NaNoWriMo Update


I’ve neglected my updates for the past few days. I can’t remember which day of NaNoWriting this is. But I’m up to 27367 words, about 9000 words ahead of schedule. And for those of you who are curious, here’s an excerpt. (Chosen because it’s the closest thing to polished writing I’ve got right now.)

WARNING: If you haven’t read ‘Waiting For Spring,’ there’s a pretty major spoiler here. And I hate spoilers. Seriously. If you haven’t read WFS yet, close this window and go read something else. But for those of you who have read it, here you go:

 

_________________________________________________________

 

 “My parents died in winter,” Wendy said.

 Rick only nodded. He knew. He’d been there.

 “They had to store their bodies somewhere until spring. Until the ground thawed.”

 “June,” he said. “They buried your parents in June.”

 “Yes. That’s right. In June.”

 He hit the blinker and made a right turn. New Mills was white and grey. Frozen solid. He drove past the grocery store. Past the diner. Kept his head low, so he wouldn’t be recognized. Drove slowly, so he wouldn’t be pulled over. Then he took a left, out of town. Out towards the gravel pit.

 “So their bodies just laid there all winter long,” she continued. “Rotting away in their coffins.”

 “They weren’t rotting. They…the funeral home…the cemetery…they kept ’em somewhere cold. Somewhere safe.”

 She gave a brief, disgusted snort. “In a cold storage shed. But they were still decomposing. Technically speaking.”

 “Stop it, Wendy.”

 “That’s why I’m glad I died in the summer. I started rotting in the ground, like you’re supposed to.”

 “I said stop it.”

 “Why? Because it reminds you of Rachel? About how she’s rotting away, too? Because she is, you know. Even though she’s in cold storage. Even though you don’t want to think about it. Her frozen, wounded body. And her broken, wounded soul.”

 He took a swig from his bottle. Jack Daniels. It had been years since he’d gotten any kind of buzz off his liquor. He’d had to be content with numbness. But today there wasn’t enough whiskey in the world to protect him from Wendy’s words.

 She laughed loudly at that. “They’re not my words, you idiot. They’re yours.”

 “I know.”

 “I’m not even here. Remember? I’m dead.” And with that, she started to fade again. Quickly this time. But before she disappeared completely, she turned to him, grinned widely, and said, “I’m in your head. I’m you.”

 “I know.” He looked away and took another swig. “That’s why I hate you so fucking much.”

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About R.J. Keller

R. J. Keller is the author of Waiting For Spring. An avid independent movie enthusiast, she was Managing Editor of The Movie Fanatic website and created episodes of the writer-centric YouTube series, Inside The Writers' Studio, with author Kristen Tsetsi. She co-hosted Book Chatter with Stacey Cochran from 2011-2014. She lives in Central Maine with her family, where she enjoys gardening, collecting geeky memorabilia, and watching other people cook. View all posts by R.J. Keller

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