Several Months And Four Novels Later ...

"Hi, Spook." Del hardly looked up, lost as she was in a fantasy world as she wrestled with disobedient words which really did not want to stay put as she attempted to put them down on paper. It was November - enough said for anybody in the know, but the uninitiated might have needed a reminder of the fact that it was National Novel Writing Month. Spook plopped down beside her, pulling out a notebook.

"Hi, Del."

Delorfinde looked at the notebook, then down at her own. She looked up at Spook. "Yours is bigger than mine," she said.

"Let's not go there, shall we?" said Spook, commencing the day's writing. She had managed to scrawl down a page or two during her lessons that morning, but Del was already over twenty thousand words ahead and she was determined to finish as soon as possible, to get that coveted green bar on her profile.

"I've reached 56,000 words," muttered Del.

"No need to show off," Spook remarked, looking at her with playful hatred in her eyes. "Some of us are just about to hit thirty k."

"That's not what I mean. This character is supposed to be king! Why isn't he king yet? I've passed the target for the whole month yet he's still not the fecking king!"

"All right, all right!" exclaimed Spook, looking at Del in alarm. For her to use language, even if it wasn't really a swear word, things had to be pretty bad. "Calm down, I'm sure it's not as bad as you think. I thought you were aiming for around a hundred and twenty thousand, anyway?"

"I know, but it's just so annoying ... I want his dad to die already." She frowned. "Stop distracting me. I'm trying to write."

The End

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