I am still into novel writing mode, rather heavily. Because of that, I thought I might offer you an extract from my work-in-progress, with a sketch giving the introduction of a sweet young thing and of the hero not exactly coping too well with her. What emotions do the characters arouse in you?
He was filled with dread when he reached home, and the first words he heard as he let himself in the front door seemed to warrant that feeling completely. It was a girl’s voice, with a slightly whiny and complaining quality and sounding thoroughly bad-tempered, coming to him clearly from the direction of the sitting-room. ‘… want to go to Granny’s now. I need to change and freshen up. I don’t ****-well see why we have to meet this stupid **** retard before that.’
The voice of a woman replied. This was a pleasant one, and he liked it immediately. ‘Please don’t use that language. You know I hate it. And please don’t call him that.’
‘Why **** not? He is one. I mean, just look at that **** picture of him. Just like all the others I’ve seen. A complete **** village idiot.’
At that moment Donald came from the direction of the kitchen, holding a tray of tea and coffee things, and spotted Hugh in the hallway. ‘Ah, you’re home, Hugh,’ – everyone seems to state the obvious on such occasions – ‘come and meet Raine and Tyrentia.’
Suddenly conscious of the fact that he had a rather rumpled appearance following his climb, leap-and-roll, and dash for the bus, Hugh shambled into the sitting room. Mother and daughter stared at him, and he stared back. Both had long, very black hair. Both had very fair complexions – in the case of Tyrentia, startlingly white. Both, surprisingly, had blue eyes. Tyrentia’s were of a particularly vivid shade.
The most noticeable thing about them, though, was the difference in expressions. Raine’s was sweet, serene and humorous. Tyrentia looked exactly as disagreeable as she had sounded.
Raine smiled and rose from her chair saying, ‘Hello, Hugh; how nice to meet you at last,’ and came over to give him a hug. The boy wasn’t sure how to respond, but ended up by dropping his bag on his foot and mumbling, ‘Dja do.’
Tyrentia didn’t get up. She gave Hugh the sort of look one would normally reserve for rotten fish, and said, ‘Hello. Right; now we’ve met. Can we ****-well go to Granny’s, now?’
Her mother frowned at her, resumed her seat, and then said to Hugh, ‘Tell me about yourself. What are your favourite sports?’
Hugh was looking at the tea things, and the sight reminded him. ‘Cupcakes!’ he blurted.
Donald glared at him and jumped in with, ‘Oh yes, Hugh baked some cupcakes for us this morning. Let me fetch them.’
‘Oh, for ****’s sake! It cooks! Look, I’m just going for a walk in the **** garden.’ Ignoring her mother’s protests, Tyrentia let herself out.
© Colonialist May 2013 (WordPress)