Your wackiest line...

My actual writing is not all that wacky, but in my last scene I had some sinister squirrels. Does that count?

If you think it counts, then it counts.

Chasing the Muse (personal blog)

"Oh god, oh god, we're all going to die?"-Hoban Washburn, Serenity

However, the name Gliding Ocelot was already taken by a popular Olympic ice dancer at the time of the creature's discovery, so the scientific community decided to go with the alternate name.

"You two are really tight, aren't you," she said.
"Tighter than a ten year-old's ass hole," Colin agreed.

I dunno. It made me laugh.

music will provide the light you cannot resist

"Melanie was not so much looking for a career change as she was having it thrust upon her, much like a wailing baby with a full diaper is thrust upon a visiting next door neighbour who really just wanted to borrow a cucumber and a jar of vaseline, to be used for a nice garden salad and a minor skin ailment, respectively, and was not in the mood to coo unconvincingly about how adorable the baby was and how it would surely grow into those ears in time."

twitter: randomcyn
torontonano chat: cyn

Does the lending neighbour believe that?

Hm... That's a hard one, I must say, especially considering my entire novel is just a lot of rambling like a madman... But, here's one crazy paragraph of my main character going through a certain phase of insanity/depression... Good luck understanding it, I know I still don't! (by the way, during this phase of depression, he sits in a dark corner and mumbles to himself... this is what he mumbles):

“Two protons expelled at each coupling site creates the mode of force, the embryo becomes a fish that we don't enter until a plate, we're here to experience evolve the little toe, atrophy, don't ask me how I'll be dead in a thousand light years and 8 seconds, thank you, thank you. Genesis turns to its source in 8 seconds, reduction occurs stepwise though the essence is all one. End of line. FTL system check, diagnostic functions within parameters repeats the harlequin the agony exquisite, the colors run the path of ashes, neuronal network run fifty-two percent of heat exchanger cross-collateralized with hyper-dimensional matrix, upper senses, repair ordered relay to zero eight zero eight zero eight zero seconds. The excited state decays by vibrational relaxation into the first excited singlet state. Yes, yes and merrily we go. Merrily in eight seconds. Reduce atmospheric nitrogen by 0.03%. It is not much consolation that society will pick up the bits, leaving us at eight modern where punishment, rather than interdiction, is paramount. Please, cut the fuse. Cut them in eight seconds. Let them die in eight seconds. They will not harm their own. Only for eight seconds. End of line. Limiting diffusions to two dimensions increases the number of evolutionary jumps within the species. Rise and measure the temple of the five. Five in eight. Eight seconds. Transformation is the goal. They will not harm their own. Only for eight seconds, no longer. Data-font synchronization complete. Progress reports arriving. Arriving in eight seconds. The farms of Aerolon are burning. The beaches of Canceron are burning. The plains of Leonis are burning. The jungles of Scorpia are burning. The pastures of Tauron are burning. The harbors of Picon are burning. The cities of Caprica are burning. The oceans of Aquaria are burning. The courthouses of Libran are burning. The forests of Virgon are burning. The Colonies of Man lie trampled at our feet. But only for eight seconds. Burning for eight seconds. Destroyed for eight seconds. At last, they’ve come for me. I feel their lives, their destinies spilling out before me. The denial of the one true path, played out on a world not their own, will end soon enough. Begin in eight seconds, end in eight seconds. Soon there will be four, glorious in awakening, struggling with the knowledge of their true selves, the pain of revelation bringing new clarity, and in the midst of confusion, he will find her. Find her in eight seconds, losing her eight seconds later. Enemies brought together by impossible longing, enemies now joined as one. One in eight, eight seconds. The way forward at once unthinkable, yet inevitable. And the fifth, still in shadow, will claw toward the light, hungering for redemption that will only come in the howl of terrible suffering. I can see them all. The seven, now six, now eight, self-described machines who believe themselves without sin, but in time, it is sin that will consume them. They will know enmity, bitterness, the wrenching agony of the one splintering into the many, and then they will join the promised land, gathered on the wings of an angel. Not for another eight seconds. Not an end, but a beginning. End of line. Begin reintegration of right hemisphere subcommand routines ...patterns... the universe...sea... begin reintegration of command subroutines. There's a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza, there's a hole in the bucket. The long view returns patterns and repetitions... all has happened before and all will happen again... Light travels to the earth in 8 seconds… In 8 seconds, life ends, life begins, people change, people live, people are angry, people die, people kill, people save, people… all this in 8 seconds… The world begins, the world ends, the world is born, the world dies… All this in just 8 seconds…”

I don't know about you guys, but, I think that's pretty wacky if I do say so myself...

That's awesome, Cyn.

I just wrote this:
"Nikolai looked at the steak. There was, admittedly, one part of the steak where a tiny bit of the mashed potato had flopped over on top of it. “Oh, sorry about that,” Nikolai said. “Sometimes that happens; it's an unfortunate consequence of eating where we are. See, steak and mashed potato have differing coefficients of friction, so sometimes, when they're in transit, a litlte bit is going to slide over. It shouldn't affect the taste of your meal at all.”

Now, admittedly, I haven't been testing the coefficients of friction for different vegetables - maybe that'll make for some good procrastination later in the month.

--Ryan

TW FB LJ

A bit of dialogue ...

“You’d be lucky if she would last 42 meters before there was an injury or an accident or a .. a complete biokinentic freakstorm.”

“Well now.” Brett let the silence wear on for a bit while Shoe calmed down. Then he took up the conversation again. “We’re not going to tell her that, are we?”

“What?”

“That we think she is a biokinetic freakstorm.”

2007 - 50K
2008 - 61K

OK, this is a LOT more than a line, but it's good stuff.

Background: two heroes are rescuing a prince from a tower.

After they rescue him, he continues to be an annoying jerk. Ris gets fed up and knocks him out.

nepeta, I was already cracking up at randomcyn's quote but your comment was the icing on the cake!

"Aria blinked, trying not to cry. But the prospect of waiting alone in the woods for rescue dragged at her like a corpse."

Take a minute... think about it. Yeah.

Oh, and how about:

They walked along the boardwalk in the descending mist, as close as crayons in a box.

That's all I've got. It may surprise you, but in a story that's a more tragic, Lolita-tinged version of Romeo and Juliet, you don't get much comedy.

I don't. :)

Week three: Has world envy. Fights against the urge to give her werewolves superpowers so they can be as cool as the other werewolves. Pokes normal werewolves with stick and pouts.

I know these are the better bits and all (I assume that's why you chose to post them, at least) but this is highly readable! (As in, I want to read more of it)

Week three: Has world envy. Fights against the urge to give her werewolves superpowers so they can be as cool as the other werewolves. Pokes normal werewolves with stick and pouts.

"But I can't write this scene, so you'll have to use your imagination"

If you keep on schedule how will you manage to pull off a come from behind victory?

"Then there is a cult around him. Or else there isn’t."

Not really a wacky line, but it was one of those instant scratch-that-idea moments.

Currently, my MC is cornered by a masked man who wants to send her to jail:

“Who are you?” he demanded.
“Who’s on first,” I said, for lack of anything more witty to say. Obviously, when I get scared, I say stupid things.
“What?”
“No, what’s on second.”
“What?”
“Yeah.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Yeah, we’re talking about what. He’s on second.”
“Who?”
“No, who’s on first.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Haven’t you heard that Abbot and Costello sketch? “Who’s on first, what’s on second” and so on?”
“Abbot and Costello?”
“Yeah, they’re comedians.”
“I know who Abbot and Costello are!” he said, frustrated. “I’m just going to ignore this whole preceding conversation. Who are you?”

This exchange happened in a scene where I would eventually introduce the love interest in my novel.

"Here we are, born to be complete; We're the writers of NaNoWriMo..."

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Hmm, not sure if there are any wacky lines in my story seeing as it's on the dramatic side but there is this part I think is interesting :P

Walter lit the joint and took several hits to get it started. Susanna watched in awed. After so many years she still couldn’t get over the fact that her father was a pothead. He passed the joint to Susanna and she took a small puff that barely reached the back of her throat.
Walter sighed and shook his head as if in mock disappointment. “You have to really inhale, sweetheart. Try again.”
Susanna gave her father a reluctant look before placing the joint between her lips and then inhaling and filling her lungs with the noxious substance. She went into a coughing fit and both her parents thumped on her back. “That’s my girl!” Walter said and took the joint from Susanna’s hand and passed it to his wife.
“You know, this could be considered child abuse,” Susanna said with a raspy voice.
“Nonsense,” her mother said, “it should be just as legal as booze is.”
Susanna took another hit and soon she was feeling very relaxed and warm from the inside out. She leaned her head back and stared at the white ceiling. She frowned and wondered if she should have painted the ceiling too.
“Well, he was having an affair with a university student,” Susanna said without the slightest twinge of tears.
“Douche,” Dawn said.
Walter slowly nodded and said, “Asshat.”
A giggle escaped Susanna’s firmly closed lips and the sound made her laugh more.
“Asshat? Really Walter, that’s the best you can come up with,” Dawn said leaning over Susanna to give Walter an admonishing look.

“Its not quite that simple,” he said with a sigh, “But yes. I can kill someone by rearranging their furniture."

Chasing the Muse (personal blog)

"Oh god, oh god, we're all going to die?"-Hoban Washburn, Serenity

By rearranging their furniture? I want to read this book.

I don't know if this is my wackiest, but here's a paragraph where I introduce a shockingly minor character in a wonderfully word-count boosting way!

Now, truth be told, Brenda Masterson was not an unattractive woman. For her forty or so odd years of weather, she held the countenance of a woman in perfect control of her desires. Mahogany locks in severe spirals crowned her otherwise delicate face, and only occasionally slipped across her glossy, flushed pink lips, requiring her to smile over her long lashes and wisp away the hair with a slow, almost shy stroke of her piano playing fingertips, which in keeping with her impeccably virtuous facade, were graced with long, glistening crimson polished nails. She had the ability to look through a person, as though she were staring directly at his soul, summarizing his innermost sins and calculating how many Hail Mary’s she would have to say to repent after this one. This was a woman who knew how to work a confessional booth. It was for this reason that Father Emmanuel knew Ms. Masterson on a very intimate level, a fact which, to a woman of Brenda’s particular integrity, could only make him that much more desirable. It is a very powerful force to be loved despite being known.