Aaaaah it's nearly November!
Plot: Uh... I have a main character
Time to write: Nah. I'm doing 22.5 points worth of subjects instead of the usual 15 PLUS 37.5 points for my thesis (intead of 15) which means I started last week instead of in April which means I'm going to be busy in November.
Hooray!
Also, there are chocolate letters in the shops again.
It's almost Christmas! And there's snow! And I won NaNo 09! It was ridiculously easy this year, I did realistic fantasy and it's got to be the easiest genre on the planet. Not that I got very far with the plot. The revolution has been postponed in favour of a tea party. And garden gnomes wielding shovels (yes, the Traveling Shovel of Death has once again made an appearance).
On the minus side, I got my swine flu shot today, which could leave me flu-y tomorrow (pretty much everyone I know became ill the day after the shot, bleh). I don't want to be ill during Christmas (I've made seven gingerbread houses - someone's got to eat them!).
But as an early Xmas present, have a snippet from The Snuffing of Jeeves! Superintendent Trenchcoat and Sergeant Plimsoll are still no closer to catching the murderer (who has killed four people so far - Jeeves, a mad old lady, Julius Caesar and another butler). To make things worse, Cicero has arrived at Butterbrayne Manor and he's boring everyone to death.
Oh, yeah, I'm betting this thing is filled with French spelling and grammar errors. This is because they're not speaking French. Jean-Pierre is actually from Baystonhill, so it's a Baystonhill accent.
Kirsten, I promised to, ahum, dispose of Cicero. So here goes!
~*~
At Butterbrayne’s request, they stayed for dinner. The butlers had their own separate and quite fancy dinner in the greater of the many dining halls, but Plimsoll, Trenchcoat and the newcomer Cicero joined Butterbrayne at a private table. Cicero had to join them because the butlers wouldn’t have him. Not that anyone else would, but Butterbrayne had a slight suspicion that the guy might be from some firm writing reviews of hotels. He needed all the positive publicity he could get (not that there had been any negative publicity, despite the four murders, because Butterbrayne Manor/Hotel was proving too difficult to find for most journalists, even the ones with navigation systems in their cars. The navigation systems mostly went on strike when someone requested directions to Butterbrayne Manor, and directed them to Bournemouth instead because the weather was nicer there).
Both Butterbrayne and Trenchcoat were very silent throughout dinner. Plimsoll made several unsuccessful attempts at conversation.
‘Nice weather for the time of year,’ he said, trying to sound cheerful. Butterbrayne nodded and smiled vaguely but Trenchcoat just grunted. Cicero, wearing a very stylish and bleached set of bed sheets and for some reason leaning on the armrest of his chair rather than just sitting up like normal people do, launched into a speech about the weather.
Plimsoll wished he had kept his mouth shut.
‘Well’, said Butterbrayne, interrupting Cicero’s monologue far too late for Plimsoll’s taste. ‘What would you gentlemen like to eat?’
‘Oysters?’ suggested Cicero. ‘Dormice? Snails? Olives? Wine?’
Plimsoll pulled a face. ‘Something simple. But not Yorkshire pudding or anything of that sort. Please.’
Trenchcoat grunted again and took a sip or six from his hipflask.
‘I’ll just order something, then, shall I?’ Butterbrayne asked. He called over a waiter, one of the chef’s assistants and said something in the obscure dialect of Baystonhill.
The waiter left with a bow and returned shortly after with wine and bread rolls. Trenchcoat took a sniff of the wine and drained it in one go. He made a face and stuck to his hipflask instead. Cicero didn’t seem overexcited about the wine either.
Butterbrayne stared vaguely into space. Plimsoll gave up his attempts at conversation and devoted his time instead to trying to block Cicero’s voice out. It was impossible. He droned on and on about some republic or other while Plimsoll stared at a painting on the wall, wishing he could set fire to it just by looking so he could get the hell out of here. It was a rather nice painting though, a Renoir actually. It would be a shame to see it go up in flames, but Plimsoll privately thought it was worth it. He had been staring at it for some while (Cicero was still jabbering on about the good old days when he was in charge of the republic, Plimsoll figured he must have threatened to bore people to death if they didn’t vote for him) when he noticed smoke curling around the painting’s frame.
‘Er,’ he said, ‘there’s-’
He was unable to finish his sentence because at that moment there was an explosion and one of the windows shattered. Cicero shrieked and shouted something about rebel troops. Trenchcoat wacked him. He must have been longing to do that all evening because he grinned and wacked him again.
‘What’s happened?’ Butterbrayne roared down the corridor.
Jean-Pierre, the chef from Baystonhill, came running up. He was waving a meat cleaver. ‘La cuisine! Elle a explosé! Oh non! Et les tomates!’
‘Calm down,’ Butterbrayne said, ducking to avoid the meat cleaver. ‘Et puttez-vouz down le cleaver du meat, s’il vous plait.’
‘Ah, oui, bien sure.’ Jean-Pierre dropped the meat cleaver, narrowly missing Cicero’s toes. Both Cicero and Trenchcoat cursed, but for very different reasons.
‘What’s this all about then?’ Butterbrayne asked sternly, not bothering with the Baystonhill accent anymore. ‘Why do you have a meat cleaver when I only ordered pancakes?’
‘Ah, monsieur, ce n’est pas ma faute! Je fait les crêpes et la cuisine a explosé! Et les tomates! Ils sont sauvages!’
Butterbrayne growled. ‘Idiot. Can’t even make pancakes.’
‘Excuse me,’ said Cicero. ‘Do I hear correctly? Have the tomatoes gone wild?’
‘Oui!’ shrieked the chef. Then he ran away.
Plimsoll ran out into the corridor and was just in time to see the chef be attacked by several very vicious tomatoes. However, Jean-Pierre still had a trick (or rather a kitchen knife) up his sleeve and made a nice tomato salad on the stairs. He had just added mozzarella cheese and some fresh basil when more tomatoes arrived and he was forced to flee.
‘They’re coming this way!’ Plimsoll yelled. He ran back into the room and slammed the door behind him.
‘Bar the door!’ Butterbrayne yelled, grabbing a battle axe from the wall.
‘No, we need to get out while we still can! There are too many of them!’
‘I’ll be damned if I flee!’ Trenchcoat growled. ‘They’re just tomatoes!’
Cicero strode forward with his jaw clenched in a way that was supposed to show determined bravery. It made him look like a coward with stomach ache. ‘I shall address them,’ he said, his voice level. ‘I shall speak to them and calm them, so that the rebellious fiends will back down. They will recognise me…’ He prattled on like this for a good while.
Plimsoll caught Trenchcoat’s eye.
‘Well, if you insist,’ said Butterbrayne, opening the door. Plimsoll and Trenchcoat shoved Cicero out into the corridor. They saw him striding towards the tomatoes, his head held aloft, drawing breath to start another of his speeches, and slammed the door shut to avoid hearing it.
‘Do you think he’ll make it?’ Plimsoll whispered.
‘I hope he dies.’
They caught snatches of the speech, then there was a piercing shriek and some fierce growls. Footsteps thundered down the stairs and a moment later the front doors burst open and Cicero ran out onto the driveway. His bed sheets were flapping absurdly behind him. Then the tomatoes came. They bounced after him. Cicero looked back, just in time to see the largest of the tomatoes pounce. He was knocked to the ground and immediately set upon by the rest of the horde. The shrieking figure disappeared under a mountain of squashy tomatoes. When they drew back barely a moment later all that was left was a set of torn sheets, no longer pristine white. The tomatoes growled and proceeded to bounce across the garden, towards the pond, where they were promptly set upon and eaten by the ducks.
‘That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever seen,’ Plimsoll muttered.
‘Correct,’ Trenchcoat said. ‘And you know what? I’m not taking it anymore.’
~*~
Ah, heck, have the next chapter as well. See if ya can recognise the Head of Negotiations :D
~*~
‘So, we’re going on strike.’
‘Correct.’
‘For how long, sir?’
‘Until this novel goes back to normal,’ Trenchcoat said.
‘Fat chance.’
Butterbrayne sat down in Cicero’s abandoned chair. ‘I know what you mean. It started off quite nicely though.’
Plimsoll nodded. ‘New job… First assignment. Catch a poacher.’
‘Even the murder wasn’t too bad,’ Trenchcoat agreed. ‘An arrogant, high-placed man is murdered. It’s all quite realistic.’
‘Even the village festival could happen in real life,’ Plimsoll said. ‘Except that the committee members were really mad.’
‘Yes,’ Butterbrayne said. ‘And then that my gardener is a chemist who makes his own weed killer? What nonsense is that!’
‘Oh, now you’re being unfair!’ said Plimsoll. ‘There are chemists in real life, you know! My sister Carol, she’s a chemist!’
‘Plimsoll, you twit, would your sister take up a job as a gardener?’
‘No, I don’t think so, sir.’
‘Then shut up.’
‘Right, sir.’
At that moment, there was a knock on the door.
‘Enter,’ said Butterbrayne.
In came a very short guy wearing bed sheets. They all groaned.
‘Not another one!’ Plimsoll reached for a bottle of whisky that was standing on the side table.
‘Another what precisely?’ the bed-sheeted fellow said haughtily. He had a rather squeaky, breaking voice. He was also covered in pimples. No older than twenty, Plimsoll guessed. He looked around for a glass, couldn’t see one, shrugged, and drank straight from the bottle. Trenchcoat gave him an approving nod.
‘Another, er,’ Butterbrayne began. ‘Another…’
‘Another guy in bed sheets,’ Trenchcoat finished the sentence for him.
The kid stared at them angrily. ‘It’s a toga. I look good in it.’
Butterbrayne wrestled the bottle from Plimsoll. Plimsoll clobbered him over the head with his napkin and took the bottle back. Trenchcoat was fortunate enough to have his hipflask.
‘What do you want, anyway?’ Butterbrayne said. ‘The hotel’s full. You might want to try somewhere else.’
‘Bournemouth perhaps,’ Plimsoll suggested hopefully.
‘I’m not here to sleep,’ the guy said. ‘I have been appointed, with two other guys of course, we work in groups of three. As I said, I have been appointed Head of Negotiations.’
‘What negotiations?’
‘It’s Negotiations actually. Capital N.’
‘Go away.’
‘No.’
‘Really, I’m serious. Leave this room unless you want to suffer the same fate as that chick lit author. The Caesar chap.’ Butterbrayne looked hopefully at Trenchcoat, as though expecting him to pull out a gun and chase the newcomer away.
‘Caesar was here? He was murdered here? I shall avenge his death! The traitors, the scum, the-’
‘You said something about negotiations,’ Plimsoll said quickly, deliberately forgetting the capital N.
‘Capital N!’ shouted the Head of Negotiations.
‘Right, sorry. What sort of Negotiations? Who sent you?’
‘The Author.’
A crack of thunder followed this announcement.
‘Yes, now, about the Author-’ Another crack of thunder. Plimsoll glared. ‘This novel is getting out of hand. I mean, crazy old ladies with a trebuchet? People wearing bed sheets? Vicious ducks? Poisoning by trans fatty acids? And the thunderclaps!’
‘Yes,’ said the Head of Negotiations gravely. ‘The Author had informed me that there were some, ah, difficulties with you characters.’
‘Oy, we’re not the problem, she is!’ shouted Trenchcoat.
The Head of Negotiations glanced at his notebook. ‘That is not what it says here.’
‘Well, you’re wrong then, aren’t you?’
‘No I’m not.’
‘Yes you are.’
‘No I’m not.’
‘Yes you are.’
‘No I’m not.’
‘Yes you are.’
‘No I’m not.’
‘Yes you are.’
‘No I’m not.’
‘Yes you are.’
‘SHUT UP!’ shouted Plimsoll.
‘Stay out of this,’ growled Trenchcoat. ‘I’m making a point here!’
‘No you’re not,’ said the Head of Negotiations.
Butterbrayne acted lightning fast. He clapped a hand over Trenchcoat’s mouth.
‘Mbmbhl!’
‘No you’re not!’
‘Mbmbhl!’
‘No you’re not!’
‘Mbmbhl!’
‘No you’re not!’
Plimsoll screamed out of sheer annoyance. Butterbrayne screamed as well, but that was because Trenchcoat had bitten him in the hand.
‘You are quite evidently mad,’ said the Head of Negotiations. He consulted his notebook. ‘Yes, indeed you are. It says so right here.’
‘Look kid,’ Plimsoll said with a growl to match Trenchcoat’s. ‘We’re giving you one last chance. Sod off, or be fed to the ducks.’
‘I don’t fear the ducks,’ said the Head of Negotiations. ‘I just don’t like them watching me.’
‘Ah,’ said Butterbrayne. ‘A classic case of Anatidaephobia. There are cures for that, you know. Like leaving now.’
‘I will not leave until my task is done.’ The Head of Negotiations pulled up an armchair and sat lopsided in it just as Cicero had done. He muttered something about ‘ridiculously small couches’.
Trenchcoat and Plimsoll exchanged a glance. They were not getting rid of the kid as easily as they had hoped. And Trenchcoat had left his biggest guns at the pub. They sighed, and turned to the Head of Negotiations.
‘What do you want?’ Plimsoll said.
‘I want nothing for myself,’ said the Head. ‘But the Author has Demands.’
‘Will you stop abusing capital letters?’
‘No. I am Emperor of the World. Well, with two other guys that is. I can use as many capital letters as I want. They give a wonderful emphasizing effect, don’t you think?’
‘No.’
‘Ah, well, anyway.’ He leafed through his notebook. ‘The Author has three major Complaints. First of all, the plot is getting ridiculous.’
‘Agreed,’ said Trenchcoat. ‘If she’d stop sending vicious ducks and bedsheeted people at us, it’d all be fine!’
The Head coughed slightly. ‘I think you misunderstand me. The Author means that it is ridiculous that you keep on making snide comments about perfectly normal events and objects. Like the ducks, the trans fatty acid poisoning and the trebuchet. She feels you are not taking the story seriously.’
‘Ridiculous,’ muttered Plimsoll.
‘Second, she feels that she has lost control of the plot, the storyline, the characters and all events.’
‘It might help if she went easy on the drink.’
For this Trenchcoat was wacked over the head with a spare bedsheet.
‘Third, she doesn’t have enough chocolate.’
Plimsoll opened his mouth to protest.
‘Now, the Author realizes this third problem is not really your fault,’ the Head said. ‘But she would like you to do something about the first two.’
‘Well you can tell her that we’ll take the novel seriously if she stops sending trebuchets and vicious ducks and other ridiculous and plain silly story elements our way!’ Plimsoll said more bravely than he felt.
The Head of Negotiations looked at him coldly. ‘You are in no position to make demands.’
‘Aren’t we? Without us there’s no story!’
‘Yes,’ Trenchcoat added. ‘No super smart detective to catch the killer.’
‘Oh, thank you very much sir.’
‘I meant me, you idiot.’
‘Right. Sorry sir.’
The Head of Negotiations smiled evilly. ‘Oh, so there’s no story without you? Is that what you think?’
‘Well, there was one bit,’ Plimsoll admitted. ‘About that guy in York being shot, but that’s not the point. This entire case about the butlers and the old lady and the chick lit novelist dying. If we’re not there nobody will solve the case! And there’d be no thickening of the plot!’
‘Oh really?’ The Head opened the door and three men entered. ‘Meet Superintendent Jacket, Sergeant Standard and Lord Margarineheade, your replacements.’
They all stared. Superintendent Jacket was a cheerful, middle-aged man wearing a tweed suit and smoking a pipe. Sergeant Standard was a slouching, unshaven youth with pimples and spiky red hair. Lord Margarineheade was worst of all. He looked like a bird of prey, thin, balding, with a crooked nose and beady black eyes. And a horrible sneer.
‘But but…’ Plimsoll stammered. ‘You can’t replace us with them! They’re absolutely awful!’
‘Watch it, cityboy,’ spat Sergeant Standard.
‘Cityboy I may be but at least I use my brains,’ Plimsoll said, drawing himself up to his full height.
‘Oh really,’ sneered Sergeant Standard. ‘Why not use this brain of yours to find the killer then? I know who killed the butler…’
‘Now now, Sergeant Standard, be nice,’ said Superintendent Jacket, patting the sergeant on the back. Trenchcoat stared at his replacement in horror.
‘The Author is not really serious about this, is she?’ he said weakly.
‘You have ten minutes to reconsider your strike,’ the Head of Negotiations said smoothly. He removed a speck of dust from his bedsheets. ‘If, after that time, you still wish to continue it, you will be escorted off the premises by my bodyguard-’
‘I’d like to see them try, the prats,’ Trenchcoat muttered.
‘Praetorians actually. Not Praets,’ the Head said. ‘Like I said, they will escort you off the premises and these three men will take your places and bring the novel to a successful end. You will then be taken to the Character Market to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.’
Trenchcoat, Plimsoll and Butterbrayne all stared at him in horror.
‘We need to consider this,’ Trenchcoat said. He grabbed Plimsoll and Butterbrayne by the elbow and dragged them into the corner. ‘There’s four of them. We can take them out, easily. I still have a few pistols on me.’
Plimsoll shook his head violently and pointed out of the window. ‘I think it’s his Prat bodyguard, sir.’ About a hundred men stood on the smooth lawns of Butterbrayne manor. They wore bits of metal and miniskirts and had feathers on their heads, but they also carried spears and swords.
‘Ah, that complicates things,’ Trenchcoat said. He swore. Then he thought for a while. ‘We have to agree to the Author’s demands.’
‘Just like that sir?’
‘We can’t let those numbskulls take over the novel!’ Trenchcoat said. ‘The readers wouldn’t like it. And besides, I have no wish to go to the Character Market to be auctioned off.’
Plimsoll had always suspected that Trenchcoat had had an unhappy childhood, but he’d never thought about him being auctioned off as a character multiple times. It made sense though.
‘Right, sir,’ he said. ‘Lord Butterbrayne?’
Butterbrayne took one look at the incredibly creepy Lord Margarineheade, shuddered, and nodded. ‘I agree.’
The Head of Negotiations inclined his head. ‘You have made a wise choice.’ He pushed the three replacements out of the door. ‘From the next chapter you must continue as if these negotiations have never happened. Just play out the novel. If there are anymore difficulties, the Author will send me back. And then you will be replaced.’
He left, his bed sheets swishing dramatically behind him.
~*~
The Dare Thread on the NaNo Forums made me do it.
Yaay! Less than a month to go and I actually have a plot! Though to be honest, it's messy. And knowing NaNo it'll only get messier.
This year it's sort of fantasy. 'Sort of' because the only difference with our world is that the country where it all takes place doesn't really exist and the kinetics of chemical reactions are slightly different there. But other than that, it's, er, realistic. No magic or unicorns or whatever. Maybe ninjas though. Definitely ninjas. Can't write without ninjas.
It's mad, though. It's my fourth NaNo and I've never been this well prepared. I, or rather we, since I'll be writing this with my boyfriend (yes, I know, it's sorta cheating, but not really, because we've got lots of different PoVs and we'll be writing different ones and there won't be story-overlap). Anyway, we have had this story in our heads for half a year at least. Over the summer we've worked out the plot, created characters, backstory, names, even bloody table manners! And I hope I haven't done too much of this insane planning because come November, there'll be huge amounts of craziness jumping up and down from my teapot to my fingers and trying to get into my novel. I dunno if the story will survive...
And just yesterday we got another huge plotbunny, for a totally different story of course and now we kinda want to write that. Eh...
Also, I still need to finish The Snuffing of Jeeves. Because I won NaNo07 I got to print a free proof copy (which says 'To be continued... Or maybe not' at the end) which is really cool but way too thin. You'll be happy to hear I just killed off Cicero though. He was attacked by the killer tomatoes (they started a revolt in the kitchen when the cook blew it up while trying to bake pancakes).
Hurray! I'm already in NaNo-mood!
The cool thing is, that I'll have an entire day off (time to write!) every week in November because.... because I'm only doing cool subjects like anorganic, organic and physical chemistry and not bloody molecular modelling (have put it off until next year, heh...). At least I hope I can do physical chem... The @# uni website messed up my application for it and by the time I figured it out the deadline had already passed (it made a nice wooshing sound as it flew by, but despite that, I can't help but hate it) and now I have to wait and hope and see if there's still room for me. Argh... More than two weeks 0_o I want to do physical chemistry! Last year's phys chem 1 course was awesome - we learned everything from thermodynamics to reaction kinetics by looking at cartoons of rabbits -
Argh. I've got it! The thermo-rabbit is a giant plotbunny!
*runs around in circles*
Oh, hey. Have a pic.
Boltzmann rocks!!!
Have been for half a year, actually.
There's an organisation for Norwegian students in the Netherlands and they have a magazine and I'm the editor of that. Uh... that last sentence was a warming up exercise for NaNoWriMo, which I shall do again this year, but this time I'll write with my boyfriend (oooh, I'm cheating!) so we'll have to reach 100 k. Yikes.
Anyway. I have my own magazine. I only make 3 of them a year, but hey. That means a grand total of about 60 pages where I can brainwash some 200 people! w00t! I really want one of those journalist hats.
NaNo this year won't be hist.fic or whodunnit-parody! We're doing chemistry-fantasy (meaning fantasy, where the chemists/alchemists win in the end. Muahaha). Basically about 5 different parties are trying to seize power in this kingdom and they all end up fighting each other. It'll be fun. Plus the king is the kind of guy who sneaks down to the kitchen in the middle of the night to raid the cookie jar. Woohoo!
Right. Gotta write a very important article for my magazine. Penguins are taking over the world.
I'm back! Well, for now at least :P Finished my first year of chemistry, passed all my exams (got some really nice grades too), have still not learned to type on a Dutch keyboard (so typos are not my fault, muahaha), and am still obsessed with chocolate. Got some really nice passion fruit chocolate today.... mhm!
I spent a week in Vienna with my boyfriend last month. We didn't have enough time to visit the local Roman ruins (unless you count the Roman ruins at Schönbrunn, which were built in 1778) but had a great time nonetheless. Ice creams, apricots and parks! We even allowed ourselves to be talked into a Mozart concert (held in the great gallery at Schönbrunn which was really cool) but I was slightly disappointed and kinda want my money back because Mozart never showed up. We also saw the graves of Boltzmann (w00t!!) and Beethoven (and explained about seven times to a francaise with no sense of direction how to get there - she was about 20 m from it).
As we were in Vienna we figured we had to drink coffee - bleeegh! Will never touch the stuff again, it's ghastly. But the café was really cool *geek moment* as it was called Café Schrödinger.
Oh, and Gabriele! I actually saw an opera (Lohengrin) while in Vienna! Well, sort of. It was being shown on a big screen in front of the Rathaus (they show concerts and stuff there all summer). But we gave up around midnight - after more than two hours and only understanding seven words we decided it was time to go to bed. Don't send ninjas after me! It wasn't my fault! I swear! They were singing in opera-German and there were no subtitles, and it was quite... modern. It would have been easier if they'd really dressed up as knights and stuff. My boyfriend and I tried to piece together a story from what we'd seen. We checked the story on Wikipedia afterwards and had a real laugh!
As Bratislava is only an hour away by train, we went there for a day too. It's the cutest capital ever. Cute as in small. You can fit the entire historical centre into a shoebox. And it rained. And their castle was covered in scaffolding. Otherwise it was fun.
Going back to Norway was less fun - I got a phone call from my bank the day I got here. They suspected someone'd gotten hold of my credit card info so I had to open a new account and everything. Luckily nothing got stolen but it was really annoying.
Now I'm back at my work in the deli, where I have developed a pain in my ankle and a hatred for chickens. Wish I could throw them at people instead of selling them. Think I'll quit my job soon.
Random pic of a gate at the castle of Bratislava. Our theory was that the middle gate was for the king when the nobility were sick of him. The left one was for dismissed servants and door-to-door vacuum cleaner salesmen.
And because I am rather bored now I have nicked a meme from Gabriele's blog. Dear me. It's the 'choose 10 characters' one.
They're from my three NaNo-novels (that should make it more interesting): the unnamed one about the Batavian revolt (2006), the one about the Romans in Wales that has the working title 'Suddenly, ninjas arrived (2007), and The Snuffing of Jeeves (2008, not hist-fic, but whodunnit parody). I was sorely tempted to include Sammy the Fried Salmon in the list...
1) Embric (Arrogant tribal leader - Batavian revolt)
2) Imerix (Idiot with a dodgy past - Suddenly, ninjas arrived)
3) Thiadulf (Heroic older brother - Batavian revolt)
4) Marcus Fulvius Scaeva (Surgeon who's slightly afraid of blood and always complains about the cold - Batavian revolt)
5) Maud Gilford (Mad old lady of the festival committee - The Snuffing of Jeeves)
6)Superintendent Trenchcoat (Brilliant detective who likes to do things his own way - The Snuffing of Jeeves)
7)Geravan (Rash Batavian warrior who really needs a psychiatrist - Batavian revolt)
8)Publius Cornelius Merula (Upper class snob/village idiot - Suddenly, ninjas arrived)
9) Harold Johnson (The most normal guy in the universe, also really boring - The Snuffing of Jeeves)
10) Sgt Dennis Plimsoll (Trenchcoat's sidekick, over-excited but actually pretty smart - The Snuffing of Jeeves)
4 invites 3 and 8 to dinner at their house. What happens?
Marcus would throw the dinner party in the hope it would lead to peace between Romans and Batavians (so he wouldn't have to work long hours in the hospital, he's a lazy git). However, while Thiadulf tries to make polite conversation Merula will strike up a conversation with the main course (stupid Marcus served salmon).
9 tries to get 5 to go to a strip club. What happens?
Maud would be severaly shocked and handbag HJ. The shock would give him his memory back, so that he would not want to visit a strip club anyway (it's not a routine of his).
You need to stay at a friend's house for a night. Who do you choose: 1 or 6?
Personally, I'd rather camp on a busy highway. But if I had to choose it would be Embric. It'd be easier to spike his drink and run away. Trenchcoat only drinks from his hipflask.
2 and 7 are making out. 10 walks in. What is their reaction?
Rotflol! Geravan and Imerix?? *dies laughing* Plimsoll would blush and leave really quickly, pretending he hadn't seen.
3 falls in love with 6. 8 is jealous. What happens?
Thiadulf and Trenchcoat? Jeez. Merula would strike up a conversation with a nearby elm tree and ask it to drop a branch on Trenchcoat's head the next time he walks by.
4 jumps you in a dark alleyway. Who comes to your rescue: 10, 2, or 7?
*sniggers* Marcus, attack me? What's he going to do? Sneeze on me? Throw bandages at me? He's lethal with a scalpel though. Hm... Plimsoll would jump in, I guess, as he's a policeman, though he's a bit of a wimp. Imerix would rescue me if there was something in it for him. I'd put my trust in Geravan, to be honest. Marcus is from the legion that killed his brother after all. Should be a nice fight.
1 decides to start a cooking show. Fifteen minutes later, what is happening?
Embric got bored and grabbed a drink instead. He forgot to put the fire out, thus starting a forest fire. Luckily for him there was a Roman legion in that very forest and by setting fire to them he actually saved the day (to Geravan's disgust).
3 has to marry either 8, 4, or 9. Whom do they choose?
Haha, I'm beginning to see I have added to few female characters to my list. I don't really think Thiadulf will want to marry any of these guys. Doubt he'd be allowed to as well.
7 kidnaps 2 and demands something from 5 for 2's release. What is it?
Geravan kidnaps Imerix? Well, okay. That should be interesting. Though the only thing Geravan would get from Maud is an invitation to the Stuff the Pony Festival, and that's not really his thing. Maybe he wants her grandson's guitar, though? *is totally picturing hippie-Geravan with his guitar, singing Bob Dylan*
Everyone gangs up on 3. Does 3 have a chance in hell?
You know, I think he does! Geravan wouldn't attack his brother but side with him. Plimsoll (thinking Thiadulf is a lawbreaker) would try to arrest him, thereby hindering everyone else's attempts at lynching. Harold Johnson wouldn't join them, as it would disrupt his daily routine. Maud is ferocious with her handbag, but her heart isn't really in it because Thiadulf isn't threatening her precious festival. Merula would be too interested in the local scenery (besides, he'd want to give Thiadulf a fair fighting chance). Marcus would be too wrapped up in scarves against the cold to do anything dangerous (unless they were in the Sahara or something). Imerix could be problematic, depending on his mood (if Thiadulf happened to look anything like his brother he'd probably break down or runaway). Trenchcoat would pause every now and then to take a sip from his hipflask (however he does have a gun, so... potentially problematic). That leaves Embric. And Thiaudulf and Geravan together are more than a match for him. Whew.
Everyone is invited to 2 and 10's wedding except for 8. How do they react?
Lol, Imerix and Plimsoll, the happy couple! Merula would be a bit pissed I guess. But as he wouldn't approve of the match anyway it's not such a big deal.
Why is 6 afraid of 7?
I hadn't really thought about Trenchcoat being scared of anything or anybody! I guess Geravan freaks him out because Geravan gets away with so much, so he's a potentially dangerous criminal and Trenchcoat fears he might be involved with the mafia. Also, hippie music isn't really Trenchcoat's thing. Lol...
1 arrives late for 2 and 10's wedding. What happens, and why were they late?
Embric was late because he got drunk and fell asleep. He turns up halfway through the party, grabs some more drink and gets drunk again. The rest sort of push him into a corner and pretend nothing has happened.
5 and 9 get roaring drunk and end up at your house. What happens?
Maud and Harold Johnson?! Bwahaha! HJ has one whisky a week, always at the same time each Saturday, it's routine. Never more than one whisky. And I think the most Maud has ever had is one sherry. But now I'm totally picturing the two of them, arms around each other, singing loudly. I think Maud would be gigglish and HJ would tell about how he wants to live life and become a lion tamer (he's an accountant now. Long live Monty Python!). I'd probably hang around to get a good laugh.
9 murders 2's best friend. What does 2 do to get back at them?
Whoa! HJ murders Finvagar! Well, Imerix wouldn't rest until he'd hunted him down, preferably with a big mob at his heels, so they can be witnesses to him killing HJ in revenge. Then maybe, if he was really depressed and mad he'd commit suicide. Imerix didn't have a happy childhood.
6 and 1 are in mortal peril and only one of them can survive. Does 6 save themself or 1?
I think Trenchcoat would normally have saved the other person, but as it's Embric... Trenchcoat would realise Embric is a dangerous criminal, and after a sort of heroic struggle (preferably with witnesses so he can pretend it was an arrest that got a bit out of hand), he'd push Embric into the volcano and climb out himself. Or whatever the peril is.
8 and 3 go camping. For some reason they forgot to bring along any food. What do they do?
Merula would insist they dig ditches and put up defences around their tent (making Thiadulf do the heavy work). Thiadulf would have learned from Marcus' mistake and catch trout instead of salmon for dinner. He'd then tell ghost stories to make Merula nice and scared so he won't sleep at all (and therefore, not snore).
5 is in a chariot crash and is critically injured. What does 9 do?
Maud wouldn't be in a chariot anyway, and neither does she have a car or a bicycle to crash. But if she was lying around somewhere, injured, Harold Johnson wouldn't do much because it would disrupt his daily routine.
Whew. That was fun. Reading back, I realise once again that my characters are the biggest bunch of lunatics I've ever come across.
Cheers! I'll see if I can get some more pics up soon!
And I have a bloody good reason to rant too!
When I started studying, four months ago now, the exchange rates were highly boring and hardly changed - 8 Norwegian kroner to one euro.
Now, it's almost 9.6 NOK to 1 €.
My scholarship, which is paid to me in NOK, is now worth more than 2000 € less than it was in August.
2000 € is...
8 months of rent
More than 1 year of tuition fees
About 6 airplane tickets home to Norway and back
3 times as much as my schoolbooks cost
3 times the price of my laptop
etc etc etc
@#!@"/&!!!!!
NaNo is over again, and it's time to read through that messy first draft and see what literary gems were created during November... This list will keep on growing :P
Funniest name: Difficult. It's either Trevor "Torture" Wouhl-Svetter, the local bully (whose mother, father, brothers and sisters all have similar names) or Nikolai Njetsosnuggerov, the Soviet spy who has been working undercow-er in the UK for the last 29 years (aka he's been disguised as a cow and hasn't realised the Soviet union ceased to exist a good while ago).
Best simile (or worst, depending on your point of view): "Quick as a ferret on wheels"
Most boring character. Ever. Harold Johnson
Best mob: The Stuff the Pony Festival Committee (consisting of a few ladies with an average age of 83) upon hearing that Superintendent Trenchcoat wants to cancel the village festival because of a recent murder
Coolest character: Tom Hockney the gardener - because he has three fume hoods and several cupboards full of chemicals (including concentrated nitric acid) in his basement
Best speech: "No thank you I really didn’t mean that you should buy me a flock of penguins, please return them to the zoo"-speech
Coolest dialect: That of Butterbrayne's cook, Jean-Pierre Maçon. He's from Baystonhill, near Shrewsbury."’Ello monsieur, we are almost ready, oui? Vous avez un peu de patience, s’il vous plait, oui?"
Coolest capital of Eastern Copenhagen: The IKEA in Wommels (lord Butterbrayne was a bit tipsy...)
Worst sense of direction: Plimsoll or Trenchcoat. Dunno who's the brains behind "From York to the Yorkshire Moors via Barcelona"
Most dramatic scene: Under the Olde Elm Tree, the village pub, has run out of Yorkshire pudding and steak and kidney pie... *dundundundun!*
Scariest scene: Any scene involving the ducks
Most random scene: Plimsoll trying to catch the poacher:
The very next morning, Plimsoll was kicked out of bed before six AM and only allowed to finish half his breakfast before Trenchcoat threw him out to catch the poacher. Thinking that poachers usually come out around dawn and dusk to drink at watering holes, Plimsoll hid behind the bushes near the village stream. The village stream was very small and rather muddy, but it had some nice plants which were not dead. Plimsoll sat there for hours, not daring to move in case he scared the poachers off. He was very careful and made no sound, but around noon, there was still not a single poacher in sight. It was then that he began to suspect that he might have confused ‘poachers’ with ‘Thompson gazelles’. He whipped out his pocket Oxford English Dictionary. Like all good dictionaries, this one also included a Thesaurus. This particular Thesaurus was purple and had beautiful sharp teeth and claws.
‘Morning,’ said Plimsoll absent-mindedly.
‘Dawn, daybreak, sunrise, break of day, cock crow, sunup, first light, crack of dawn,’ shouted the Thesaurus.
Plimsoll smiled a very strained smile. None of his friends had such a motivated and loud Thesaurus. He looked up “Thompson gazelle”. The entry was: “Animal of the African continent. Moves in large herds over the savannah and comes down to watering holes at dawn and dusk. Comes in packs, though not in six-packs.”
‘Strange,’ he muttered.
‘Weird, unusual, odd, bizarre, outlandish, eccentric, weird and wonderful, extraordinary, out of the ordinary!’ shouted the Thesaurus happily. Damn the animal, it would definitely scare all the poachers. Plimsoll looked under “poacher”. It said: “A person, usually an elderly fellow who lives on the Yorkshire Moors, who catches wildlife illegally. Not to be confused with ‘Thompson gazelle’.”
‘Oh bugger,’ said Plimsoll.
The Thesaurus said nothing. Plimsoll looked amazed. ‘You’re quiet,’ he said.
‘Silent, calm, hushed, soft, gentle!’ shouted the Thesaurus. It looked slightly happier now.
‘Oh, shut up,’ snapped Plimsoll.
‘Be quiet, say nothing, silence, stop talking, close up!’
Plimsoll hastily snapped his dictionary shut, forcing the Thesaurus to jump back into the book and be quiet, shut up, be silent, close up.
I crawled across the finish line at 4.30 AM on Friday morning.
Before you start shouting hysterically - no, mum, I did not stay up half the night to write. I stayed up half the night because there was a ball and I got back at 4.20, and I spent the last few minutes writing the 87 words I had left.
So. I got my 50 k. Story isn't finished yet, though. I'm at chapter 10 or so (out of 22 planned... oh dear.)
Finished. Tired. Want to sleep. Have to do math. Don't think I will just yet.
Hm. Sleep.
Or read one of those twenty books I got at the book festival yesterday.
The butlers arrive at Butterbrayne Manor!
Important: It's NaNo. I was exhausted from a long day of uhm, biochem exams I think. Not sure when I wrote this. I had also eaten way too much chocolate and slept too little. This of course means that this is one of the best pieces of literature in the whole history of humanity. At least.
They arrived in buses and in little black cabs. The driveway of Butterbrayne Manor, or Butterbrayne Hotel, was jammed with all sorts of vehicles. Men emerged from these. Tall men with straight backs, most with neatly trimmed hair greying at the temples. No moustaches, no beards, no jeans or t-shirts, no patched jackets. They wore suits, neat black suits with white shirts, polished black shoes and looks of superior boredom. Most seemed fairly surprised when they were welcomed in the reception hall and their neat little black suitcases taken from them. These suitcases all had the names of their owners stamped across one corner – P.A. Smith, J. Henderson, S. Evans and so on – and most of the cases also sported large ‘WOMMELS – the place to be!’ stickers.
The men stood in the large hall that had once been an entrance hall and was now a reception hall. A large marble staircase led to the upper floors. It was flanked by beautiful statues and shining suits of armour. The men looked rather lost. Then suddenly, when the suitcases had all been taken away, it looked as though they remembered something. They began to chat, to laugh, to tell jokes, to relax and to slap each other’s backs. They did not look so neat and smart now, they looked like a bunch of middle-aged men who had just seen a rather nice cricket match and were looking forward to a pint of ale down at the pub.
‘Well, you know my guy-’
‘Fitzgordon, isn’t it?’
‘No, no, that’s Gerald’s. Mine’s Bellevue-White. The one with the white tufts of hair at his ears and the hooked nose.’
‘Oh, that fellow!’
‘Yes. Well, couple of months ago now – you understand I’m not supposed to be telling you this at all, but it’s too funny.’
‘Go on, I won’t tell, I swear.’
‘All right. So a couple of months ago I wanted to have a word with him about the seating arrangements at the dinner table – you know you can’t put Lady Nevill-Stuart next to Lord Upperton.’
‘Oh, that would give a right mess.’
‘Exactly, but you can’t put her next to Lord Halmondely either, he’s too fond of the ladies, Lord Nevill-Stuart would put out his eyes! The only place left for her would be next to Lady Smythe-Epaulette, but ever since that business at Lord Maurice’s manor… Might as well hand them knives and guns immediately.’
‘Damn right, you are, James, but anyway, what’s the story?’
James grinned, ‘I knocked on the door of his study and was told to enter. He was sitting there, behind his desk, with bright purple hair!’
The other men stared. James nodded and continued enthusiastically. ‘Obviously I am a professional so I managed to conceal my surprise to a great extend. He did notice something, so he brought out a mirror. “Oh dear me,” he muttered, “I’ve forgotten the wig.” I thought he was going to take it off then, I mean the Master with purple hair! But no, he walked over to a dressing table and took out a wig, one with white tufts of hair, and put it on. “You see,” he said to me then, “there was an accident with some food colouring when I was a lad. It’s not contagious.” And then he went calmly over the seating arrangements.’
‘Crazy,’ muttered another man. ‘I thought mine was rather strange, but this… Mind you, mine does funny things sometimes. Just last year he bought a herd of llamas. Thought they would look nice in the fish pond. Then he realised they were not fish.’
The men had entered the dining hall now. They sat down at long tables, still chatting, as food and wine were brought. Before they began to eat, a man stepped forward. He was dressed in a black suit like the rest, but his hair had nothing grey in it. He cleared his throat, which had no effect. He then took a knife and a glass and brought them together with a pleasing pling, this had some effect. He then took the glass, threw it in a wide arch so that it hit the wall and smashed into a thousand and thirty-four little pieces. The knife went the same way, although it was not smashed but just passed dangerously close by James’ nose. This had a lot of effect. The crowd pretty much shut up. James pulled the knife from the wall behind him and stared at it in amazement. ‘You could have killed me!’ he shouted. ‘You could have killed me dead!’
‘Yes, I could,’ the man said in a sharp voice. ‘But I did not. I did not come here to kill you, not to kill you dead and not to kill you alive. Ladies, who are absent, and gentlemen. So gentlemen and more gentlemen, actually. I wish to welcome you to the seventy-third annual Butler Conference. I am Jeeves Emmott, secretary of the National Union of Butlers. I thank you for coming here to this beautiful hotel. It is a pleasure to see so many of you. Fine men, dedicated to their work, their daily tasks, and not the least – dedicated to our magnificent union. We started out as a small group, to work for the interests of butlers throughout the nation, founding schools, giving advice, and helping the unfortunate ones who lost their jobs because they folded the newspaper the wrong way.’
There was some sporadic laughter and a murderous glance from James. ‘Bastard stole my joke!’
Jeeves continued as though he had not heard this, which he probably had not either because James was at the other end of the room. ‘In the past seventy three years we have grown, my friends. We are no longer a small group of old grey-haired men who meet in a dodgy pub once a year to discuss important events and plan more important ones. We are now a powerful and dedicated organisation, with more than a thousand members, almost a third of which are here today. Our aim is to improve the life and working conditions of butlers worldwide, to make our beautiful profession one that is respected and admired, and to find solutions that are perfect for both us butlers and the men and women and households we serve. During these two weeks we will discuss how we can do this. The National Union of Butlers, my dear gentlemen, is our organisation. Together we are strong.’
There was some scattered applause.
‘And now, gentlemen and even more gentlemen, I would like to give the word to the Lord Dwight Gerald Butterbrayne, who has so kindly granted us the use of his fine manor hotel, the Butterbrayne Manor, for this conference. Gentlemen and gentlemen, please welcome Lord Butterbrayne!’
There was much more applause as a small man, with a waist that was not at all slim and hair that definitely was not black anymore, stepped to the front. He cleared his throat, and the crowd fell silent immediately. He was not even holding a knife. Apparently, some people just have the ability to make a crowd fall silent without having to throw cutlery.
‘Dearest members of the National Butler Union,’ began Lord Butterbrayne. ‘May I please welcome you all to my manor house. I hope you will find your stay here enjoyable. My manor house has one hundred and thirty seven rooms, twenty nine bathrooms, several sitting rooms, dining rooms, a huge kitchen – but you will not be using that since I have an excellent cook, four Michelin stars actually – and I also have a garden for your enjoyment. I advice you to stay away from the duck pond, though, those creatures are not at all friendly.’ He coughed, and his golden tooth glittered. ‘I trust you will find everything to your taste, if you have any questions or strange wishes – I had a guest once who wanted a goat to bring his morning newspaper – please do not ask the butler since he is here at this conference with you lot. You should instead ask one of the many maids or the housekeeper. They probably will not know where to find a newspaper-fetching goat like my butler can, but they can do many other things and they will do it if it is something simple like giving you an extra pillow. So, all in all, gentlemen and more gentlemen, I hope you will enjoy your stay and have a nice conference. Thank you.’
Btw, word count is now almost 20 k :D
Title pretty much sums it up I think! I'm finished with biochem and can put those books away and not retrieve them until March or so :D There was a biochem test this Monday, I think it went all right - except for the fact that they had not set the clock back an hour for winter time, meaning I panicked completely because I thought I had spent two of my precious 3 1/2 hours answering three of the ten questions. I finished well on time - only found out about the damn clock later that evening.
But who cares about that. Also had a math exam, and this was much better because a) a vector is an entity with length and direction and not a messed-up sequence of DNA and b) their clock was right.
I've also started NaNo of course. It's going well. Today I wrote about 3000 words in some 90 minutes which is a record even for me, haha. My word count is 10.117 right now. The story is a real mess but hilarious - it's so much easier to write if you don't take yourself seriously.
(yes, Lord Butterbrayne's manor looks suspiciously like the Cecilienhof, I know)
Nothing has actually happened. I killed a guy in chapter 1, but "luckily this story is not at all about the murder of Robert Middleton" so it's okay. And I have a flock of murderous ducks, a guinea pig with an identity crisis and a Soviet spy called Nikolai Njetsosnugerov who has been working undercow-er (meaning he's been disguised as a cow for 29 years).
Also, I've done the pirate dare. I've got a chapter called 'The very normal life of Harold Johnson, part 1', and the next chapter is exactly the same except it's got pirates. Yaay. Now I'm going to write it again, this time with ninjas and pirates!
Also, since I went home to Norway last weekend you'll get pics.
Hope all your NaNo-novels are going well! If you're characters are annoying you can dump them in my novel if you like.
Being a student is fun. Uni rocks. My classes are pretty cool too. Sadly we've just finished organic chemistry (one test left, but no more classes) so for the next two weeks I only have biochemistry and math (and lab). I like math. Don't like the prof though. And the fact that we've learned just about nothing so far. Other people in my class have though - apparently they hardly learn anything about vectors at secondary school in the Netherlands. Needless to say - we do in Norway! So I'm ahead of the others in my class :D
Not in biochem though. Personally I think it's an insult to call that class bio*chem*. There's not much chemistry in it. It's biology. There was a bit about amino acids that actually had a little bit of chemistry in it, but apart from that it's all been tRNA, mRNA, 5'-3' direction, ribosomes... WTF. Gimme some formulae, please, or I'll go mad!!!
Meh. Just a couple more weeks and I'll have physical chemistry. Hurray!
I'm still camping at my uncle's. It's insanely difficult to find a room - there are organisations but they have waiting lists from here to Tokyo. And if you want to avoid the waiting lists you have to know the right people. I check for room ads pretty much every day and ask other students if they know anything, but so far no luck.
Ah well. Could've been worse. My uncle lives in the city centre - it takes me less than 15 minutes to bike to uni. And I've just bought a couple of big fluffy pillows. Unfortunately I have no one to throw them at :(
Also, I'm nearly finished with the chapter outline for NaNo! I know who the murderer is, I know why s/he killed Jeeves and I sorta know how Trenchcoat will figure it out. I can't wait to start writing, especially these chapters:
The dare list for NaNo08 just keeps on growing, lol!
Dare: Have a character who always carries a towel with him/her.
BP: It's an MC
DBP: The character is hitchhiking at some point in the novel
TBP: It's vital to the plot
QBP: The towel's blue
Two Plates of Cookies and three Cakes: The character has read Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
Oh I would so love to include an Evil Llama.....
Here be another dare I have happiley thought of:
At some point in your story, include the appearance of a random zoo animal
-BP if no one but your MC notices it
-DBP if no one beleives your MC when they start shouting about it
-TBP if, after a long period of time where the MC tries to prove their sanity, the other characters finally see the animal
-TBP and a fair trade biscuit if they then think nothing of it and never mention it again, to the MC's exasperation
-Have someone wearing moose antlers
BP if the character does it so s/he can wear several different hats at once
DBP if other characters use the antlers as a hat and/or coatrack
-Have a character compose a song about what they're doing at the moment
BP if in the middle of the song, they sing, "And I have no idea why the hell I'm singing!"
Have a group of your characters get severely lost in a bus system.
Bonus points if this is late at night.
Double bonus if it's because the subways already closed, and they were forced to take a bus.
One of your character's responses to every problem is always "Ninjas. Ninjas always did it."
BP if at one point in the novels it actually was ninjas. And everyone's still shocked.
TP if the character is actually a ninja working undercover, but nobody realises.
QP if the character disappears into the shadows every chapter, and is so ninja-like everyone reading it could have worked it out by now, but all the characters are blind.
A cookie if by the end of the book, the ninja character suddenly gains chronic amnesia and has forgotten everything about ninjas. Completely.
Have kung-fu fighing hamsters appear with appropriate theme music.
Have a character knit a sexy turkey hat ( http://www.etsy.com/view_listing.php?ref=sr_gallery_11&listing_id=746646...) and have it be intergral to the plot.
Have a possessed poodle named Fifi.
I dare someone to include an "evil spork of doom"
BP- if the spork makes the character who holds it kill any passing characters
DBP- if you also include a "good spork of health" which brings back to life characters killed by the evil spork
TBP- if this has absolutely no relevance to your plot
QBP and a cookie- if it is random passerby's that hold the sporks
- Have an attack of the killer tomatoes somewhere in your story.
- BP if it becomes a main plot point/the MC's motivation for whatever their primary goal is.
- DBP if, once the tomato rebellion has been quelled, another vegetable/fruit rises up to take their place.
"I knight thee Sir Simpleton" - a very simple man whose every word is very profound or at least important to the plot
BP if he actually is a knight
TBP if he carries a sword on his hip - no matter what time he lives in
Have a character who always wears and ugly mickey-mouse watch.
Bonus Points: If the person is usually at the height of fasion.
Double Bonus Points: If the watch has no sentimental value to the person wearing it.
Triple Bonus Points: If the watch doesn't even work.
Quadrupal Bonus Points: If the person wearing the watch doesn't know that it doesn't work and consults it often.
Bonus Points to the power of Five: If the other characters also forget that the watch doesn't work and continually ask that character what time it is.
Bonus Points to the power of Six: If the event of the person saying the wrong time is a major plot point.
Bonus Points to the Seventh Power and a Cookie: If the person never finds out that the watch doesn't work.
Have your characters continually waking up in bath tubs.
BP if they never know how they got there.
DBP if it's always a different tub.
TBP if each time, the character(s) immediately worry about their kidneys, even if they are in no discomfort and the bath tub is empty.
EPIC WIN if each time, the character(s) immediately check their ankle(s) for chains or cuffs.
Have one of your character start singing Beatles' songs at random points in the story.
*BP* if this is your MC.
*TBP* if this person looks like a Beatles' member.
*QBP* if this person has never seen/heard of "Across the Universe".
Have a character get his/her hands on a large load of fireworks.
*BP* if the character is a pyromaniac.
*DBP* if this becomes a major plot point.
*TBP* if the fireworks go off at random and unwelcome times.
*QBP and a brownie* if your story ends with all the remaining fireworks going "BOOM!"
"I will smack you on the head with a rubber chicken."
"I'd laugh. And then I'd run."
"Darn time warps..."
"Carnies smell like cabbage."
"I swear to drunk, I'm not God."
"Ah, Denny's, a friend of nighttime golf course wanderers."
"You, my friend, are frighteningly eloquent on the subject of cannibalism."
"Good evening sir and or madam."
"You know what would be cool? Like, if you had a fake eye and dinner conversation was getting boring? You could take your fork and jab it in your eye!"
"When life gives you lemons, glue them to your bra."
"If I can't hear your opinions they don't matter!"
"Stop opening portals to hell!"
"Optimus Prime is a revolutionary. Like a vegetarian."
"Have you ever given a zombie caffeine? They have plenty of character."
"You don't eat fungus unless it's cooked in an omelette."
"Your hair just makes everyone hungry. It's a good thing."
"I laugh at man pain."
"That one's fat and it says 29."
"No! I love you! I only bite you 'cause I think you're delicious!"
"Ha! I was right! That is my ovary!"
"I think you just tried to spell 'small' without an m."
"My dead body would appreciate that."
"And then I remembered I had a nose."
"I'd share my liver but not my food."
"Now imagine if you had tongues for feet."
Have hippies stroll into your novel!
BP if they take over your MC's lawn.
DBP if your MC can't get them to leave, but eventually "adopts" them
Use the phrase: "If it's too loud, turn it down!"
Have a garden gnome appear in the background at least once in every chapter
Hm.... I almost feel sorry for my characters. Almost. Still have no idea who actually killed the damn butler though.
Also, I'm really enjoying the research involved for this novel. Just got the complete second series of Poirot on dvd. Mwahahaha.
Btw, have adopted a pineapple.
The best thing about not writing a serious historical fiction book this year (not that I've ever written serious hist.fic...) is that I can use as many dares as I want. Might even write an entire novel consisting only of dares.
The NaNoWriMo server has collapsed, but I managed to get quite a few dares into my zulupad file before the forums disappeared...
Have a character lose one really expensive shoe only to have to replace it with a really ugly shoe.
BP - if the character walks around with the mismatched shoes throughout the entire novel.
DBP - if the shoe is a major plot point.
I dare you to solve a problem McGuyver style, using only a rubber-band, a paperclip and toothpaste.
BP if the Main Character has a mullet.
DBP if the setting doesn't lend to modern office technology (ex. feudal Europe)
TBP if the solved problem leads to world destruction.
I dare you to include a character named Someone.
Bonus if his name is equally nondescript
A cookie if no one ever gets confused except ONE CHARACTER, and no one ever understands how that one character gets confused.
Have a character who is building a wall out of a random object (in my case it was anvils, but go wild)
BP if this wall is important to the plot
DBP if this character isn't an MC
TBP if this character only appears at random moments to steal above-mentioned random item
Have your character go to the library to get some obscure book,
and when she/he opens it up, there’s an extremely old piece of thin sliced
ham between two of the pages.
"Oh come on, it's not rocket science, you know"
"Actually, it is"
Have a character who is totally obsessed with a colourful assortment of wax crayons and constantly carries them in their pocket throughout the novel.
BP if the crayons somehow save the characters from danger.
DBP if they somehow become integral to the plot.
TBP if after being saved by awesome colourful crayons, the characters decide they must be magic, mash them up into dust, and snort them while singing tribal chants, backwards.
Character one: Be careful with that! It's a very toxic and corrosive chemical!
Character two: Your MOM is a very toxic and corrosive chemical.
Character one: Be that as it may...
Have a character die in a freak trombone accident.
Include a narcoleptic bird somewhere in the story, and have your characters carry out a deep philosophical discussion about the futility of human existence and the ephemeral nature of life itself in reference to the bird.
Bonus Points: If the bird was once a major character OR is central to the plot of the story.
Double Bonus Points: If they later eat the bird.
Triple bonus: parrot sketch (added that myself, yaay)
Have a character who finishes every sentence with "...according to the prophecy."
I dare you to include four characters called Everybody, Somebody, Anybody and Nobody.
BP if they are quadruplets and your MCs (well, not my MCs, but they'll be around)
DBP if at one point you include the line "it was nobody's fault" and Nobody runs off crying.
TBP if name confusion leads to a major plot point.
You built THAT in your room?"
"I could hardly build it in the kitchen, could I?"
"This is the biggest cock up in the history of things cocking up."
Include a ghost that isn't unfriendly, isn't particularly friendly either, doesn't communicate much with the living, and just generally tolerates the people living in his house.
BP if he turns on the radio, just because he likes music
DBP if he takes occasional showers
TBP if the people living in his house (or place or whatever) know about him, and just say "Oh yeah, that was the ghost" like it's nothing weird
Describe a game of imaginary badminton
Describe a game of "midnight scrabble" (which is best played slightly tipsy)
Include a vegetarian who will eat pepperoni, bacon, and anything from Subway.
BP if this person considers these exceptions "food from the gods"
DBP if this person also won't eat other random things because "duh, I'm a vegetarian"
i.e. "have some guacamole" "are you serious? I'm a vegetarian"
Write one whole chapter in the form of text message conversation transcript
Include a character who always knows what's going to happen next
BP if no one thinks this is weird
DBP if no one listens anyway
TBP and a sprinkled donut if later, when the person turns out to be right, they point it out and no one believes them.
novembernovembernovemberNOVEMBER!!!
Since Gabriele thought I'd fallen into a gracht, I guess I'd better prove that I'm still very much alive.
Biochem is doing its best to put an end to that, though.
Meh.
Busybusybusy! Still going to do NaNoWriMo this year, though! There's another chemistry student who also does NaNo so it'll be teh awesome! We can sit in the Proton room (Proton is the chemistry student organisation) and drink tea and have word wars. Yaay!
Maybe we should go to some of the lectures as well, in the odd chance that we might actually learn something.
Well, to make sure I don't get too caught up in various aspects of Roman daily life I'm not doing historical fiction this year, but a fantastic whodunnit parody called The Snuffing of Jeeves. I am proud to present... A short description of what will soon be a mess of ufos and ninjas!
The 100th annual butler conference is being held in a grand hotel on the Yorkshire moors, once the manor house of the respectable Lord Butterbrayne. But things are not as idyllic as they seem... One of the butlers disappears. Then he is found, but unfortunately he has died in the meantime.
Can superintendent Trenchcoat and his new sidekick, the young and very much inexperienced sergeant Plimsoll, find the murderer without cancelling the traditional village festival?Who knows? More importantly, who cares?
Mhm... I can already smell the Nobel Prize for Literature!
So all in all I'm doing absolutely terrific. I've learned so many things. Well, chemistry obviously. But also, what it means to be a student.
You know you are a student when...
- All your white clothes have turned a delicate shade of blue because you just stuff everything in the washing machine
- You have not worn and will never wear the white Norwegian IChO team t-shirt because it should stay white :P
- "Tea" has its own field on your monthly budget
- Any two ingredients can be combined with tomatoes to make pasta sauce (peanuts and tofu, anyone?)
- socks are overrated
- grandma rocks
- so does McMurry
- and waiting on trainstations because you can read McMurry and get funny glances from the people around you
I think I can say for sure there's more to come :P
Dear mum, dad, uncle, aunt, whoever reads this - last week I ate the last of the Kvikk Lunsj I bought at Gardermoen. SOS!
I realise it's been a while since I last posted. I've been busy with, well, everything. Never, ever more to another country or study abroad, unless you love going through tons of paperwork. Trust me, lol.
Naah, it's not that bad. I'm finished with the introduction week at Amsterdam uni, but I haven't actually started studying yet. And well, I'm not going to either. Not in Amsterdam anyway. This probably won't come as a surprise... I switched to chemistry. In Utrecht (yaay!). The application deadline for international students is 1. June but they didn't really care, lol.
It was a difficult choice, but I'm sure now that chemistry is the right study for me, and not ancient studies, fascinating though ancient history is. It's because of the chemistry olympiad, of course. Strange to think that I'm now a chemistry student... Probably this wouldn't have happened if the nerd in my chemistry class (remember him?) hadn't beaten me with one point in the first Norwegian round of the olympiad. I don't believe in fate or anything, but it is rather funny :P
Well, I'm very much looking forward to the start of the semester - I'll get to wear a labcoat and mess around in a lab a lot :D:D
Of course I still love history and will continue with my novels but it'll be a hobby and not my profession :)
Right, I'd better get a move on and fill in the last forms :D I hope to get a real post up soon-ish.
