- Addison Horner
- Posts
- 🖊️ Day 3 Of The Great Writing Sprint
Listen.
I’ve spent years battling the insecure notion that writing is not worth doing.
I tried to measure my time in financial returns and tangible benefits.
This week, I’ve just been writing. And it feels so good.
Let’s go to the scoreboard.
How It’s Going
As you can see, my plan is working a little too well.
We’ve gained six new subscribers (thank you so much for joining us!), which brings the word count goal to 11.5k. But given that I’ve written over 11k words in the past two days, I’ll surpass that goal before breakfast today.
If you want to bring equal parts joy and sorrow into my life, here’s something you can do: share the below article with someone who reads fantasy.
My wonderful friends on Vocal have been a huge encouragement over the last year of my writing journey. This article describes why I’m doing this and why people should join.
As for the actual writing…
Yesterday I wrote chapters 5 and 6 of SPOOKY SEQUEL. Chapter 5 is a meeting. Chapter 6 is a battle, and it may be the bloodiest thing I’ve ever written.
Sneak Peeks
The fourth guard offered her a formal nod and a wave to follow him. He’s young for a soldier, barely twenty if Safran has to guess.
“Hey,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
The younger guard turns back to face her; his companion stiffens as if he’s heard a ghost.
“Yes, Protector?” the younger guard says.
“Who died?”
“Pardon?”
Safran swallows. “You, uh, lost someone. Someone close to you. Who was it?”
The guard’s mouth hangs open for a moment. Through the silence, the soldiers’ matching footsteps send dull echoes up the stairwell’s narrow confines.
“My baby sister,” he says. He looks away before Safran can ask anything else.
Well, small talk was never her strong suit.
“Where is the Tablet, Father?” Tarrol asks.
Tun shakes his head. “They can’t find it. It’s too well hidden. We need to flush these monsters from our Temple.”
He keeps shaking his head even as Tarrol grabs the front of his robe and lifts him off the ground with one hand.
“Father,” Tarrol says, his smoke-filled eyes glaring into Tun’s, “only one person can stop these demons from taking your Tablet.” To Safran’s surprise, Tarrol points directly at her. “And she’s with us. You will bring us to the Tablet now.”
Tun’s head changes course, bobbing up and down as if on a spring. “Of course, Captain. Of course.” When Tarrol sets him down, Tun wraps his hood around his nose and mouth to ward off the smoke, then leads them down the leftmost corridor.
More glass. More smoke. More corpses. Even as Safran’s head grows woozy with the scent of death, she feels her emotions shutting down, numbing the pain of so much destruction.
What is she doing? She’s not a soldier. She’s a thief. She doesn’t belong on a battlefield.
Safran grips her sword more tightly, carrying on. No time for doubts. This is a time for action.
Follow the Journey
I’m posting snippets about the Great Writing Sprint on Instagram – you can follow along. @addisonhornerauthor
I’m also writing a follow-up article about the sprint on Vocal. To read short stories, articles, and more, you can follow my writing:
