Buh...

Well, it's getting late-ish, so I thought that to save time I would just post part of my NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) story. Now due to the problems of Blogger and its posting issues, this might mess up. Well here goes nothing! Imagine a huge lightbulb explosion if this messes up...
The lost tales of SilverCreek--- Grobble ran down the old cobble stone road, panting and heaving as he hurried to get home. He had about four more miles to run, and he had to get there soon if he was going to make it to the festival on time. The festival only came once a decade, and if you missed it, you probably would never see anything like it again. There were magic performances, acrobats, and insane tales told by bards about their journeys away from home. Grobble loved hearing these stories ever since he was a tiny child, and, in turn, the bards loved to tell their stories and sing their wondrous ballads as the music from their mouths and their words played into Grobble’s ears. And all of the food! All of the sweet-smelling aromas that would dance around anyone’s nose in exciting, scrumptious swirls of heat. Pies would come fresh out of the oven, freshly picked fruit would lie in baskets, and top quality fish would lay out on tables that were caught in the morning hours before.
Grobble ran past an old and cracked sign post. He struggled to read what it said, as time had worn it away. However Grobble realized that it was simply a sign to his village and that he would soon come to the lake. Passing farmer’s golden wheat fields, flowing meadows, dense forests and shining orchards, he finally reached the lake. Twilight began to dance on the long grass that would dance in the wind, and he knew there would not be enough time to go around the lake. So he plunged into the sparkling water.
Grobble’s long hair was like strands of seaweed, flowing each way through the clear blue water. Grobble punched and kicked for as long as he could until he felt his lungs were about to pop. He rose, but only for a moment, then sunk and swam to the end of the lake. It was late fall so when he splashed out of the water, he felt the cold of the crisp air sting his entire body. He was now so close to the village, and people were coming and going as the night went on. He bumped into people, knocked some down, and even jumped out of the way for a few very fast moving characters.
He past the stone arch that read IceMill and went past the thick, iron gate that was made by a signature blacksmith. Compared to the rest of the town, the gate was a beautiful beast, protecting the poor villagers from the monstrosities that lurk behind its walls. He nodded to the guards as he passed and he stared at their tired faces. They had obviously not had enough rest, and the festival attracts two kinds of people, well three if you count the goblins, Demons, and other strange beasts that easily get pushed out of town.
So until next time, in which, I will probably give you actual stuff, this is Dylan (no qoutes this week) Waters.