I'm so excited about my NaNo experience this year! I've never found it easier to write, and I'm currently sitting on 14,712 words, which is 59 pages in mass-produced paperback style, and before midnight ticked over was 1,300 words ahead of schedule. Here is a segment I wrote yesterday:
Evander trotted to the right desk and cleared his throat. The devil there kept up his typing without a glance over at him.
“Hi, I hear you have dibs on Brentley Whitcomb's heart?”
The devil turned abruptly, eying him up and down. “Yes.”
“I would like to make a trade for you getting it sooner rather than later.”
“What did you want in return?”
“I would like to borrow your power for,” he glanced at his watch, “Four days, eleven hours, twenty minutes, and two seconds. It will save you years of waiting for him to keel over.”
Izikial, humorously named after Ezekiel in an effort to say he was icky, knew very well that it would take him much longer than Evander anticipated for Whitcomb to die, and he very well may possibly never have the opportunity to eat his heart, since Whitcomb was planning to make himself a lich. He'd actually prepared a phylactery to receive his power, so that when he was killed he would stay alive, though now undead, which he was planning on activating whenever he got a powerful enough soul to make the transfer. Once that was done, the phylactery would have to be destroyed for his heart to be the container of his power again, and if he were a lich too long his heart would decay, and Izikiel would have nothing to absorb from him. You couldn't eat a phylactery, after all.
So Izikiel tried to think of a way to say yes without sounding eager about it. He decided to say, “When would I get the heart?” to give himself some more time.
“By the time you get your power back,” Evander said, glaring at Kalara in his mind's eye and saying So get to it.
“I suppose that is a good deal less time to wait,” Izikial said, rubbing his chin and trying to sound ponderous. “Alright, I'll take you up on that offer.”
Both of them gave themselves a mental high-five, keeping their faces blank.