Here's an explanation.
Anything I write is for Nanowrimo and I can't seem to come up with anything good and worthwhile for this blog until I am done writing 50K words for that.
So for lack of a good post...here's an excerpt from my novel.
EXCERPT 1:
I sit in the dark, cold, damp, musty, room. Probably a basement or a cellar. There are no windows, only this candle of 3 that I am allowed. My eyes are used to the dark, and if I look at the candle flame for more than 5 seconds, I swear I'll become blind. I've been here for a week now. I don't know what day it is, or if it even is day. Maybe it's night and I have become nocturnal. I haven't a clue. All I know is that I keep quiet, and I sleep a lot. Except I can't sleep anymore, the dreams are only nightmares and horror stories being written in my messed up head. I don't believe there is any chance of survival. So I write. I write in my notebook they left in my bag. I write because I don't know what to do. I write because I don't know who I am. I write because I don't know where I am.
EXCERPT 2:
I'm freezing. I pull my knees to my chest and shiver. Footsteps sound above me. I haven't seen another soul in a long, long time. I don't know what to do with myself. I don't know why I'm here. I don't know anything anymore. What if I'm going insane?
Ben's voice echoes in my head. I hate it.
I want to go home. I don't even know where home is.
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