Tag: writer

NaNoWriMo23: End of Week Two

Alina H. Hansen Writer & Poet

It’s a cold, crisp Sunday morning. There is a reassuring calm to the quiet streets even though APEC starts soon.

Dry, crunchy leaves litter the sidewalk. My Boston Terrier stops to sniff a lamp post.

The sky is a vibrant blue, speckled with cream-colored clouds, providing a pleasing stark contrast to the looming buildings downtown.

It’s the end of week two of NaNoWriMo23 and I haven’t made much progress. I’ve done enough thinking about my book but had little time to write another chapter this week.

At the minimum, I’ve been completing more of my daily writing goal (minimum 3k words) either in the morning before I leave for work or after I get home. This is helping me stretch my writing legs for the weekend when I do the majority of my writing.

Today, my goal is to write a chapter, researching freelance opportunities, and will probably sneak in some time to play Hogwarts Legacy (finished Herodiana’s Puzzles yesterday).

How’s your writing progress going for NaNoWriMo23? Leave a comment, or you can find me at NaNoWriMo.

What else have I been up to? Going to Lori’s Diner, seeing What Happens Later, and racing to finish No Time to Spare.

Here’s to another week! Thank you for reading.

Creature in the Forest (Part 6)

Alina H. Hansen Writer & Poet

I’m hungry.

The men have been scouring the woods for five days. I’ve stayed hidden, climbing up into the trees when needed. They stink and their clothes and boots are loud when they move.

I watch them, trying not to breath, they are ruining my forest. They have scared all the other animals away while they look for that man wedged in the rocks.

I think about leading them to him, I think about eating them, but both ideas make my stomach turn.

I want them to leave so I don’t have to flee to the north where it is so cold and there isn’t as much food. I don’t want to have to sleep for years again when the weather is bad.

I will wait.

Creature in the Forest (Part 5)

Alina H. Hansen Writer & Poet

-8 Months Later-

I’m drinking from the belly of a doe I just tore up. I like chewing on the fleshy parts just underneath the fur, it is elastic and keeps me preoccupied. The aroma of blood, the dissipating essence of death has already left her.

In the distance, I hear a growl. Not from an animal but something else. Something I had forgotten. There is a grinding and a roar, it’s getting closer.

I rip some meat off the doe’s thigh and run toward my shelter about a mile away.

It’s trucks.

A whopping sound above belonging to a bulbous metal thing, the blades spin in a circle, keeping it afloat. Helicopter, that’s right. They had those in the city.

The men used them to hunt for other men.

They must be looking for the body I left in the boulders. I had forgotten all about it.

Creature in the Forest (Part 4)

Alina H. Hansen Writer & Poet

I picked up his body and hauled him deeper into the woods. I can smell his blood still, it’s left a trail I’m sure the cougar and maybe a wandering bear will pick it up soon.

I threw him in between the crevices along the jagged boulders that line the river heading north where there is snow year-round, where there aren’t any men, no humans up there. It will take a while before he is picked clean by the things that live in the rocks but it is a good place for him.

If anyone comes looking for him, it will be difficult to get him out, whatever is left. Giving me time to flee if needed even though I don’t want to leave my home. The forest has been my home for so many seasons, I’ve forgotten how many.

When did I first wander up here?

Creature in the Forest (Part 3)

Alina H. Hansen Writer & Poet

A shot rang out in the forest. The hunter tripped and fell onto my path, the one that the animals dare not tread. His head snapped up, eyes met mine, and he screamed. The horrible sound. I had to snuff it out.

Like a flame, I grabbed his neck, squeezed, and snapped his brittle bones. Head lolling to the side, I had forgotten that there are men out there in the world that they parade around the streets talking into mechanical devices demanding things from one another. They are filled with poison, I can tell by the way he smells like gasoline, like the chemicals they create that made me sick to my stomach and made me trek out here to live and hunt alone. I can’t stand these things.