Writing Goals for 2018

Oh wow. Have I really not written since middle of November? Oops. Well I won NaNo, but naturally the story isn't finished. I'm also revising last year's NaNo because a good friend of mine gave me the right kind of beta reading and now I am rewriting the beginning and rethinking characters. It's a glorious disaster. Onto the actual point of this post.

I can't tell if Kristina will continue doing the weekly prompts, but a goals prompt sounds like a good plan. So here we go.

1. Complete at least 15 of the Writing Excuses homework assignments.
For those of you who don't know, this is a weekly, 15 min podcast with great writing advice. This year they are focusing on character and I really need that. So I want to do the homework assignments and be more active in my learning.

2. Finish Twin Tales.
This is my monstrosity of a Merlin fic. It's over 100k right now. I want to wrap it up by the end of this year so I can start posting it and giggling at the feedback people will give me.

3. Revise Restoring Faith
This will be slightly dependent on my beta reader, but I do really want to eventually publish this one so getting a proper second draft by the end of the year seems like a good goal.

4. Write something non-fandom
This does not include Restoring Faith. This will probably happen with goal number one, but I want to make it it's own goal so I can keep it a focus.

How well will I do? I don't know. Real life is gearing up to kick my butt this year, especially in the summer which is usually good writing time for me. But I will find a way.

Favourite writing from this week:

But now the glimmer of hope seemed absent. Left alone with her thoughts, prospects were bleak. Not even the chocolate croissant she had saved was cheering her up. It only reminded her how far she had traveled since the tube station. She set it back on the wrapper. It was meant to be a ten minute ride home.

Yet now she was stranded in a foreign city, surrounded by aliens and in a time far removed from her own. Even if she was able to travel to Earth somehow, it wouldn’t be the same planet she left.

No family, no friends, no series finale of Bakeoff and wow she hadn’t realised how much that one hurt. She didn’t even like cooking. So why were her eyes filling with tears?

But now that they started, she couldn’t make them stop. Her family were dead. Had been for who knows how long. How long did it take them to start looking for her? How long until they gave up?

And what would she do? Try to go to uni? Applications were hard enough the first time around. Now she had no paperwork and only her previous student ID as any form of identification. Even if she somehow was accepted, she would have gaps in her education. She wouldn’t have money to pay tuition. Hells she hardly had food for the next day.

Hannah grabbed tissues from the bedside table and noisily blew her nose.

“Destinies are troublesome things,” an accented voice said. It sounded oddly Irish. The first recognisable accent she had heard this entire trip. “You don’t often understand why things happen until many years later.”

Hannah looked around, but couldn’t see anyone who could have spoken to her.

“To your right, above the table,” the voice said. She looked up but all she could see was a drawing of large stone gateway similar to the one she had fallen through. “There we go.”

Hannah blinked, rubbed away the tears that were blurring her vision. Maybe she had fallen asleep because she thought the artwork was speaking.

“You aren’t going crazy.” The drawing changed, shifted. A gargoyle that had been perched on top of the arch flew down into the foreground of the image, all the detail of the pointed teeth and large ears become clearer.

“How? You’re in a drawing,” she protested. “Drawings don’t move. Or talk.” She pinched her arm again, but just as before it hurt. No waking up from a weird dream.

“Magic, Mistress Osta,” the gargoyle replied. “You had best get used to it.”

“Right, magic.” She nodded, then shook her head. “No. This is crazy. Pictures that move, I’ll accept. Crazy arches that kidnap you from tube stations, fine.” She crossed her arms. “But no way is it normal for art to hold a conversation with someone. There was other artwork in the hotel lobby and none of those paintings moved. Something tells me this isn’t normal.”

“Now you are catching on.” It seemed proud of her. “We will make a proper adventurer of you yet.”

“Adventure? No, this has been an adventure enough. I just want to go home.”

“That’s not possible at the moment.”

Hannah felt her breath catch. “No. Saraahm said she knows someone who might know how to get me home. There has to be a way.”

“There is a way. You have to create your own path home.”

“What?”

“Talk to Father Carame, he will guide you to the right path. But there are things you need to learn before you can return home.”

Hannah was still having trouble processing the fact that she was talking to a gargoyle in a drawing on on wall, but something in it’s tone made her believe it. “What, do I have to take a class?” That didn’t mean any of this made sense.

“Father Carame will tell you more about your destiny. Think of it as your letter to Hogwarts.”

“I’m going to ignore the fact that you just made a “Harry Potter” reference and focus on the rest of that. How do you know my destiny?”

“Magic.”

“Of course.” Hannah shut her eyes and rubbed a hand over her face. Magic, destiny, and kidnapping. Just your average Friday. But apparently this was the reality she had to live with right now. “What does my destiny have to do with finding a way home?” She adjusted her glasses and looked back up at the drawing, but the gargoyle had retreated to the perch atop the portal.

“I have faith that you will stumble upon the connection,” its voice said into the stillness before some intuition Hannah never knew she had, told her that the creature wouldn’t be saying anything else.

“Okay. I am officially in an adventure story. Magical creature who gives advice then disappears with a riddle. Got it.” She looked down at her croissant. She needed chocolate and then she needed sleep.

Instead of

Prompt: What are the things you choose writing over? What things tempt you away from writing?

This of course depends on the day, depends on the story, depends on the sunspot count on the sun.

Over writing I choose tumblr, talking about what I'm going to write, and baking.

I choose writing over homework, falling asleep in a boring class, and going to bed.

This week's writing is from my Merlin story. Quick background, Merlin is trying out disguise necklaces he made to allow someone else to perceive the wearer as someone different. So he is wandering around Camelot swapping disguises.

Favourite writing from this week: 

Merlin hung the necklaces around his neck and put the garlands back into the basket he had brought the supplies down in. First step first. If anyone noticed all of the necklaces he was wearing, he knew it hadn’t worked. Then it was just a matter of swapping disguises when no one was looking.

***

Gwen was hurrying to her workshop when she bumped into a young woman. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, don’t mind me.”

“Are you new here? I don’t think I have seen you around?” Gwen asked.

“I am helping out with coronation preparations, nothing more.” She brushed a hair back from her face.

“Do you need directions anywhere?”

“No thank you. I’m alright.” She hurried away and around a corner.

Gwen watched her go. Something about her manner of speech seemed familiar. But perhaps she was just reminded of someone in the market or someone who had helped in the past. Many people had helped at large feats in the past. Or maybe it was a girl who had been looking for a job in her workshop before Gwen told her to come back when she had learned more. It wasn’t terribly uncommon.

“Excuse me?” Gwen shook her head to clear her thoughts and met the eyes of an older man standing in front of her.

“Sorry, got lost in my thoughts,” she apologised. “Do you need something?”

“Do you happen to know where I can find Lord Merkel?” he asked. “I have a message for him.”

“His chambers are up two floors and on the right. If you need help ask one of the guards in that wing.”

“Thank you very much, my lady.” He bowed slightly.

“Oh I’m not,” she started to protest but drifted off when she caught his wink. Then she only rolled her eyes and continued to her workshop. She had to prepare for a fitting.

***

Arthur answered the knock at the door himself, seeing as his servant was mysteriously still missing. He didn’t think the decorations would take this long. A older woman he didn’t recognise was standing at the door, hands clasped behind her back. She gave a deep bow.

“Your highness. I have been sent to tell you that it is time for your fitting.”

“My fitting? Whatever for?” Arthur protested. This was not discussed with him. “I plan on wearing my chainmail like I have done at every other ceremony.”

“I’m afraid that is not the protocol, sire.” Her eyes didn’t leave the floor as she countered her king. “If you wish to argue, I suggest you take it up with Mistress Gwen.”

“I think I will. Tell her I shall be along in a minute.”

The woman bowed again and hurried off.

Arthur grabbed his jacket and marched off to the workshop. He was not going to stand for this. He was also not going to stand for Merlin not being there to back him up.

“You there,” he pointed at a man who looked like he might be a servant. “Do you know where my manservant is?”

“No, sire. Shall I look for him?”

“Yes. And tell him he can find me in,” but Arthur stopped, the man had already turned his back and left. Most unusual for a servant. Unless that servant was Merlin. However that man had short cropped red hair and was a more portly man than his servant could ever be, even if he ate an entire boar in one sitting.

Arthur marched on.

Out of the Wardrobe

Prompt: What's something you've always considered writing but haven't yet?

There have been a couple good Narnia fics I have read. They generally fall into two categories: Golden Age in Narnia, or a little while after they get back and have mostly learned to still be Kings and Queens in our own world. But the one I want to read, and therefore write, is right after they get out of the wardrobe.

I really want them being extra clumsy the first couple days back since their bodies are different again, still calling each other by their titles and the maids thinking they are playing, Kirke just smiling, Kirke joining in their "game" to the housekeepers displeasure.

I want to write about when Peter asked Kirke about Narnia one afternoon because they had been told of the creation of Narnia during their rule and they made a guess, Peter talks with him about how to survive not going back.

I have started this story. April of last year. I haven't touched it since. Something about it seems too perfect in my head that I don't want to mar it with my clumsy words. Or maybe a part of me knows this is not the right time in my life to write it. I don't really know. But I will share with you what I have so far. 

Featured writing: 

“Hey watch where you’re putting your elbows!”
“Ow! That’s my foot.”
“What is this place?”
“Wait, I think I see a light!”
“Ahhh!”
The four children tumbled out of the wardrobe and landed on top of each other on the hardwood floor. Slowly they raised themselves to look at each other in bewilderment. For they were no longer the Kings and Queens that had ruled over Narnia for many years. They had been returned to Peter, Susan, Edmund, and little Lucy, the children who had been sent away to the countryside to avoid the war.
They quickly found Professor Kirke, for they felt he could relate to them. And they felt they must explain to him why four of his coats were now missing. Together they told him of their time in Narnia, of defeating the White Witch, the many other battles they had fought, the friends they made, and the great parties they threw. Throughout it all, the Professor only smiled and seemed to grow younger as he listened to their tale of the magical land. Upon reaching the end, they apologized to him for losing his coats.
“Nonsense, your majesties.” He gave a small bow from where he sat in his chair. “I am honored that they were of use to you.”
“We could always try to go and get them back,” Lucy suggested, for such was her way to try to help those who she could, but the Professor shook his head.
“I don’t think you will be able to get to Narnia again by that route. Besides, I doubt you remember where the coats are anyways.” They smiled sheepishly at that. It had been many years since they had even thought of the coats. When winter did come to Narnia, much nicer coats were presented to them for warmth.
“Will we ever get back to Narnia?” Peter asked.
“I expect you shall,” the Professor responded. “Just when you are least expecting it. Afterall, once a king or queen in Narnia, always a king or queen in Narnia.” The four siblings exchanged worried glances. They had built a life, a kingdom, in Narnia and they had abandoned it. “For now, your majesties, I would suggest sleep. Your bodies are young once more and you have had quite the adventure today. We shall speak more in the coming days.”
“Thank you, Professor,” Peter said. “That is very wise advice. We shall retire to our chambers presently.” And in a gesture that seemed out of place in a young teenager’s body, he offered his arm to Susan and they led the other two back toward the bedrooms.

July Writing

July was catch up month. July was CampNaNoWriMo. July was also 007 Fest. It's the last one that kept me busy.

I wrote 15 stories, adding up to 27,975 words this past month. Sure it is not November, but I feel equally as exhausted. (Although this is partly because I was both a team captain and a mod for the group running it.) I challenged myself to write some things I would not have written otherwise and I am very proud of what I have come up with.

There are two stories I am particularly proud of. Misunderstandings was born of three Wordbound prompts and I finally feel like it is fairly reasonable with a decent amount of emotion.

I'm also proud of another story that is actually pseudocode format.

I am looking forward to jumping back into normal prompts, although my brain needs a couple days off from writing first.

All the Alliterations

Prompt: Make 3 writing related confessions

1. I have an unhealthy love of alliterations. There is an incredibly high chance that any chapter title, or even story title, of mine will be an alliteration and I will have been gleeful while brainstorming.

2. Whenever I can, I slip in accurate astronomy. If I mention the moon, I know darn well what phase it is in if you can see it at that height at that time of day. I will mention planets being seen, and in my scifi story, well, that one practically revolves around astronomy.

3. I unashamedly write in class. Most of the time if it looks like I am taking intense notes in class, I am probably writing a story. This could be random brainstorming, small sections of outlines, or just writing the story itself. This is usually to help me stay focused in class, I kinda need to keep my hands moving, especially if I'm tired or bored in class.

This bit of writing was completely unplanned. There was never going to be a trial, there was never going to be a visit to the dungeons, and it was not going to go darker like this. And yet, I really like what the fingers typed.

Favourite writing from this week: 

It had been dark for hours when Merlin crept down the stairs into the dungeons. Lancelot was the ranking guard and when she saw Merlin approach he sent his subordinate to do a quick check on the other end of the dungeons. With an exchange of nods, Merlin came down the stairs the rest of the way.

Lancelot expected Merlin to just walk past, but he stopped first.

“I need your opinion on how well this disguise works.” Merlin lifted a metal pendant on a cord out from under his tunic and pressed one of the markings. To Lancelot’s eyes, his friend appeared to ripple like a disturbance in a lake and then a new person stood before him. “What do you think?”

When he spoke it was slightly deeper. “Do I look like myself?”

Lancelot brought a torch from the wall closer to see better. But even with the additional light, it did not look like Merlin. He shook his head. Merlin beamed and Lancelot had to stifle a laugh. “No disguise can hide that smile though. Try not to be too happy about the interrogation.”

Merlin schooled his features again. “I won’t.” With a nod of thanks he put his hood back up and walked to the end of the row, stopping in front of the cell holding Usco. Knowing the other prison guard would likely return, he wordlessly cast a charm to erect a sound barrier. Then he waited.

It didn’t take long for the prisoner to open his eyes and see his visitor. He quickly sat up and grabbed at his waist, forgetting that his blades had been confiscated. “Who are you?”

“It matters not. What matters is that you tried to assassinate Prince Arthur.”

“So. What’s it to you?” Usco leaned back against the wall, arms folded across his chest.

“You were not working alone. Who was your contact?”

“No one.”

Merlin snapped out a word and Usco sucked in a sharp breath, his hand now cradled against his chest. He looked up at Merlin.

“That is a lie,” Merlin said. “Letters were found in your room.”

“You have magic.”

Merlin continued over his astonishment. “Even now they are being translated.”

“Why would you protect the Pendragons?”

Again Merlin paid him no mind, his voice remaining even. “It would be in your best interests to tell me who you work for before I find out the long way.”

“What can you offer me? I am going to die in the morning. I doubt you would free me.”

“In my time living in Camelot, I have seen many executions. And if I have learned one thing, it is that they are imperfect. They take a long time. You should be grateful your death is not by pyre. Those take the longest. An average of eleven minutes longer than beheading. Seven minutes longer than hanging.” He paused, letting that detailed knowledge sink in. Merlin wished he did not know the statistics. He wished he had a small data set. “You know I have magic; I can control just how long yours will last.”

Usco seemed to consider this. Merlin waited patiently. Mostly. “The next patrol will come this way in five minutes. Decide quickly. How much pain do you wish to experience?”

He stuck his chin up proudly. “You can do what you want. I want to see Camelot fall. I will do nothing to help you. Make it as painful as you wish. I will still be dead and my masters will know I haven’t betrayed them.”

“Very well then.” Merlin walked away, cloak trailing behind from his long strides.

“Have fun decoding the letters,” Usco called after him and Merlin wanted to groan. Not only were they in a rare language for these parts, but they were in code too.

The Rule of Threes

Prompt: What are your favourite writing craft books?

I don't have a lot of these to begin with. I have taken very few writing courses; I mostly just write and learn from my beta readers. But one book that  has helped me a lot is Spunk & Bite. The title itself is a play on a small silver book that is also about writing craft by Strunk and White, but this version is specifically comedy writing. Now obviously this is not what you want to pick up if you are a stand up comedian, but it is also not a book to avoid if you don't write stories where humour is your main genre.

This gift of this book is that it teaches you about what your readers are expecting and how to subvert that. The rule of threes is one I use a lot. The first two items in the list are things the reader expects, but at the third, you turn it around. To build up a little extra suspense, make your description for each of these items increase. For example: On my bookshelf I have a small plant, a ceramic bowl from the market, and my very own expandable gateway to an alternate dimension. I think I can safely say you did not see that last one coming. But if I had put that first, or even second, whatever came after it would be lost in the reader's mind. This not only catches the reader off guard, but it directs their focus.

But let's turn our focus to what I have written this week, now that the semester is done. What's that? Not much? *sigh* My muses have abandoned me, but I have skeleton plots so I am able to say that I have started my writing project for the summer. It is going to be a challenge and I am excited. Set in my own version of the BBC Merlin universe, we are beginning in Uther's reign and heading through to the Golden Age. Along the way I will be trying to write chapters that will have two timelines in each; one before the magic reveal, one afterwards. This trick will be to get each adventure to connect even if they are separated by a few years. Like I said, it will be a challenge. Here is a bit from the very beginning of the story. See if you can spot the triplet.

Favourite writing from this week: 

“Well, I wouldn’t have thought you ready to rule two years ago.”

Arthur looked over to see Merlin’s twitch of a smile.

“Even if Prince Prat has a certain ring to it.”

Arthur scowled and shoved Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin shoved him right back.

“And I suppose you want to take credit for that?” Arthur asked.

“Well it was two years ago I decided it would be a good idea to save your life and ended up as your servant. Still not sure how that is a reward. But Gwen must get some credit as well. She will make a good Queen.”

Arthur snorted. “My father would never allow that. He has tried to arrange marriages for me before but the councilors have held him off, saying I must become my own man first before being given a wife. That argument won’t last much longer. And whoever it is, the marriage will not be for love.”

“And you love Gwen.”

Arthur nodded. “Very much.”

“Well, keep faith. Keep delaying your Father until he dies. I don’t mean I am going to kill him you dunce. But no one lives forever. And once he is gone, you are the highest power in the land. You can choose your own Queen.”

“You know, Merlin?” Arthur asked. “Sometimes, you seem almost—”

“Wise? Brilliant? Like a gift of a god come to bless you and guide you?” Merlin suggested when Arthur broke off.

“Trouble.”

“What?” Merlin gasped, overplaying the hurt. “How am I trouble?”

“In many ways, but I actually was talking about that.” Arthur pointed East where a column of dust was rising in the distance. “No one ride that fast unless there is trouble.”

Merlin nodded and they both stood. “Back to the castle then.”

When Friends help you Punish your Characters

Prompt: Feature a couple of your writing friends! How do you inspire each other?

I thought I would focus on some people that have shaped my writing. Karlimir Stonewain was a user I conversed with way back on lotrfanfiction.net. They were an older writer, already retired, and I was just starting out. They edited my chapters occasionally and always left encouraging reviews. To this day I will always have this person to look back on as an example of how to encourage and support others online.

Then there is my real life friend with whom I have tried to write many stories. Although none of these have ever made it very far, she Is the one I turn to when I can't figure out where my plot is going, what things should be called, or if I need to rant about a book I read. Someday we will finish that story of ours.

Currently, I am part of a wonderful group of writers on tumblr who edit each other's work and promote each other's stories. They fill me with ideas, help me when I struggle to write in a new way, and always put a smile on my face. It is so hard to pick only a few, but the ones who are inspiring me most at the moment are Opal, Cas, Gwyllion, and Ven.

This last one has truly grown into a unique friendship. I offered to beta a story of hers, then she beta'd one of mine, and back and forth for nearly a year now. She is also the only reason my NaNoWriMo story ever got written this year and the reason it even makes sense. I love our brainstorming sessions together and the little shout outs and inside jokes we now throw in our stories for the other. This wonderful person goes by Requiem

The writing from this week is, well, not my favourite, but it is a current struggle. I am on the third draft of this and writing torture is hard. Any constructive criticism would be helpful.

Favourite writing from this week: 

She watched him pour the petrol in an increasing spiral around the room. She noticed that it was not a steady stream, it splashed a bit. Maybe that would slow down the advance of fire when they did light it. Either way, it didn’t look good for her.
Logically she knew it hadn’t been long since she sent the distress signal through her tracker. Assuming the signal made it to headquarters, they still had to identify an agent who was free, contact them, and narrow down her location. London was a big city and so wherever she was, it would take time for them to get to her.
And what could she do in the meantime? She wasn’t going to hack this for them. Did they plan on waiting here and staring at her while she stared back? She shivered. She hoped not. Already being bound to the chair in front of these men was sending her mind into spirals of dark what-if scenarios she was desperately trying to block out.
Adding the threat of fire was only adding another nightmare scenario for her brain to play with and twist. She never wanted to know what is was like to die a martyr, but now she may know what it felt like. Even if her name was never known to the outside world. All they would find were her charred remains in front of a computer. She died as she lived, she could imagine her friends saying. All her life spent in front of a computer, fighting for good, and now she would die having refused to lay a finger on the keyboard.
“I will give you one last time to accept our offer on your own terms,” Rob said when the man was finished pouring the petrol. “Will you wipe his identity for us?”
R lifted her chin high and clenched her fists in defiance. “No.” If she was going to die terrified, she would die terrified on her own terms, sticking by her own morals.
“Very well then.” Rob pulled a disposable lighter out of his pocket and lit it. Holding it up dramatically, he waited for her to suddenly change her mind, but R was decided. Without looking away from her, Rob dropped the lighter onto the line of gas.

For want of a TARDIS

Prompt: Take an author photo and write yourself a bio.

It was going to be more serious, but this week has been too serious by far. So here is the fun.




















Jennifer is on her way to becoming a professional astronomer who can make you call her Doctor even though she lacks a blue box that travels in time and space. If she had one, she might have more time to do her homework while writing, making youtube videos, and sleeping.

She also enjoys baking to forget about deadlines, swimming to forget deadlines, and pretending to be a fantasy warrior queen despite only having four crowns (okay, maybe that is more than normal) and being terrible at archery.

Favourite writing from this week: 

Stealthily, they stole down the hallway, passing a few different doors to large storage rooms. Listening to the minion in his ear, Q kept walking and lead them up to the top floor, where there was a guard. It was also another clue that this was not a professional group.

The man was dressed in business casual, leaning back in his chair, and watching something on his phone with one earbud in. Q and Casper exchanged raised eyebrows before the former shot a dart into the man’s neck. He barely had time to register surprise before losing his balance and toppling backwards. Q winced as the phone shattered on the concrete. Although, he glanced down as they walked past, serves him right for not having a case on an iphone. The door he had been in front of was the one they wanted. Even if the GPS hadn’t told them, the faint light coming from under the door indicated that something was going on inside.

Writing Mary Sues is Important

Prompt: What is something you’re embarrassed to admit you’ve written?

I tend to pretty proud of my writing. There are some stories that I hope people don't find anymore, but I can easily see that all of my writing has been slowly shaping me to be a much better writer. Is it a bit embarrassing to look back at a fic and realise that it is basically a self-insert Mary-Sue fic? Sure. Is it worse to know you did another two years later? Yes. But even looking between those two I am proud to see how much my writing has improved. And bits of the first one has still stayed with me in ways I hadn't predicted.

What I refuse to let anyone see, however, is a reflective piece on my feelings regarding my best friend. It's almost like a diary entry as I try to sort out what my heart wants and what my brain thinks is ridiculous. As I read it back today, I almost wish to obliterate it completely, delete it from my drive and never look back. Yet it remains there, hidden.

My writing this week is the beginning of a short story to celebrate some of the women in the James Bond universe.

Favourite writing from this week: 

With the sun on their backs, their toes happily buried in the sand, and big hats protecting their necks, Tracy and Kissy could not be happier. The sound of the waves gently lapping the Japanese shoreline in front of Kissy’s home relaxed them and melted away any stress better than a masseur could even with the most skilled hands.

It had been less than a year since these two met, entirely by chance, on a flight from Hong Kong to Tokyo. In the short flight, they had come to understand just how similar they were and they continued to spend time together once they landed. Once the background checks were complete, the real friendship began.

Now both of their fathers were delighted by the impending permanent alliance between the Japanese Secret Service and the Union Corse. It was an important connection to mainland Europe for Tanaka and better control of shipping for Draco.

As for the women, they were delighted that they had another female who shared their love of danger and with whom they could trade secrets of their craft. There was spycraft. And then there was female spycraft. The men knew nothing of the code in perfumes or the true skill in hiding weapons beneath a cocktail dress. They did not know how to recognise a poison by the colour of lipstick or spot a barbed braid by the way it lay on the woman’s back.

But for now, that was all pushed out of their minds. Just the sand, and the sun, and the beeping noise. They simultaneously rolled to their sides and grabbed their phones. In sync once again, they swore in their native languages. “Not again.”

Starting a blog

I have a science blog, I have a tumblr blog, and I have a youtube channel, but I never thought about doing a text based personal blog. It had never appealed to me as much. But at the end of last year, Kristina Horner, a youtuber I have been following for ages, made a video talking about wanting to write more, not just during NaNoWriMo. She started this Wordbound challenge and I think it is a good thing to take part in. Basically, she posts a prompt, and you respond within a week. So let's begin.

Prompt: What are your personal writing goals for 2017, and what does #wordbound means to you?

Writing goals:

1. Write every week. It doesn't have to be much, but getting something down on the page is a good habit to get into. 
2. Finish my NaNoWriMo novel. It's called Restoring Faith and I had a blast writing (and winning) with this story in November. But the tale is not yet fully told and this is one that I think could get published. 
3. Win NaNoWriMo 2017. I'm worried I will still be working on the previous one, but let's do this again. 
4. Publish a paper. This one is a little more career oriented, but it would be nice to have another published paper out by the end of the year. 

To me, #wordbound is a commitment to make room for writing all year round. Making it something you do every week. I've learned from doing a year of weekly youtube videos, that when you have to make something new each week, you are forced to be very creative. You have to push yourself to think outside the box and explore things you previously would have dismissed. Because now anything will do. You just need to write something. So #wordbound to me is about pushing the bounds of what I can do with my words.

So I encourage you to join us in this adventure. I will be posting some of the favourite things I write each week and sometimes a video as well. I look forward to next week.



"Real writers don't write. They write anyway. Nothing made writing easy today. I wrote anyway." - Patrick Ness