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Camp NaNoWriMo

Camp NaNoWriMo NaNoWriMo Writing

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#1 KatieCakes


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Posted 23 June 2013 - 08:39 AM

Is anyone planning to do Camp NaNoWriMo this July? I'm going to be entering it for the first time this year and i'm really looking forward to it, even though it's going to be quite difficult because I have a lot going on during July!



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#2 Querida_Girl19


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Posted 24 June 2013 - 10:18 PM

Hey! I did Nanowrimo in November and this is my first time doing Camp Nano too! Summer is always pretty busy but you can do it! I'm excited too!  :mgwave:

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#3 Meg_Rulz


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Posted 26 June 2013 - 04:30 AM

Hey! [I know I sound stupid but I am super curious!]

Can you tell me something about NaNoWriMo? Is open to only US citizens?

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#4 admin_ann


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Posted 27 June 2013 - 10:14 AM

Hi Everyone,


Camp NaNoWriMo is underway! Let's join the fun. If you are writing a novel and want to get extra support from forum members, post exerpts from your novel-in-progress of no more than 1,000 words.


In a few weeks, we'll vote for the best excerpts and the winners will receive a free, autographed Meg Cabot book! Just reply to this thread with your excerpt and your comments. Meg will drop in to this thread from time to time with advice for writers!


Happy novel writing!

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#5 administrator


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Posted 27 June 2013 - 10:34 AM

Meg_Rulz, its open to all countries.
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#6 Meg_Rulz


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Posted 28 June 2013 - 04:35 AM

Oh! Thanks!

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#7 Journocat


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Posted 29 June 2013 - 11:44 AM

All kids have imaginary friends.


And it’s not hard to see why. Being a kid can be tough. Your brain isn’t fully functional, and like Ms. Harvey says in AP Psychology, it isn’t able to process why something has happened, and how it won’t be the end of your world.


Which is why I found myself sobbing in the sandcastle in our backyard over a missing Matchbox car. It wasn’t even mine; it was Jimmy Benson’s. I had taken it from his room in the house across the street because he told me girls weren’t allowed to drive. This was impossible – our mom drove us to playcare every other Tuesday – so he pushed me, causing me to trip over a box of Matchbox cars and send their little wheels spinning across the room. Jimmy was so flummoxed that he didn’t notice that I snatched up his bright yellow Ferrari, put it in the pocket of my jean jumper, and took it home as punishment.


I may have been five, but it didn’t make me any less devious.


When I returned to the sandbox after lunch, I just couldn’t find the stupid yellow car amongst the pale sand. Jimmy had pushed me and bruised the backs of my knees for telling him he was wrong about girls driving; what would he do to me when I found out I stole his fake model of the most expensive real car he owned?


I didn’t say I was reasonable, I said I was five.


I had all but given up hope, grabbing two fistfuls of sand to throw back down on the ground, which resulted in a dust cloud that went up my nose and into my eyes and mouth. I was coughing and crying and sneezing when I heard the gentle reassurance of an adult voice.


“Hey, hey. What’s all this, huh?”


A woman was suddenly next to the sandbox, bent over so her hands were on her knees and she was closer to my height.


“Why’re you crying?”


I stopped coughing and my eyes, still crusted with sand, opened wide. I had never seen this lady before, and my mommy had told me never to talk to strangers. Strangers could be dangerous, and they could snap you up into their clutches and you’d never be seen again. My mom watched a lot of “Dateline.”


My dad took a different approach. “You listen to me,” he’d say. “Whatever any stranger says they’ll give you if you go away with them, I’ll give you two.”


“Two?” I’d say, sort of hoping someone would think about kidnapping me. “What about a puppy?”


“Two puppies.”


“What about a HOUSE?!”

“TWO HOUSES!” He would scoop me up and twirl me around in the air while I laughed and my mom shrieked in the background, “She’s going to knock over a lamp!”


I didn’t know what this lady was going to offer me, but I figured I should hear her pitch, if my dad planned on making good on his promise.


“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”


If I was going to get two My Little Ponies, I had to give her something.


“Jimmy’s car is gone,” I murmured. “Jimmy’s car is gone, and I’m dead meat.”


She laughed, not at me, but like she knew that was the trouble all along. She had grey eyes and brown hair, like me. But hers was chestnut, where mine was a soft, light brown. “Well, you’re not Jimmy. Don’t you think it’s wrong to take other people’s belongings?”


I stuck out my bottom lip. “Not if they deserve it.”


She laughed again. “You’re right, Jimmy probably deserved it. But just in case he apologizes,” she reached into the crevice below the sandbox, “You should give his car back to him.” In her hand was the little yellow Ferrari.


“Oh!” UNDER the sandbox! Of course! Why was I only looking in the few square feet around me. “Thank you, thank you!” I knew I wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers, much less hug them, but I threw my arms her neck and squeezed.


She laughed, but briefly, as I was cutting off her windpipe. “Sure. Everything will turn out all right, Marley. It always will. I promise.”


I let go and leaned back so I could look her in the face. “Only my daddy calls me Marley.”


“I know.”


“Marlena, who are you talking to?” My mother had opened the sliding back door and called out to me from the kitchen.


Was she stupid? I was talking to the woman, the one behind –


But she was gone.


I looked left and right, than scrambled up to look behind me. “I was … she was …”


My mother shook her head and dusted her hands off on a dish rag she was holding. “Cover the sandbox and come inside. It’s going to rain, and it will be time for dinner soon.”


A plump raindrop hit my ear to repeat my mother’s warning, so I grabbed the light plastic lid from the grass and slid it onto the sand to keep it dry. I looked around the yard one more time, just to make sure the lady was really gone, and not just hiding behind a bush or under the deck. Rain drops turned into drizzle, and drizzle into rain.




I skipped to the front door, shedding my shoes on the floor mat before stepping on the linoleum kitchen floor.


My mother shook her head. “Kids and their imaginary friends.”


But the lady wasn’t imaginary. I had seen her. I had touched her. She had found Jimmy’s car, which I felt in my pocket. And she had told me everything was going to be all right.


Which I didn’t need to be older than five to know was very, very wrong.

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#8 Querida_Girl19


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Posted 13 July 2013 - 03:02 PM

A lot goes through your head when there’s a very large, very sharp knife pointing right towards your jugular.


Usually I’m supposed to be very controlled in a situation like this, but when there’s a man dressed in black pinning you to the ground and trying to kill you, it’s a bit difficult to stay controlled.


My head is pounding not just from the stress but as a side effect of the Simulation gas. It’s the only hint that tells me that I’m under a Simulation. Everything around me seems so real, I seem so real, that I can’t imagine that the man in front of me is just a figment of my imagination. Or a figment of a machine, honestly.


It is not uncommon to remember that you are in a Simulation when you are in one. It has happened to me before. But most of my mentors consider it a disadvantage. It reminds you that if you fail in the Simulation, you die in real life, too. You might not die the same way you die in the Simulation, but there’s still a death sentence on your head. Survivors like me aren’t supposed to fail Simulations. We’re supposed to survive them.


I must fight, and I must win. I must kill this man to win.


My hands shake under the weight of the man, but I’m still holding the knife at bay. It makes him seem a bit pathetic. I’m pretty strong for an eighteen year old girl.


But not strong enough.


Some people say that before they die, their whole life plays out in front of them. That doesn’t happen to me. Instead, I get little snippets—moments that are happening now; people who are waiting for me outside of the Simulation—all running through my mind like a grocery list. Rex, in the Wasteland. Alyssa, waiting for me to return home from the Simulation. Today is my eighteenth birthday.


To get a better grip, the man straddles me, but what he does not realize is that it is the worst place for him to be. He is so focused on shoving the knife into my throat that he doesn’t notice my leg shift from under him. My right knee aims perfectly at the center of his groin.


I could do it. I could stop him.


I hesitate even though my muscles are burning. A part of me wants to fail. To finally be released from this world and not have to worry about my obligations to work and to become a Watcher and to even take care of Lyssa all on my own. If I failed my Simulation, I’d be exiled to the Wasteland just like Rex, spending the last few weeks of my life slowly deteriorating from the disease. It feels like the weight is on my shoulders, and the thought of being free and on my own terms is a temptation, even though the disease would infect me and I would die shortly after.


But those people outside the Wasteland who seem to be unaffected… Could one of them be Rex?


I picture Alyssa. Rex’s little sister. Her brother failed his Simulation, and now he’s gone, and she’s waiting for me. Waiting for me to come home. Needing me to come home.


I want to fight back. I want to kill this man. But most of all I want to whisper, “I’m sorry, Alyssa.” Because I cannot fight back.


I look back up at the man, and with a sigh that is almost relaxing I release my arms that bar the knife from me. I stare up at the ceiling, but in my head I see Alyssa and Rex.


He does not wait a second.


The knife sails down. Cold metal. Spurts of blood.


It feels so real.


And then, nothing.




My eyes burst open as I gasp in mouthfuls and mouthfuls of oxygen. I am amazed to find myself here, back in the capsule in the Haven. It had felt so real in the Simulation. All of it had.


My body is surging with energy. I stare at the glass encased above me and suddenly I want out. I want to run a mile. I want to feel the blood flowing through my veins again, not slowly spilling out, seeping from a gash carved into my neck like sharp grin.


The Watcher, the same Watcher that was in my room before the Simulation, appears over the glass above me. He does not let me out. Instead, he presses the button that releases gas into my chamber.


This is the end.


I don’t cry. Instead I scream Alyssa’s name inside my enclosed cot, so loud that I wouldn’t be surprised if I cracked the glass. No one from the outside can hear me. The Watcher doesn’t even seem to notice, as if he gets this reaction all the time. Maybe he does.


I scream again and pound on the glass until I can’t focus anymore and the gas clogs my lungs like plumes of fire smoke.

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