But here we are, three weeks into the school year, one physics test later (A, thank you very much), and my writing life is going better. Tomorrow is Friday, and before I go camping (I'm going camping with some people in my dorm at night), I'm going to have a write-in. I get done at 11 am, so I'm going to go to the CPL finally and get in a good 3-4 hours. It'll be good.
Last thing that inspired me? Research for my history term paper (divorce law in India), the PJO Fic Battle, and greenconverses. It's important for me right now, not necessarily to shoot for publication at breakneck speed, but continue honing my writing until I'm ready. So I'm starting a new fanfiction novel project that I'll be writing at the SAME TIME as ATRS. Alternating chapters. I consider it a good sign that I wrote 1,400 words in an hour last night. This is the result: The End of You and Me, Chapter 1.
Percy put the papers in front of him and stared at them as if he could will them to disappear. This was one problem he couldn’t fix with Riptide. This was one problem he couldn’t figure out how to fix. It pissed him off. There was nobody in the apartment, so he picked up a plastic cup and threw it at the wall. It made a loud clunk and fell to the floor intact. It left a tiny dent. He would have to pay for that. Wasn’t throwing things supposed to give people some satisfaction? He still felt as if angry little ants were crawling under his skin.
He glanced at the handful of pens in the cup on the coffee table. He couldn’t make himself go get one. If he put his signature on that bottom line, that was it. It meant he was really calling it quits. It meant everything he had worked for since he was twelve years old was a total waste.
She said something a long time ago that stuck with him, particularly right now. It seemed so ironic. They thought they could trump the statistics. They had beaten every Titan in the book, hadn’t they? It turned out beating monsters wasn’t the same thing as beating real life. Real life was harder, and real life didn’t go away after you solved one thing. You woke up every day, and you had to work at it every day.
“Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce.” She said it before they got married. “Do you think we can beat those odds?” she asked him then.
They were young and in love. Everything was easy. “Yeah,” he told her. “I promise we will.”
The stupid cuckoo clock on the wall struck six. It made the most obnoxious dings. He wanted to strike it down from its perch. “Damn it, Annabeth,” he said out loud. “Why did we have to be in the wrong half of the fifty percent?” This was one more thing she was going to hold against him. Promises could be broken, and he broke the most important one.
Monday: Girl With A Notebook
Tuesday: my assigned day
Wednesday: Sometimes Helpful Nonsense
Thursday: Somewhere Nowhere In My Kingdom
Friday: Flames and Shadows