Dear my esteemed and wonderful readers,
NaNoWriMo is finally over! For a geek freak like me, it was probably one of the top three coolest things I've ever done, and I have to say, it was rewarding. I completed the challenge and reached 50,000 words in thirty days, but I am sad to say that my novel is far from over. Nevertheless, I thought that I might share an excerpt with you all. Hope you like it! (Keep in mind, it is still a first draft, so some parts might seem crummy; those will be dealt with during revisions.)
We all stand in a big clump, gazing around the area to try and familiarize ourselves with each other. Osmond looks as
if he wants to say something.
“Well,”
he says awkwardly, “hello.” He tosses his hands up in a feeble attempt to be
friendly, but he seems more shocked and nervous than socially skilled.
“Oh,
just cut to the chase,” says the nun, apparently having woken up on the wrong
side of the underground rock. “My name is Sister Eleanor Grace, and you will
call me by nothing else.”
I
am not sure how to respond to her angry, authoritative attitude. Should I feel
like I have met my soul mate, or should I object and take charge myself?
“This
is the drunk—I mean, the gentleman—Mr. John Terrence,” she says, gesturing
towards the tall and scrawny man. He nods faintly, still staring off into
space.
“You
like alcohol, huh?” I ask him, trying to remain friendly to one of my people.
“What’s your favorite kind?”
Before
he can answer, Sister Eleanor Grace looks at Osmond and points at me, not even
glancing at my face.
“Who
is this?” she asks, straightforward and almost rude. Osmond looks slightly
taken aback, and I know that I am, because I stand up and retaliate with full
force; it’s not time to lose to this woman. I have decided: I don’t like her.
She
finally looks at me, with a scowl on her face to match mine, even possibly
surpass it.
“My
name is Donovan Cuthbert Montgomery,” I state, matter-of-factly, with a proud
and gruff aura. “I am a lawyer of London, England, a graduate with three
college degrees from Cambridge University, and way above your league, you rosarie-wearing,
gila monster-faced, rude sister from St. Richard’s Catholic School.” I put on a
half-scowl, half-smile expression, as she gives me a slightly puzzled look.
“Oh, I know who you are, NUN,” I continue, answering her obvious facial question, “The
Dragon Lady of St. Richard’s Cathedral isn’t exactly a quiet subject in my
township.”
She
doesn’t smile, but she looks back at the redhead for a moment, who shrinks back
and gives me a look that clearly tells me to quit before she starts talking.
But
naturally, I don’t; how could a nun beat a lawyer in a debate?
She
holds her finger up to grab my attention, with not a drop of low confidence
about her aura.
“You
listen here, JOWLS,” she demands of me, scowling. “I’m sure you have grown up
believing that you were superior to people, but tell me, has anyone ever told
you how beefy you are?”
Slightly
taken aback, but not completely, I respond with a simple:
“Yes,
in fact, and I haven’t cared in the slightest.”
“Well,
I’m going to tell you again, because you deserve it: you’re fat. I say, that
roll of skin that hangs out of your collar is just as thick as your skull,
which is saying something.”
As
she takes a breath and thinks of other things to hold against me, I glance over
at the redhead girl, who grins in amusement; I can tell that she has seen
Sister Eleanor Grace in action before.
“Now,
you may have been told that you are smart, powerful, or even useful in your
life before, but listen to me now, and I won’t lie to you like those people in
your past: you are a reptile so low and so flat, not even your mother with all
of her size and massive proportions could crush you with her heel, which I am
sure she has been longing to do since you were first born. And believe it or not, she
is probably almost as hefty as you are.”
I
just let my jaw slowly drop, only half aware of it as it moves. Her tone
remains powerful, sturdy, neutral, and taunting as she speaks to me, making
sure that I will never ever retaliate.
“So,
one final warning, you incredibly large lawyer: you are in my domain now, and
no one comes into my domain and OVERTHROWS ME.”
The
redhead just sinks to her rear end, as if trying to remain inconspicuous.
“Get
the picture?” she finishes, putting on an even more distinct scowl and smile as
she stares at me.
I
refuse to be treated this way. I won’t be taken down by a NUN.
“Well,
did you know that your cheekbones resemble the eye sockets of a rotting skeleton?”
I ask her cruelly, narrowing my eyes. I can feel the air of intensity and suspense as we face off, already clashing for
power after about two minutes of knowing each other. I will not stop, however,
until I win, and she will have to accept that.
“The
fact is, Mr. Montgomery, you look about as much better than me than a tarantula
does to Queen Victoria,” she responds, still not giving way. “The fact is, you
are trying to beat me and gain the position of most respect and power, but
here’s the thing: you THINK that you are superior to ME, but I KNOW that I am
superior to YOU. Any questions?” She continues to glare triumphantly, but I
still will not let her win this.
“Well,
you black-dressed, grumpy old she-male, let me get one thing straight: you
think you have the right to insult me when all you do is clean your church all
day and act like your very own aunt has passed away in a meat grinder. Why is this? Is there some sort of
motive behind your feeble reasoning?”
“I
can see a million reasons, but instead of answering your question, I’m going to
put you down to prove that I have every right to be winning this
debate. I’m going to make one point clear, and then you’d better keep on
walking, because I’ve got people to talk to that could make you look
like…well…yourself; the truth is, I admire your attempt at trying to persevere
and beat me, lard-face, but why don’t you go try your insults on someone who
actually cares next time? Sorry, JOWLS, but you just can’t win today.”
And
with that, she smiles tauntingly and walks past me, briskly introducing herself
and the others to Osmond, Andrew, and Adelaide. I just stand with angry defeat,
staring off into space like a drunken monkey. As John and the teenager pass by
me without a word, the redhead stops directly next to my head and whispers in
my ear.
“Yeah,
I don’t like her either,” she states, keeping her voice so low that I can
hardly hear her, and I’m only a few inches away. “She did that to me when we
first met.”
She
glances at me, proving that she is on my side.
“Well,
my name is Rowan,” she says, outstretching her hand to shake mine. Instead of
rejecting her kind gesture like I usually do to people, I return it, looking
her in the eye with slight confusion. “And I will help you bring down Sister
Eleanor Grace.”
I
smile. “Ready to take on the hungry dragon?”
“Oh,
yes. And I am definitely ready to slay it.”
“Bring
it on,” I finish, with a newly-kindled confidence.
c. Taylor Ward 2012. All rights reserved.
