Hello everyone, this is daylightmoon with an update:
I've reached 20,000 words on my first draft (!!). [21,240 words to be precise]
However, I've come to realize that 20k words barely scratch the surface of this story. I'm not even halfway through, so I haven't finished it yet. The estimated word count is now around 40-50k, possibly more, especially since I plan this to be a novel.
As mentioned before, my initial 20k "vomit draft" isn't fit for publication yet—reading it would be a horror in itself.
That said, this draft has the potential to become a full-fledged book. Who knows, I might publish the polished version on Inkstone. It won't be perfect, but having a live audience will help me improve my writing.
Thanks for joining me in this journey and hyping me up because I would've never reached where I am without your support.
Here is a little sneak peek:
"We all miss her," Dad interjected, gulping, not making any eye contact.
"There's nothing you could've done that would change the outcome. I'm sorry I got you here, I know you hate it." Mom's voice quivered.
I didn't say anything, and no words were exchanged between us after that.
"I fucking hate it here, but I would be miserable in the streets." I joked, and Dad grimaced. Normally, he would be the one lightening up the mood, but it turns out we all do bad with grief.
"I called grandma." I continued. Mom looked up, confused and curious. Her eyes widened. Dad's hands dropped to his hips.
"She said 'It's starting', whatever it is, and told us not to let any strangers in, and lock the door if we see or hear anything weird or out of the ordinary, especially at night. If we see anything outside the house, do not make any contact or engage with it." I explained.
My mom's face went a bit pale.
"Oh god, what have we gotten ourselves into…" mom sobbed.
"We should get out of here." She cried.
"And go where?" my dad asked. Nobody had any answers. We had nowhere to go other than this house.