NaNoWriMo: Confession Time

I'm closing in on the 35,000 word mark, but I'm still about 5000 words behind on the suggested daily word count.
My confession is that I'm a little worried I won't finish this year. I know I felt the same last year, but I'm starting to lose a bit of steam. I actually do still have a few plot points left to hit, but the whole thing is very fatiguing.
Tomorrow I'm just going to have to lock myself in my room with a pot of coffee.
Perhaps part of it is now that I am getting near the climax, I'm realizing some holes in my plot and thinking about things I'll have to fix or change. Curse you inner editor. I did have fun writing this passage last night. It's very silly and slightly inspired by Sherlock, but here it is:

“So…” she began hesitantly, trying to introduce a pleasanter subject, “Chris called me. We’re going out this weekend.”
Sabrina’s eyes flickered up to meet hers, “I take it this is social?” she asked.
“Well yeah, it’s called a date, I’m sure you’ve heard of it,” Jackie told her.
“Heard of it, yes, of course. Fine. I hope you have a good time. Tell me if he says anything about the case,” Sabrina requested.
“He won’t talk about the case, it’s a date. I’m not going out with him to spy,” Jackie explained as if to a child.
“Yes, I understand that’s not the sole purpose- it can be a secondary benefit. Besides he might say something that doesn’t seem important but could be significant. In fact, perhaps you should just tell me everything he says so I can judge for myself,” said Sabrina.
“I won’t remember everything he says,” Jackie said, slightly appalled.
“Oh,” Sabrina said as if that was incomprehensible, “You won’t?”
“No,” Jackie replied firmly.
“Then maybe I should come along,” she said with a serious tone.
“Absolutely not,” Jackie insisted.
“Could you perhaps record it then and make a transcript for me? You could omit anything too personal or that would seem like a violation,” she continued.
“The whole thing seems like a violation,” Jackie scolded her.
Jackie marveled at the fact that Sabrina seemed to be pouting, “Look, if he says anything important, I’ll write it down on a napkin or something, okay?” she said.

Hey, that's the first NaNo excerpt I think I've ever shared. I'm still trying to think of a better name for the character currently called "Sabrina". I've been thinking of alternatives and visiting baby name sites. Back to the book.

New Short Story: "Target Girl"

I wrote a new short story last night, I have no idea where it came from. It's very short as all my short stories are, about 800 words. It's about a knife thrower's assistant. It's called "Target Girl". Obviously, it's very new and needs some editing, but I like it.
Most of my short stories are more like a quick scene or two that show a glimpse of a relationship or a situation and imply the back story. Sometimes I am irritatingly ambiguous (apparently)and I am quite obsessed with backstory. So, in this go round the short fiction carousel, I tried to make the front story just as interesting and active as the back story that is hinted at, and I make my ending more definative and less disputable.
Perhaps it's because as a reader I enjoy stories that leave a lot open to interpretation and are less literal that I usually write like that. Sometimes it seems to piss people off. I took a "Sudden Fiction" class two semesters ago which was structured like a workshop. We would read and discuss our work as a group. I found many of the other students wanted to be told exactly what was happening at all times, exactly how the story ended. They felt very strongly about it. I'm too young to be quite so set in my ways that I won't try new things. I hope that some experimentation will kick up inspiration for a novel length story I've been having trouble with.
So here's my first paragraph as it stands in all its rough draft grit:

Laura slid her hands down the sides of her body feeling the stiff boning around her waist and the sequins like scales that draped, barely covering her hips. She squirmed slightly hoping to make the skirt seem longer. The fading sunlight warmed her little canvas dressing tent. With a pitted looking glass, she applied her powder and slipped on her feathered headband.

I've always believe in brevity in openings. It certainly departs from my usual stories. I've always been fascinated with traveling shows of the late 19th early 20th century anyway, and what's more captivating than the impalement arts?