E.L.E.V.E.N. D.A.Y.S. L.E.F.T.
Okay, in terms of CWP (Cumulative Word Count), I'm currently at 14,082 words. Which isn't bad, if you ask me. But it could be a lot better. I should be at 19,500 words. :-/ Long way to go!
Today was my record high--1,762 words! So much for my 2,000 or 2,500-word goals. :-/ Oh, well. At least I got that much done; usually I'm not nearly that good. I usually get maybe 700 words written in a day...! And it looked like it would be another day like that, but I found something that has really helped me to write (we'll see how long it works! :D). It's called Write or Die. I know, funny name. But it works. The aim is to fight Writer's Block, and I think it does the job! Currently, I'm using the free web app, but if I find it really useful for other writing projects, I might buy the $10 desktop edition. I might wait and decide in a year. ;) At the moment, I'm finding it REALLY useful!
Here's a little about what they say about it:
Write or Die is a web application that encourages writing by punishing the tendency to avoid writing. Start typing in the box. As long as you keep typing, you’re fine, but once you stop typing, you have a grace period of a certain number of seconds and then there are consequences.
Many people find themselves unable to write consistently. I believe that this is because their reason to write is intangible. For instance, I want to write and finish a book because I want to be published and make a living as a writer. That goal is a long way away so I often find it difficult to sit down to the task of writing.
Conversely, I’m in a creative writing class for which I manage to consistently write and finish projects (albeit at the last minute). I therefore draw the conclusion:
A tangible consequence is more effective than an intangible reward.
If I don’t write stories for class, I will receive scorn from my teacher and a bad grade in the class. If I don’t write my own stories I am only disappointing myself. I experience perpetual disappointment in myself so I’m kindof used to it. Add to that the fact that I simply have neither the self-discipline to write consistently on my own nor the capacity for self-deception that would enable me to create artificial deadlines. That is how Write or Die was born.
I'll leave you with what I wrote today:
It had been another warm spring day. In the fuzzy matter of memory, Taliah remembered walking with her mother through the crowded, dusty streets and stopping at various stands. She had begged to carry the market-basket, and her mother had relented. Soon, though, the produce had made it too heavy for her small frame to carry. She had gladly given the basket back to her mother, and then walked along, trying to keep from being trampled under the donkey’s hooves. She turned to watch some strange-looking long-necked and long-legged animals entering the market, and then turned around to follow her mother—to find that she wasn’t there! Panic seized Taliah’’s heart, and she frantically started calling above the din, “MUM! MUM! WHERE ARE YOU?” Turning wildly around, she almost collided with a woman coming from the opposite way. “Excuse me!” the woman said, and walked away, soon to be swallowed by the crowd.
Taliah was terrified. Her mind started painting horrid pictures of what might happen to her. She would be kidnapped, and taken to a city far away where she would be sold, and become a slave. Night would fall, and she would get so hungry she would die. The Romans would take her to Rome, where she would never see her parents again. Tears pressed against her eyelids, then swiftly started trickling down her cheeks. She hunched down, and buried her head in her hands. Of one thing she was certain: her mother wasn’t coming back.
Suddenly, a hand was laid on her shoulder. She screamed, and threw her head up, her hair flying away from her tear-stained face. Who was it?
“Taliah! What’s the matter?” Judith stared in alarm down at the pitiful figure at her feet.
“Oh, Mummy!” Taliah flew to her feet, and landed, laughing and crying with joy in her arms. “I thought you would—would never come back.” The last was spoken in almost a whisper. Judith held her daughter close, whispering words of comfort to her. The rest of the day, Taliah stayed very close to her mother.
The memory still haunted her memory, and she held tighter to Rachel’s hand. The dust stirred up by hundreds of feet billowed around them, and the fitful wind blew their hair loose from the veils. Sneezing, Taliah was grateful when they were out of the city and on the country road leading to the small village where her grandparents lived. After being on the road for almost four days, she was ready to see her grandparents, and be able to rest in peace, knowing that there won’t be another day’s journey before they could see them. Wondering how her grandfather was doing, she held tightly to Rachel’s hand and tried to make her hurry. “Come, Rachel! The faster we walk the sooner we’ll be there!”
“Taliah,” the little girl whined, “I can’t go fast. My feet hurt, and the dust and sun make me tired. Pick me up.” Taliah glanced down at the tired, dirty face and felt pity for the little girl. It was hot in the sun, she knew. Stooping, she scooped the little girl up and started off on a brisk walk. They would be there soon; the setting sun shown on the small village just ahead.
As they neared the village, Taliah walked as fast as she could—which wasn’t very fast, because Rachel was getting heavy. The little girl laid her head on her shoulder, and Taliah wondered if she wasn’t going to sleep. But she decided to not ask Joel to look, because they were so close to the village. She could hardly wait to get to her grandparent’s home, and find out if her Grandfather were still alive or not. She wondered how he would be, and her mind raced. Would he be dead? Her uncle said that he wasn’t doing very well. Her eyes filled with tears as she remembered with longing the last time she had seen him. It was almost a year before, and they left for home under brilliant blue skies. He had been leaning on the plum tree, looking off across the fence that enclosed their home, waving goodbye. His white hair had been in distinct colour difference to the blue sky and green leaves above them, and as she had left her heart stuck in her throat. Grandmother had been there, too, her kind wrinkled face framed by the always beautiful veil.
Taliah sighed, and wished she were there right now. They passed many rows of houses before finally coming to her grandparent’s home. It was a simple house, but to Taliah it seemed like heaven. They were there! Bursting through the doorway behind her brothers, she stopped in amazement at what she saw. Her grandfather lay on the mat, his usually robust face thin and lined with pain. It surprised her; she had never seen him look like that! But then, she hadn’t really known what to expect. She felt deep pain as she realised how white and drawn he looked. “Poor Grandfather!” She thought to herself, “Oh, how I wish I could help him!” He hadn’t noticed their entry—she wondered if he noticed anything besides the pain these days.
Mother hurried over to where he lay. “Oh, Benjamin, how are you?" Bending over the hurt man, she felt his forehead. “Cool,” She announced. “At least he isn’t feverish. That would mean that he has an infection.” She tried her best to ease the man, and looked at the bruises and open wounds where he had been hurt.
Taliah hovered close, after laying the sleeping Rachel on a cot in the next room. She watched as her mother, with gentle but firm hands dress the wounds with herbs just as her Grandmother had long ago taught her. Many people had come to get help from her in the past, and she always was willing to lend a hand where help was needed. As she watched Judith work, Taliah wondered how her mother could ever be so smart. She knew that not all girls were as privileged as she to have such a good, kind mother. And she was learning, too—her mother enjoyed teaching her, and someday she would be able to take over when Judith became too old to help. They had gotten a pot boiling outside, and Taliah helped get the herbs ground that were needed, along with supplying hot water for all their needs. She didn’t particularly enjoy the work, but she was glad that she could do something to help ease her grandfather’s pain.
As she worked, she wondered what the boys were doing. After coming, they soon left the sick room because, as they said, “We’d be more of a hindrance than a help, and Mother doesn’t need any of that with you, Grandmother, and Aunt Joanna.” Taliah had agreed, but she was glad that, as a girl, she could help out somewhat.
The days slowly passed, and Benjamin did not improve. He stayed the same, and Taliah feared that he would never get better. Each day he grew a little weaker, and soon all he could do was drink water. Two days after they arrived, her father and brothers came in for the family worship—this had become a custom in their home after her parent’s conversion. After reading, he prayed, then sat silently, watching his father. “Dad,” he finally said, addressing her grandfather, “I’ve been thinking. Apostle Paul said that if someone is hurt, then we need to anoint them and pray for them. I would like to do that for you, if I can.” His father, weak as he was, slowly raised and lowered his head. Taliah wondered if he wasn’t saying “Yes.” She had not yet once heard him talk, but she wished she could hear his soft, kind voice again.
Her father took it as a “Yes”, too, and he asked Ezra to get him some oil. The boy soon returned with a little in a cup, and he silently handed it to his father. The family gathered around, sensing that this was an important moment. Taliah wondered if it would do anything. She had heard about what her father was referring to, but hadn’t really thought much about it. Who knew if this Jesus person could do anything, anyway? She didn’t think it would make a difference, but decided to not let the other people know what she was thinking. Her father glanced questioningly around the room, and his eyes fell on Taliah. She squirmed under his gaze, and he asked seriously, “Does anybody here believe that this won’t work? If you don’t believe, then please leave the room.” Looking down, her face burning with shame, she wondered what to say.
“I believe,” many of the others said. She knew she didn’t really believe that it would work, but in her heart she wondered if it would. Curiosity gripped her, and she whispered a prayer. God, if Jesus is true, then let this work. If not, then let it fail. Raising her head, she said quietly, “I believe.” He father looked at her curiously, but then turned back to the sick man.
“Benjamin, in the name of Jesus Christ, I anoint you, trusting that you will be healed.” After pouring the oil on his father’s forehead, he prayed, asking God to heal his father.
After the prayer, the room was hushed, waiting to see if there was a change. Taliah wept silently, wondering if this really would work. Her grandfather’s face was still twisted in pain. After a little while, the men and boys left to do the jobs that needed done around the farm. Her mother and grandmother left, promising to come back soon. She would take a turn watching the ailing man, and then her aunt would come to be with him for a while. “Oh, Grandfather.” She whispered, “How I wish you were better now!”
So, what do you think? Yes, that is just a teaser. ;) You can read another excerpt if you like, on my profile.
I might just try it but how do you get it to stop?
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