A Battle Fought at Midday, Part IV

It's back, after a long while and several offscreen bouts with the famed enemy Procrastination.  A Battle Fought at Midday has returned for a smashing conclusion.  My apologies for the lateness of this blog post; it took longer to write than I anticipated.

The last sequence was in May; can you believe it?  Procrastination's had me pinned down, but I've conquered him and I'm forging onwards.

Please note that this is the last segment of a four-part story (which I have finally finished). The first segment of the series is found here.  The second, here.  The third, here.  Beware; my writing has gotten better since then, so the writing quality of the first few segments leave much to be desired.

A BATTLE FOUGHT AT MIDDAY

PART IV

In Which I Defeat an Enemy and My Pen Talks

"Blasted swing." He cursed, sitting up and rubbing a bruised nose.

"Watch your language," I said, stepping aside and letting the personification clamber upright. "I have younger sisters, y'know."

He stood and dusted off his Shadowy Cloak.

"I see that you chose to go name brand," I said, leaning on my sword's pommel. "I can see the tag on the bottom edge. Everything Villainous© Inc."

Procrastination scowled perfectly, raising one lip just so. I could tell that he'd been practicing. "My cousin told me that black was the new blue. And leather was in style."

"'Cause you really care about that stuff," I said, sarcasm drying on my tone. (Making it drip would be rather disgusting.)

"You do." Procrastination spat a few times, evidently trying to rid his mouth of dirt. "Do I see a logo on your hilt?" He mussed his hair, dirt and dust raining down from the black, tangled mess.

I took a look at my hilt. A symbol in the shape of a button was carved there, and I pointed it out to him. "This thing? It's not a logo."

"Then what is it?"

I grinned. "It's a button." I pushed it. "Awaken, Pen!" And then I pushed it again...and it talked.

"I'm awake, I'm awake! Don't push it more than once, ya inked-up scoundrel, all it serves is your own impatience. Patience! Ya don't have any! Be quiet, I don't wanna hear an argument! What's the situation and why didja wake me up? I'm grumpy in the summers, buddy, I hope ya know that. Why, I'd—"

"Be quiet," I interrupted. "I'm trying to have an Epic Showdown with Procrastination. That's your job. We need to defeat him."

"Fight to the Write? Or did ya come up with some other dumb hey-I'm-a-geek phrase for a simple battle?"

I sighed. "Yes, Fight to the Write." The Pen fights better than a sword, I reflected. Especially when it IS a sword. A rather garrulous sword...

"Good," the Pen said. "En garde, Procrastination! You shall die exquisitely!"

Procrastination groaned. "Not the Pen. It talks more than my sister, and that's saying something."

He didn't have time to complain much longer, because the Pen lurched forward, taking my hand with it. "AYEEEEEEEEE!" The less-than-bone-chilling howl echoed down the street. (It would be better labeled a girly screech. It sounded rather like a cross between a dying cow and a turkey that swallowed a marshmallow and can't force it down.) I hoped fervently that the neighbor didn't hear him.

For a long time, we fought. Around the tree, around the tree again, over the downed tire swing (which Procrastination tripped over again), around the tree, up the tree, down the tree, and we knocked over my sister's flowers.

And we fought around the tree once more.

And then, when my strength began to run out and my hand began to tremble, Procrastination broke the Rules of Combat (Copyright © 2011 Villainous and Heroic Enterprises Inc.), which neither of us really paid attention anyway. He summoned help with a literal snap of the fingers.

Instantly, the monstrous Allegebra Mathe stood in front of me. He was one of the only two things in the world that are really indescribable; the first is the Golux's hat. The only thing I could clearly describe was the spray-painted sword, which shone black in the sun. Mathe wasn't the richest villain, but he prided himself in his shiny spray-paint.

"Here we go again!" the Pen cried, and before I could stop him, we hurtled towards the beastie (who was cruelly crushing the flowers by the front door).

I (or the Pen) took a stab at Mathe. He and I exchanged a few blows, steel against spray-painted steel. The paint began to flake off.

And then I realized something.

"Wait a moment!" I shouted. "You can't be here! I'm finished with school for the week!"

And then he was gone, just like that, without a poof or a bang or a ping. Just gone.

"Rats," I heard Procrastination mutter from close behind me. I tried to Heroically Whirl Around, but a black shoe tripped me, making me twist and fall over. I thumped to the ground, flat on my back. The Pen clattered to the ground, where it began to shout insults at Procrastination's trickery.

"You're a foul-faced flapstapper, Procrastination! Fight like a REAL Villain, and let me at ya! You can't hurt an unarmed man, ya persnickety ploshy—"

Meanwhile, Procrastination's blade stared me in the face, and I wondered why he had drawn two eyes on the blade in blue Sharpie.

"Now you're MINE, writer!" Procrastination began to laugh evilly, bringing up his blade to stab.

I winced. "You need to work on your laugh."

"Be quiet! I'm about to stab you in the stomach!" Procrastination paused for a moment. "....what's wrong with it?"

"For one, you laugh like a girl*," I said, and made a footnote. "No modern villain says 'Ha ha ha!'. It just sounds cheesy."

Procrastination rolled his eyes. "I'm trying to enjoy my moment of supreme victory, and you're lecturing me on laughing. It's annoying, stop it."

"Try adding a "Mwah" in there," I continued. "Like you're a chef or something." I kissed my fingertips in what I hoped looked like a chef-like manner and made a "mwah" sound.

"Mwah ha ha ha!" Procrastination laughed.

I winced again. "You sound like you're laughing and kissing at the same time. Cut the smooching bit and try again."

"Mwahahhahaha!" he tried.

"Great job!" I said. "Now, you can proceed to headlock him."

"What?" Procrastination said, puzzled, until an arm locked around his neck. Inspiration looked over Pro's shoulder.

"Hey, Jake." Inspiration grinned. "I'm back. And it's time for Procrastination to go. When inspiration comes, procrastination flees. You can quote me on that."

"I might put it on my blog," I said, standing up. "Now, Procrastination, we've Fought. Now it's time for me to Write."

Procrastination struggled. "Hey! I was about to win! You NEVER let me win, it's not fair!"

I picked up my sword off the ground, pushing the button in the hilt before the Pen could get a word in edgewise. "Yeah...it's far too easy to stall you. Maybe you'll know better next time." I then turned the Pen of Doom back into a pen...and twisted the end, turning it on.

Procrastination let out a classic Villainous "NOOOOOOO!" shriek as I stepped up to him. Inspiration held him fast, though.

I took my pen and wrote on his forehead, "Silence. It held the hall like the cold grip of death...."

And then, with a final shout, he faded out of reality...for a while.

*Please note that I mean no offense to either girls or their laughs.  I was stating a simple fact.  If you have grievances against me or resent me for stating a simple fact, please contact me using the information on my contact page (which I am too lazy to copy-and-paste).  Thank you.

So, what did you think?  Good, bad, needed work?  Feel free to critique.

Farewell for now, folks!  I'm hoping I'll be back soon.

Where in the Name of Cheez-Its has Jake Gone?

Greetings and Hallucinations, Elves, Dwarves, Readers, and other strange characters!

It's been a while since I've been here.  Things have been hectic here in Kansas.  Between schoolwork and lots of other activities, I've barely had any time to write.  (And I assure you, for once, it's not Procrastination's fault.  This time it's Mathe.)

But a few new things are coming my way in the direction of writing.  If all goes well, most of my school will be finished on Friday.  But I have to do triple schoolwork everyday to do that. (OO)

Right now, I'm working on my One Year Adventure Novel.  It must be done before the middle of June (my goal), due to the fact that I am hopefully going to the OYAN Workshop at the end of June.  The famed EaglesWings will also be there.  Right now, I'm at 2,675 words, with a goal of at least 25K.  It's my first 'historical novel', but it's really very similar to my fantasy novels, taking place in 1100s England.  Some legends are being used, and I'm excited about it. :)

For those of you waiting with bated breath for the next segment of A Battle Fought at Midday, breathe.  It's coming sometime soon.  If not this week, then next weekend.

Some non-writing stuff has been happening as well.  Though the world didn't end yesterday, it got awfully close.  We were under a tornado warning for a while last night, and a bad thunderstorm.  No tornadoes touched down, but sirens were going off.

Also, my mom is having me read the Kansas Driving Handbook.  Beware, Kansas drivers, beware....

That's all I have time to write. :)  More posts coming within the week! (I think.  If I don't post, Mathe has eaten me.)

A Battle Fought at Midday, Part III

Sorry it took so long to get to this, all! But, as promised, here is the third installment of A Battle Fought at Midday.

If you have not yet read the first two installments in the story, please read them! You can find the first one here and the second one here.

Oh, and another shameless advertising blurb: my giveaway is still running wild, so if you want to enter or just check out the interview with Jill Williamson, just click here.

Enjoy. Don't let Procrastination win!

A BATTLE FOUGHT AT MIDDAY

Part III

In Which I Battle Procrastination (and Ruin My Shoe)

I blocked the blow with the Pen, easily. I laughed in his face, our blades crossed. "That all you have, Big Pro?"

He growled. "I told you not to call me that!" Procrastination shoved my blade backwards, and stepped back, uncrossing the blades. He then feinted to the right, and swung wildly at my feet.

I merely stepped back a bit, and then stamped my foot down on the sword. He jerked it back, slicing my shoe.

"I was going to throw them away anyhow," I said. "I have a newer pair by the door."

He said nothing to this, and we fought for a little bit longer, bantering.

"So, Big Pro, how's your assignment to Sir Batson coming along?" I taunted, knowing very well that Sir Batson was doing just fine with Procrastination. After all, he had dragons and sea monsters on his side—not to mention Alastair Coldhollow.

His face reddened, so I added a barb to an already salty wound. "Your silence speaks volumes."

"You are a thrice-accursed son of a pigdog!" he fumed. "You don't deserve to wield a pen, thy stupid, foul, four-eyed writer from the dirt pile!" Procrastination spat at me. Literally. Never the good aim, he missed me by several inches, hitting the tan, oval clock on the wall behind me instead.

"Such language!" I said. "If your mother could hear you."

He shouted incoherently and stabbed at me. I sidestepped, and he viciously stabbed the clock instead.

"Oops! Missed me again, you butterfingers you. And look what you did to my dear mum's clock."

"Always one to butcher the accents," Procrastination said, tugging at his sword. I struck a Basil Stag Hare pose while a waited, one foot gracefully positioned on the mutilated red couch.

"On the contrary," I told him, holding my sword loosely at my side to complete the effect.

He finally tugged his sword free, and turned to face me. "Then come and face me!"

"I'm already facing you," I said. "Do you want me to get any more face? I can go and borrow another one, if you wish."

"Keep the one you have," he snorted. "I'm tired of your games. Let us get this over with." He took a swing at me.

"I'm enjoying it, actually," I said, parrying. "We could stop and do a mind duel, if you wish. I can go and get my shampoo."

"No," Procrastination said flatly, blocking a blow from me. "I already took a shower today."

"It doesn't smell like it," I said. I ducked under one of his slashes. What was meant to slash me slashed my poor couch, and couch stuffing went everywhere, making me sneeze.

"This is going to be really hard to explain," I said dryly, tripping Procrastination. He rolled to one side as I stabbed at him, and stood up. He hit his head on an old lamp near the window, and it fell over. Glass shattered, and tinkled all over the ground outside. (Which, to quote The Book of the King, is not to say it went to the bathroom, but that it made a ringing sound.)

He shook himself off, and I waited near the now unstuffed couch. Procrastination charged back at me, trying to use what little weight he had to his advantage. (Procrastination looked like a Wisp, I'm tellin' you—he was all skin and bones. Which was strange, considering he was actually an embodiment of a feeling/action.)

I merely sidestepped (again) and then ran out the window, breaking the rest of the window and tumbling out into the front lawn.

Procrastination recovered and ran out after me. "That sidestep is getting annoying," he said, smushing one of the recently trimmed bushes in the landscaping.

"Hey, I worked hard on that trimming!" I said, ducking behind the giant oak in our front yard.

He followed me around, and we went in circles for a little bit, running around and around the giant oak. After a bit, I stopped and turned, dropping my sword. I tackled Procrastination football-style.

Procrastination grunted, dropping his sword and scrabbling at me with his long fingernails. We tumbled across the lawn for a bit. The guy was like Gollum or something—he might be small, but he can pack a wallop with his wiry body.

I managed to free myself (realizing that tackling him wasn't such a good idea after all), and ran for my sword. I snatched it from the grass and stood behind the tire swing (which hung from a branch in the oak).

Procrastination stood on the other side of the tire swing, a scowl on his face. "This has gone long enough," he said. Holding his sword with one hand, he cut at the chain of the tire swing. It thumped to the ground. Procrastination stepped over it to swing at me.

And promptly tripped, falling on his face.

********

Enjoyed it? I hope so.  See some mistakes?  I always need editing!  Comment and tell me what you think of this latest installment in the story.  It was rather difficult to write, being 'the middle' of the story.  I promise you, though, the next installment will be the best yet.  Talking swords (er...pens?), the return of turkey spies, and a massive cleanup job.  Hopefully.  I might have to split it into two more installments. O_o

Well, cheerio, folks! (and other breakfast cereals!)

A Battle Fought at Midday, Part II

No idea what's going on?  See here for the original post.  

All right, folks, it's time for the next installment of this series.  Hope you like it.  Give me some feedback in the comments below, and I'd be much obliged.  Enjoy (I hope)!

A BATTLE FOUGHT AT MIDDAY

Part II: In Which I Quote Cyrano

The rumbling grew, and the floor began to shake. I watched it with mild interest, propping my feet on a shivering stool nearby.

In a burst of wood, carpet, fuzzy stuff, and concrete, the floor burst, and a shadowed figure sprang from the cavity. He drew a long, wicked sword as he saw me.

"Jake of the Sadaar!" he bellowed. "You have ignored my cohort's demands, and now you must pay the price!"

I leaned back and took a look at the back of my hand, appearing uninterested. "Procrastination, good to see you. Your cohort was a blundering fool who didn't know a phone from his own face." I looked up at him, and I blinked in surprise. "You had a wardrobe update, I see. Much more sinister, I must say."

Beneath his shadowy hood (the new one: the other one was blue plastic), I could see Procrastination roll his eyes. "My wardrobe choices are minor. What really matters here is your direct insult to my character...."

"Or lack thereof," I muttered under my breath.

"...and prestige. You actually hung up on my representative, Sadaar! What do you have to say about this, writer?"

I stood up slowly, carefully keeping away from the hole in the floor. "Well, first off," I replied, "You haven't brushed your teeth today."

I could see him doing mental facepalms as I spoke. "Sadaar," he said at length, "You are a writer of the worst and most incorrigible sort."

"Oh?" I said. "Is that all? Why, there is a great much more you might have said, had you some wit to color your discourse--"

"Blast it, Sadaar, stop with the Cyrano de Bergerac quotes!" He ground his teeth, his lips a thin, angry line. "I cannot stand that man."

I said nothing for a moment. "Well, 'tis true," I said, after I had let him boil in his on anger for a bit (and his face looked definitely red enough for such a fact). "Of wit you have not an atom."

"Writer! Blimp! You curd!" Procrastination fumed. "Buttonhead!"

"How do you do," I replied smoothly. "Now, if you excuse me, I was having a conversation with Inspiration a moment before you most rudely poked your red little head into my business."

He grinned maliciously. "He's gone, Sadaar, now that I'm here."

I sighed. "Yeah, that's the way it often works. Procrastination comes, inspiration flees." I cast a glare his way. "If I were blogging this, I'd quote myself."

"Actually," Procrastination started, but I cut him off.

"But I neglect hospitality. Tell me why you have come, and then I'll kick you out of my house." I looked at the hole in the floor. "Besides, how am I supposed to explain this hole to Mom?"

Procrastination shrugged. "I came for the turkular weapons. I was going to threaten a war if you didn't hand them over, or find some sort of biological weapon to use on you and your little dog."

"Come on," I said. "We all know you have an ulterior motive, Procrastination. And besides, my dog isn't that little. He's--"

"Remind me, again, what 'ulterior' means?" he said, avoiding the question.

"It means, you have to answer me now, or I'll pull the Pen of Doom on you." I pulled it out of my pocket and waved it threateningly in his face.

He stared at the Pen for a moment. "Very well, then," he said, his eyes gleaming in mischief, "You leave me no choice." He snapped his fingers, and a sword fell from the ceiling, slapping into his hand. He grinned.

I sighed. "Here we go again." I opened the Pen of Doom. Instantly, it sparked and gleamed itself into a sword; cross-hilted, double handed, and very, very sharp. In more than one way.

He looked at me quizzically. "I thought you writers hated copying others. That Pen of Doom of yours is a carbon copy of that one Jackson dude's pen."

"For the record," I said, "The Pen of Doom came first." Keeping the Pen in front of me, I advanced on Procrastination. "Fight to the Write, I assume?"

"You bet," Procrastination said, and then he attacked.

The Personification Challenge

Take a long look at the title and the picture above.  Do you now what this means?  That means I'm about to do a writing challenge.  And I challenge YOU.  It's not much--I think it would be doable, even for those of you with only a short amount of time to write.  But you've been challenged.  Dared.  Only under extreme circumstances can you refuse. :|  Such as being brutally attacked by schoolwork. o_O

So what is the Personification Challenge?

It's a writing challenge where I dare you to write a personification story (or even a series of stories) and post it on your blog [or, if you don't have a blog, on a forum or Facebook], spreading the word of this challenge and challenging other writers.  I'll be doing the same thing, here: a series of personification stories.

What's personification writing?  It's basically the writing in which you personify certain things.  For instance, in my section of my personification story, I personify my math and Inspiration, portraying them as real things and people.  And it's really, really fun.  Believe me.  So what I'm doing for my personification story is taking real life events over the course of the day and turning them into a fictionalized, personified, and (much more) interesting story.

So here's how it works:

Rule #1
The story you write (and post on your blog) must be more than five hundred words.


Rule #2
You must personify something: an emotion [i.e. "Anger smacked me. And it hurt."], a character trait [Courage liked to tell me to punch Fear in the face.] or an action [Procrastination was my worst enemy.]. Etc. If you can think of things to personify outside of those categories, awesome! Go for it. :D


Rule #3
You must write in any genre you choose. It's more like a recommendation, but feel free to personify in any genre you want, and write in any POV you want. I find it easy to write in first person for this challenge. It makes my story more colorful. ;)

Keep in mind, this is extremely easy to do.  In fact, this challenge started out when I, rather tired of math, took a break and wrote a page or so of personified nonsense (the edited version of which you will see below).

All right: you have been challenged!  Take up the sword below and fight the good fight against Procrastination!  Feel the handle in your hand, and with this, go and hack away at your word count!  Below, you shall find the beginning of my own Personification Challenge.

A BATTLE FOUGHT AT MIDDAY


PART I

So I was sitting on the couch, using my mental powers to battle with the twisty beast known only as Allegebra Mathe. He was being tricky today, and he seemed a bit bigger than usual. Blasted Mathe. He always liked to bite me on Wednesdays.

The phone rang. My phone. The Verizon wireless tone blared over and over, somewhere deep in my pockets. I dug through my pockets to find it.  I almost blew my hand off with the Pen of Doom (rummaging through one's pockets can be dangerous), but I managed to find it and answer it in time.

"Greetings," I said.

"Jake of the Sadaar," someone hissed into the phone. "How--"

"Dude," I said, "Don't put your mouth so close to the receiver. Your breathing is interfering with my hearing. I can barely make out your words."

"I haven't quite managed to master these yet," Breath-Guy said. I heard some noises through the receiver--he was apparently maneuvering the phone a little further away from his mouth.

"That's somewhat better," I told him. "So what do you want?"

"World dominion," Breath-Guy said nonchalantly. "Surrender your turkey spies now and I'll let you live. And your little dog, too."

"He's not that little," I said. "Have you seen him lately? He's a walking sausage."

"That's not the point," Breath-Guy said. "The point is, all turkular weapons must be handed over at midnight tomorrow--"

I interrupted him. "Midnight, meaning--midnight tonight (which is technically tomorrow) or twenty-four hours from now?"

"Stop interrupting, you dunce! Midnight....tomorrow, twenty...now." The breathing was getting in the way of my hearing again.

"Could you repeat that?" I asked. "And quit the breathy voice--it's not really that impressive." I heard a sigh through the receiver.

"This better?" Breath-Guy's voice was louder now.  

"Yup, just fine. Proceed, if you will," I said dryly, "with your threats of world domination."

"You are to hand over all turkeys," Breath-Guy said, trying to sound important, "all weapons regarding turkeys, weapons used by turkeys, missiles directed by turkeys, kamikaze turkey planes, anything pertaining to turkey warfare and all weapons that look remotely like and are affiliated with turkeys to me at midnight tomorrow. Twenty four hours." I heard him take deep breath, but I cut him off.

"No can do. And besides, I ran out of kamikazes last fall. Sorry, man." I hung up on him and turned off my phone so I would have no further interruptions.

************

Well, Friday rolled around, and I was contemplating the fact that I should probably be fighting Allegebra Mathe again.

I had just taken a shower, and during that shower, Inspiration hit me over the head with my shampoo.   He got shampoo everywhere, of course, but after I had brushed my teeth (and subsequently washed out all the shampoo) he told me what the plan was. "You know how Sadai was supposed to have a bow?" he said. "Well, when did he get that? When was he trained?" Inspiration is one of my best editors. His hair was sticky from the shampoo, though, and all I could do was stare at his head.

"Jake!" He waved his hand in front of my face.

"Sorry," I muttered. "Your shampoo is distracting."

He sighed, and snapped his fingers. Instantly his hair cleaned until it was dry and shampoo free.

"Thanks," I told him.

"Yeah, whatever." He rolled his eyes repeated his questions.

I thought about this for a moment. "Well," I said cautiously, "I suppose I must write a scene with the archers training."

Inspiration drummed his fingers on my desk. "And?" He hit me again, this time with a book.

The light dawned on me as my head throbbed again. "Oh! I see. I can write a battle scene with the archers!"  Battle scenes were amazing to write.  It was absolutely my favorite thing to write.

He nodded. "You have--"  Inspiration stopped talking for a moment. He stared past my head, then at my shoes, and then up at the ceiling. He exhaled. "I'm out of here. He's coming."

Before I could ask "Who?" Inspiration was gone.  And a rumbling noise was left in his wake.

****************

See ya next time, folks.  I'll be back with another installment in the 'series'.  In the mean time, tell me what you think of what I have so far.  Like it?  Hate it?  For what reason?  Are you looking forward to the next one, or are you just amiable? ;)

If you do manage to do this challenge, post a comment below with the link!  I'd love to read it.