Sunday, October 11, 2015

Best of Rowan's Writing

I was going through an old piece of writing the other day and I found a really good line, so I thought I'd share some of my favorite lines that I've ever written.

Agatha Clearwater was a chubby, pretty witch, with dark skin and a round face and lovely curly hair. Her hair was never its natural black, for she liked to bleach it and enchant it bright colors--green or blue or pink, whatever she liked best on the day. She wore enough makeup to keep a cosmetician in business for a year--thick black eyeliner, bright shimmery eyeshadow, and thick lipstick that she coordinated to set off her brown skin nicely. She looked, Minerva thought privately, like a fairy godmother who had fallen on hard times and found employment in a brothel.

(In this scene, Wilhelm, a minion, is discussing her two fellow minions with mad scientist Professor Xix.)
Wilhelm set the kettle on the stove and turned back to Xix. “May I ask you something?”
            “Where did Nina and Gormless come from?”

            Xix took a sip of whatever was in his mug and cleared his throat. “Well, Wilhelm, when a mad scientist wants a minion very much, he digs up a body and…”

Hera sighed and crossed her arms. “Where do I even start? Well, Zeus, maybe this marriage would actually work if you weren’t such a cheating scumbag who always—”
            “I’m going to have to stop you there,” interjected Nigel, raising his hands. “Let’s try to avoid the blaming, all right?”
            Hera rolled her eyes. “All right. You’re a cheating scumbag, Zeus.”
            “Use ‘I’ statements.”
            “I think you’re a cheating scumbag, Zeus.”
             “Let’s focus on how you feel,” said the therapist. “Get out of your head and into your heart. Try to sense the ember of love that still exists between you. How do you feel, Hera?”
            “I feel like you’re a cheating scumbag, Zeus.”

Zeus' eyebrows had just about disappeared into his hairline as he surveyed the scene before him.
            “I-It’s not what it looks like!” stammered Apollo, his face going bright red. He was acutely aware of Loki’s body pressed closely against his own.
            “Oh, no, it’s not,” said Loki fervently. “By the time it gets to be what it looks like, it’ll look much worse.”
“She’s always in her stress zone,” grumbled Zeus. “That’s the whole problem. She’s got a pole the size of Poseidon’s triton jammed up her ass.”

Uta caught a whiff of strong mead. “You’re drunk.”
            “Me?” Loki waved the notion away. “I assure you, my friend, I am sone stold cober. I just needed…the company of marmots.”
            “What are marmots?”
            “Little weaselly things.” Loki gestured aimlessly. “You won’t have seen one. They don’t live around here. Stupid marmots.” 
(this was from a story that go scrapped entirely, but I liked this exchange)


            “Hmm.” Igor frowned. “I’ll write Xix and ask about it. It could be nothing, or it could be a big tentacled monster with eighteen eyes and poison pincers. You just never know with mad scientists.”

Anyway, thought I'd share that. Cheers! See you soon :)

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