemed… uncertain of itself, if that makes any sense at all. It seemed dirty, hazy. The sky was a strange color. When I looked around, it seemed that the land we stood on was an island, floating in… nothingness.

All in all, it made me feel sick to my stomach.

The man led me down a narrow stretch of land; and after we had walked for a few moments, I saw my mother and father. It could only be them, but there was no way for me to actually recognize them. Their bodies had been burnt—charred black in punishment for setting foot into the Sacred Realm. They no longer looked human. I fell to my knees in front of them as tears began to pour from my eyes. I tried to shut my eyes to keep the tears in—but then the warrior gasped. “Prince!”

I opened my eyes again, and through my tears I watched as my parents began to emit a strange, white-greenish glow and floated several feet off the ground. I watched in confusion and horror. The light emanating from their bodies grew brighter, brighter, too bright; I looked away. Then suddenly there was a rushing noise, and I looked back to my mother and father—but they were gone, and in their places floated two orbs of light.

Curiously, the light from these orbs refreshed and strengthened me.

By now you have figured out, of course, that these were the Sols, our version of the sun, which give energy to the world we now call Twilight. Very few of my people know of the origin of the Sols. It would be best that you did not tell my Princess.

The Sols, these orbs of light that had only moments before been my parents, floated higher and higher until they shed light on all of us.

“My king…” said the warrior, still next to me. His voice sounded stronger than it had before.

I pretended—or maybe it really didn’t even register, I don’t remember—not to know that he was talking to me; I looked towards the orb that had been my father.

“My king,” he said again, touching my shoulder. I shook my head.

“He’s your king,” I said, pointing. “I am the prince.”

“No, Jindal, you are king now,” he said, his voice softer on my name as if he feared I would be offended by his using it. “You are our king now.”

“My father—” I began, but I knew it was useless. The Sols shone and strengthened me. I swallowed the rest of my sentence. “I will rule, but I will always be the prince,” I said. “We must never forget what happened to my parents.”

And we never have, of course. My Princess said as much. The shame and horror and pain that result from rising against the goddesses are burned into every Twili soul. If a Twili were to think of defying the goddesses—it would be an anomaly in itself, but the Twili would be terrified of the idea. It’s part of who we are.

But I get ahead of myself again. I had no way of understanding any of that on the first day, or even at any time during my natural lifespan. Not until the goddesses infused me with the light of the moon, the sun’s inconsistent, muted cousin, could I step back from what I felt well enough to understand what had happened to us.

Back then, I tried to act kingly. “Warrior,” I addressed the man who had brought me to my parents, “you have shown great strength in bringing me here; I am impressed. What is your name?”

“Dawdon, my prince,” he replied with a bow.

“You show the potential to serve our tribe very well. Will you lead my royal guard?”

“I will, my prince.” He looked so noble and proud.

“Dawdon…” I whispered, my kingly attitude suddenly evaporating. “Will you support me?”

He knew I was not referring to my political ideas or my rule. I meant like a crutch. I was asking if he would hold me up, and he knew it.

“I will, my prince,” he said kindly, and he offered me his hand so I could stand.

Did you miss me?

I am now eighteen, there was only one passage on the listening part of the Japanese SAT II that killed my brain, and I am currently sitting pretty at 11330 words, about three hundred words away from being ahead of Wednesday. Life is good.

My novel is pretty full of nonsense. And an inordinate number of inside or just plain self-referential jokes. I'm trying to quell that--I mean seriously, maybe there might be NaNoers who would find the idea interesting, but if it's only about you!--but I'm having a hard time of it. Oh well... the point is to write, not to write well...
When I tell people, they ask me, "How many pages have you written so far?" How the taco should I know? "I'm on so-and-so words," I'll tell them, but it only occurred to me to check pages today... twenty-five, if you're curious. But I mean why would that even matter. 11k words; that's what matters.

Oh, I got a sewing machine.