The Tumultuous Travels of Thomas Drabble: The Novel

This is a sample of my less rushed, more focused writing. It’s certainly not any more polished — it’s still a first draft — by I think it’s better. It’s the very beginning of the first chapter of The Tumultuous Travels of Thomas Drabble. You’re welcome to compare it to the mini-story I posted a week ago. It’s fairly similar.

“Rachel King sat at her desk, the hollow tinktinktinktink of rain falling on the aluminum awning outside of her study was the only sound in an otherwise silent room. The flickering lantern on the back corner of the desk created long, wavering shadows on the cream colored walls. Every now and then, Rachel thought she saw those shadows take the shape of her characters past and she would shudder.

Aside from the lantern, the only things on the desk were an empty notebook, a full inkwell, and a very old pen. Rachel bit the nail on her left pinky — one of her many habits, along with one flaw, that she unwittingly passed on to all of her characters. Rachel picked up the pen and began to doodle in the margins. This wasn’t a habit. It was ritual.

The desk itself was typical enough, but Rachel thought it possessed a sort of deep, powerful magic. She could hardly imagine how many adventures had begun on that oak surface — how many great heroes had been born in this exact location on nights just like this one. The desk had belonged to her grandfather — a brilliant, unpublished author whose stories had dazzled Rachel since she was a child.

A flash of lightning momentarily erased the shadows from the walls. The tinktinktinktink was drowned out by the crack of thunder that followed. At the top of the first blank page, Rachel wrote “The Dangerous Journey of Justin Worthy”. She leaned back, causing the office chair to creak under the little weight it was supporting. She nibbled on the end of the pen. Frowning at the words she had just written, she scribbled working title in parentheses underneath them.”

This obviously doesn’t offer much. The story hasn’t even begun in these first four paragraphs, but I think it gives you a little insight to my writing style when I focus on doing it correctly. It’s not perfect. It’s not supposed to be. I’m just working on taking advice from the people who have been kind enough to offer it. Hopefully this sample gives you a much better pictures of the world that I’m trying to create than those rushed mini-stories did.

The Tumultuous Travels of Thomas Drabble I: A Run of Bad Luck

Thomas Drabble found a penny on his favorite reading stump. It was fine by him. He didn’t mind sharing his stump with strangers. The penny was half covered by one of the bright yellow leaves of early Autumn. The stump itself was nothing out of the ordinary, but it was large enough to sit comfortably on, and the surrounding area was peaceful and vibrant.

Thomas moved the yellow leaf and discovered that the penny was heads-down. It had been two weeks since Thomas had been released from his inkwell, and the Ink Boy’s life had become painfully ordinary since he had spilled from his last book. In fact, it was teetering perilously on the edge of mundane, which sounds far more exciting than it actually was. A run of bad luck might be exactly what he needed. He palmed the copper coin. Moments later, a spider crawled onto his hand.

“Hi Nancy,” Thomas said, “You’re not bad luck at all.”

Nancy had been visiting Thomas ever since he had discovered the stump. On their second meeting, Thomas had decided to name him after a friend — a very old trickster — that he had made on one of his first adventures.

Unfortunately, this Nancy had no tricks up his sleeves. Thomas felt a shadow towering over him and before he could look up, a massive paw came crashing down on the spider, crushing him flat on the back of Thomas’s ink black hand. The skies instantly started pouring rain.

Thomas got up from the stump, his spider-friend still splattered on his skin, and stood toe-to-claw with the villain, unsure of what he was going to do next. His mind was made up for him when the same massive paw that had splattered Nancy struck him in the side of the head and knocked him into the wet, muddy grass. The unlucky penny fell from his hand.

When Thomas lifted his head, his attacker was gone. The rain had stopped, the sky was blue, and the ground was dry; but his friend was still dead on his hand and he had an incredible throbbing in his head. He crawled over to the penny, which was heads-down again, and picked it up. He felt rain beating on his back.

He turned over and saw a giant rabbit standing over him. From Thomas’s angle, he appeared to be six and a half feet tall and nearly as wide. Thomas released the penny. It was peaceful again. The house-shaped rabbit was gone.

He struggled to get to his feet. Once he had regained his balance, he reached down, picked up the penny, and sprinted to the nearest tree. He could hear the rabbit’s long, powerful feet slapping the wet ground, slowly gaining on him. The Ink Boy scrambled up the tree just before his pursuer caught him.

“Give me the penny and I’ll leave you alone,” boomed the rabbit.

“Who are you?” asked Thomas.

The rabbit struck the tree and Thomas heard the trunk crack beneath him.

“Last chance. Give me the penny.”

Thomas cocked his arm to throw the penny and the rabbit threw his hands up, “Whoa! Don’t throw it. I’ll answer all of your questions if you just give me the penny.”

“Just tell me who you are and I’ll let you have it.”

“My name is Ricochet. I am a debt collector for the Just and Worthy King.”

“Where did you come from?”

“You said you’d give me the penny if I told you who I am.”

“Who is the Just and Worthy King?”

“That’s enough,” Ricochet shouted, just before he used his powerful legs to launch himself shoulder-first into the tree. The trunk snapped and Thomas came plummeting to the soggy ground. He landed with a sickening thud, penny still in hand, and scrambled to his feet, gasping for air, but ready to fight. He let out a painful sigh of relief when he saw that Ricochet was unconscious and pinned under the fallen tree.

The Tumultuous Travels of Thomas Drabble 0: The Origin of the Ink Boy

Rachel King sat at her desk with a clean notebook and a full inkwell, fully prepared to create the greatest adventure in modern history.

In impressive, swirling letters, she wrote “The Dangerous Journey of Justin Worthy” at the top of the first page. Underneath the title, she scribbled all of the qualities that she believed a true hero should possess — courage, sharp wit, passion, brute strength, handsome features, strong leadership, and dozens of other features and skills — leaving nothing in the still nearly-full inkwell but an abundance of curiosity and a touch of superstition.

Her mind raced as she imagined all of the adventures that Justin Worthy would experience. He would fight dragons and warlocks, climb dangerous mountains and cross violent oceans. It all seemed so serious. She decided that he would need a sidekick to keep things light.

As her eyelids gained weight, her handwriting became sloppier. She was only three letters into “madcap companion” before she succumbed to sleepiness and collapsed onto her desk.

It was in that moment that the child that was never meant to be — the Ink Boy known as Thomas Drabble — was born. Rachel King, pen still in hand, knocked the nearly-full inkwell off of her desk, spilling the abundantly curious, slightly superstitious non-hero onto her bookshelf.

The Ink Boy slid through many of his creator’s favorite stories before he reached the floor. Along the way he attempted to help Winston Smith stand up to Big Brother, he tried to catch an enormous marlin with old Santiago, he feared the rundown bootheels of Randall Flagg, and rejoiced as he witnessed a group of young wizards vanquish He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

At the end of his journey, he narrowly missed the waste basket that contained the rest of Rachel King’s failed creations, and spilled onto the floor where he was born into the real world. Looking in on the crumpled, broken heroes-that-never-were hurt his newly-beating heart, and even his abundant curiosity wasn’t enough to keep him in that room.

Thomas Drabble crept out just as Rachel King began to stir. When she awoke, she looked down in disgust at the triteness of last night’s great hero. She crumpled him up and threw him away.

Unfortunately for Thomas, it never occurred to his creator that crumpled, broken heroes often become the most dangerous villains. Early that next morning, King left for a month-long book tour. She never emptied the waste basket.