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son of the late and eminent King Augustus the Great, and lord over us all, resisted the urge to fidget." Winged, by Lauren M----
Yay for National Novel Writing month (ha! Linked: http://www.nanowrimo.org )
I am rather enjoying National Novel Writing Month. It's rather hellish, considering I have many other things I have to be writing for apprently moe valid reasons (ie, university classes), but if nothing else, it's been an exercise in time management. :) And I can already tell that my writing has improved. It's all good! :D
In case I haven't told you already, my novel involves a boy-king in a pseudo European monarchy. And he has wings. :3 Here's an exert:
"The window itself wasn’t an unexplained, random phenomenon. Why had it exploded, one might ask? In fact, it likely had something to do with the person climbing through the shattered remains of the glass in the newly-made hole in his wall. Now this man did not have the appearance of a gentleman, as the others in this story thus far introduced did. In fact, one could perhaps describe him in one word as a “blackguard”. One could also use the terms “scruffy”, “mean-looking”, “unshaven”, “wearing an unjustifiable amount of black leather” and generally “nasty”.
Now, appearances can be deceiving. For all we know at this point, this could indeed be a simple misunderstanding. One that is difficult to explain, of course, but it shouldn’t be too hard to come up with excuses. What if this man were to simply bow and apologize profusely, claiming that his window-washing uniform had been in the wash and that he’d been forced to wear old clothes from his younger, wilder days, and that he’d simply been carrying out his duties (dutifully, as it was nighttime, if you will remember), when he had slipped and fallen through the window, breaking it. That would have been a bit of a stretch; and in this case entirely unbelievable as he was now drawing a rather rusty sword. Oh dear. What shall our king do?
Tithonus had by this time whirled around, and had caught sight of this man (who was in all likelihood probably not a window-washer) and had come to the conclusion that was probably more accurate than the one inscribed above: this man was an assassin of some sort. With a rather nasty sword. And a murderous intent in his eyes. King Tithonus swallow nervously, eyes darting about for anything he could perhaps use as a weapon. There was nothing, really. He supposed he could upturn the heavy writing desk on the man, but that was assuming he himself was strong enough to do so, and with his slight form he was very doubtful.
The blackguard approached, slowly, boots crunching on glass, unspeaking. The king squeaked and backpedalled, until he was completely backed up against his chiffonier. His hands scrabbled against the wood as the man in black approached. Suddenly, his hands came in contact with something portable: the heavy lead seal of office. He brought it in front of his body, with the full intent of doing something with it. Perhaps he’d throw it at the man’s head. If he had had any sense of aim, this may have perhaps worked. But King Tithonus, if nothing else, was aware of his faults: his aim was horrible. That was why he used falcons for hunting, not archery. It was so horrible it was downright pitiful.
While he was thinking on just what his plan of action was (the boy-king was rather indecisive in situations such as these), the man was entering possible king-skewering range. Thinking of nothing else to do, Tithonus swung the hand fisted around the seal wildly in front of him, hoping to perhaps deflect the sword, or maybe even confuse his attacker enough so that the man would just laugh at him long enough to stop attacking so that he have enough time to think of another plan."
Yay for National Novel Writing month (ha! Linked: http://www.nanowrimo.org )
I am rather enjoying National Novel Writing Month. It's rather hellish, considering I have many other things I have to be writing for apprently moe valid reasons (ie, university classes), but if nothing else, it's been an exercise in time management. :) And I can already tell that my writing has improved. It's all good! :D
In case I haven't told you already, my novel involves a boy-king in a pseudo European monarchy. And he has wings. :3 Here's an exert:
"The window itself wasn’t an unexplained, random phenomenon. Why had it exploded, one might ask? In fact, it likely had something to do with the person climbing through the shattered remains of the glass in the newly-made hole in his wall. Now this man did not have the appearance of a gentleman, as the others in this story thus far introduced did. In fact, one could perhaps describe him in one word as a “blackguard”. One could also use the terms “scruffy”, “mean-looking”, “unshaven”, “wearing an unjustifiable amount of black leather” and generally “nasty”.
Now, appearances can be deceiving. For all we know at this point, this could indeed be a simple misunderstanding. One that is difficult to explain, of course, but it shouldn’t be too hard to come up with excuses. What if this man were to simply bow and apologize profusely, claiming that his window-washing uniform had been in the wash and that he’d been forced to wear old clothes from his younger, wilder days, and that he’d simply been carrying out his duties (dutifully, as it was nighttime, if you will remember), when he had slipped and fallen through the window, breaking it. That would have been a bit of a stretch; and in this case entirely unbelievable as he was now drawing a rather rusty sword. Oh dear. What shall our king do?
Tithonus had by this time whirled around, and had caught sight of this man (who was in all likelihood probably not a window-washer) and had come to the conclusion that was probably more accurate than the one inscribed above: this man was an assassin of some sort. With a rather nasty sword. And a murderous intent in his eyes. King Tithonus swallow nervously, eyes darting about for anything he could perhaps use as a weapon. There was nothing, really. He supposed he could upturn the heavy writing desk on the man, but that was assuming he himself was strong enough to do so, and with his slight form he was very doubtful.
The blackguard approached, slowly, boots crunching on glass, unspeaking. The king squeaked and backpedalled, until he was completely backed up against his chiffonier. His hands scrabbled against the wood as the man in black approached. Suddenly, his hands came in contact with something portable: the heavy lead seal of office. He brought it in front of his body, with the full intent of doing something with it. Perhaps he’d throw it at the man’s head. If he had had any sense of aim, this may have perhaps worked. But King Tithonus, if nothing else, was aware of his faults: his aim was horrible. That was why he used falcons for hunting, not archery. It was so horrible it was downright pitiful.
While he was thinking on just what his plan of action was (the boy-king was rather indecisive in situations such as these), the man was entering possible king-skewering range. Thinking of nothing else to do, Tithonus swung the hand fisted around the seal wildly in front of him, hoping to perhaps deflect the sword, or maybe even confuse his attacker enough so that the man would just laugh at him long enough to stop attacking so that he have enough time to think of another plan."
