So, I’m thinking I was going through one of my “emulate Dickens” phases when I was writing this. I love the way he described characters. I know a lot of people don’t like him because they consider him wordy, and yeah, sometimes, but his characters are so well drawn, they’re consistently presented in more or less the same way regardless of who’s producing the adaptation. It’s genius, I tell you.
Not so much when I try to copy the method. Anyway, here’s someone new. There are lots of WIPpeteers, so do not despair as I lay out my lengthy first draft, backstory heavy, word-encumbered WIPpets for a while. There are plenty of lovely, action and/or emotion packed WIPpets just waiting to be read. I won’t be offended in the least if you pop on over to read those instead. 🙂 Better yet, join our ranks. Be sure to thank K.L. Schwengel for hosting.
The math today: November is the eleventh month. Hence, I took one of the ones from eleven to get one paragraph.
Another TrueBlue bobbed lightly nearby the one Troy picked out as leader. He was young. Too young, Troy thought. He didn’t shave, that much was clear, but the scraggly excuses for whiskers poking out from his chin could not have belonged to a boy more than fourteen, seventeen tops, if he lagged a bit in his development. His brown hair was cut in one of the newer fashions, short on top and long in back. Troy heard it was supposed to minimize embarrassing hair-in-the-eyes moments, a problem he never encountered himself, as shaving his head was part of his daily routine, only in his case, it had to do with aquadynamics, not impressing fems. In spite of the young TrueBlue’s current gangly appearance, faint yellow striping and orange tipping promised a fetching appearance in the future, if he ever got any exercise. The boy tapped on a small device, occasionally jerking his arms up or down, as if he were trying to move something on the screen with his whole body rather than using the buttons. Troy decided he was the Tech expert. It wasn’t uncommon for them to be very young. Troy sighed inwardly, bemoaning the twists of fate that would gift a young male with a tail pattern to melt hearts and then grant him the ability to do all his work from a bubble spring. What a waste.