Busy Bee

One more day before Camp NaNoWriMo and A to Z Challenge begins! Eek! This is my first time doing both, and I’m super excited. I also really hope I can keep up with everything. I already have half of my A to Z Challenge blog posts finished and ready to publish, and I’ve already written 25,000 words of my 50,000 goal for Camp NaNoWriMo, so I should be good. I was too excited about both to wait until April to actually start!

I finally came up with a name for my novel. It’s part of a series, and I’m not set on the series name yet (tentatively named The Petunia Chronicles). But the title is An Accidental Heroine, which pretty much sums up the first novel. I think the second will be named A Destined Journey, or something along those lines. I have no idea about the third yet, but I have time to figure that one out once I start writing it.

I’m having a blast working on this project. The main character, Petunia, is a lot of fun. This is a coming-of-age story, and I love seeing her come into her self as the story progresses. She’s still got a ways to go, but I’m proud of her!

I’ve included a summary of book one and an excerpt of my rough draft here:


Petunia is a hero – by accident. When she snuck out to play with a bow and arrow, she unwittingly killed a dragon wormling, saving her caravan and the nearby village from the creature. Now, everyone hails her as a hero, and she feels like a fraud. When tragedy soon strikes the village, the villagers turn to Petunia, their hero, to solve the problem. Petunia accepts the challenge, leaving town to go on her great adventure. Along the way, she encounters danger and makes friends, but most importantly, she learns what it means to truly be a hero.



Petunia felt awkward. She blamed it on her parents. If they hadn’t raised her in a caravan, traveling from place to place, maybe she would have grown to be a normal person. Instead, she was a socially awkward seventeen-year-old who was more comfortable with trees and flowers than with other humans.
She sighed, smoothing her skirt with her hands. The dress was pretty, she had to admit. The ladies of the village had whipped it together at the last minute but had put all the love and care they had into the piece. The dress was green, her favorite color, and set off her red hair, green eyes, and pale skin. It had a wide neck, nearly off her shoulders, and laced up the bodice. The sleeves fell forward, long, the ends belling. It was made of a fine fabric, not the usual rough cotton or wool that she wore but a soft, light wool. The town was renowned for its fine wool, after all. Her hair was down, falling in waves about her shoulders, and she wore a crown of flowers in her hair. She felt pretty. She must have looked pretty, too, for the village lads kept trying to talk to her.
She sighed again. Maybe she could slip out without anyone noticing.
“Behold, the hero of Flemington!” came a sudden exclamation.
Or not, she thought.
“Pe-tun-ia! Pe-tun-ia!” came chants around her. She grimaced, gave what she thought was a smile, and waved her hand at those around her.
“She, the dragonslayer, who slew the great beast and saved our lands! She of great courage and skill! She of untold might and glory!” The crier’s voice resounded throughout the square.
Good grief. When would this end.
Two young girls walked up to a covered mound in the middle of the town square.
“To Petunia!” The crier exclaimed. And with that, the girls slid the fabric off the mound, revealing a wooden statue of a slight female figure, bow drawn and extending toward the sky. Petunia’s face fell slack as those around her cheered. She caught sight of her parent’s faces, pride suffusing their smiles. Inwardly, she sighed, cupping her hand and waving all around.

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