NaNo 0008 – The Twenty-Ninth

Previous NaNoPosts: The 6th, 9th, 12th, 14th, 18th, 22nd, 26th.

Title: Stolen Control

Final Word Count: 101,243 words.

Words Written Since Last Post: ~4000 words.

What I’m Working On: Concluding reflections, Preparing for Print.

Favorite Lines:


A bay of resentment, toxic sludge pours out over the breakwaters of sickening teal belching across a shimmering aquamarine. It shimmered, only at this part of the water, for once they crossed the narrow bridge of crystalline aqua, the oceanfloor descended too deep to be seen and the water turned inky, desaturated of any color. Instead of reflecting, it seemed to absorb the surrounding atmosphere ruthlessly. No one seemed willing to look down and keep their gaze on the murky waters. There was no doubt that large and fearsome things lurked underneath. In the far distance, on the horizon, the coastline of Sulyorh could be seen.


Words Left to Write: ~60,000

I’ve gone and done it. Reached my goal of 60k and now…….. what?

Well, it is difficult for me because of the conflicts around Ferguson. I don’t like the political sphere for a number of reasons, but I like to stay aware of actual movement, progression, change and generation. The events of Ferguson have brought forth an immense awareness of protection-inequality and systematic oppression of black people in the USA, especially for privileged youth that might have otherwise remained blind about such matters, like many parents and grandparents have for decades.

Now, I’ve precisely known about this particular systematic oppression since 2010. I knew about it vaguely since 2006. Black citizens are constantly in danger of law enforcement. Things like Mike Brown’s murder have been happening for decades, on a continual basis. Each time it is a tragedy, each time it is another break in the collective heart.

Even though I only have a tiny glimpse towards the macro-scale horror or the micro-scale terror of the current systematic oppressions that exist, when I survey events like Ferguson… I become angry. Furious, in fact. And that anger gets built upon by apologists who creep out of the woodworks, people that have never cared about such events before, but pretend they care for the reactionary reason of shutting other people up so they can continue to avoid reality. It bothers me a lot and I am an extremely privileged white female. Sure, I am queer and poor, but I can pass in a crowd if I need to… black americans don’t have that option. They can’t slip into a crowd for their own safety.

That angers me too. And if it angers me? I can barely imagine what it must be like to be born into that fear, to grow and live in it, surrounded by apologists, racists, and a system that just doesn’t care.

But there’s also many ways to attempt to fix it… if a solution can actually manage to be implemented without being shredded to bits and pieces by traditionalists (liberals and conservatives alike). Solutions like police accountability measures would be a start.

The american law enforcement is in a bad way, it needs reform yesterday; so the sooner we get on it, the better. Ideas like outfitting every law enforcement badge with a camera or similar technologies, where instead of becoming a He Said-She Said event in which superior officers can protect corruption, there will always be direct film from the officer’s perspective to accompany it. Or even taking on resembling countries like the UK, where guns can’t be carried by officers. But maybe it is too late for sensible measures like that…

And so, within all this frustration, it is difficult for me to justify being a fiction writer in these times. Of course, I can justify it, but that doesn’t make me feel any better about the situation of the world, our nation, and the people living in it. Did you know that on Tuesday, a friend of a key witness of the Ferguson trial was shot in the head, burned and left in a car outside the same apartment complex where Mike Brown was shot multiple times in daylight… He was 20, two years older than Brown. Nearly five years younger than me…

I cry. Because these young men are boys in my eyes, they’re untapped potential – just like those who rot in prison because of our system. They’re people too and they could become something, if we could just allow for it. Who knows, maybe a black-empowered society would have even more technological advances? Sure, sure, don’t generalize…. but isn’t it all generalization? The reason why there are so many POCs behind bars is because of generalization.

So, I slightly understand the anger. I nearly comprehend the sorrow. And I realize the love that brews beneath, driving conversations and protests to be had – even through the chaotic mess that is political dialogue. For in order to have hate, there must be love. Even the KKK loves greatly, which is why they hate greatly – they love White Power, they love the White System, and those who choose such a side will fight to their dying breath for it… why wouldn’t it be the same for the opposing side?

And in all of that, I think to myself… why write?

Why…. Write?

Is published-writing not one of the most privileged activities? Especially novels, especially things that require back-ups, printing, drafts, time, so much time. I write because I feel like I have to, I enjoy it, but what drives me is an indescribable purpose….. but being indescribable means that I’m at a lack for Why under the shadow of the World.

And if my writing is not “good enough” under that purpose? Then what? What if I can not execute my concepts with strength and power? What if it will all be for nothing?
Which furthers the conversation into a nihilistic sense because well, everything is for nothing. We ascribe meaning to our own lives and the world will keep turning regardless.

At least I’m alive to think about it, though.

I also know that this reality has been going for a long time like I said, and I still followed the path to get to where I am right now – with a 101k manuscript of pure fantasy and a number of other ideas yet to be written. If I can do anything as an individual in this life and time, it will be living free with my thoughts and beliefs on the tip of my tongue, ready to be spoken… because we don’t live in a Kingdom or a Policedom, but in a Freedom – FREEdom.



The post about diction might show up in december, as it is partially complete, but it might not…

Peace. ☮ ✌

Dominika (November 29)