The Novembering
Did all my fancy errands today, oh boy. Me and Sarah wandered all over Savannah and it was lovely. The only not-lovely bit about the day was the part where Sir Ian McKellen was at Trustees Theater and I was not there at the same time, but I lived vicariously through various acquaintances who were there. This girl from Pokemon club, apparently not knowing who he was, saw him on the street and told him his car was sexy. My brain pretty much exploded when she told me this.
Also, I bought some plaid SCAD PJ pants (they have a bee on them!) and some SCAD gloves. I'm REPRESENTIN'. Also, the gloves are nice and warm and I wore them home from Ex Libris and was very happy.
In other news, I had so much fun just now, writing about my main character from someone else's point of view. It was great emphasizing just how creepy he is.
She pulls up a few feet from him and rolls down the window as he walks over. His gait is a little stiff, but it’s cold out and he’s not dressed very warmly, so it makes sense. He’s also not as handsome up close. From afar, she’d seen an angular face, broad shoulders, nicely tousled dark hair; but up close he is gaunt, oddly pale. His eyes are set deep in his head and shadowed heavily, as if he hasn’t slept in weeks. His lips are nearly devoid of color.
“Room for one more?” he says. His voice is low and soft and strange, and his teeth seem too long for his mouth. She nods slowly, nervousness warring with excitement inside her. Yes, it seems like a terrible idea, but the sky is falling and that’s part of the fun. He opens the door and climbs in, closes it. His clothing is all old and worn and somewhat mismatched, and he smells a little like a thrift store, a little like snow, and a lot like soil.
(and later...)
She pulls the car out onto the road again, unable to quite shake the feeling that she is sitting next to a cardboard cutout. He just doesn’t quite seem like he’s really there. She spends several minutes wondering just what it is about him that’s so peculiar. It is then that she realizes that he hasn’t blinked once this whole time.
Also, I bought some plaid SCAD PJ pants (they have a bee on them!) and some SCAD gloves. I'm REPRESENTIN'. Also, the gloves are nice and warm and I wore them home from Ex Libris and was very happy.
In other news, I had so much fun just now, writing about my main character from someone else's point of view. It was great emphasizing just how creepy he is.
She pulls up a few feet from him and rolls down the window as he walks over. His gait is a little stiff, but it’s cold out and he’s not dressed very warmly, so it makes sense. He’s also not as handsome up close. From afar, she’d seen an angular face, broad shoulders, nicely tousled dark hair; but up close he is gaunt, oddly pale. His eyes are set deep in his head and shadowed heavily, as if he hasn’t slept in weeks. His lips are nearly devoid of color.
“Room for one more?” he says. His voice is low and soft and strange, and his teeth seem too long for his mouth. She nods slowly, nervousness warring with excitement inside her. Yes, it seems like a terrible idea, but the sky is falling and that’s part of the fun. He opens the door and climbs in, closes it. His clothing is all old and worn and somewhat mismatched, and he smells a little like a thrift store, a little like snow, and a lot like soil.
(and later...)
She pulls the car out onto the road again, unable to quite shake the feeling that she is sitting next to a cardboard cutout. He just doesn’t quite seem like he’s really there. She spends several minutes wondering just what it is about him that’s so peculiar. It is then that she realizes that he hasn’t blinked once this whole time.