Some More of God’s Greatest Mistakes

Yesterday I had my 1st of 4 writing workshops, and one of the exercises was to create a character as a group and then everyone wrote using that character.  Thought it would be fun to show you what I did with the male, 49 year old, unemployed former botanist with a pet groundhog and a fixation about weeds named Gigantor.

Gigantor, weed killer, stood astride the Clements’ garden like a colossus.  There were weeds here, aye, weeds aplenty and large enough to require gloves upon a lesser mortal.  Never Gigantor, nay, he pulled the weeds barehanded from the Clements, yes and from the Marshal’s and from the Rajensanjays.  These labors he performs for nothing, for he is too much a man to bother over payment.  A word of gratitude and some fresh baked scones or curry or a muffin were all that he expected.

For the dandelions he felt a certain kinship even as he grasped and yanked and vanquished them.  Their silly puffball heads inspired bleak despair in men with rusty grumbling lawnmowers, aye, but pure delight in little children.

Deep inside the perimeter of the Clements acre plot he came upon the Ivy.  Ivy, poison, dreaded rash-inducing menace, bane of his existence.  He looked down upon the Ivy with disdain as he contemplated the hubris he’d shown before, forgoing garden gloves.  Once proud he now stood humbled by the one weed even the mighty former botanist Gigantor couldn’t approach without some hesitance.

To Hell with it!  If rash he was to face then face it he would with steel and strength and fortitude.  He’d grasp it, aye, and pull it out and damn to hell the consequences.  No meek creature he to go and ask the Clements for some gardening gloves.  Besides, they’d gone to Orchard Beach for the long weekend.