I'm not doing NaNoWriMo exactly. I know I won't be able to finish a whole new novel, but I am taking a personal challenge to work a lot more on my own novel! 3nodding
Here's a snippet:
The Widow-Queen, perched silently atop her white throne, was contemplating the events of the last few days. Her troops had taken heavy losses and food was becoming scarce. Her palace, whose walls usually shone an immaculate pearl-white, was splattered with blood, dirt and even the defecation of the enemy. A putrid oder hung thick and heavy in the air.
The best snippets are the ones produced when all vitality has escaped the tea-soaked Orwellian stereotype of a writer and come out something like TGHe ijntrserting thijgfn iks thgfdat wemay st y hewre for the restfo forevber awnd stikwlllll not knoaewfor suwr rather than The interesting thing is that we may stay here for the rest of forever and still not know for sure.
I would wake up and hit the snooze button. I would put on my pants...sexily. Sensually? Yeah I put on my pants sensually. I'd rub them on my nipples, and be like “You're too f- sexy to be worn as a shirt” and I'd thrust my legs through them, and tell them they were whores.
An odd emotion was itching at the back of his mind; beside the instinct and the hunger, it buzzed a quiet distraction of curiosity. His head tilted just slightly, and stared at her, "I've never been shot before," he said flatly while blood dripped from his sodden sleeve onto the beige carpet.
The man was tall, and slender,while his trench coat contrasted with the yellow shirt, and silver hair. A case was slung around his back as he walked down the path to Konohana village. There was someone there he had to meet, and urgently. The dew dripped off the plants, and the sunlight glinted, and made the mountain look somewhat magical. The trees moved with the wind, creating a rustling sound. The silver haired man with with the natural rhythms, like it was music in his ears. Small animals gathered around, and the male pet a fox as it traveled by. Noticing the sun slowly rising again, and the village in the distance, the male ran down and finished listening to the nature, before going into the intersect where he could find the town hall and the clinic. Making a sharp right, he walked into the direction of the town hall. Stopping in front of the red and dark brown door, he knocked quietly, before letting himself into the room. Looking around, at all the red, he knew he was at the right place, and acended the narrow stairs, to the book case.
“Do you know the story of this mansion?!” Jason said in a very cliche spooky overly loud voice. “Yes. Also really. You're going to call it the haunted abandoned mansion? Long name. Would even call it a mouthful.” Nina replied very bluntly. “Yes. Well then I wont tell it.” “Good, don't.” she replied looking at a small dresser. “Place is covered in dust, bet there is a s**t ton of granny panties in these.” Jason burst out laughing. “The things that come out of your mouth. Haunted bloody granny panties...movie idea.” Nina winced “That just sounds gross. Why do they have to be bloody? Its been like a century they've had time to wash out blood stains by then.” He nodded. “True, but its a whore-or movie.” “Whore-or? Is that a new genre you just made up?” "Yes. It'll be part of the new generation B movies. I can see it now." He paused for a second, and then did his best movie announcer impersonation. "Brought to you this Halloween by the grandchild of the producer that brought us such classics such as attack of the killer tomatoes, comes something terrifying, shocking, and REVOLTING. ATTACK OF THE KILLER BLOODY GRANNY PANTIES" "Hold on, stop, so are they haunted or killer?...also why are we friends?" Nina sighed. "Jesus if I didn't know better I'd think you weren't being dead pan sarcastic, and think you were being a total b***h. Come on the guests should be arriving soon. Still got to set up stuff."
Attack of the granny panties~
I really need to start writing stuff in order, but I'm having too much fun writing everything out of order. (the reference of him calling it the haunted abandoned mansion was a few sentences earlier, but didn't feel like copying all of it)
Lydia stood and afforded herself an extra scoop of sugar for her tea as she looked about at the faces of the tired women. Their skin was sunken under their dark eyes, and perpetually dirty despite the harshest scrubbing. Their hair was cropped short by dull surgical tools, and their teeth were cracked and blackened from years of smoke and ale. Their hearts had wilted long ago from hardship and hatred, but she knew the last actions of the evening were playing across their eyes.
I forced myself to find at least ONE good quote out of the 5 chapters I've written so far. It was hard.
"I can read your mind. Wanna see?"
“Want to do something for me?” He asked, voice low.
“Go get Benny.”
“Wanna know something?” I countered without missing a beat.
“You can get him yourself.”
My head was pounding to the beat of its own tune.
Cops. On a last name basis with everyone.
Maria Subcarpati laughed. “Had to pistol whip your a** to knock some sense into you. What were you thinking?”
He felt guilt hit like the butt of her gun.
“Uh d'dn't,” he slurred.
“Exactly. Get up. I'll take you home, make you some hot cocoa and we can set your priorities straight.”
“Anything you want, detective.”
I always come across the same glittering feeling in my chest whenever I think of speaking. I like to listen to people’s conversations because I can tell what kind of person they are – if their accents change from subject to subject, the way they pronounce things, their tone – it makes me think, “wow, I can’t believe people have come from speaking one language to expanding to thousands upon thousands of them.” The second round of feelings come when I realize I am the only person in this class, in this school, maybe even in this city that doesn't remember something so fundamental to society.
It was still dark. Almost as though it was twilight. A sprinkling of stars was dusted low over the tips of the buildings that I could see. I pressed my nose close to the glass and craned my neck to look upwards. The sky was definitely still pretty dark, all the way up. It looked like there were heavy storm clouds, or like the whole world was in the shade. The sun was mostly blocked out, but I could see the edge of it, and for a second I couldn’t be sure whether it was the sun or the moon. It was a yellowish disc that looked like it had been obscured sometime long ago by a heavy smog. I let out a long slow gasp, realising slowly where we really were - and the truth in Arthur Solheim’s stories about his brother.