Rough Drafts: The Hobbit
Gandalf was a powerful wizard who simply had no tolerance for dairy products.
In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit. His massive frame and jutting elbows smashed the walls of his hobbit-hole every time he made his way to the kitchen, and his large head had long since splintered through the center of each and every wooden beam in his ceiling. Moving gingerly and hunching over with his arms tucked in did not help at all, but still he did so out of courtesy.
Like all hobbits, his eye was glazed over with blindness and situated beneath his chin. His ears were like potatoes in every way - appearance, taste, bounceability. He wore a simple tunic made of dirt that had been moistened and sealed to his skinless body by his own milky, diseased tears, as was the custom for his race.
He smoked from a pipe that had been made from the hollowed-out legbone of a dwarf. After inhaling a lungful of thick black smoke from the coals that smoldered in his pipe, he blew smoke-rings that wafted into the air and transformed into fantastical images of the hobbit killing himself in various ways before they met the ceiling and dissipated, leaving behind sooty splotches that would never be cleaned.
In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit. He was a tiny little fellow - too small to see himself in the mirror. He was always cutting himself when he shaved. If he could have seen himself he would have realized how silly this was, since he had no facial hair to begin with. One strand would have been several times larger than his entire body could have ever hoped to be.
One day the hobbit discovered time travel, and with it he discovered true love.
The hobbit sat in his dining room eating second breakfast. Second breakfasts were a staple of hobbit culture, and this one would make even grumpy old Odo Proudfoot proud. There was a basket of flaky golden biscuits with a jug of honey to be drizzled over each bite. Thick slices of juicy turkey and roast beef were piled high on a plate in the center of the table. Fresh apples and bananas circled three bottles of the Shire's best wines, and an empty goblet stood next to each bottle so that as the hobbit finished a bottle and moved on to the next, the flavor from one wine would not intermingle with the next.
Fifty pancakes had been laid out in the fashion of a stack of coins that had been tipped over on its side. Some of the cakes were bursting with fresh berries, some were riddled with chocolate chips and sprinkled with sugar. A generous pat of butter was nestled in the space between each pancake, and a ladle for the syrup sat nearby.
Saucers of honeymilk jostled for position with four carafes of coffee, which conceded defeat to seven pots of tea, each of a different flavor. Gumdrops and heaping plates of pasta and cake and food FOOD NUM NUMMERS EAT MMMMM GOD FOODDD
Great big juicy peaches, fresh hot waffles, cheeses of every sort, barrels of mead, cupcakes as big as your head - no! control yourself, Tolkien, or everything you've built will come crashing down around you
Deep within the Misty Mountains there was a pitch black cave, and in that cave was a lake. Gollum lived by that lake, feeding on fish and the odd orc who foolishly wandered too far from his brethren. Gollum was a strange creature, thin and strong with great big eyes and skin so pale that it was nearly translucent.
One day Gollum set out to create the world's fastest motorcycle, against all odds. oh come on
In the third age of Middle-Earth, a species of walking trees named the Ents frolicked together and sang a song that lasted a thousand years. It went:
Sing now for we are free
All of us who are a tree
O! What wonders we may see
Like a dog or a bee
Sing now for we are wise
Looking at things with our eyes
Figuring out how to tie ties
We're happy tree guys
Sing now for we are big
Much bigger than a twig
Ten times larger than the largest pig
There ain't no need to wear a wig
wait, that's too good for this book, gotta keep that one for the album
In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit. By their very nature hobbits didn't stray far from their homes in the Shire, and the Shire itself was a peaceful sort of place so not a whole lot happened. There was that time when Fredegar Bolger caused quite a ruckus by running through town, but it turned out he was just fleeing from a beehive that had accidentally been knocked over. It was hardly worth mentioning, and most of the gossip about that incident died down fifty years or so later.
That's about it.
The ring was simple and featureless, but its appearance betrayed its true nature. It was actually designed by a trendy elven artist who specialized in minimalism, and it was worth several hundred gold coins. Gandalf the wizard kept a careful watch over the ring, for he knew that when the artist died it would appreciate in value.
Bilbo put the shotgun in an Adidas bag and padded it out with four pairs of tennis socks, not his style at all, but that was what he was aiming for: If they think you're crude, go technical; if they think you're technical, go crude. Bilbo was a very technical hobbit.