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@gracie-j Strangely, your computer is beginning to sound like an insect.
@leon-fleming I know. ‘Tis quite annoying. Especially when I’m trying to sleep. Or read. Or eat. It’s awfully loud when I’m eating. Speak of…would you like a cookie?
the resident romance ghost; last seen within the pages of a gothic novel
@gracie-j I can imagine…why, yes! Which type?
@leon-fleming Well, rumor has it that you’re rather fond of chocolate…crinkles, was it? So I thought I’d try my hand at a batch. Let me know what you think.
the resident romance ghost; last seen within the pages of a gothic novel
@gracie-j WELL! I’ll definitely let you know; lots of people are making me cookies nowadays…it’s rather nice after the oatmeal-which-I-generally-detest.
@gracie-j These things seem to be turning into essays…(I’m not laughing, or anything of that substance).
*a laugh escapes that of the Enchantre’er as he turns in the air, flying out over the city with his cape flapping behind him in long, dark folds. In the stillness of the cool night, not a sparrow flies that darts back down to its nest. Then spake the laughing voice within the merry night,
“No chains can keep these rapturous melodies confined!
no wind within a dale canst begin unfold the subtleties of the ancient song.
And even by these cloudless skies, their lights a’twinkle are bursting and refined!
their stances, like the stars, in wonder lie, untold of, wrapped, and kept along;
But death doth stray and knock upon the withered door whereby the song alights,
And in the night, a tale of wondrous pages, old, is lain before the Sleepers’ eyes in folds.This song of beauty, splendour, rich and wild!
Doth grow by starlight in the merry hours of the morning, swift and bold!
The trees are grown by this “Enchanter’s” song of melodies which braid
And grow, the tresses are gathered by the lantern’s lights in fire and in stone!
Flee before my fires, my merry children, flee!
And fly upon the winds ere loose, my arrows fly within the night!”But in the air a voice of lilting tunes then bade a silence in the night, and rose its voice to meet Enchantre’er by the light of milky dew.
“Stay your tongue, oh Ancient One, and live to free these spirits in their graves bereaved!
Hear me! your magics fall in chaos wrought by hands of yourn in pain’s last bounds retrieved!
Give heart, at least, and see the tendrils of these tranquil beauties grown and lost for naught!
Find love and laughter, true, by light once lost in caverns found in throes of life undone.”———-
Okay, endnote, rewind, and recapture that last scene, please. What is this? Cinematography? Or creative writing?
*The man ignored the sarcasm and replied, “Naturally; glad to be of service, though I didn’t expect such an uproar of choking to consume you.” Who would think that such a glass of water could contrive such an outburst as this? Thought the man to himself, unconscious to the outsiders above.*
I shall now proceed to give fourteen answers to your fourteen paragraphs.
One: Indeed, I meant that mere writing was in of itself, merely just writing. That is, words upon the page. But whomsoever upholds the pen has the authority to change the construed formation of those words, thus changing the means to the ends. Even the extents of either prose or poetry may befall certain elements of dimension and cultural influence over the expanse of the eras. Unfortunately, our era has ushered in the collapse of elegant writing, reverting unto the idiocy of the modern writing age. Young people of the day (accepting some few persons of great talent), have no sense of class when it comes to writing, methinks.
Intention once was key to the natural writing that once flowed forth from the pens of the people. Symbolism, and metaphorical meaning has all but disappeared, but to name only two such elements. The poetic usage of the tool “alliteration” has so diminished that from the mouth of one man I heard the idea that it was a thing used in elder times. As if it weren’t used even now. How sad that deterioration has set in so early. But, alas, that is the way of the world, and these things are all trivial in the end.
Indeed? Has writing been so diminished as to fall out of the common spectrum of dealings in the world? I cannot say that I am surprised, of course. Your “company” with which you accustom yourself with must be either very young, or very inexperienced. I would be inclined to choose the latter. You, I think, are something different when coming into the sphere of writing, yes? You have had some experience with words?
I just wanted to make certain notice of your dictionary; do you collect those? Because I, as unto my nature, do seem to have done so. I have many dictionaries; I think the collection must come from my intrigue with words…or books, whichever the case. But there are many editions and different publications of my dictionaries which make them unique. As well as their dictionarial content. (I do believe I just made that word up. Dictionarial, that is.)
I understand your descriptions of the tastes and smells of words. They have slightly different sapor and fragrance for me, of course, but still they do tend to roll off of one’s tongue.
Of my origins, I meant north, as in European north. As in mainly Scandinavia, with a few small hints of more southern areas of Europe. I think I have some Polish in me, as well. No prejudice in me about the Civil War. That was long ago, and even though I’m highly interested in that aspect of history, it hasn’t effected my brain waves in such a manner as to change my point of view of the matter. I’m not even sure my family was even in America at that time, actually. My great grandmother is actually fully Danish. She’s still alive and remembers a lot about when she came over from Denmark when she was a child. We’ve got some stories around here somewhere…
For your topic on romantic content: I originally had a long, dramatic paragraph in response, but since I’ve forgotten the most of it, I’m sorry to say I’ll just be skipping this.
Let it suffice to say…romance fiction definitively has its flaws and its strengths. And genres complement each other greatly. As you said, romance by itself has high potential to be a bland scape of white paper.
I see that you enjoy piracy. I’m assuming you are referring to that piracy found in The Pirates of the Caribbean, am I not? Because, to be sure, real piracy is actually quite gruesome. Have you seen the retelling of a true story portrayed in the film Captain Philips? Starring Tom Hanks? Great film, that. Very realistic, too.
That is, er, definitively quite the picture of you cramming an anvil down my throat. Highly unlikely, I would begin to think. Yes, let’s scrap that picture.
I’m glad you enjoy that word: insultry. Though I’ve never heard of those three insults you mentioned.
Yes, well, if you do end up meeting Monsieur Hercule Poirot, tell him I said hello, and don’t forget to ask for his autograph.
I could not stand that science fiction novel Evolution. I won’t even give it credit for being published. Indeed, I cannot see what people see in the book. It is a thoroughly disastrous display of terrible planning, mute characters, and unhealthy diets.
And…I already had something about Darcy, Elizabeth, and the lot of them, but I’m too wearied to make any more mention of them. I will give you the updates, though. I’ve provided them with all the necessities of fine living, including plenty of water bottles. They all send me weekly letters explaining certain events and such. The whole cast now all lives in a truly enormous mansion more than three miles wide and long. They’ve already thrown twenty-three balls, Darcy and Bingley have already visited the Bennets nigh on thirty-six times (to which Darcy is highly disgusted…he’s warming up to them, though), and seventeen orchestral plays. Don’t ask me how they put on the plays.
Ah, yes! The voting! It goes on here, as well, though not all the time. I haven’t read Persuasion, but from what I’ve heard, it has more of Austen’s spectacular prose, yes?
I invented the ant phrase, totally unconscious of outside references, and you can keep your eye on those reviews. So you’re on Goodreads, yes?
Originally, it was a whole lot longer than this, and much more ornately written.
So, I’d written this reply at 10:30-11:00 last night, but we have a Wi-Fi curfew, so Happy Labor Day!
@leon-fleming *nearly drops plate of fresh, piping hot cookies before bending to catch them with a swift, deft hand* I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to return to you. I’d thought I’d set the timer correctly, but apparently I still had several minutes to wait on the cookies, and then I wasn’t sure if you wanted them hot or cooled. *extends plate, smile off-kilter* Enjoy!
Yes…I noticed that my last essay–er, post–was actually 1,700 some words. Oh, well.
Pardon my lack of decorum in splattering water and saliva all over your crisp, starched suit. (Hey, you’ve had a change of clothes, haven’t you? You were all rumpled and in dire need of coffee only moments ago.) I suppose I wasn’t expecting such a torrent of words. You understand, don’t you? Also, you best be glad I’ve not a cookie in my mouth, since I’d hate to get chocolate on your white shirt.
Was it really 14 paragraphs? Geez.
Well, let me answers your answers…
1: I completely understand. I just like to get your ire up…and yes, I can tell you’re angry because of how red your face is. Hmm. Red does not become you, guv’nor. Yes, it is so, so very sad how writing styles of this day and age have become so…bleck. It’s heartrending, really. *wipes away a stray tear* And, yes, my company is very inexperienced. And young, on some parts. 2 and 3 years old, to be precise. I wouldn’t say I’m as well acquainted with words as you are, but I’ve been reading since I was four and I’ve been reading a lot (not broadly as much as a lot of a few certain things). And, as a writer in such a perverse generation, I strive to write better every day. Although I’m not certain how well I’m applying that philosophy to my current novel–it’s been rebelling a wee bit, I’m afraid. *yells offscreen* Stubborn book! Get back in a single file line! I said single file, buddy style! If it’s of any consolation–although I wouldn’t say it is–not everyone has been entirely “dumbed down”; in my college English class last fall, we spent a week studying symbolism, metaphors, similes, personification, etc. Unfortunately, it was very similar to my curriculum in the third grade. We wrote an essay on Maya Angelou’s I Will Rise. Interesting poem, although not one of my favorites. Any thoughts? (Looking back, that’s really not much consolation. Hmm.)
2: Actually, it’s only the one dictionary, more like a pet than anything else. An older copy of Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary. Old enough, I would say, to not have friend listed as a verb. I do have a vast array of notebooks. It’s like an addiction. I see the notebook. I want the notebook. I deplete my life savings buying the notebook, which only joins the other ten thousand that I’ve yet to use.
3: Do you have any favorite words, perhaps? I quite like the flavor of autumn, myself. So crisp and melting, so earthy and rich.
4: Oh. *glances down at toes* Well, I guess that makes you an impartial judge, right? Right? Actually, what’s amusing to me is that the only family I had in America at the time of the American Revolution were a handful of Jews. Kind of robs one of the patriotic feelings, doesn’t it? Oo..can you speak Danish? That might be pushing it, but I’m going to ask anyway. Do any of those stories include milk? *mumbles around two cookies* I’m suddenly thirsting for some. Come to think of it…I think I saw some in your–uh, the fridge, the general refrigerator that may or may not belong to you, with milk inside that may or may not have been purchased with your hard-earned cash. Excuse me. *scurries away to pour herself a glass of milk before anyone protests*
5: It’s probably for the best, anyway. My discussions concerning romance tend to get kind of heated…and, no, that was not supposed to be funny, so please stop laughing. Thank you.
6: Piracy. Ah… So, I did enjoy the portrayal of very fake, more mythological (and still not accurate in that respect) than anything else PotC piracy, despite my many reservations, but I do speak more of actual piracy. As in Henry Morgan, William Kidd, and Grace O’Malley (not, unfortunately, my namesake, although that would have been amazing). All but one of my published books are about pirates/privateers and, although I can’t say my representation is entirely truthful, I do strive to be a little more realistic than PotC. And, no, I have not seen Captain Philips, but I’m suddenly inclined to check it out.
7: I looked up those insults just for you–they’re all archaic and roughly mean stupid, idiot, or nincompoop. I’m going to start using them more often, though. They’re quite intriguing. And their uncommon status means less hurt feelings when I hurl them at a poor, unsuspecting person. Not that I’m going to be insulting people anymore. That’s just harsh.
8: I do hope Monsieur Poirot comes to visit me soon–if so, I’ll be sure to get his autograph; better yet, I may take a photograph with him. Yes. I do believe that shall suffice.
9: Can you even call Evolution science fiction? Doesn’t sci-fi have to have a basis of actual, proven science? I’d certainly call it an outrageous form of fantasy, since it is simply that–a fantasy, a dream, a nightmare. Oh, yes, definitely a nightmare.
10: Oh, I’m overjoyed to hear that Lizzie and Darcy are doing well! Please, give them my warmest regards. And, wait! What is this? They haven’t invited you to any of their balls? Or their plays? Mr. Fleming, whatever did you do to upset them so? What sort of social faux pas have you committed to have them shun you so? Surely the journey isn’t too long; you could make the trip in a day, then be back the next afternoon in time for tea. I don’t see why… Yes–I do believe you’ve offended them. Tsk. Tsk.
11: Persuasion certainly has more of her prose, although I would venture to say less dialogue. You have heard the quote “half agony, half hope,” haven’t you? That is the ending of which I speak–so beautiful!
12: Hmm. Now I don’t feel so uncultured–although I do believe you could make the ant thing work. I mean, it makes more sense than “raining cats and dogs,” doesn’t it? And, yes, I’m on Goodreads, under my full name–Grace A. Johnson. I believe you’ll find that Monsieur Poirot has at least visited me on there–he’s found himself onto my want-to-read shelf. Rhett Butler, on the other hand, well, he resides on my best-hero-ever shelf.
Now, before I close, I just want to say that–geez louise–your mere writing is merely fantastic. Is that a blush I detect, creeping up the back of your neck? I’m serious, now, guv’nor. Splendid! You wouldn’t mind if I picked your brain sometime? Oh, and I do express my deepest sorrows over the loss of your full post and your ornate prose–the end result is still quite good, if I do say so myself.
the resident romance ghost; last seen within the pages of a gothic novel
@gracie-j Wow, I’m late. Yeah, Happy Labour Day 4 days late.
*suited man accepts plate**lady looks away, then back**man hands back empty plate* Those were delicious, thanks. I’m wondering…they’ve made cookie ice cream before; what about crinkle cookie ice cream?
Er, here’s a towel; I just bought this suit, but it doesn’t matter too much. Yes, this is my new white suit. You know, blue tie; gold pocket kerchief. Isaac Bell hat. That sort of thing. Whew; it’s a relieve I ate those cookies, then. Gosh, one would think that someone of your age would have better manners. Not that I care, of course. I mean, this suit won’t wash itself though. I’m not angry or anything. (Sorry about the poetry; I had to get in the mood. It happens.) Yes, well, anyways.
One could discuss such things as these for years and years, but the difference is in the difference made by we few who care to change such things. That sounds like very good company! I don’t hold company in person with any people that I know outside of my own family. But I’m hoping that will change with my future excursion. I was roughly eight when I began reading. (Yeah! Single file style, folks!) I’ve only heard of Maya Angelou (one of her poems), but not much else. What was that experience like? Was it boring the whole way through, or did you enjoy writing the essay?
Nice! I have several Webster dictionaries, though they’re all different editions. Strangely, that notebook habit of yours is closely mirrored with myself; sadly, I haven’t been to many great stores that sell quality notebooks in a while. On the bright side, I’ve been saving more cash than I’ve been spending.
Actually, I do; up top there is “rorifluent” which is a poetic adjective meaning “flowing with dew”. There’s also “symphonic”. I enjoy the word “autumn”. And its meaning.
I see what you mean, but…I’m still American! I’ll fly the flag, you know. This is me country. I don’t speak Danish, but I wish I did. I’m very interested in those Northern European languages. As for milk and milk stories, I’m sure there are some milk stories somewhere, and you can have some milk. But you’ll have to buy it from the store as we here are only getting two or so every day to work through on account of working with small amounts of foodstuffs. We’re moving, you see.
(Oh, no, don’t worry, I’m not laughing at all; why? Did you think I was laughing? I’m trying to eat right now! *looks away and stuffs a piece of cake in his mouth*)
Yes, piracy; my family all enjoys those movies, or the ones we see the most, that is. I’ve never written about piracy before, though. Sounds interesting. Captain Philips has a few words, but it’s an accurate portrayal of piracy nowadays. At least, where they are situated.
Yeah, I think if you used those insults, it would turn out more comical than realistic. (XD)
Wow, though; it would take a lot for Poirot to visit Georgia, but I’ll put in a good word to the guy, and maybe he’ll come around sometime.
Well…it does deal with what they call “science”, so it fits more into the fiction genre of science-trash. Which makes sense, because it’s so terrible a work, that it’s better to toss it than actually read it. Sometimes; unless, of course, you’re arguing with them. Then it would be better to be well informed on the subject.
Actually, I don’t think I’d fit well in the box they’re in. That’s why we’ve stuck to letters now; but I’ll make sure to give them your warmest regards. To be definite, they aren’t actually seeing much of each other, besides the formal visit between the Bennets and the Bingley and Darcy. Elizabeth is still just tolerable to Darcy at the moment.
Oh, well, that’s nice; I can bet that Persuasion may even be better than the movie. I’m not super fanatical about the movie, though. It’s merely enjoyable to me, when I do end up watching it. Which is when it is selected by the girls, of course.
Yes, it does seem to make more sense that that other phrase. Indeed, I see; Poirot has visited me quite often on there, including other people of my acquaintance. I’ve never met Rhett Butler, though.
NO BLUSH! But, thanks! No, I don’t think I’d mind you picking my brain, as long as you did it with precise tools that have been cleaned and washed before use. Anyways, I’m glad you enjoy it. You have pretty good prose yourself, you know. One just needs to put the brain to the pen; but that comes when writing anything, really. Oh, yeah…that. I almost lost my temper when I lost it all, but I DIDN’T! I definitely didn’t. That would have been disastrous. (Thanks, too, I’m glad you liked the end result, even if I think it’s terribly lacking in sort to the content that I originally had. Oh, well…)
@leon-fleming *lady sighs gently, fingering the lace of her sleeves with downcast eyes* I was beginning to wonder if you’d abandoned me. *glances up at the man, doe brown eyes concealed by a thin veneer of tears* It relieves me greatly to see you haven’t.
Give me just a moment, if you please. *scuttles away, clatters and clangs ensuing, before she returns with a large bowl looking strangely like ice cream…and cookies…and chocolate syrup…and whipped cream…and maraschino cherries* Seventeen scoops of crinkle cookie ice cream, coming right up. Can you eat all that, do you think?
Beautiful suit. (I’ll ignore the comment about my manners, seeing as how I have no rebuttal. I eat with my elbows on the table and talk with my mouth full–I’m not ashamed.) ‘Tis a shame how it clashes with your dingy green wingback chair. I do hope you’ll buy a new one to go in your mansion, once you arrive there, you know. (I’m assuming you’ll have a study, as all decent mansions have a study. You should style the study to match your suit, seeing as how it fits you so well–you have an amazing tailor, by the way–and you seem to like the color scheme very much. But…the chair needs to go. And you should have a chaise lounge in the parlor. Of course, let your mother do the decorating in the parlor. Mothers are obsessive about parlor-decorating, you know.)
And don’t apologize for the poetry. It’s beautiful.
Again, good point. Exactly why we write, right? To bring about the change we want to see in the world? (I think Gandhi said that, so don’t quote me.) And I don’t hold court outside the inhabitants of my quaint little village either. Which is absolutely fine with me, because I have these two adorable baby siblings (they’re just not babies anymore, though) who pretty much mean the world to me. I’m enamored by them. They’re really quite cute. I mean, at times I think I would like to, but when it boils down to it, I’m quite antisocial. In person. I think that virtually, I can manage. I mean, I like to talk. And to listen, really. (Mostly talking, though.) But I find that I’m way too nervous (or annoyed; either one) in public situations to actually enjoy my seldom actually enjoyable company. I really only go to the grocery store these days, though. You understand.
I was four when I began reading, and by the time I was eight, I was reading middle-grade fiction. I guess it’s true what they say about boys and reading. My brother didn’t start until he was ten. (Which is beside the point. Moving on.) What was your first book? I mean, if you can remember.
There’s not much to say about Maya Angelou. I don’t suppose I understand her, or even her poetry, or her outlook on life, which was considerably distorted by a disturbing childhood. The poem was technically good, I suppose–I’m not much of an expert–and her use of imagery and symbolism added a deeper level to something otherwise straightforward and to-the-point. It’s a relatively short poem, though, so I had virtually no time to become bored. All of my essays (there were eight in total, I think) were fun to write, from the perspective of putting my knowledge and opinions out there, even if I’m definitely more fond of creative writing than essaying. But the reading material wasn’t always enjoyable. I read about embalming (don’t ever have your family members, or yourself, embalmed; it’s freaky) and the Kitty Genovese murder, back in the 60s, where more than 39 people watched as she was stabbed to death, and several other boring, slightly disturbing topics.
You can always read the poem on poets.org. (Still I Rise.) It’s got a decidedly feminist slant to it, so maybe that’s why I didn’t quite like it.
I pretty much buy whatever notebook (so long as it’s cute) that I can find. Which is why it’s a literal addiction. I did find this really neat one on Amazon, which was leather-bound, inscribed with a tree, and held closed by a…not quite a rope but not a string thing…with a helm charm-a-ma-bobby on it. It also had an anchor-ma-bobby. And a sleeve for loose notes and such. As you can see, I love all things nautical.
Good for you, mate! I’ve had to restrict myself (both on notebooks and book-books) lately, since I have to have at least four hundred dollars of spendable money by the end of the year. And, trust me, four hundred dollars goes FAST when it’s in my hands. I mean, $1.99 doesn’t sound like a lot of money, but $1.99 x 75 is.
Rorifluent. (Man, I have the worst case of deja vu right now. Like, this is serious.) I like that word. I’m gonna have to use it sometime.
Oh, yes, of course! I’m not the most patriotic person, but I’m not a traitor either. Plus, when one has several veterans in one’s linage, one simply cannot discount the merit of one’s country.
Ach, movers. I’ve tried for years to get food out of those random people following behind moving vans in crowded SUVs, to no avail. It’s like trying to find a house in a gypsy caravan. You aren’t going too far, are you? I’ve only got so much gas left in my Mustang, so I can’t be making a trip cross-country to raid your fridge.
Oh, not laughing, you say? Then what was that short, loud bark of something that sprayed moist cookie crumbs all. over. my. dress. My brand new white, empire-waisted, long-sleeved, Regency-era gown, which boasts an ostentatious amount of lacy ruffles, gold filigree, and delicate embroidery!
Which ones do you see the most? The best are definitely the first three–even though I despise Will, aka Dopey the Eunuch–although anything with Jack in it is superb.
And you should definitely look into writing about piracy. I mean, it takes a lot of research, but there’s something about it that’s overwhelmingly intriguing. And so diverse, even in the 17th century. And the way things worked, always varying. You know that the only pirate to ever bury his treasure was Captain William Kidd–and only, like, once or twice? Up in Rhode Island, I think. The lies they let you believe.
Hmm. All the more reason to use those insults over modern day ones. I’ll have to give that some thought.
Well, I’ve my camera ready for when Monsieur Poirot arrives. I do hope he can make it. You know how out-of-country travel is these days.
Very true. So it’s probably best then that I don’t read it, so I can’t get into an argument. And not get into an argument, since I haven’t read it. And also since I happen to very quickly fall prey to the state of argumentation. (Is that a state or an action?)
Of course, of course. Do let Mr. Darcy hold onto his prejudice just a wee bit longer. Distaste so becomes him. You, eh. Not so much. Oh, yes. I can see how upset you are that you’re a seven-foot, nine-hundred pound giant who can’t fit into their palace of a box. Oh, wait. What’s this I hear? You’re not a seven-foot, nine-hundred pound giant? You only look like one since I’m small enough to fit into their mansion and spend a pleasant evening with the Bennets? Oh, yes, I’ve been invited, whilst you were away for so long. You see, I purchased this new gown for the occasion. And here you, in a fit of jealousy and righteous indignation, have stained it beyond repair with cookie crumbs and spittle. Tsk. Tsk. I do hope your mother takes you to task for that.
Ah…the girls. Why do I sense that they are the ones culturizing you? (Culturizing, of course, not being a word. I suppose I should say cultivating, but you’re not a plant. Are you?)
You should visit him. He’s actually in Georgia himself right now. *turns to the side, hands cupped over her mouth* Hey, Rhett! The kid from Cali–he hasn’t read Gone with the Wind yet. Yeah. He doesn’t know you from Adam’s house cat. You think he should remedy that? Oh, yeah. Me too. I keep trying to convince him…but, you know, some people are stubborn. Well, not as much as Scarlett, no. But still stubborn. I mean, he’s convinced me to read Agatha Christie. No, yeah. Seriously. I should be getting a book in from the library. Yeah–mm-hmm. That’s the one. He won’t read GwtW, though. Nope. I don’t–wait. You’ve got to go? Bonnie’s calling? Okay, yeah. You go on. Just make sure she doesn’t ride that horse. And, no, I don’t know anything that you don’t. Just that your ——- and you —– and then —–. (Spoilers have been bleeped out in the case that a certain someone ever reads the book in question.)
All right, all right. No blush. I’m done with the blushing, I promise. And you’re very welcome.
Let me see here…I have a scalpel and a pair of tweezers–washed in alcohol and dried over an open flame, both proven antiseptics, I assure you. This’ll sting a little…
So…when and why did you start writing? Why did you pick poetry? Have you taken any writing classes before or have you any relatives who write? What’s your writing process? Do you listen to music while you write? (If so, which kind?) How much do you write, on average, in a day? Do you intend to make a career out of writing? Where do you find inspiration? (Yes, I know I’m asking all the generic questions, but I see now why they’re so common; this is important information.) What was the very first thing you ever wrote? (And I don’t mean the good stuff.) Where in the world do you find all the obscure words you use, and how do you consistently write in that Old English accent? (Oh, yes–it’s very much Old English. I’m sure you don’t think so, but ’tis true, sir.) Do you get a lot of support from friends/family? Or do you get a lot of strange looks? Oh, and am I the only one who ever said that your writing tastes like chocolate?
Oh, have you a terrible temper, then? Oh, no–of course I didn’t just assume that you do. No, no! Please, don’t get angry! Ah! Put that down! Good Lord–don’t hit me! No–ah! No–have mercy–no! Oh, my head! No, stay away! Ah! Quit yelling! Stop it! Such language! No! Cease and desist! I didn’t mean it like that–I swear! I’m sure you’re a good, calm, and decent person–not a heartless murderer of innocent young girls! Noooooooo!!!!!!!
And I thought I had a temper. Nerp.
Oh, oh my! (Yes–I’ve the heart to admit I’m blushing!) I appreciate it. I don’t have many writing aficionados read my stream-of-consciousness forum posts and tell me I have good prose–it truly is a compliment. I do have the one lady who reads my emails and says basically the same thing, but I think she’s just being nice. She’s nice like that. Granted, I’ve gotten much better over the years, so if one went back to look at even what I wrote two years ago in my debut novel (which really isn’t as great as all that, unfortunately), one could see that such talent is not easily honed. I’m sure you know that. But then, you’ve been writing for how long? It’s only been…five years for me, maybe.
Hey–I take what I can get. And, you know, you’re the only one who knows that there was something better out there, so…
the resident romance ghost; last seen within the pages of a gothic novel
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