Character Development: Derek

What he throws away:

lyrics on crumpled paper, thoughts, flyers for events he’s gone to already, abstract concepts, his own internal crazy things that weren’t quite up to par, lists.

A paragraph(ish) hopefully in Derek’s voice:

“…After the movie, we went to this place called Joe’s pizza.  Just a couple other places after that.  It was great to see him.  You really should write something.  Besides, all my work stinks anyway.  Ha.

Another few sentences:  (really in Derek’s voice this time)

“Work stinks anyway.  Since you’re free, why don’t ya come over?  I’d tell you all ’bout that trip to Six Flags if you want.”

Sweet Nothings (the products of some random writing exercises)

She strolled through the hallway, hair tied up tight in a bun, movements calculated and cold.  I shrunk into the book I had on my lap, but to no avail: she still spotted me.

“Hey,” she said.

I looked up as though I hadn’t seen her.  “Oh.  Hi,” I responded.

“I was looking for you,” she said as she put a hand on her hip, and gave some imitation of a smile.

“Really?  Why?” I raised my eyebrows innocently.

———————————————————————————

I sat down to the desk with my cheap gas station coffee.  Couldn’t afford the expensive stuff now.   I grimaced at it’s taste and my idiocy.  I pulled a pen from the jar, and opened my notebook to tear out a sheet of paper.

“Hey Jillian,” I began.

My heart skipped a beat and I couldn’t even imagine her face when she read the letter.

“How are you and Cera?  I have something to tell you…”

———————————————————————————

She heaves a cart behind her, stacked with disorderly disks.  I glance at her face and she turns away, focused on something not here and now.  It’s quiet in the library today.  She’s one of the only people here.

Her movements are measured, almost mechanical.   Soon her cart of media shrinks to something nonexistent, and she paces back to the room, emerging not a minute later.  Her eyelids flutter and her eyebrows crease as she turns to pick up one disk that she dropped.  She mutters under her breath and then goes back to shelving.  Putting back.  Setting right, and making order out of nonsense.

She drops another one, and I hear a half formed curse whispered in the near-silence.

I bend to pick up the DVD for her.  It’s not a weird thing to do because I’m sitting at a table a couple feet away.  “Here,” I say and hold it out to her.

She looks at the encased disk in my hand, uncomprehending for half a second before her surroundings bring her back to reality.  For just a moment when I look into her eyes,  I see the turmoil brewing inside her.   When her expression softens, it disappears.

“Thanks,” she says, and takes it back with a little smile.

———————————————————————————

 

French Révolution: Poetry

Henry_Singleton_the_Storming_of_the_Bastille
(Henry Singleton) Storming of the Bastille

Carpe diem!  Today, we strike!

Cheers fill the streets so violently

as a smile fills my bloodstained face.

Revolution!

Waving the flag around

rush through the air as we

storm the tower

and reclaim what is ours.

Peace! Finality! Bread!

Storm the tower,

no wound too strong,

keep fighting!

Fight!

Fight for your freedom,

friends!

Dying around me,

bodies fill the streets and blood rushes through the

gutters.

Imagine!

Freed from poverty and famine!

Storm the Bastille,

and start to rid us of that bane that is

the royalty!

Abolish

those three estates!

And let the blood that flows in the gutter

be no longer of the sans-culottes,

but of those who have wronged and

controlled us for too long!

Liberté!

Égalité!

Fraternité!

Révolution!

Sorry if I offended anyone/got anything historically wrong/etc….  To the best of my knowledge, it’s right. haha

Let me know what you think! ^.^

To lay it out plainly, I wrote this.  Don’t steal it.  <3  Give me credit if you use it…  Et cetera.

À bientôt!

~Mouse c;

Poetry: The Lady Of Shalott (1842 Version)

By Alfred Lord Tennyson, this is one of my favourite poems.  I like its romantic mood, but don’t enjoy the ending so much, because of its tragic turn.

Here’s the poem so you can read it for yourselves:

Part I.

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro’ the field the road runs by
To many-tower’d Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro’ the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow-veil’d
Slide the heavy barges trail’d
By slow horses; and unhail’d
The shallop flitteth silken-sail’d
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,
Down to tower’d Camelot:
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers “‘Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott.”

Part II.

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving thro’ a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot:
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village-churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls,
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
Or long-hair’d page in crimson clad,
Goes by to tower’d Camelot;
And sometimes thro’ the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror’s magic sights,
For often thro’ the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed;
“I am half-sick of shadows,” said
The Lady of Shalott.

Part III.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro’ the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A redcross knight for ever kneel’d
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter’d free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle-bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon’d baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armour rung,
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn’d like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro’ the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow’d;
On burnish’d hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow’d
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flash’d into the crystal mirror,
“Tirra lirra,” by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces thro’ the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look’d down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack’d from side to side;
“The curse is come upon me,” cried
The Lady of Shalott.

Part IV.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale-yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower’d Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river’s dim expanse –
Like some bold seër in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance –
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right –
The leaves upon her falling light –
Thro’ the noises of the night
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darken’d wholly,
Turn’d to tower’d Camelot;
For ere she reach’d upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
A corse between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
And round the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they cross’d themselves for fear,
All the knights at Camelot:
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, “She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott.”

 

Sorry for the length of it, but trust me: It’s worth the read.

(:

My analysis of it is as follows… (Yes, okay, it was an assignment.)

1. The point of view of this poem is third person.

2. In this poem, Lord Tennyson focuses the readers’ attention on love and loss.

3. This poem’s literary mood is enchanted.

4.The point of view in this poem is omniscient.

5. This poem is set in medieval times, in and around Camelot.

6. Two literary devices used in this work are rhyming stanza and imagery.

7. A major theme in this piece in love.

Au revoir! ^.^

And here’s shmoop’s analysis, to delve deeper into the poem if you wish:

~Mouse

A little free verse inspired by the sudden sharp September winds.

In summer,
those blistering days…
Nothing seems further
Than a rainy day,
cold and wet.
When in fact, it’s truly
the closest thing.

~Mouse. ❤❤ (:

Eeeep…  I need to be writing… Eeep..

Those boring middle chapters that have to happen between action scenes.

-.-

…Are you daring to underestimate me? Watch me prove you wrong.

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