Saturday, March 3, 2018
What to Expect
In retrospect, I wanted this blog to help make me better, both as a writer and as a person, but i kinda fell off. I think it's natural as humans to fall off of things, but what shapes us and actually indicates whether we have what it takes achieve our goals is whether or not we climb on, so to speak. One thing i've found when it comes to writing is that I can write as beautifully as I want, but it does not mean anything if I can't tell a coherent story. So yeah, the next post will be Old Pens Par 3. I was not sure how long Old Pens should be, but I'm gonna try and finish it up in 5 parts.
30 minute post #10
Authors Note: So i've done something like this before in another post(30 minute post #6). I'm pretty much exploring one idea through different approaches(or atleast I try to approach the idea differently). Its not as drastic as the other attempt but its a way of exploring my way of writing
She utterly despised him.
Her eyes looked elsewhere. She often did this when he spoke to her. Her arms would fold defensively and her shoulders would tense up as if exposed to a biting cold. She'd hear his voice but all words would be drowned out and clumped together like some inaudible mass as she longed for the conversation to end.
The signs were and have never been more clear. There was an unnatural fixed distance between them.She'd only give short dry and almost dismissive responses to his inquiries. Her body seemed longing for the exit that was oriented towards, and her shifting disinterested gaze practically said, I would rather be anywhere else.
When he spoke to her, the thought of being taken to some dark shed and being unceremoniously shot seemed in comparison, like a better way one could intervene on her life.
I asked her,"Do you hate tom?" Her eyes were seemingly lit by the question. She opened her mouth as if to speak but just as quickly pursed her lips together. We then sat in silence as I watched her expression shift between several emotions as she formulated what to say. And then she finally spoke, in what I consider to be the most unconvincing tone i've ever heard in my life.
"No, I do not."
She utterly despised him.
Her eyes looked elsewhere. She often did this when he spoke to her. Her arms would fold defensively and her shoulders would tense up as if exposed to a biting cold. She'd hear his voice but all words would be drowned out and clumped together like some inaudible mass as she longed for the conversation to end.
The signs were and have never been more clear. There was an unnatural fixed distance between them.She'd only give short dry and almost dismissive responses to his inquiries. Her body seemed longing for the exit that was oriented towards, and her shifting disinterested gaze practically said, I would rather be anywhere else.
When he spoke to her, the thought of being taken to some dark shed and being unceremoniously shot seemed in comparison, like a better way one could intervene on her life.
I asked her,"Do you hate tom?" Her eyes were seemingly lit by the question. She opened her mouth as if to speak but just as quickly pursed her lips together. We then sat in silence as I watched her expression shift between several emotions as she formulated what to say. And then she finally spoke, in what I consider to be the most unconvincing tone i've ever heard in my life.
"No, I do not."
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