Day 2, am. 3150 total words. 1,123 words this morning

This plan of trying to hit a thousand words in the morning and a thousand more in the evening is working well so far. I am writing roughly 900 words per hour, and am not stressed about it.

Now, I have re-read some of what I wrote, and it is ponderous prose indeed, in some places. Not very good. Some is really bad. But then, this whole endeavour is really about getting a first draft done in a month. Leastways, that's how I'm looking at it. I see no way for it to be a finished product.

I have to continue to just forge ahead. The only concession I am making regarding editing what I have wrote is to add in information to earlier parts of the story, if the story development requires. Which is OK because that just adds to the word count ;-)

This mornings excerpt:

He rolled back over to ask Moa’qi his question, and was startled to find himself soaked in the heavy morning dew. His Master was sitting across from him, as if he had never moved, and appeared positively amused. Sylk sat up and looked around. Brushing off the heavy dew, he looked about, a tad disoriented. It was day, and he was refreshed and relaxed. The question he meant to ask was forgotten. Instead he just looked at Moa’qi.

“You have had the benefit of your first true sleep. How does it feel?”

Sylk took inventory. “Remarkable!” He paused, “What happened?”

“Sleep is little understood. Did you know that physically you can almost go forever? The muscles will recover with 10 or 15 minutes of rest. The mind must sleep. There are theories, but no one truly knows why.”

Sylk considered this. “But, this was different. I rolled over, thought of something to ask, and rolled back over. I have no sense of time passing. None. Yet, either the laws of the universe have changed, or several hours passed. Always before I knew I had been asleep. How can this happen?”

“Who knows the purpose of sleep? Who knows the mechanics? Sleep is sleep, no?”

“Before today, I would have agreed. Today, I don’t agree. My senses tell me that you are speaking a fallacy.”

Moa’qi had a mischievous look. “What, those senses that fail you now?”

Now Sylk began to get irritated. “Did you drug me?”

“Do you sense that you are drugged?”

“You just mocked my senses. What can I rely on to answer your question? What else can I do but attempt to find an answer through inquiry?”

Moa’qi smiled beatifically and said no more. Instead, he began to prepare light morning fare. He was content with the progress of his apprentice. Months of ground had been covered in just a few short hours. Now it was time to pace his learning, allowing his synapses to grow the necessary new connections. Sylk would need some fats and proteins, and sleep would take him again. They must break camp, and prepare to return to the village. But first, there would be a delay, and a detour. He had decided to augment and expand the trial.

Sylk was mildly irritated by the abrupt halt in conversation, but recognized that his Master was done for the moment. He rose, lithe and comfortable. He considered for a moment the lack of any stiffness, the lack of normal early morning lethargy. Reveling in his sense of relaxed health, he focused on the breaking of camp. As apprentice, it was his job to drain the dew gatherers into the water skins. He went to the first rounded bowl, and wondered again what it was made of. There was nothing else in his village that was remotely similar. These glossy smooth grey vessels were smooth and utterly slippery. While the daily morning dew would always precipitate and cling to everything around, it just slipped down the side of these bowls. He watched with some fascination as he poured the water into the skins. The water acted like it was one solid amorphous mass, seemingly inseparable. If anyone in the tribe new the secret construction techniques used in making these bowls, it had never been discussed around Sylk.

That's all for now. See ya this evening! fb