Time to reveal another character, Agatha Wicks. But a few words about what I have been up to since I last wrote a blog post. I have moved on two chapters, so things are going slowly. Still trying to arrange the plot twist to better match the outcome I want and the new plan I have. I want this book to have that extra something I know I can do.
But to be honest, I am tired as crit. I was away three days, and now everything is piling up. Trying to write BON, doing marketing, and get my business running is a whole day’s work, but for some reason, I have extra obligations. They are completely my own fault, and I’m not willing to cut back. I have been organizing a therapeutic group for elderly citizens, interviewing them and hearing their troubles. As much as that is rewarding, it is taking a heavy toll. I’m beaten after every interview I have conducted, and after all the errands I have to do to get it ready. And then I have taken additional social events like I have started again bouldering twice a week (which I love, but still, it is extra for all I do) and then I have these loooong philosophical/political/sociological conversations with a friend that can take hours from a day. So I haven’t learned anything from the blog post about time management. Things had gotten easier, but I have added on extra like a freaking drawing class. I don’t know why I did that. Could someone please tell me what is wrong with me?
It might seem like you can do all that and write, but no you can’t. Writing alone takes so much out of you that if you add on, it will suffer. I had a mini break down today as I watched the list of things I had to do today. I know, stop complaining and say no to things and don’t take on so many things.
I stop boring you. Here is Agatha:
Role in Story:
A supporting character, possible love interest to censored and censored. A rival to censored, or at least censored.
Necromancer and personal political assistant.
Agatha is beautiful in that special way. She looks frail and a bit unintelligent. Your initial thoughts are “poor girl.” The trouble is, that when she opens her mouth, all your previous thoughts are blown away, and not because she uses fake vampire fangs which are sharp and real-like, but because out of the mouth comes opinions and strong ones. Or at least that was the case before she worked for Bertha Chaplain. Now she looks beaten, tired, and phlegmatic. Her dyed black hair doesn’t fit to her pale complexion with freckles. It makes her look ill and haunted. She has this constant constipated expression on her face. Once her fitting clothes (black lace mixed with black velvet) now hung on her tall frame with long limbs. She looked awkward, but that was always the case.
Passionate, opinionated, weak, single minded, beliefs in morals and what is the right thing to do, open, extroverted, intuitive, feeling, perceiving, helpful, adventurous, dutiful, fair, fearless (or used to be), reliable (has come to be, under Bertha’s iron rule, in her youth she lived too much in the now and forgot the future obligations), keen, used to be fun-loving, insightful (knows her way inside other’s hearts,) convincing, popular, romantic, sweet (when needing something), well-bred. But weak and in her head now.
Sucks her teeth or takes them out and plays with them. Hunches her long limps, making her look like a rag doll. Has a horselaugh, making her shock most around her. So she prefers to smile instead of laughing. But she knows how to giggle, a fake one for the matter.
Born into a good family (one of the prominent Wicks, aristocrat) who taught her social skills and proper etiquette. She rebelled against her family’s values that no opinion should be stated. In her teens, she came angry and loud. She cut her red hair short and stomped her feet a lot. At first, her sudden change of behavior shocked her parents, but soon they understood that a demon had awakened inside her. After trying dozens of exorcists without results, they gently steered her to a proper profession, to necromancy. She always thought it was her decision to become a necromancer as it was against all what their family believed.
At the University, she found people rather liked her mix of friendliness and fieriness. The other pupils followed her to every cause she came up with. She liked to be the center of attention, and she liked politics, and what it promised. As a necromancer, she knew she could go far, and she came more active in political youth movements, testing them all out. Trying to find one that fit her, or more like she made it fit her. Honestly, she chose the one where she got more adoration and most power. It was the dark side of her which she would never confess aloud. There was this desperate need for love and to make others like her. She didn’t understand where it came from, but she fought against the instinct.
Before graduating from the University, she was recruited by the head by the Union of the Undead to be her necromancer. Agatha was to take the older dying necromancer’s place and keep Bertha Chaplain up and running. Agatha was an ideal candidate, being passionate, young, full of life, and a good necromancer. Agatha eagerly jumped at the opportunity, knowing how good it would be tied to such an esteemed politician like Bertha Chaplain.
Later she understood that working for Bertha Chaplain wasn’t quite she hoped it to be. That she was an assistant, barely a necromancer, and Bertha blocked her entry into politics. She sought peace to her agony from the Cult of Kraken. At first, she had tried to talk to Bertha to let have more responsibilities than running around doing her errands, but the woman refused to listen to her. The Cult of Kraken became her only sanctuary to smooth the contradictory voices inside her. And she actually liked the church and their teachings. There was nothing Bertha could do about it. She couldn’t control that part of her life without looking like a monster and losing votes. Freedom of religion, freedom of the workforce, and so on. Also, Agatha had forced the politician’s hand by saying Agatha’s involvement with the prominent cult was good publicity for Bertha as well.
Need for love and adoration, need to be free from Bertha, need to do something, take control of her life.
Getting back to Bertha and not being able to do that, being continuously distracted. Seeing Petula and her suffering, and her pushing Agatha away like she always did. Petula was the only person who saw through her exterior and didn’t let Agatha kid her. Not knowing what to do with censored adulation. Seeing Petula using her necromantic skills and feeling her own being diminished as a personal assistant.
Agatha walked at the campus. She was already late for her class. But there had been a flier she had to write, and it had been urged to take it at the cafeteria, and then it had been important she attracted attention to the flier to make sure her movement got the proper attention. But now she was late, and the professor had given her two notices already. The third would get her kicked out of the class. She needed the Necromantic Chemistry to be able to graduate. The building where the lecture hall was, wasn’t that far from the cafeteria. Still, she felt it took ages to get there. Agatha took half running steps and tried to come up with reasonable explanations why she was late. Mr. Mangler was a stickler for rules and hated excuses.
She saw Petula heading to the same lecture hall. Agatha sighed. The professor hated Petula more than her. If she arrived with her, Petula would get all the attention, and she could slip unnoticed to her seat. Agatha felt a sting in her heart to even think thusly. Still, she shouted, “Hi Petula, wait up!”
Petula startled but slowed down when she saw Agatha. She waved and took more swift steps. Agatha knew if it had been any other student Petula wouldn’t have stopped to wait. Sometimes she wondered why that was the case, but then again most people liked her. It was just who she was, however, she couldn’t help put to take pride from the fact that Petula for some reason liked her and tagged along and occasionally obeyed her command. Agatha gave a warm smile to Petula when she got close.
“Late again?” she asked. Petula was the only one who she knew got away with being late and absent of every class she took. The professors were too afraid of her and what she might do that it was easier for them to let her pass their classes and be rid of her.
Petula nodded. She was carrying a heavy-looking pile of books.
“Light reading, eh?” Agatha asked. They walked towards the lecture hall, but neither of them were in any hurry.
Petula shot a glance towards Agatha. Agatha was sure she could hear the peculiar woman’s heart beating. She wondered why she was so awkward at sometimes and other times so… so Petula.
“I haven’t even started to read the course material. Are those the books we need to read?” she asked, trying to sound friendly and optimistic.
“No,” Petula said.
“Oh, good, I guess. Doing some extra reading then?” Agatha asked. Petula was beginning to annoy her. Why wasn’t she getting on with her? Why they had to do this stupid steps back and forth every time they met? And why couldn’t she just try to be friendlier and open? It would make life a lot easier for her. Like always, Agatha felt like Petula was judging her and closing her out. That she thought she was better than her. Snotty little… Agatha made her calm down, thinking positive things before the fire inside her got too hot.
“I guess so,” Petula said. Agatha could sense her wanting to add more, but not getting the words out.
“It is admirable how much you read. If only I had the time,” Agatha said.
“You could have,” Petula said and seemed to regret her words as soon as they came out.
“Yes, I guess I could,” Agatha said, smiling away the tension. “Anyway, we have a get-together tonight. Do you want to come? It is lots of fun. All the last year’s students are coming, and you know.”
“I don’t know,” Petula said and looked at her books.
“Of course, if you have something else to do. But if you change your mind, come to my dormitory. You know where it is,” Agatha said and eagerly reached for the door handle to the lecture hall. She escaped in, and as she had expected, Petula coming behind her caught the professor’s eye. But instead of yelling, the professor sank in desperation to behind his desk. And not long after Petula opened her mouth and argued with the professor. Agatha felt the warmth spread all over her body. She felt so embarrassed for Petula. Why did she have to do that? Didn’t she understand how stupid it made her look?
Thank you for reading!
© K.A. Ashcomb