I'm deteriorating into a teeny bopper ...
Aug. 21st, 2003 03:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scottishlass... Why?
Well I had sworn not to change the layout of my private page AGAIN after only a couple of months, and yet, when I had this layout for LJ, I had to change it on different-worlds too. *sigh*
Anyway, it is now white and hopefully will stay a looooooooong time.
I think I have a good angle for my first real novel ... and I want to try writing it in first person narrative. I always shy away from that kind of narrative as it is really difficult to write, one of the traps are that you start to write ALL protagonists in first person, which can become really confusing. Oh well, I love to take chances, so I will try it and if the first two chapters won't work I'll re-write.
So would the following be a good start? Does it make you interested?
She was from the mainland, and mom had told me to be nice. I really didn't know why I should be nice to a girl who was younger than me, she would probably follow me everywhere and I really don't want that. Me and my mates want to roam the countryside and I really don't care about a little cousin trailing me everywhere. We have manly stuff to do.
With a sigh, I tried not to fidget around too much as my family and I waited at the main station. It was a nice day, sunny for a change and I hated to stay here, in the sun, waiting for some stupid cousin. I hated her. The train pulled into the station and even though I tried to keep my cool with all of my almost eight years, a shiver ran down my spine. I tiptoed to see over and around the people that were unboarding the train, but all I could see were the masses of backpack tourists that seemed to crowd the countryside every summer. My mother grabbed my hand and pulled me forward while she greeted another woman cheerfully. Staring up at the woman, I dismissed her immediately. She wore her hair short, almost as short as my dad, and her suit was quite rumpled. I felt my neck prickle as if someone was watching me and when I let my gaze travel down the figure of the woman I noticed a small freckled pixie face peeking from behind the woman.
The jolt running through me surprised me, and left me hands sweaty. So this was my cousin, Lina, from the mainland. I was surprised that she looked very much like my granny. The same reddish gold curls were rioting around her head, and she had the same brown soulful eyes. Eyes like the small pet rabbits my grandfather kept for me.
I really didn't know it at that time, but I was hook, line and sinker.
Well I had sworn not to change the layout of my private page AGAIN after only a couple of months, and yet, when I had this layout for LJ, I had to change it on different-worlds too. *sigh*
Anyway, it is now white and hopefully will stay a looooooooong time.
I think I have a good angle for my first real novel ... and I want to try writing it in first person narrative. I always shy away from that kind of narrative as it is really difficult to write, one of the traps are that you start to write ALL protagonists in first person, which can become really confusing. Oh well, I love to take chances, so I will try it and if the first two chapters won't work I'll re-write.
So would the following be a good start? Does it make you interested?
She was from the mainland, and mom had told me to be nice. I really didn't know why I should be nice to a girl who was younger than me, she would probably follow me everywhere and I really don't want that. Me and my mates want to roam the countryside and I really don't care about a little cousin trailing me everywhere. We have manly stuff to do.
With a sigh, I tried not to fidget around too much as my family and I waited at the main station. It was a nice day, sunny for a change and I hated to stay here, in the sun, waiting for some stupid cousin. I hated her. The train pulled into the station and even though I tried to keep my cool with all of my almost eight years, a shiver ran down my spine. I tiptoed to see over and around the people that were unboarding the train, but all I could see were the masses of backpack tourists that seemed to crowd the countryside every summer. My mother grabbed my hand and pulled me forward while she greeted another woman cheerfully. Staring up at the woman, I dismissed her immediately. She wore her hair short, almost as short as my dad, and her suit was quite rumpled. I felt my neck prickle as if someone was watching me and when I let my gaze travel down the figure of the woman I noticed a small freckled pixie face peeking from behind the woman.
The jolt running through me surprised me, and left me hands sweaty. So this was my cousin, Lina, from the mainland. I was surprised that she looked very much like my granny. The same reddish gold curls were rioting around her head, and she had the same brown soulful eyes. Eyes like the small pet rabbits my grandfather kept for me.
I really didn't know it at that time, but I was hook, line and sinker.
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no subject
Date: 2003-08-21 03:30 am (UTC)I can totally understand why you use paper and pen, so that you 'flow onto your paper'. I had that as well, even do it from time to time so that my writing is not deteriorating (otherwise no one can read my writing by hand). But for about two years now I almost only use either my PC or my laptop because it is quicker. :/
Are you writing as well, Marie? If so are your work posted/published somewhere?
A bientot
Una
no subject
Date: 2003-08-21 12:43 pm (UTC)Oh yes, I "flow onto my paper". My writings by hand are my possession. They are totally mine. No one can read it.
... I'm really hard with myself... I can't tell you if I'm writing as well, Una. I'm writing with my every emotion, with my heart, my imagination, my creativity, I flow onto my paper. And yes, my grammar is good, my spelling is good, my stories are totally coherent, my sentences are intelligent, etc.
My writings are mostly in French. Tu pourrais lire de mes écrits puisque tu comprends le français, Una! I will also translate them all but it will be harder than I expected. In French, there is plenty of different words to express exactly THE word, there is so much more verbs (and conjuguaisons), there is french expression. I have to be careful to not lose the soul of my writings, to not lose their "musicality", their beauty. I want to be faithful to them, they are my children.
À bientôt,
Marie
xxxx