tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4499580760302096942024-03-13T03:43:51.969-07:00Charlotte-On-The-WebCharlottehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18230500142287179267noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-449958076030209694.post-42232373375403441662011-09-29T00:28:00.000-07:002011-09-29T00:28:28.014-07:00' "I'd kill you in a second." He laughed: "yeah, I know." '<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Today I learned some sciency things about the brain. Did you know that as well as the fight or flight response that we have in times of stress, there is also another response? We freeze. Of course, in the real world, these situations apply less to freezing in front of sabre tooth tigers thus leading to being eaten, but more to normal every day tasks which we find difficult. As in- homework looks hard! Can’t do it! Freeze! Which in turn leads to procrastination.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Which is all a roundabout way of saying that I’m finding the idea of maintaining a blog and a full time PGCE stressful and the result is that I Freeze! and procrastinate on my blog, whether through not posting much or not commenting on other people’s blogs. But I want to get better and I will try harder. For anyone wondering, I am still reading your blogs. What would help is if there were any definite topics I had to write about, so if anyone has anything they would love to hear my *opinion* on (I don't know why you would but still) let me know. :)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">So, boys and girls, after that rambling introduction I thought I’d talk about the topic of death- or more specifically, goodies killing baddies. Death is a funny thing in novels. In real life, I’m a pacifist. I don’t agree with killing under any circumstances. That’s not to say that I think all rapists and murderers deserve to live, but that I don’t agree with the act of the person who has to electrocute or inject them- I don’t agree that anyone should <i>be</i> a killer, legal or otherwise. But anyway, I’m going off on a tangent here so I’ll get back to the point. In real life, death isn’t taken lightly. I have my views. You have yours. Mr and Mrs down the street have theirs. Most people will have an opinion on killing. Most people don’t ever expect to see it in their lives.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">With that in mind, try now to imagine seeing someone get killed. Blood, guts, bowel releases, the whole extravaganza. I know I’m being graphic here, but it’s to help make you place it. If it were me, I’d be throwing up at the sight. I’d probably faint, histrionic as that sounds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">So why in books is goodies killing baddies often taken lightly? I’m talking about protagonists who kill villains and don’t even blink. They look forward to doing it. They desire it. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">I think it’s general consensus now that readers want true-to-life characters who react properly to things, but the death of a bad guy is still lacking that grounding in reality. I think part of the problem is that as authors, most of us have no idea what witnessing a real murder feels like, so we assume that if it’s a bad guy then we won’t care. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">I could be wrong but I disagree with this. I’ll admit I feel queasy at the first sight of blood so I’m always going to be on the stronger end of the spectrum, but I think that it doesn’t matter who’s injured or killed: the sight of someone who’s insides are clearly outside should set our gag reflexes going. When it comes down to it, the sight of a dead person should strip us down to our basest instincts: Humans want and expect to see other humans alive, not dead. Obviously, I’m not talking about army vets or doctors here, but for the average guy on the street who becomes a reluctant hero and then finds they’ve killed someone, there should be more of a response than ‘oh, he’s dead.’ I think the sight of a mutilated body will always come across as wrong, no matter whose it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">This can go a step further. Why do we make our protagonists want to kill the bad guy? Would we, ourselves, be so eager to kill someone in real life? There’s no coming back from killing, and I do believe the act changes you. If a protagonist decides they have to kill someone, this should be done after an agonising amount of thought. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Yes, I’m overthinking it. If you don’t expect this from me by now then I don’t know whose blog you’ve been reading but it isn’t mine. Perhaps you could argue that the news has desensitised us to violence, but I think that seeing something on a TV from the safety of your house and actually living it are poles apart in their differences.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Is this a topic any of you’ve ever thought much about? Have you found yourself killing off a baddie and had your protagonist act completely blasé about it? Have I now sent you into an editing frenzy as you quickly change your characters’ responses? (Trust me, I’m not expecting that </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">). I’m fully aware that the above is just my opinion so feel free to let me know if you agree/disagree with it and why! </span></div>Charlottehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18230500142287179267noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-449958076030209694.post-58087466552521223382011-09-25T09:32:00.000-07:002011-09-25T09:32:21.452-07:00‘Isn’t it ironic, doncha think?’ Er, no actually, no it’s not.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">I’ve come over all teacherly thanks to my course, so I thought I’d go into full English mode and point out a few common errors made by lots of writers. Including me. Looking at my list, these pesky little details may not seem like a big deal, but being aware of them could be the difference between an agent deciding to read your manuscript or not, so they might be worth taking note of. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">1. Lay down/Lie down. When you’re talking about a person, ‘lay down’ is past tense, and ‘lie down’ is present tense. So you never ever ask someone to ‘lay down’ you ask them to ‘lie down.’ I first became aware of this when some lyrics of a song were bothering me because they were grammatically incorrect, ‘…someone to lay with’ and I mentioned it to a friend. She was confused at what I meant. That was when I realised just how common it is to use ‘lay’ for present tense regarding a person. Chickens lay eggs, people lay tables, but people don’t lay down. I don’t care if 90% of the English-speaking world is saying it, it’s still wrong. You want further proof? Word just underlined ‘lay’ with green, to show that it’s grammatically incorrect. The word it wants me to change it to? ‘Lie.’</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">2. All right. You don’t really hear about this much, but there’s actually no such word as ‘alright.’ It should always, always be ‘all right.’ Two words. I don’t know why. Just is.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">3.Ironic. ‘It’s like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife…’ This is not actually irony. ‘<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">A situation is…ironic (situational irony) if the actions taken have an effect exactly opposite from what was intended.’ Having lots of spoons is not the opposite result of wanting a knife. ‘</span>If the speaker is rifling through a silverware drawer which is known to contain knives, then this is ironic. If she's in a spoon factory, it isn't.’ <span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">I’ll let Marco from Animorphs explain it a little better: ‘We’re going to bring on global warming because we ran too many leaky air conditioners? We used too much spray deodorant, so now we’ll be doomed to sweat forever?…That’s irony. Note to Alanis. <i>That</i> is irony.’ </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">4. Him and I/Me and Her/She and I. (Etc) So you write the sentence ‘him and I went to the cinema,’ and you’re not sure if it’s right? Break the sentence down. ‘I went to the cinema’- fine. ‘Him went to the cinema’- not so much. It becomes obvious it should be ‘he and I went to the cinema.’ Always break the bits up if you’re not certain. ‘Me and her went swimming’. ‘Me went swimming’ – no. ‘Her went swimming’. Also no. So what should it be? ‘She and I’ would work, but ‘we’ is a lot neater. If still in doubt, try and use ‘we’ or ‘us’ to avoid confusion. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">5. Run/Ran Bid/Bade Grit/Gritted Spit/Spat. I am especially guilty of this one, but there are some words that always seem to end up being written in present tense, even when the writer is writing in past tense. It’s always things we know when we stop to think about it, but somehow we slip up on certain words because they just seem to work in present tense. I think part of the problem is that they rhyme with some words that are in past tense, or words that don’t have a past tense. Like ‘hit.’ You wouldn’t say ‘hitted’ or ‘hat’. You’d say ‘I hit the ball’ which could be either past or present tense. ‘Grit’ and ‘Spit both rhyme with ‘Hit’ so when I’m writing and listening to the flow of the words, rather than thinking about them individually, I find that they sneakily sound like they work. Unfortunately, this isn’t really one you can check, apart from keeping a close eye out for the blighters whilst editing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">6. Until/til/till. We shorten the word ‘until’ a lot. What we often forget is that the shortened version of ‘until’ is ‘til’ not ‘till.’ A ‘till’ is a cash register. Careful with this one. Kate Middleton was caught using ‘till’ instead of ‘til’ in a letter and was mocked for it by the press. Which just goes to show you never what snobs out there will be judging you on your grammar rather than what you’re saying.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">7. Compliment/complement. They’re two separate words. Who knew? I think most people know what a compliment is: ‘you like nice’ ‘your eyes are pretty’ ‘I love the way your greasy hair shines in the moonlight.’ Ok, that last one was backhanded, but still, you get my point. It’s to say something nice about someone/something. So you probably know what complement is too- when two things/people bring out the best in each other and work well together, they complement each other. And they’re spelt differently- even though they mean very similar things. Go figure.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">8. And this last one is just because it irritates me no end, but has absolutely nothing to do with writing. A person who doesn’t eat meat but eats fish is not a vegetarian. They’re a pescetarian. No creature of any kind = vegetarian, no meat = pescetarian. As a vegetarian, I get asked a lot if I eat fish. *Headdesk.* I think people should now know the answer to that one. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Just a quick note- due to my now much, much busier schedule, I don’t know how regularly I’ll be updating my blog. I’ll try to do at least Wednesdays and Sundays- hopefully more if I can find the time! <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span> </div></div>Charlottehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18230500142287179267noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-449958076030209694.post-5311782405700028032011-09-21T12:37:00.000-07:002011-09-21T12:37:12.698-07:00'The books transported her into new worlds and introduced her to amazing people who lived exciting lives.'<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">This week I began my teacher-training course. In a year’s time, I will be a fully-fledged teacher and hopefully in real employment, which is both amazing and terrifying! So today I had a <i>wonderful</i> day mostly studying English and children’s books, and learned (kinda!) how to get children interested in books.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">If Heaven exists, a pocket of mine will be like those seminars. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">But it got me thinking: what were the books I loved as a kid? What inspired me the most? And also, what are all of your favourite childhood books?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">And where did my thinking end?? With a list of course! So here you have it- Charlotte’s favourite childhood books/series/authors: (In no particular order)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">1.Roald Dahl books. I read most of these, but my favourites were <i>Matilda</i>, <i>James and the Giant Peach</i> and <i>The Magic Finger</i>. I loved the anti-hunting message of <i>The Magic Finger</i>, the strong female role model of <i>Matilda</i>, (not to mention her awesome powers and her bookworminess- go bookworms!) and the magic of a giant peach going on a journey over the sea and through the sky whilst crewed by giant, talking insects. If I could steal anyone's imagination, it would be Roald Dahl's.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAa35__Zd6uCsSxWNv0EGZWgxwmfXehwmXl8lGaX-mxKKQoH_tc6h-EunDrptia-0pv5drpMxNDbtOFW3v9WbEQG404sLYCjoL93hv7LSqugh05FrL5oVDp6i8btDgyOaZgngye5554Eyu/s1600/Matilda.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hca="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAa35__Zd6uCsSxWNv0EGZWgxwmfXehwmXl8lGaX-mxKKQoH_tc6h-EunDrptia-0pv5drpMxNDbtOFW3v9WbEQG404sLYCjoL93hv7LSqugh05FrL5oVDp6i8btDgyOaZgngye5554Eyu/s200/Matilda.jpg" width="130" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">2. Dick King Smith books. <i>Dragon Boy</i>, <i>Lady Daisy</i> and <i>Pretty Polly</i>. If you’ve never heard of them but still enjoy reading children’s books, then look these up at once. My copies are battered from my multiple readings.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><i>3. The Adventure Series</i>, by Enid Blyton. A group of children have amazing adventures. This is basically the staple for any children’s book I’ve ever attempted to write. I was so enamoured with the series that at one point I told my mum I wanted two girls called Dinah and Lucy-Ann and two boys called Philip and Jack. Luckily I lost my enthusiasm for that idea. Ok, the books were sexist and racist, but when you’re eight, it’s easy to ignore the annoying stuff in favour of the good. I can’t read them as an adult though. Uh-uh. I've tried. Can’t do it. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><i>4. Animorphs</i> by K.A. Applegate. They lost their way after 20 books or so and a few ghost writers later, but in the beginning this was a gripping series with strong characterisation and a unique, SciFi premise. It was also a great way to learn about animals.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBC7FyGRoEgc6VqjiIvT0NMUS4O1vohfYGgYLMeK3df-OvE1PpFcFaF_R_oVB5amHWs7yslW2G7vq77ioyus0AR85UgY2i6rx2HtUtotPXpzksToBRulhdMSbjFAq_gM90QIvLw1iSaS-T/s1600/animorphs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hca="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBC7FyGRoEgc6VqjiIvT0NMUS4O1vohfYGgYLMeK3df-OvE1PpFcFaF_R_oVB5amHWs7yslW2G7vq77ioyus0AR85UgY2i6rx2HtUtotPXpzksToBRulhdMSbjFAq_gM90QIvLw1iSaS-T/s200/animorphs.jpg" width="137" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><i>5. A Series of Unfortunate Events</i> by Lemony Snicket. There is a lot to be said for a strong narrative presence, and the uniqueness of this series kept me reading long after the plot had turned absurd. Loved the film and this picture by the way!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7aHaxXY2j8F2F72GeEmB8Gt0dn40aj1c9MWm8aEw1SJ8l67dXrhrSkqeGNEPmNUfiutnmX8LpuCvrwNDJFrqP2oXZ4z3vxsdPdivO6NMUKwxovkY6ta9vQSpFYuzSs8Zu2lNgaoLHAOWW/s1600/a+series+of+unfortunate+events.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7aHaxXY2j8F2F72GeEmB8Gt0dn40aj1c9MWm8aEw1SJ8l67dXrhrSkqeGNEPmNUfiutnmX8LpuCvrwNDJFrqP2oXZ4z3vxsdPdivO6NMUKwxovkY6ta9vQSpFYuzSs8Zu2lNgaoLHAOWW/s1600/a+series+of+unfortunate+events.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> 6. </span>The Mennyms</i> by Sylvia Waugh. These are probably not that well known but they are an amazing gem of a series about a family of life-size rag dolls magically come to life, that try to live in secret without being discovered by the real world. The twist in the first book is brilliant and the character of Soobie (who is completely blue, so can never leave the house) has left a lasting impression. If you’ve ever read the <i>A Song of Ice and Fire</i> series, he’s a little bit like a child friendly version of Tyrion.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">And finally...</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">7. Jacqueline Wilson books. I loved <i>The Bed and Breakfast Star</i>, <i>The Suitcase Kid</i>, <i>Double Act</i>, and <i>The Lottie Project</i>. These books introduced me to a world I knew little of, but to be honest I was thinking less about that and more about just how engrossing the stories were. They always involved strong, first-person female narrators and wonderful complementary illustrations by Nick Sharratt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2py9aD74K0VyrWll2f4G8QeYewfqOxwPqT0y6O0Lddlt6J0TScpyHweHTM0RCjCKOksQCToy4P8TZo7827qlSdCudC5BuO3pOft6sSZNN6oDZnIIJPUzlPZd8m6TDxfPOM8lQ9uD0U55X/s1600/the+lottie+project.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hca="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2py9aD74K0VyrWll2f4G8QeYewfqOxwPqT0y6O0Lddlt6J0TScpyHweHTM0RCjCKOksQCToy4P8TZo7827qlSdCudC5BuO3pOft6sSZNN6oDZnIIJPUzlPZd8m6TDxfPOM8lQ9uD0U55X/s200/the+lottie+project.jpg" width="136" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
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</div><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Harry Potter </span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">and<i> Just William</i> I’ve mentioned in other posts so I won’t repeat my adulation for them in this one. <i>His Dark Materials</i>, although loved, I read in my teens, so I won’t put it on this list either. There are many, many more I could have written about, but I had to stick to my absolute favourites or otherwise it wouldn't be: 'Charlotte's favourite books' but: 'books Charlotte read as a child' which would have made an extremely long list! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">So how about you? What childhood books do you remember fondly? </span></div>Charlottehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18230500142287179267noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-449958076030209694.post-75451432407382319422011-09-17T09:29:00.000-07:002011-09-17T09:29:23.036-07:00‘…You and me could write a bad romance…oh-oh-oh-oh-ohhhh-oh-oh-oh…caught in a bad romance...’<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">I’ve been thinking about romances and what makes them work. It’s always a bit embarrassing to admit you’re a fan of romance novels, but there you have it- I’m coming out in blog world. Let’s just state for the record: I prefer romance as a sub-plot, or at least, as part of the plot. There always has to be something else going on as well. Three hundred pages of ‘I love you, no I hate you, no I love you’ does not, a novel, make.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">The problem I find with romance novels is that nine times out of ten the actual romance part leaves me cold. I think the secret that no one shares is that a sizzling romance is extremely hard to write. At best, I can enjoy the story as a whole and like the love interests as characters, but more often than not, I’m indifferent to their relationship.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m aware that as a reader I’m stupidly hard to please, and there is no failsafe answer for what makes a romance work for me, or for anyone. (Although I’ll just say this: if in doubt, banter, banter, banter!)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">But one thing I will say, (and this is only my own opinion and others are free to disagree), is that, as a rule of thumb, the instant I know I’m not going to enjoy a romance is when I find out that it’s from both members of the couple’s perspectives. (This doesn’t mean that I then go into the book with a closed mind. I promise you I don’t.) </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Question: What makes romance exiting and slightly scary in real life? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Answer: Not knowing what the other person is thinking or what they’re going to do. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">So why would books then take away that aspect of romance? It’s boring to be in both people’s heads, and to know everything they feel for each other. This is telling. Not showing. When character A gets annoyed at character B over a misunderstanding, we can’t share that annoyance because we already know everything. Instead, the annoyance turns on character A because she/he/it doesn’t realise that character B is crazy about her/him/it. It is frustrating to the extreme to know everything and have both characters squabbling like children. We need to share the doubt that character A feels to become immersed in the plot. It is never a good idea to have the reader screaming at character A- he/she/it loves you, you moron!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">For me, the driving force of Twilight was not knowing what Edward was thinking, or why he did the things he did. Had the book been told from both Bella and Edward’s perspective (and I’ve read what there is to read of Midnight Sun, which is all I’ll say on the matter) I probably wouldn’t have continued past the first fifty pages. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Romance is about mystery and heightened emotions and uncertainty. (In a book anyway- I’m making no comments about the real world here, folks.) And, in my opinion, the reader needs to experience all of these feelings with JUST ONE of the protagonists. By giving the reader total knowledge of everyone’s feelings, you take away all of the above, and the result is just…flat. Would you read a murder mystery if the killer was revealed in the first chapter? It’s the same type of thing. The drive of most murder mysteries is: ‘who is the killer?’ The drive of most romances is: ‘how will these two crazy kids go together?’ And before anyone asks, ‘isn’t the drive of romance: will they end up together?’ The answer is no. Readers pick up a romance assuming the couple will end up together. The joy for them is seeing how the couple gets there. (I’m actually not just generalising and making up a load of rubbish here. One of my essays at uni was on romance in Women’s Literature. All of the stuff I’ve said about reader expectations comes from a study in a book. A <i>real</i> book. From the library and everything.)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">The problem with showing both characters’ points of view is that the reader then already knows how the characters will go together. They’re both vegetarians. They love the same band. She’s a jewel thief and he’s a bank robber. Knowing how they go together is the starting point to figuring out the rest of the book by yourself. Here’s an exercise for you- take two people you know well and imagine a relationship developing between them- imagine how it would or wouldn’t work- all the things that make them click and all the things that make them argue. Do they have complementary personalities? Clashing personalities? Would one be all-give and the other all-take? Does one plan everything to the nth degree and the other live solely on instinct? It’s quite easy to map out their entire romance when you know them well, isn’t it? So if a reader can figure out the relationship before they’ve even read the book, why <i>should</i> they continue to read it?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Now take someone you know and pair them with a stranger. You can't figure that relationship out because you don't know the stranger. You have to wait for your friend to tell you all about their new romance and then you lap up the juicy details like a starving cat provided with milk. It's exciting because you can't figure out what's coming next. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve probably read about five books in my life where I’ve thought- that was a great romance, but one example I will give is Juliet Marillier’s books- Daughter of the Forest and Son of the Shadows. (But not the third book in that series- don’t ever come complaining to me that I recommended you read Child of the Prophecy. I did not.) Juliet Marillier doesn’t always get it right, but when she does, I can’t put her books down. Which is why I’m now busy hunting for substitutes until she releases her next book. On that note- if anyone has read any Juliet Marillier and knows of similar authors who are also good, let me know!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">So, what do you all think? What are your formulas for a great romance? And what do you like/hate to see in romances? Have you any favourite romance authors to recommend?? Comment away...</div></div>Charlottehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18230500142287179267noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-449958076030209694.post-74265823091726148592011-09-15T09:41:00.000-07:002011-09-15T09:41:51.076-07:00'“Maybe she’s got concussion!” The boy who yelled this out did it with the same excitement he might have felt suggesting he’d won a free holiday.' Take 2!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Since I basically heard crickets in response to my post yesterday, I'm assuming all is not well in Raven's Keep. However, I have taken on board Prerna's extremely helpful comments and hopefully am now posting a vastly superior draft of the opening section of my manuscript, Raven's Keep. I might be shooting myself in the foot with this, but even if only one person comments to let me know what now needs improvement then it's better than nothing. If there are any lurkers out there- remember you can leave anonymous comments, so go crazy!<br />
<br />
(Here's the synopsis again for those who don't know: A teenage girl wakes up in a strange town to find that she has amnesia and no one knows who she is. It is a gothic/urban fantasy with a bit of a murder mystery thrown in.)<br />
<br />
<br />
Chapter one:<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Yellow dots played on her eyelids like tap-dancing ants. Her body itched and tingled as it began to wake up, but she kept her eyes shut and didn’t move. Every bone felt heavy and fragile beneath her skin. A confusion of voices filled the air, asking strange questions that made no sense and invaded her space. She wanted to pull the covers over her head and shut the sounds out, but the more conscious she became, the more she doubted that she was in a bed. The patter of ants turned into the jab of needles.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Make way, make <i>way.</i>” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">She could just make out the clucked muttering that comes from a crowd being jostled as someone shoves through, but still she didn’t move, though she could feel her heart pounding in her chest as though determined to draw attention to itself.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“For goodness sake everyone. <i>I’m </i>here now. <i>I’ll </i>deal with this.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">She felt her eyelids twitch. The needles were trying to pry them open. She had begun to sense the people forming a semi circle around her; to feel the bumpiness of the ground beneath her body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Now.” The same bossy voice came again, nearer this time. “What is going on?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“It’s like she appeared from nowhere.” Someone answered. “She’s still alive, but I dunno what’s wrong.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">A silence prickled the atmosphere before the bossy voice continued: “how long has she been lying here?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Not long,” another person said. “Do you think she should go to the hospital?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Cora opened her eyes. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">She blinked in the sharp sunlight as the dots continued to make things blurry, and realised her view was obscured by what looked like a crimson mop. She blinked again and the vision reshaped itself into the hair atop a woman’s head. The face below it was middle-aged and fleshy, with several layers of loose powder that made Cora think of uncooked pizza dough. She blinked again and the woman’s blue eyes came into focus. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Everyone stand back!” It was the bossy voice, Cora realised. The woman was ‘bossy voice.’ She kneeled in the dirt beside Cora, her legs protected from the ground by a shabby tweed jacket that didn’t look like it belonged to her. “The stranger is awake.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Who are you?” The words were out before anything else came to mind, but a second later an onslaught of more important questions rushed at her. What was going on? Where was she? How had she got there? Too many thoughts buzzed in Cora’s head like a frantic swarm of bees. Not much was coming to her in that moment, but she felt confident that she didn’t normally wake up outside and surrounded by a bunch of strangers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">The woman pressed her lips together. “I was going to ask you the same question. You’re the one who was lying unconscious in the street.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Cora stared at her, trying to focus. Silver earrings hung like church bells through the woman’s short hair, brushing the shoulder pads of a tailored, striped navy suit. Everyone else stood back from the woman, and Cora realised that they all knew who the woman was. She turned her attention to the crowd. No one looked familiar. Teenage boys drawn by the commotion. Mothers with toddlers. Shop keepers who had left their stores unattended to find out what was going on. All were strangers. Cora twisted her head and saw that she was lying on the cobbled ground of what appeared to be a town square. Even now people exited the shops, attracted by the sight of a crowd on such a sleepy, sunny day. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Despite the gathering it was quiet. The cobbles stretched from one side of shops to the other, leaving no road for any cars to get through. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Cora struggled to sit up, feeling her cheeks burn under everyone’s eyes. Immediately a headache threatened to rip open her skull. Massaging her forehead, she looked around the crowd, searching for an escape. She needed to get away- she didn’t know why, but she felt this need for escape as a certainty in the same way she felt her aching legs. A strange snapping sound brought her back to the person in front of her.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Now look at me.” Even the birds seemed to quiet down when Bossy Woman clicked her fingers. “What’s your name?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Cora.” It sounded strange on her tongue. “Cora,” she tried again. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Cora?” Bossy Woman lifted an eyebrow.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“That’s it.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Don’t be stupid. Your wits aren’t addled now, are they? Or perhaps you fell on your head. You must have a last name.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Cora felt her chest tighten. “I…I don’t remember.” What <i>was</i> her last name? How old was she? What day was it? Her breaths became shallow as she realised she didn’t know the answer to any of the questions. As stars swam across her eyes she made herself inhale and exhale slowly.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Are you hurt anywhere?” Someone else called out. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“I don’t think so.” Cora turned over her slender arms, examining both front and back, but the pale, freckled skin was clear of cuts or bruises. Her aching bones didn’t need to be mentioned.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Maybe she’s got concussion!” The boy who yelled this out did it with the same excitement he might have felt suggesting he’d won a free holiday. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“I’m fine.” Cora didn’t know why she felt the need to hide everything. Perhaps it was because all of the crowd were staring at her as though she’d fallen from the sky; perhaps it was because every instinct told her to run. In a minute she would remember everything, she promised herself, squeezing her fingernails into her palms. It was just taking her longer than normal to wake up and her mind was still foggy from sleep. That was all.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">BW rose to her feet and held out a manicured hand that looked like chunky chips dipped in blobs of ketchup. As she waved it in Cora’s face, Cora caught a whiff of disinfectant. “Get up,” BW said, her fingers wriggling when Cora hesitated. “I’m taking you to the hospital. Now.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">With shaking arms, Cora pushed herself upwards, ignoring the proffered aid. BW dropped her arm as though it had failed her and she would like nothing more to do with it. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Cora took a deep breath as she straightened up and felt the air rush to her head. Her legs were as brittle as lollipop sticks and her stomach felt like it was being liquidized in a blender. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Um… thanks for the offer, but I don’t need to go to hospital. Thanks.” Brushing the dirt off of her clothes, she avoided looking at the crowd. Their gazes only made her stomach churn faster and on top of everything else the fog still refused to clear up. Before she could stop herself she stumbled forward and her arms shot out to keep her balance. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Don’t be stupid and stop wasting my time,” BW said. “You need to be checked for any damages and then I need to phone your parents.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“My parents?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Of course. How old are you anyway? You don’t look much more than seventeen.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“I’m … I don’t know.” Cora rubbed at her head again. It still sparked as though a firework was banging about inside of it. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Oh, for goodness sake, never mind.” BW clutched at Cora’s hand before Cora could shake it off. “We’ll sort it all out once you’ve been checked over.” She turned to the crowd. “Everyone, get back about your day. This isn’t a spectator sport.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">As the crowd dispersed Cora felt the tightness in her chest begin to loosen. “Thanks for that,” she said, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other as BW marched her down the street. “How come they listen to you?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are you actually saying you don’t know who I am? I’m the Mayor of the town of Raven’s Keep. Mayor Winter.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Oh.” Cora bit her lip. The town’s name was unfamiliar. “Where’s that?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Right here.” BW paused and grabbed Cora’s shoulders, digging her nails through Cora’s t-shirt. She looked at Cora with a solemn expression, yet her eyes seemed to glitter. “You don’t know where you are or how you got here, do you?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">No and no, but Cora wasn’t about to say it. Instead she shrugged. “I’m just a bit…confused.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“DO…YOU…KNOW…WHO…YOU…ARE?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Cora jerked backwards out of BW’s hands and then instantly regretted the action as she almost lost her balance again. “I’m…Cora. And by the way-” she massaged her shoulders “-I’m not deaf.”</div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">BW smiled. “Let’s just get you to the hospital.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">So again, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE comment- say anything at all that comes to mind, even if you think it sounds ridiculous or nitpicky to the extreme! I feel like I'm yelling into a well here: 'is there anyone out there...there...there...' but anyway, you get my drift. Any comment will be welcomed with imaginary cupcakes and the knowledge that you've made a desperate girl happy. So...yeah. I'll shut up now and go look for my dignity. :) </span></div>Charlottehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18230500142287179267noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-449958076030209694.post-57073996037420196332011-09-13T14:14:00.000-07:002011-09-13T14:14:12.302-07:00'“Maybe she’s got concussion!” The boy who yelled this out did it with the same excitement he might have felt suggesting he’d won a free holiday.'<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">So, after stating yesterday that I finished the first draft of my WIP 'Raven's Keep' I decided on a whim that I would post the opening section of it here, because I'm desperate for any feedback I can get. When I say first draft, I mean overall first draft- the section I'm posting has in fact been edited several times. However, I'm feeling pretty vulnerable right now, so if you think it's crap, please find a constructive way of telling me! The story in a nutshell is about a teenage girl who wakes up in a strange town to find that she has amnesia and no one knows who she is. It is a gothic/urban fantasy with a bit of a murder mystery thrown in. Hope you like!<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Chapter one:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do you think she’s ok?” </i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><i>“What do I look like, a bloody mind reader?”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><i>“What happened?”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Yellow dots played on her eyelids like a million tap-dancing ants. </div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><em>“No idea. One minute I’m walking down the street, next thing I know she’s lying there, unconscious.”</em></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><em>“You don’t think she’s dead?”</em></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Too much noise filled the air. She wanted to pull the covers over her head and shut the sounds out. Where had all of the voices come from?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nah, I checked her pulse. Look, you can see her breathing.”</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">The dots were growing more insistent. The patter of ants had turned into needles.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Make way, make <i>way.</i>” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">She could just make out the clucked muttering that comes from a crowd being jostled about as someone shoves through.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“For goodness sake everyone. <i>I’m </i>here now. <i>I’ll </i>deal with this.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Her eyelids twitched. The needles were trying to pry them open. She had begun to sense the people forming a semi circle around her; to feel the bumpiness of the ground beneath her body. Where was she? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Now.” The same bossy voice came again, nearer this time. “What is going on?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“It’s like she appeared from nowhere. She’s still alive, but I dunno what’s wrong.” She recognised the voice- it was one of the first people who had spoken. A man who sounded like he talked from the bottom of his throat. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“And you didn’t think to get me straight away?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“We thought you were in your office.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Yes, well. That’s why we have mobile phones now, isn’t it?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">A silence prickled the atmosphere before the bossy voice continued: “how long has she been lying here?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Not long,” another person said. “Do you think she should go to the hospital?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Cora opened her eyes. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">She blinked in the sunlight as the dots continued to make things blurry, and realised her view was obscured by what looked like a crimson mop. She blinked again and the vision reshaped itself into the hair atop a woman’s head. The face below it was middle-aged and fleshy, with several layers of loose powder that made Cora think of uncooked pizza dough. She blinked again. The woman’s eyes came into focus; diluted blue and ringed with eyeliner. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Everyone stand back!” It was the bossy voice, Cora realised. The woman was ‘bossy voice.’ She kneeled in the dirt beside Cora, her legs protected from the ground by a shabby tweed jacket that didn’t look like it belonged to her. “The stranger is awake.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Who are you?” The words popped out of Cora before anything else came to mind, but a second later an onslaught of more important questions rushed at her. What was going on? Where was she? How had she got there? Too many thoughts buzzed in Cora’s head like a frantic swarm of bees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">The woman pressed her lips together. “I was going to ask you the same question. You’re the one who was lying unconscious in the street.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Cora stared at her, trying to focus. The woman wore a tailored, striped navy suit with shoulder pads. Silver earrings hung like church bells through the woman’s short hair, brushing the shoulder pads as though the entire outfit was one, connected system. Everyone else stood slightly back from the woman, and Cora realised that they all knew whom the woman was. She turned her attention to the crowd. No one looked familiar. Teenage boys drawn by the commotion. Mothers with toddlers. Shop keepers who had left their stores unattended to find out what was going on. All were strangers. Cora twisted her head and saw that she was lying on the cobbled ground of a town square. Even now people exited the green grocer’s, the newsagent’s, the butcher’s, distracted by the sight of a crowd on such a sleepy, sunny day. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Despite the gathering it was quiet. The cobbles stretched from one side of shops to the opposite row, leaving no road for any cars to get through, had there been any cars. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Cora struggled to sit up, feeling awkward under all of the attentive eyes. Immediately a headache threatened to rip open her skull. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Are you ok?” A mother asked, her grip tightening on her child as he began to slip in her distracted hold.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“I’m fine.” Cora massaged at her forehead. She <i>was</i> fine, she told herself. She just needed to…get away. A strange snapping sound brought her back to the moment at hand.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Now look at me.” Even the birds seemed to quiet down when Bossy Woman clicked her fingers. “What’s your name?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Cora.” It sounded strange on her tongue. “Cora,” she tried again. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Cora?” Bossy Woman lifted an eyebrow.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“That’s it.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Don’t be stupid. Your wits aren’t addled now, are they? Or perhaps you fell on your head. You must have a last name.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Cora felt her chest tighten as though breathing had become harder. “I…I don’t remember.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Are you hurt anywhere?” Someone else called out. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“I don’t think so.” Cora turned over her slender arms, examining both front and back, but the pale, freckled skin was clear of cuts or bruises.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Maybe she’s got concussion!” The boy who yelled this out did it with the same excitement he might have felt suggesting he’d won a free holiday. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“I’m fine.” Cora didn’t know why she felt the need to hide her headache. Perhaps it was because all of the crowd were staring at her as though she’d fallen from the sky. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">BW rose to her feet and held out a manicured hand that looked like chunky chips dipped in blobs of ketchup. As she waved it in Cora’s face, Cora caught a whiff of disinfectant. “Get up,” BW said, her fingers twitching when Cora hesitated. “I’m taking you to the hospital. Now.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">With shaking arms, Cora pushed herself upwards, ignoring the proffered aid. BW dropped her arm as though it had failed her and she would like nothing more to do with it.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Um…no thank you,” Cora said, brushing dirt off herself and avoiding looking at the crowd. Their gazes made her stomach churn, on top of everything else.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Don’t be stupid and stop wasting my time,” BW said. “You need to be checked for any damages and then I need to phone your parents.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“My parents?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Of course. How old are you anyway? You don’t look much more than seventeen.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“I… I don’t know.” Cora rubbed at her head again. It still sparked as though a firework was banging about inside of it. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Oh, for goodness sake, never mind.” BW clutched at Cora’s hand before Cora could shake it off. “We’ll sort it all out once you’ve been checked over.” She turned to the crowd. “Everyone, get back about your day. This isn’t a spectator sport.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">As the crowd dispersed Cora felt the tightness of her chest begin to loosen. “Thanks for that,” she said, as BW began to march her down the street. “How come they listen to you?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are you actually saying you don’t know who I am? I’m the Mayor of the town of Raven’s Keep. Mayor Winter.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Oh.” Cora bit her lip. The town’s name was unfamiliar. “Where’s that?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Right here.” BW paused and grabbed Cora’s shoulders, digging her nails through Cora’s t-shirt. She looked at Cora with a solemn expression, yet her eyes seemed to glitter. “You don’t know where you are or how you got here, do you?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Cora shrugged, not knowing, even as she did it, why her instinct was to try and downplay everything. “I’m just a bit…confused.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“DO…YOU…KNOW…WHO…YOU…ARE?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Cora jerked backwards, out of BW’s hands. “I’m…Cora. And by the way-” she massaged her shoulders “-I’m not deaf.”</div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">BW smiled. “Let’s just get you to the hospital.”</span><br />
<br />
<br />
So, there you have it. Remember, I'm DESPERATE for feedback, so any thoughts you have, negative or positive, are appreciated. Too confusing? Over written? Anything else??? PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE tell me!!!!</div>Charlottehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18230500142287179267noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-449958076030209694.post-67099431479716387112011-09-12T10:06:00.000-07:002011-09-12T10:13:41.347-07:00‘When the sale comes first and the truth comes second just stop for a minute and smile.’<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">So, I’ve been away from bloggy world for longer than I’d hoped, (three days but it feels like a lifetime.) I’d like to say that this is because I’ve been hard at work, writing, but the truth is I’ve been struck with the dreaded blog-writer’s block. So, if anyone has any brilliant ideas on what my next few posts should be, if there are any films or books they’d love for me to review/rip to shreds, or if they are just desperate to hear the sound of my writer’s voice, let me know. I’m needing an inspiration fairy right about now. Inspiration fairies are like muses, but better.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">On a side note, I did, in fact, finish the first draft of my WIP this morning, so I guess it’s now time for the real work to begin! Fun, fun, fun. My WIP is currently called Raven’s Keep, and I’d love any feedback you have on that title. Hate it? Love it? Indifferent? Please, please, <i>please</i> let me know!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">This post does actually have a topic by the way, and is not just me rambling from one point to the next. Today I thought I’d discuss my biggest book-related pet peeve: Celebrity writers. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">God. Uch. The two words don’t even go together. I mean, that’s an oxymoron if ever there was one. Aren’t writers by their very definition meant to be people who stay out of the limelight? (You can disagree with me on that comment- I know I’m generalising to make my point.) Celebrity autobiographies are bad but fiction is even worse. At least with the autobiographies, it’s pretty much a guarantee that the celebrity ‘author’ knows what their book is about. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Don’t get me wrong- I have nothing against ghostwriters. Every writer would do pretty much anything if it involves being paid to do what they love, and I can’t blame them for that. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">The thing that gets to me is that I live and breathe writing. I think about it first thing in the morning and last thing at night. I couldn’t <i>not</i> write, even if I knew my work would never ever be read, because writing is just part of what makes me <i>me</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">But for celebrities, it is just a vehicle that earns them money. Most of them don’t care about writing or reading or books in themselves. They just want their hard-hitting, ‘tell-all’ book to be the Christmas number one bestseller. And people wonder why libraries are closing?!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">For me, books are art. They might not be for many of you, and that’s fine. You might just view the written word as fun entertainment, whether through blogging, or poems, or reading. But think about it- you wouldn’t catch a celebrity trying to sell a painting, would you? (Although it will happen soon, when people in the industry realise there’s a profit to be made from it) For me, celebrity art *shudders* and celebrity books are the same thing- completely absurd. Writing is an art, and if you don’t have the talent, or at least the love for it, you shouldn’t do it. (I’m aware I could be shooting myself in the foot here, over my questionable ‘talent,’ but hey, no one can question my dedication.) You want to reveal your life story? Do it in a gossip magazine- that’s what they’re there for. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps I’m just bitter or grumpy, or can’t face the cold, hard truth of reality, but I can’t shake this skewed idea I have that unless you love reading and the written word, you shouldn’t be allowed to write. Why should people read your books, if you don’t read yourself? People who have never read a book in their lives and don’t intend to start, even with their own products, should not be allowed to make money from their ‘books.’ It’s just plain gross. For every celebrity who churns out a future bargain-bin waste of space without thought or care, there are thousands of would-be writers, dreaming, breathing and loving writing and being rejected by publishers across the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Yes, I am aware that this horrible epidemic can’t be outlawed and that we don’t live in ‘fair’ land. I am also aware that some of these books could be amazing. I don’t know, I’ve never read any, and whether they’re amazing or shit is irrelevant. The issue is <em>why</em> they exist. I recently had an opportunity to do work experience at a big publishing company, and I actually sat through a meeting where one member of the team suggested approaching a certain popular octogenarian to see if he fancied 'writing' another autobiography. No one was keen on the pitch and everyone was clearly thinking: who actually cares what this celebrity has to say? But the idea wasn’t ruled out. You know why? Because they knew there might be money in it.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">In all honesty, I just want to know why. Why do people read these books? What is there that draws people to them? Because, personally, I just can’t see it. If you are a fan of celebrity books, don’t be shy- I won’t bite your head off. I’m not attacking the readers, just the principle of celebrity books as a ruthless, calculated, moneymaking venture. I want to know what’s good about them so I can sleep better at night. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">(Disclaimer: I do not actually stay awake at night worrying about the future of books because of the current epidemic of celebrity authors- I was just being dramatic. :D ) </div></div>Charlottehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18230500142287179267noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-449958076030209694.post-71643207938801831052011-09-08T11:43:00.000-07:002011-09-08T11:43:09.565-07:00'Buy me diamonds and rubies, I'm crazy bout Bentleys' - wait, is that the wrong song??<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">The other day, the amazingly wonderful Cherie at <a href="http://readywritego.blogspot.com/">http://readywritego.blogspot.com/</a> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>was nice enough to give me <i>another</i> blog award, and you should all check out her blog <i>pronto</i>. *Points at <i>you</i>.* Yes, you.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Here it is...aint it pretty??</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBBoHWSD56Muju1alY1tyfR8DtJYSMB0W3YZI5ddQLEn_EGEjD5cbCogFBBNb8HFj2x9nSH3w5IfKhFBezWWi2LDlZvl363Iigzbcu4YffjWZBaZ359xyMUSxWHrws9CGvNc3ELAvKJKap/s1600/the+irresistibly+sweet+blog+award.png" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">So, as I did Seven Things About Me quite recently, I thought I’d vary it up a bit with seven random favourites instead-</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">1. Favourite type of weather: Storms. I live in Britain. Britain is not equipped for extreme types of weather. When the sun shines we sweat it out in our un-air conditioned houses and humid public transport, whilst longing for swimming pools and cocktails with little umbrellas in them. When it snows, we shiver it out in isolation, unable to drive on our icy, slushy roads, dreaming of Christmas and feel-good movies and five courses of food. But when there’s a thunderstorm? All we want is to be inside and to be dry and warm: something even Britain is capable of achieving. I love nothing more than to sit inside and listen to rain lashing against the window as though I’m in the only person in the world that exists. I think it brings out something primitive and uncomplicated in everyone- the simple pleasure of knowing that you’re safe, because it’s raining and you’re inside and not wet. Bliss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">2. Favourite style icon. Effy from <i>Skins</i>. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t style myself like that- I don’t make a habit of going about with my underwear visible from my skirt, but goshdarnit, I love her style. And in <i>Skinsland</i>, she gets away with it.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaG7GKxAzOMU1f7xE4rW0LK-Q2D1KSiXKVWFtFYH3Hf-_sp29wyOUizcmTroHlaOxQmaVonAjzGHXEc2BlTMDJZtECHzwz0UKWUrMe_R5X-8aF97GKvHJmosF2UUCOHhFTumYaolvTDv_9/s1600/effy+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaG7GKxAzOMU1f7xE4rW0LK-Q2D1KSiXKVWFtFYH3Hf-_sp29wyOUizcmTroHlaOxQmaVonAjzGHXEc2BlTMDJZtECHzwz0UKWUrMe_R5X-8aF97GKvHJmosF2UUCOHhFTumYaolvTDv_9/s1600/effy+2.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">3. Favourite Disney movie. That’s a tough one. As a child I would’ve said <i>Mary Poppins </i>or <i>The Lion King</i>, as I probably watched those two films more than any of the others. But as an adult I’ll say <i>Mulan</i>. Hey, she saves all of China- you can’t get much better than that. Also, Eddie Murphy as a dragon. Need I say more?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">4. Favourite underage child role model rebel. Taylor Momsen. Smoke? Check. Drink? Check. Discuss inappropriate things in interviews? Check. Make jokes in bad taste? Check. Style herself like a six-foot panda with a distaste for covering up? Check. There’s nothing cringey or embarrassing that Taylor Momsen hasn’t done. Is she seeking attention? Is she too cool for school? Is she just a brat with a bad attitude? Who knows? Who cares? So why do I like her? (Phew, that was a lot of questions!) Because despite all of the above, in a world where the vast majority of rock singers are men, Taylor Momsen stands out. I love her band, The Pretty Reckless, which surprisingly is Pretty Great. (See what I did there?!) *Shakes head at self.* We need more female-fronted bands like that. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj16pq6-PQq9VleTjH9BLM0a_-tDJchc12clB2qRe5oD0Jx4XZAQeeiN5fipZ78Uv9k7HfD5nGXRuuEDsLXPLNkrGpz45_wBOaSMymf-_Q6jtd6ibUGq3sf1zxFwpz8D62LtJ2S9sk0pUJr/s1600/taylor+momsen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj16pq6-PQq9VleTjH9BLM0a_-tDJchc12clB2qRe5oD0Jx4XZAQeeiN5fipZ78Uv9k7HfD5nGXRuuEDsLXPLNkrGpz45_wBOaSMymf-_Q6jtd6ibUGq3sf1zxFwpz8D62LtJ2S9sk0pUJr/s1600/taylor+momsen.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">5. Favourite song. <i>Hug Me</i>, by Meg and Dia. It’s based on a book, <i>Brave New World</i>, by Aldous Huxley, so it’s already obvious that I’d like it just from that, but I defy anyone to listen to this song and not want to play it again. Or put it on repeat. Or learn all the words. Except for my dad, who doesn't like anything other than opera. <em>I don't understand his ears</em>.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">6. Favourite artist. I have two, and they’re very different. John William Waterhouse and Rosina Wachtmeister. One is a Pre-Raphaelite style artist who depicted myths and legends. The other…well, she likes cats. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1Pp0oVbAjR6gj3wc-N1KMWpe1MpAm_WUEdf-YXCwyyzsbiSHm3fbrDR2tlJ5KX3vk8hpBTEZ9C_RiFKugGL4UkfV33Kmp_bUbzvkefIwqZSMIe9_C6RaDemkrBYTf5wyCQZuDMiY_Yhm/s1600/Rosina-Wachtmeister-We-Want-To-Be-Together-389950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1Pp0oVbAjR6gj3wc-N1KMWpe1MpAm_WUEdf-YXCwyyzsbiSHm3fbrDR2tlJ5KX3vk8hpBTEZ9C_RiFKugGL4UkfV33Kmp_bUbzvkefIwqZSMIe9_C6RaDemkrBYTf5wyCQZuDMiY_Yhm/s200/Rosina-Wachtmeister-We-Want-To-Be-Together-389950.jpg" width="197" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">7. Favourite quote, from <i>On The Radio</i>, by Regina Spektor:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">This is how it works:<br />
You're young until you're not.<br />
You love until you don't.<br />
You try until you can't.<br />
You laugh until you cry,<br />
You cry until you laugh,<br />
And everyone must breathe,<br />
Until their dying breath.<br />
<br />
No, <i>this</i> is how it works:<br />
You peer inside yourself,<br />
You take the things you like,<br />
And try to love the things you took,<br />
And then you take that love you made,<br />
And stick it into some,<br />
Someone else's heart,<br />
Pumping someone else's blood.<br />
And walking arm in arm,<br />
You hope it don't get harmed,<br />
But even if it does,<br />
You'll just do it all again…</div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Best way to sum up life, death and love I’ve ever heard.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">And, because I’m cheeky, I’m throwing in an eighth favourite- favourite idea for fan fiction I’ve ever heard, <i>ever</i>, courtesy of Selina: The White Queen from Tim Burton’s <i>Alice in Wonderland</i>, meets Captain Jack Sparrow from <i>Pirates of the Caribbean</i>. Can you imagine those two going out for coffee?? <em>I want to see this happen!</em></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">And now, the five lovely people of bloggy amazingness that I give this award to are…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Ashley Nixon at <a href="http://ashley-nixon.blogspot.com/">http://ashley-nixon.blogspot.com/</a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Jessie at <a href="http://jessie-humphries.blogspot.com/">http://jessie-humphries.blogspot.com/</a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">The Many Colours of Happiness at <a href="http://themanycoloursofhappiness.blogspot.com/">http://themanycoloursofhappiness.blogspot.com/</a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Gary Gautier at <a href="http://garygauthier.blogspot.com/">http://garygauthier.blogspot.com/</a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Rachel Pudelek at <a href="http://rachelpudelek.blogspot.com/">http://rachelpudelek.blogspot.com/</a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">So go and see their wonderful blogs <i>at once</i>. Or, you know, when you feel like it. :D</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div></div>Charlottehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18230500142287179267noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-449958076030209694.post-21004543300315721392011-09-07T10:17:00.000-07:002011-09-07T10:17:07.588-07:00‘Grandmother, what big teeth you have’ … ‘All the better to eat you with!’ (A review)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">I love fairy tales in any form, so I was really excited when, a few days ago, I got to see the film, <i>Red Riding Hood</i>, for the first time. As I watched, I was struck by the idea that the film was more like your standard YA fantasy book than any film I’d seen before. However, this is hardly surprising when you know that the director is Catherine Hardwicke, director of the first Twilight film and apparent lover of teen angst galore. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><i>Red Riding Hood</i> is set around the seventeenth century, in a small village called Daggerhorn. Within this isolated village, two stories are going on simultaneously, both of which centre around Red Riding Hood, whose name in this is Valerie, (Amanda Seyfried.) The first story is that of a werewolf who has prayed on the village for decades, and the second is Valerie’s romantic life. She loves her childhood friend Peter, (Shiloh Fernandez) but is being forced to marry the wealthy Henry (Max Irons.) </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><i>Red Riding Hood</i> is at times a little bit <i>Sleepy Hollow</i>, a little bit <i>The Village</i>, but unfortunately is nowhere near as good as either. It lacks the quirkiness of Tim Burton’s imagination and the sweetness of the romance in <i>The Village</i>. Straight away, I was confused as to who everyone was. The opening scene should have been one introducing all of the characters, but the viewer is never given that. Because of this, it took me a good fifteen minutes to figure out who was who. This wasn’t helped by the lack of close-ups on anyone’s face but Valerie’s, and the fact that not one adult looks older than forty, including Valerie’s grandmother (Julie Christie.) One conversation that I thought was taking place between husband and wife turned out to be mother and son, and the actress who plays Valerie’s mother (Virginia Madsen) looks spookily like Amanda Seyfried’s older sister. I felt like I was watching an episode of the OC. I know you could argue that it’s realistic for people to be younger in this film, as in olden times they married young and died young, but as the film doesn’t attempt to be realistic on any other front, I think I have the right to want to know whether someone is old enough to be a grandmother just by looking at them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">The other big flaw was the love triangle. Who needs personalities when you can have perfectly styled hair and big blue eyes? All three of them were boring, boring, boring, limp, lifeless and dull, and I didn’t care who she ended up with, although it didn’t take any guesswork to figure that one out. When is a love-triangle not a love-triangle? When it’s one big cliché, that’s when! And why on earth was Max Irons, of all people, cast as Henry? His American accent was appalling, and I can just imagine the phone call Max made to his dad, Jeremy, when he landed the role. “Dad! Dad! I’ve got a main part in this new film!”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Jeremy: (in his extremely recognisable voice.) “That’s great! What’s the character like? I love a character I can sink my teeth into.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Max: “Well…(long pause)…he says things. I’m fairly confident he gets to say things. Sometimes … sometimes he even gets to make facial expressions.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Incidentally, unlike my sisters, I am not enamoured with Amanda Seyfried’s face. Sure she’s a pretty girl, but there’s nothing gothic or strikingly unusual about her, in my opinion. She lacks Christina Ricci’s bizarrely attractive, moon-like features, or Bryce Dallas Howard’s Pre-Raphaelite hair. This normally wouldn’t be a big deal of course, but in a film such as this, especially when the camera spends so much time on Valerie, I wanted to see someone who doesn’t look like the latest perfume add model. (Actually, that goes for all three leads.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Numerous absurdities can be found again and again in this film. The reason that Father Solomon (Gary Oldman) is so hellbent on killing werewolves is because it is God’s will, yet he’s happy to kill another priest, simply because the man gets in the way? Inconsistent evil for the sake of evil doesn’t work for me. And even though it snows throughout the film, everyone dresses like it’s a nice spring day, and no one ever so much as shivers. This was so ridiculous that it was like watching a school play which doesn’t have the budget to make things more realistic. Another issue is that Valerie’s friends just seem to exist in a parentless state, which doesn’t make sense given the circumstances. I can hear the producers’ conversation now…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“We’re not hiring another person over the age of thirty. We’ve got five old people already- that’s enough!” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“But ... but … things happen to people which will leave the viewers wondering where their parents are…”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“The parents are dead! Ok! That’s what we’ll tell anyone who asks. All the parents are dead. They looked in the mirror and saw a grey hair or a wrinkle or whatever and were so distraught that they ended it all.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">“Uh…ok…”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Cynical? Me?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Also, whilst I’m busy nitpicking, why does Valerie’s dad (Billy Burke) have a Bieber haircut?!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">So, just to show that I’m not a completely joyless harpy who takes pleasure in hating <i>all things</i>, here’s what I did like: </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">The celebration dance scene was interesting and well choreographed. I liked how it combined old-fashioned dancing and modern dancing to make something that hasn’t really been seen before yet still works. That was perhaps the one original thing for me, so it gets a tick for that. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">I also liked the murder mystery of figuring out the werewolf. I didn’t see it coming though the clues were there (to be fair, I wasn’t trying <em>too </em>hard to figure it out) and when we did discover whom the werewolf was, it was in a way that (mostly) made sense, and seemed well plotted, explaining away earlier mysteries. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">For me, the grandmother was the most interesting character, so every scene that had her in it was a good scene. She was wonderfully mysterious and ever so slightly creepy. Valerie’s dream about her was the most frightening bit, and I mean that in a good way.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; tab-stops: 126.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">All in all, I’d give <i>Red Riding Hood</i> two stars out of five. It’s the sort of film that once you know the ending, you’d never watch it again, because there’s simply nothing to go back for. A strong romance would’ve been the draw for repeated watching, but unfortunately, as stated before, it falls completely flat on that front. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Ah well. It was a disappointment this time around, but I won’t give up hope that the future remakes of fairytales to hit cinemas (there seems to be two Beauty and the Beasts and two Snow Whites in the offing) will be worth watching.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Agree/disagree? Haven’t seen it? All opinions welcome in the comments! </span></div>Charlottehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18230500142287179267noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-449958076030209694.post-6391058352718812592011-09-06T08:51:00.000-07:002011-09-06T08:57:57.011-07:00Writing is easy: All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead. ~Gene Fowler<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Working on a WIP (work in progress) is haaaarrrd. <i>Seriously</i>. I find that although writing is perfectly easy to do in short stories, it suddenly becomes a total chore when I have a three hundred-page book to write, and in my desire to get a novel out, I lose all capability for something as simple as decent sentence structure. (See what I mean?) My similes stop making sense, I forget all about description, I start comma splicing, and every character starts talking in, like, exactly the same way. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">I am about three chapters from the end of my current WIP. Soooo close! It’s just pushing myself that’s the problem. I hate writing badly, but I know that if I don’t do the first draft badly, it won’t get written at all.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><em>I'm not a very good writer, but I'm an excellent rewriter. ~James Michener</em><em></em></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who was it who said that thing about genius being 90% hard work, 10% inspiration? (Not that I’m deluded enough to think I’m a genius- I’d happily accept being called a half-wit -the quote just serves my purpose.) I’m pretty sure I’ve misquoted anyway, but you know what I mean. Right? Right?! </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">I have inspiration for perhaps the first two chapters of any book. And then it’s gone. Used up in the amount of time it takes me to do this. *Clicks fingers.* The rest of the book- however many years it takes me to write it -is mostly just hard work, and if I’m lucky, I’ll get the occasional spurt of enthusiasm again, every few months or so. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">That’s not to say I don’t like my stories, or enjoy creating them, or even that I don’t enjoy writing. I love them. To all of the above. I can spend many a happy hour thinking about my stories and what direction I want them to go in. My characters are as real and as loved for me as any other author’s characters are for them. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><em>The story I am writing exists, written in absolutely perfect fashion, some place, in the air. All I must do is find it, and copy it. ~Jules Renard, "Diary," February 1895</em></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">And I love writing- I love putting a new spin on old ideas and an old twist on new ones. I love similes and metaphors and cringeworthy puns. I love the surprises that get you at the end of a good book, even though in hindsight you kick yourself because you <i>really</i> should have seen them coming. I love poetic language to describe death and commonplace words to describe love. I love writing something horrendous so that I can sift through it to get to the good stuff, which I know I must have in me somewhere; only it’s probably deep, deep, <i>deep</i> down inside. Probably.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><i>Words - so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of one who knows how to combine them. ~Nathaniel Hawthorne</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">But there’s something about sitting in front of a computer, seeing pages of my own writing, and just being filled with self-doubt. I think self-doubt must be the death of creativity. (Apparently I’m paraphrasing Sylvia Plath here.) </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It gets easier with each draft. I mean, I don’t have much experience as this is only my second proper WIP, but I think it’s about seeing the words on the page translate the images in my head, and the closer I get to that, the calmer I feel. I know I will never reach the point where a book feels complete for me (I don’t think that’s possible for any writer) but I would like to reach a point where I feel confident that I’ve written a good story.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><em>The time to begin writing … is when you have finished [your work] to your satisfaction. By that time you begin to clearly and logically perceive what it is you really want to say. ~Mark Twain</em></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">So, how about you? Anyone else feeling the frustration of ‘oh my god I could finish my first draft in ten hours if I just made myself work on it’ versus ‘but you won’t because it’s shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit’? Or is that just me?? *Laughs manically.*</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Any comments, thoughts, experiences or advice to get my head examined would be muchly appreciated. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><em>A writer and nothing else: a [person] alone in a room with the English language, trying to get human feelings right. ~John K. Hutchens, New York Herald Tribune, 10 September 1961</em></span></div></div>Charlottehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18230500142287179267noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-449958076030209694.post-13403096997414022642011-09-03T09:49:00.000-07:002011-09-03T09:49:15.311-07:00‘Hey remember that time when I would only read Shakespeare? Hey remember that other time when I would only read the backs of cereal boxes?’<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_l4xcuo="690" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_70x5lh="133">Today I wanted a happy post, so I started thinking about my inspirations. I don't know if this is like most other writers, but I can find inspiration in anything- the <span closure_uid_70x5lh="202" closure_uid_l4xcuo="691" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">backs of cereal boxes, the middle of Tesco's supermarket, a music video or even two people arguing on the street. All of these things lead me back to writing, and allow me to </span>remember that life can be a little bit bigger, a little bit stranger, and that imagination can be stretched a little bit further. </div></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_l4xcuo="690" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_l4xcuo="690" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">So, I thought: time for another list! A list of the top ten things (to my best recollection and not including books, because that’s too obvious) that inspire me to not just think outside of the box, but to trample the box, kick it away, and never have anything to do with it ever again. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_l4xcuo="692" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_70x5lh="187">Without further ado, and in no particular order, I give you: Charlotte’s favourite inspirations…</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_70x5lh="191" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_70x5lh="183">1. The concept of <em>Dead Like Me,</em> a dark comedy programme that unfortunately only lasted for two series. A toilet seat falls from space and kills a girl. The girl then becomes a grim reaper. This is the sort of premise that I wish I had thought of first. </div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_l4xcuo="687" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_70x5lh="189">2. The introduction of Tara in the first series of <em closure_uid_70x5lh="190">True Blood</em> (a programme that is part vampire porn/part gothic brilliance.) She comes across as rude, loud, angry, obnoxious and far too intelligent, but straight away I adored her. For all of her flaws, she remains endearing, and the sort of person you'd want as your friend but Never as your enemy! </div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_l4xcuo="145" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_70x5lh="192">3. The band, <em>Panic! At the</em> <em>Disco’s</em>, music video for ‘The Ballad of Mona Lisa.’ Set in a Victorian funeral parlour, the video embodies steampunk and eyeliner. Two of my favourite things. A friend tried to explain the video to another friend and said something along the lines of: “It’s basically just Charlotte. The inside of her head.” So, yeah. This video and I are kindred spirits. </div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" closure_uid_l4xcuo="210" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrRZHfU8BRqX-7CnDzqEZd9hW-CNmEThxB2r304hi9a0jh5gqhdLUSUkV0GvgPojjqeMu89aSiVja89oS01rYYHyyKRJ_QqM6ALg7b6l2l0a7XpIwcnetxREBOcDjkTKyUrOcweRY8z1Ow/s1600/mona+lisa+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrRZHfU8BRqX-7CnDzqEZd9hW-CNmEThxB2r304hi9a0jh5gqhdLUSUkV0GvgPojjqeMu89aSiVja89oS01rYYHyyKRJ_QqM6ALg7b6l2l0a7XpIwcnetxREBOcDjkTKyUrOcweRY8z1Ow/s1600/mona+lisa+2.jpg" xaa="true" /></a></div><div closure_uid_l4xcuo="693"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_l4xcuo="693"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_l4xcuo="189" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">4. Years ago on holiday, my parents bought a huge painting of a tropical waterfall. Filled with exotic colours and animals, the detail is so pretty that I feel calmer whenever I look at it. This is the one ‘heirloom’ that my sisters and I are guaranteed to fight over when my dad leaves us for the great beyond. (Sorry dad.) I don’t know how many times over the years I’ve wished I could pull a <i>Narnia</i> and step inside of that painting. Unfortunately I am reminded yet again, that in our world, a painting is just a painting.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_70x5lh="195">5. Speaking of stepping into paintings…Disney's <i closure_uid_l4xcuo="369">Mary Poppins</i>. More specifically, her snowglobe. That is one magical, <i>magical</i> snowglobe, and I have been searching for one like that my entire life. If anyone knows where I could get one, let me know. It would be a childhood dream come true.</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" closure_uid_l4xcuo="421" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcf29FqaPRyOThpbLVBIae0FzWtzsP0SySTVpB5lWRxXOBFGu1423V7lWtiARa1XrokrAu5jx8-ENhImmJbZ6QIR0yzIrVR2NqsnHNQg7kwbLBZ0fmfZPs1TwGlIpn0UTYjqvUHalwiD0I/s1600/mary+poppins+snowglobe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcf29FqaPRyOThpbLVBIae0FzWtzsP0SySTVpB5lWRxXOBFGu1423V7lWtiARa1XrokrAu5jx8-ENhImmJbZ6QIR0yzIrVR2NqsnHNQg7kwbLBZ0fmfZPs1TwGlIpn0UTYjqvUHalwiD0I/s200/mary+poppins+snowglobe.jpg" width="142" xaa="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" closure_uid_l4xcuo="421" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_l4xcuo="394" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_70x5lh="196">6. And thoughts of Dick Van Dyke lead me to another of his films, <i closure_uid_70x5lh="197">Chitty Chitty Bang Bang,</i> and the best villain in the world, <i>ever</i>, The Child Catcher. Would <i>you </i>buy sweets from this man?? </div></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_l4xcuo="394" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_70x5lh="198"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVCCgFqHr3lTpme4V3vhXTZdQAx4CSakUUxQfnEMJE2K8EZGjZoZkyeHwguBIyupoIz_-TlcfvZeUFXlj9LdZguZfFtR5KvA3YPBrpaOfbzbfMDjIX2vHnETpbPbJX7ePy2xIAZQp9eXfg/s1600/the+child+catcher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVCCgFqHr3lTpme4V3vhXTZdQAx4CSakUUxQfnEMJE2K8EZGjZoZkyeHwguBIyupoIz_-TlcfvZeUFXlj9LdZguZfFtR5KvA3YPBrpaOfbzbfMDjIX2vHnETpbPbJX7ePy2xIAZQp9eXfg/s200/the+child+catcher.jpg" width="200" xaa="true" /></a>True fact: The children's author, Roald Dahl, wrote the first draft of the screenplay for<i> Chitty Chitty Bang Bang</i>, but didn’t work any further on it, and it ended up getting changed a lot. I think the one thing they kept from his original draft was: The Child Catcher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dun dun dun… I actually shudder just thinking of him now. (The Child Catcher, not Roald Dahl) And I’m 23 years old.</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_l4xcuo="619" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_70x5lh="156">7. <i>Misfits</i>. <em>Misfits</em>, for anyone who doesn't know, is a British TV show about a bunch of people doing community service, who gain super powers during a weird storm. Despite its flaws, <i>Misfits</i> has come up with some truly ingenious ideas, like a boy who has been given the ability to see the world as a video game, and, you know, <em closure_uid_l4xcuo="695">Nathan, </em>in all of his <em>Nathaness</em>. Who comes up with that stuff?? The way they filmed the video game episode as well was just brilliant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_l4xcuo="422" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_l4xcuo="696" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_70x5lh="199">8. The adult cartoon, <i>Family Guy</i>. Does it need any further explanation? Love it or hate it, there’s no denying that <i>Family Guy</i> would be insulted if they knew that the ‘box’ even existed in the same realm as them. Why can people hear the baby talking sometimes and not others? They just can, ok? <i>Deal with it</i>.</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_l4xcuo="463" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_70x5lh="165">9. This ornamental birdcage, which I got for my last birthday. It’s from Monsoon but they’ve stopped stocking it now, and I absolutely love it. It’s just so pretty and random. I have a love of all things random. *Gushes.* <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J </span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_l4xcuo="530" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-MZfpwYcg00PQQy9s0eDLX3ts17Pns4eXTK07EZQMqgWy6-ep_sXsxdSLH4baDLoOOQPVd7Ru7zwlZLeGvoR-pNwMleAQLam1IkSXb3_BDbHjWX3NU8QNDqjtaC_LySdQDSAYFfty6XjS/s1600/monsoon+birdcage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-MZfpwYcg00PQQy9s0eDLX3ts17Pns4eXTK07EZQMqgWy6-ep_sXsxdSLH4baDLoOOQPVd7Ru7zwlZLeGvoR-pNwMleAQLam1IkSXb3_BDbHjWX3NU8QNDqjtaC_LySdQDSAYFfty6XjS/s200/monsoon+birdcage.jpg" width="200" xaa="true" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_l4xcuo="530" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_l4xcuo="530" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_l4xcuo="465" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_70x5lh="200">10. The White Queen in Tim Burton’s <i>Alice in Wonderland</i>. I wish I had invented this character. What can I say? I love her style and I love her mannerisms and I just find her so <i>watchable</i>. She could waffle on about the benefits of skimmed milk over whole fat for hours and as long as she did it with those strange arm movements I would still find it mesmerising. </div></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_l4xcuo="465" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" closure_uid_l4xcuo="568" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_HsEYGJ4QkUTb_avbKQfnRoEV6C726bku7N3qDnEiROuSTqm0q6ckmczUupHYrr3ofdbT8kzHYbkKd9mebptn0a6pvZhluaHKoKx7SQjV9MPMzYfCZ6MyFmSQCvc4Cv-f-nzXHBbRXaku/s1600/anne+hathaway+aiw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="124" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_HsEYGJ4QkUTb_avbKQfnRoEV6C726bku7N3qDnEiROuSTqm0q6ckmczUupHYrr3ofdbT8kzHYbkKd9mebptn0a6pvZhluaHKoKx7SQjV9MPMzYfCZ6MyFmSQCvc4Cv-f-nzXHBbRXaku/s200/anne+hathaway+aiw.jpg" width="200" xaa="true" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_l4xcuo="464" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_l4xcuo="137" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_70x5lh="203">There were plenty of others I could have included, but I did say I’d limit myself to ten, even though it was <i>hard</i>. <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">L</span></span> I’m so indecisive that, years ago, when my family was moving house and I couldn’t make up my mind as to where I wanted my furniture to go, the removal men asked me if I was as indecisive as my mother. I replied, in all earnestness, “um, I don’t know.” They had a good laugh out of that one. </div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_l4xcuo="682" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_70x5lh="201">So that’s my big, exciting list. If you’re now intrigued to check any of them out, go for it, and let me know. Except for my dad’s painting because that would just be weird. </div></div><div closure_uid_l4xcuo="136"> </div><div closure_uid_l4xcuo="136">NB: None of the pictures above are mine!</div></div>Charlottehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18230500142287179267noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-449958076030209694.post-1240137544663209482011-09-02T04:57:00.000-07:002011-09-02T04:57:43.904-07:00‘He catches raindrops from his window, it reminds him how we fall.’<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">‘Show don’t tell.’ Creative Writing 101. Anyone who’s ever taken a creative writing course or simply googled ‘rules’ of writing, will know that this is the NUMBER 1 most important rule there is. If you only follow one creative writing rule this year… etc, etc. Show what you’re trying to say, don’t tell it. The difference between, ‘he felt hungry’ (telling) and ‘his stomach rumbled.’ (showing.)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_j34kz1="155" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">To anyone who has been following my blog with any sort of interest, it’s probably becoming apparent that I consider ‘writing rules’ a lot. I’ll admit that they are important to me, but not because I’m a straight laced, goody-two-shoes, never breaks the rules, doesn’t colour outside of the lines type of person. The truth is that I suffer terrible insecurity that my writing is not, and never will be, good enough, and I don’t want to give people reasons to add to the list of why this might be the case. ‘See that? She used an adverb. <i>An adverb</i>. Amateur!’ So I study the rules, and then, when I’m hit with another dose of ‘Godmywritingiscrapishouldjustgocurlupinahole’ I go and study them again and apply them to my writing and say ‘well, at least I’m not doing <i>that</i> wrong.’ </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">But (and there’s another writing rule: starting a sentence with ‘but’ makes me look like an arse) the terrifying truth is: rules can be broken. If everyone did everything in the same way, it would be boring. If a book is full of broken rules and no one even notices because the book is AMAZING then who cares? And if a book follows every goddam rule and it’s still a pile of shit then again, who cares?? I know that there are people out there who fear a time when no one knows how to write a grammatically correct sentence anymore, and I empathise, but the beauty of writing and language is that it is always evolving. ‘OMG’ has entered the dictionary. Should we laugh or cry? And would writing actually be better if it remained the same and ended up feeling stilted and dead? (These are not rhetorical questions by the way. Feel free to answer them.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">So maybe it’s about balance. I tend to find 70 percent sticking to the rules and 30 percent breaking them to be a good mix. A spattering of adverbs, the odd fragmented sentence.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Maybe it’s about being true to yourself. Exclamation points have been described as ‘canned laughter’ but how often does someone stop and find an exclamation point jarring? Sometimes they give a piece of writing some much-needed vigour.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">I suppose my point is that I have no concrete answers. I’m always, always trying to be a better writer, but I’m often finding that I read something that breaks all of the rules and guess what? It’s still a great piece of writing. The fact is that with something creative, rules are only ever going to take you so far.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_j34kz1="157" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">So, to come back to ‘show don’t tell.’ There are plenty of arguments against this rule and that’s fine if you agree with those, but I would say that this ‘holiest of holy commandments’ is one that I tend to observe when writing my WIP. I just find it a much stronger form of writing, and it leads to much more interesting ways of getting a point across.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">I’ll end this post with the lyrics of the song ‘From The Stars’ by White Lies. Listening to it the other day, I was struck immediately by the thought that it made an interesting example of ‘showing.’ </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15.6pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.75pt;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">I saw a friend that I once knew at a funeral,<br />
He took the time out to be seen.<br />
His eyes kept glancing to the hour hand on the gold watch,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15.6pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.75pt;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">That he'd been given by a magazine.<br />
He didn't cry when the priest gave the sermon,<br />
Just pulled up the woolen collar on his fleece.<br />
Crossed his arms, gave a sigh and checked the time again,<br />
As he sat inches from the wife of the deceased.<br />
<br />
He catches raindrops from his window, it reminds him how we fall,<br />
From the stars back to our cities, where we've never felt so small.<br />
Raindrops from his window making puddles in his hands,<br />
He sees how quick the water's rising as another raindrop lands.<br />
<br />
He took a chauffeur driven car back to his hotel,<br />
Passing through the city streets where he was born.<br />
He said "Driver, what's happened to these buildings? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15.6pt; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.75pt;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">They all look run down and so forlorn."<br />
He took a shower in the bathroom of his penthouse,<br />
Put the Do not Disturb on his door.<br />
When the maid came in the morning,<br />
She found him shivering on the bedroom floor.<br />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_j34kz1="156" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Perhaps the downside of ‘showing’ is that the feelings of the person in this song aren’t completely clear. Perhaps people get different ideas about what the person feels and then argue about the meaning. To me, it is someone suffering depression or an existential crisis, or a feeling of disconnection with the world, or with his old life. The thing is though, however wrongly or rightly I interpret them, I find these lyrics beautiful and fascinating, and so much less boring than, say, ‘He was depressed.’ They make me think, they make me pay attention, and they create a world for the reader/listener to step inside. Can as strong an effect be had from ‘telling?’ Let me know what you think! </div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_j34kz1="130" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div></div>Charlottehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18230500142287179267noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-449958076030209694.post-8797405532519513712011-09-01T04:05:00.000-07:002011-09-01T04:05:02.225-07:00‘Maybe I’ll be a poet. Watch all the sky for falling words. Write about my grandma’s curtains, or the lady who put the Chinese buffet in her purse.’<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_4mln07="201" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">I would like to thank the lovely Prerna Pickett, <a href="http://prernapickett.blogspot.com/">http://prernapickett.blogspot.com/</a> for being so sweet as to give me a blogging award. Seeing as I’ve been blogging less than a week, I consider this a huge achievement! So check out her blog – The Sands of Writing – you won’t regret it!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_4mln07="260" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Here are my awards: <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span></div><div closure_uid_4mln07="127"><br />
</div><div class="separator" closure_uid_4mln07="144" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzaX4yPrEOmAtQ63lmWdR3y96tQhLiaYsWhiCIjmKR-BXmc1ELkp1boQRQrV5yjtKDKlrMU26-Jnc7sjozqFp0UrPTs16fOTbZOl5plwdzIOZ0THO35XcxXjDSMPBpJTMbXbgE_6vmxLU_/s1600/the+versatile+blogger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzaX4yPrEOmAtQ63lmWdR3y96tQhLiaYsWhiCIjmKR-BXmc1ELkp1boQRQrV5yjtKDKlrMU26-Jnc7sjozqFp0UrPTs16fOTbZOl5plwdzIOZ0THO35XcxXjDSMPBpJTMbXbgE_6vmxLU_/s1600/the+versatile+blogger.jpg" xaa="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" closure_uid_4mln07="144" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" closure_uid_4mln07="144" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">and</div><div class="separator" closure_uid_4mln07="144" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqen73Rx7LDvAN2vEhTE1SLAn6En49dirNeH08THBuxPBiDgvqaxtQS7_Me-hIXBRvGg9Hng8wmam__ZiwMrjo0U0L2mI6QEdasfVMzW-JGylXIm9vJqprYiMsEaL_fQqub6vjHGU7qwEe/s1600/the+irresistibly+sweet+blog+award.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqen73Rx7LDvAN2vEhTE1SLAn6En49dirNeH08THBuxPBiDgvqaxtQS7_Me-hIXBRvGg9Hng8wmam__ZiwMrjo0U0L2mI6QEdasfVMzW-JGylXIm9vJqprYiMsEaL_fQqub6vjHGU7qwEe/s1600/the+irresistibly+sweet+blog+award.png" xaa="true" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_4mln07="261" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Sooo, the rules are as follows…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_4mln07="263" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span closure_uid_4mln07="262" style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Thank and Link the person who nominates you<br />
Share Seven Random facts about yourself<br />
Pass the award on to five more blogger friends<br />
Contact and congratulate the blogs nominated<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Right, second task...seven, oh-so-random and hopefully interesting things about me:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_4mln07="280" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">1. My cat killed my hamster. It takes sibling rivalry to a whole new extreme doesn’t it?! I was eighteen and had owned my gorgeous hamster Jaq-Jaq (named after the mouse in Cinderella) for only six months. Have you ever heard the fable about the wolf and the shepherd? The wolf followed the shepherd and his sheep around all the time, and after a while the shepherd began to trust him and think of him as a second-in-command. One day, the shepherd went to sleep, leaving Mr Wolf in charge. Guess what happened when the shepherd woke up? Shock! Surprise! All of the sheep were dead. So basically- <i>that</i>. Although no, I didn’t hand my hamster over to my cat and say ‘play nice you two.’ Alfie (my naughty, spoilt but oh-so-loved, incorrigible cat) somehow got the cage open when I wasn’t around. It was pretty traumatic. I heard my sister screaming my name (I thought she’d cut off her arm she was that hysterical) and ran up the stairs to find Jaq in Alfie’s mouth. It wasn’t much consolation that Alfie hadn’t bitten Jaq and that my poor hamster had only died of fright, but at least my last image of my pet wasn’t of him covered in blood and gore. Needless to say, with Alfie still on the prowl, I won’t be getting another hamster any time soon.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_4mln07="282" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">2. My life has a sense of humour- and I am the punch line. <i>Seriously.</i> I have a huge fear of the sea. If anyone is asking why, take a look at it. It’s vast and never ending and you could drown and it’s the element that people are literally the most out of their depths in. (Sorry for the pun.) I fear sharks most of all, but any potentially person-eating underwater creature scares the living daylights out of me. (Did you know that crocodiles travel by ocean in Australia? Uh-huh. Swear it’s true.) I saw the film <i>Piranha</i> in the cinema and whilst other people were laughing at the fake blood, I was fighting the urge to be sick, covering my face with my hands, and reminding myself “it’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real…” you get the gist. I can freak myself out in an empty swimming pool. (Curse my imagination!) My family’s kind and understanding nickname for me is ‘Sharklet.’ So what have I realised makes me feel calmest and happiest and most alive? <em>Swimming in the sea</em>. *Mouths incoherently at the silliness that is my life.* </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_4mln07="284" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">3. I am the middle daughter of three girls, and as such have total ‘middle child syndrome.’ My poor younger self was cruelly forced to play the ‘boy’ in all of our childhood games. My oldest sister was mother, my youngest sister (with her Goldilocks hair) was the baby daughter, and I got to choose between father or brother. If I needed a change I was grudgingly allowed to be the pet dog. When my sisters grew bored of these games they came up with one even better. I became ‘nasty/naughty cousin.’ No, I did not volunteer for this game, and I still bear the figurative scars to this day. They improved even further upon this by giving me my own Greek chorus whenever I got into trouble. <i>‘Yeah Charles!’</i> Was the chant that reached my ears in between my parents’ lectures. (Imagination was never their strong suit.) At the age of six, being called a boy’s name was a grievous insult, so it was Hard Times for little ole me. Needless to say, I blame all of my life’s later issues on this traumatic period of my life. (Only joking! Don’t terrorise me in the comments, Debs :p) </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_4mln07="292" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">4. I credit Harry Potter/ Buffy the Vampire Slayer with being the two major influences of my life. (Outside of family/friends/teachers of course.) Buffy taught me all I’ll ever need to know about female empowerment, great characterisation and peppy one-liners, whilst Harry Potter showed me just how incredible and powerful a book can truly be. I was already a huge bookworm by the way – I probably came out of the womb with a book and glared at the doctor for interrupting me – but I still remember picking up HP in W.H.Smith’s for the first time when I was nine. I had recently started what would be a life-long love affair with the fantasy genre (my best friend and I had decided that we were the witches from Hocus Pocus) and so I was excited at the prospect of a book about wizards and witches. This was back in 1997 (God, I’m old!) and before Harry Potter was anything other than another book on a shelf. Needless to say, once I’d started reading, I couldn’t put it down. I remember that I was resting it on my windowsill because my legs had become tired from sitting for so long, when I discovered that it was Quirrel, not Snape who was after the Philosopher’s Stone. <em>Endless hours of astonishment were to follow. </em></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_4mln07="285" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">5. Despite being afraid of driving my own car, I am a bit of an adrenaline junkie, and I have been skydiving, white-water rafting, abseiled down a waterfall, experienced a canyon swing, gone on every roller coaster that would have me, and done one of those harness things that spring you up in the air and then let you plummet and spin in somersaults for a bit. The most fun I had was the canyon swing. This was where I was lowered into a canyon whilst sitting in a harness, and I had to pull a strap that would let me drop like a puppet whose strings have just been cut. I can still remember how shaky I felt pulling that strap, and the feeling of my stomach hurtling to my throat as I plunged to what I was <em>convinced</em> was my death. Luckily, a second later it turned into the most amazing swing of my life. I was in Queenstown in New Zealand, and I had a beautiful view of lakes and mountains as I swung from one side of the canyon to the other. It was <i>sheer awesomeness</i>, and I don’t use the word awesome. One day, I will pluck up the courage to go <b>bunjy jumping</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_4mln07="287" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">6. I love and geek out over all things to do with reading and writing. Book charms for necklaces, notebooks, sayings about writing, pictures of people reading, reading and writing product websites, I love them all. I love the quote I’ve used in this post because it reminds you to look for inspiration in unlikely places. Whilst my little sister shops online for shoes, I’m there buying a t-shirt which says ‘careful or you’ll end up in my novel.’ Don’t worry- I don’t wear it outside the house. All my money goes on books, and thanks to a short stint as an intern at a publishing house, I now have a pile of about 40 books in my room, all clamouring to be read. On Amazon, my potential buying list has about 100 books on it. I feel guilty Every Time I think about it. I’ve known I want to be an author since I was about eight, and I did English Literature and Creative Writing at university. It’s fair to say that I’m enamoured with the subject, but not necessarily that I <em>ever</em> know what I’m talking about. <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_4mln07="290" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">7. At seventeen I started writing my first book, <em>The Secrets of Yggdrasil Manor</em>. I finished the first draft perhaps two years later. I’ve now just finished its eighth draft, though it has been sent out in many forms of query letters over the past two years. As I’m still unpublished, you can probably guess the result. It took a long time for me to come to terms with the fact that the book I’d poured my heart and soul into for six years was never going to see the light of publishing day, and it still gets to me a little. I maintain that the book isn’t bad; but that the downside of starting a book at seventeen was that I didn’t have a CLUE what I was doing. As a result, it is an homage to every book I ever loved as a child: an amalgamation of Roald Dahl, C.S. Lewis, K.A Applegate, Philip Pullman and Enid Blyton. I would say that rather than being full of clichés, it twists them on their heads and makes them original again, but the premise doesn’t sound current enough for today’s market. At least, that’s the way I see it, but hey, I’m probably just a deluded fool who doesn’t want to admit how rubbish I am. <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">So there are seven, random, <i>long</i>, facts about me! Congratulations if you managed to read it all without skimming, and here are the wonderful blogs I nominate, which you should definitely check out:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Eleanor at mirrorofmyworld.blogspot.com</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Selina at kittyonadumpster.blogspot.com </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Caitlin at Caitlin-lane.blogspot.com</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Ruth Josse at babyruthwrites.blogspot.com</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Jolene at jolenesbeenwriting.blogspot.com</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_4mln07="167" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Can I just take a moment to say how wonderful it is to meet other aspiring authors? At first I was terrified because my thought process was: ‘oh god, I’m just one of <em>thousands</em>.’ Then I realised that reading someone’s post and seeing that they know exactly how I feel is both comforting and refreshing, and the tips they give are really helpful. So yay for writer blogs!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
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</div><div closure_uid_4mln07="166"></div><div closure_uid_4mln07="127"><br />
</div></div>Charlottehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18230500142287179267noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-449958076030209694.post-81856695696702203002011-08-30T11:47:00.000-07:002011-08-31T06:00:58.190-07:00‘Hate is a strong word, but I really, really, really don’t like you.’<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">There’s a general writer’s rule that dialogue tags are bad, and no word other than ‘said’ should follow a character speaking. The idea is that someone’s dialogue should be strong enough to stand on its own without the need to explain how it’s pronounced. Dialogue should show characterisation and allow the reader to form an opinion of that character without the author shoving their own opinions down the reader’s throat.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_9phhdw="144" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">One such book that is guilty of dialogue tags is Twilight. I promise this isn’t going to be an attack of Twilight but more of an exercise. I’ve always had an issue with the character Jessica, Bella’s frenemy. She’s considered a bitch, right from the start, but in the reader’s introduction to her, does she ever actually do or say anything nasty? I decided to take away all dialogue tags, all exclamation marks and all italics, to let the dialogue speak for itself. Below is the result:</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_9phhdw="144" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixGPxkDfvmo84W66l7fAUR-kE3Ym_ceKDYHLcRqQJPzMysmPPu3L2FIddeTg1sBpNAqFmdukQQMf5a4poe5Q8_Eya4vvvetCIH_p3pKhh5ikC1YImJkESg9sEG5TE4_NZtWTqBpWc0vm73/s1600/twilight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixGPxkDfvmo84W66l7fAUR-kE3Ym_ceKDYHLcRqQJPzMysmPPu3L2FIddeTg1sBpNAqFmdukQQMf5a4poe5Q8_Eya4vvvetCIH_p3pKhh5ikC1YImJkESg9sEG5TE4_NZtWTqBpWc0vm73/s320/twilight.jpg" width="320" xaa="true" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_9phhdw="144" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><a href="http://www.movieline.com/2009/12/anna-kendrick-the-movieline-interview.php?page=5"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.movieline.com/2009/12/anna-kendrick-the-movieline-interview.php?page=5</span></a> (This photo is not mine!)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">When Bella firsts sees the Cullens.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Bella: Who are they?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Jessica: That’s Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr Cullen and his wife.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Bella: They are very nice looking.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Jessica: Yes. They’re all together though – Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they live together.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Bella: That’s really kind of nice- for them to take care of all those kids, when they’re so young and everything.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Jessica: I guess so. I think that Mrs Cullen can’t have any kids though. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Bella: Have they always lived in Forks?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Jessica: No. They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Bella: Which one is the boy with reddish-brown hair?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Jessica: That’s Edward. He’s gorgeous of course, but don’t waste your time. He doesn’t date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">At the front of the cafeteria line, Bella is distracted because she sees Edward for the second time:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Jessica: Hello, Bella, what do you want?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Mike: What’s wrong with Bella?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Bella: Nothing. I’ll just get a soda today.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Jessica: Aren’t you hungry?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Bella: Actually, I feel a little sick.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Jessica: Bella, what are you staring at? [a moment later] Edward Cullen is staring at you.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Bella: He doesn’t look angry, does he?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Jessica: No. Should he be? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Bella: I don’t think he likes me.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Jessica: The Cullens don’t like anybody. Well…they don’t notice anybody enough to like them. But he’s still staring at you.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Bella: Stop looking at him. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Discussing Jessica inviting Mike to a dance:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Jessica: Are you sure you don’t mind…You weren’t planning to ask him?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Bella: No, Jess, I’m not going.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Jessica: It will be really fun.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Bella: You have fun with Mike</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">In the cafeteria again: </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Jessica: Edward Cullen is staring at you again. I wonder why he’s sitting alone today. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">[Edward indicates for Bella to join him]</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Jessica: Does he mean you? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Bella: Maybe he needs help with his biology homework. Um, I’d better go see what he wants.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">One thing I would state is that Jessica seems there to prop Bella up- to be the admiring/jealous friend who makes Bella feel even more special by letting her know how unusual it is for Edward Cullen to take an interest in her. Which really just leads me to think poor Jessica, as every boy she’s ever fancied seems to like Bella, and that would be hard for even the saintliest of girls. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_9phhdw="195" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_31vs8z="113">This experiment works even better with Lauren. Yeah, yeah, I know, who the f– is Lauren? (Alex reads Twilight, hilarious videos on Youtube) If you’ve read the book, or own it, or can borrow it from someone, turn to page 104 (In the British paperback version anyway) and read Lauren’s dialogue without dialogue tags. What the hell? If Lauren’s a bitch, make her a bitch; don’t just tell us that she’s acting bitchily. The result of that, (for me anyway) is that the narrator comes across as petty and unreliable and paranoid, turning every innocent sentence into something suspect. </div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">This is definitely a post where I need people’s comments. How does Jessica come across to you? Especially if you’ve never read the book. Knowing all of the dialogue tags, it’s interesting to see if someone who hasn’t read the book will pick up on the ‘finer’ aspects of Jessica’s personality. So let me know! </div><div closure_uid_9phhdw="122"></div></div>Charlottehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18230500142287179267noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-449958076030209694.post-61441081155506560192011-08-28T12:34:00.000-07:002011-08-30T12:09:23.540-07:00'A good novel tells us the truth about it's hero; but a bad novel tells us the truth about its author.' Gilbert K. Chesterton<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_9oivo2="130" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Maybe I’m a spiteful, bitter, hard to impress person, but it seems to me that lots of YA (young adult) fantasy books just seem to encounter the same problems again and again and again. I say *problems* but in all seriousness these are things that other people probably love or don’t care about. I’m most likely the stereotypical old man, whining about the music that young kids listen to these days and calling it noise. Maybe I just need to get with the program. Yep. I’ve never used that expression before in my life. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_9oivo2="131" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_7w5g61="122">But unfortunately/fortunately I am stuck in my own head, and I like the things I like and dislike the things I don’t like. So, I thought I’d write a list, (you can probably already tell I heart lists) of the top six staples of YA fantasy fiction that I Just Don’t Like. I’m also really curious to know if other people feel the same way, or if it’s just me and I should go sit in a corner. </div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_7w5g61="123">1. My number 1 pet peeve goes to…Love Triangles. It seems you can’t open a YA book without he loves her but she loves <i>him</i> but he loves <i>her</i>…blah, blah, blah, you get my drift. My issue here is simple: apart from being an easy plot device to create tension in an otherwise harmonious relationship, no one in the triangle can come off looking the better for it. The person caught between the two, looks selfish and irresponsible at best, whilst the two fighting over the girl or boy become jealous and angry and territorial. These aren’t qualities I need or look for in my heroes/heroines. People get hurt, things get messy, and as readers are uncontrollable elements, they often end up rooting for the wrong person and get aggrieved when their favourite is left broken hearted. Oops. Another issue is when a person is supposedly never noticed until they develop a relationship with someone, and then of course, a contender has to come out of nowhere. Realism, people! Attention all authors and wannabe authors- stop making things look like obvious plot devices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_9oivo2="140" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_6en90i="121">2. Alpha males. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against a strong male character, but when he’s obsessive, controlling, jealous, has man rage and treats the girl like tissue paper half the time, like his property the rest, then I find myself rolling my eyes, and shouting “next!” It's not sexy or hot. It's frustrating and worrying. In these crazy, modern times, a girl can do anything a boy can do. Sometimes, she can even do it better.</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_9oivo2="141" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_2mm53d="119">3. Lack of interesting female characters. So you pick up a book and it’s written in first person and of course the narrator is the usual ‘I’m not pretty, no boys ever notice me’ type of girl, but wait! She moves somewhere new and a hundred boys are instantly interested in her, and the girls are, for the most part, petty and jealous. In my opinion, female-female relationships are beautiful, complex and necessary, but they are often either neglected or cheapened by stories like this. Where is the best friend that the protagonist tells everything to? Where is the girl who forces the protagonist out of her comfort zone again and again, thus leading to interesting exploits for the reader? I’m aware that some girls never have those sorts of friendships in real life, and that’s fine, but in these types of books I think it’s needed. As a girl, I’m meant to insert myself into the narrator’s shoes and pretend I'm her. It's not enjoyable to do that when it feels like she’s judging every other girl in the vicinity, whilst pretending that it’s they who judge her. If I met this character in real life, she wouldn’t want to be friends with me, so why should I now bother getting to know her? How can you write something by a girl, about a girl, and for girls, and have the narrator not like other girls? This Doesn’t Make Sense.</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_9oivo2="142" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_d5685c="120">4. The love interest is ridiculously beautiful. It goes back to childhood rivalry; on the playground- my toy is better than yours. If the protagonist has the most insanely beautiful boyfriend or girlfriend, then they obviously win at EVERYTHING and no one can ever beat them again. I don’t want this in the books I read: I find it unrealistic, unimaginative and boring. I want people who look like those I see walking down the street. I want freckles and dodgy hair dye and misspelled tattoos and love handles. And isn't it so much more real and special when an average looking person becomes beautiful to someone else simply because they fall in love with them? A habit of mine when reading a book is trying to cast the lead roles. When someone is described as ridiculously perfect, I can’t even think of A-List stars good looking enough to play them. Think about it- even mega-huge, Hollywood celebs have quirks. Julia Roberts has a huge mouth, Robert Pattinson has those bushy eyebrows, and no one would ever describe Brad Pitt as having a neat, straight nose. No wonder people complain when books are turned into films and they think the chosen actors aren’t good looking enough to play their beloved heroes/heroines. There are probably only five people in the world good looking enough to play those parts, and who knows if they act or even speak the right language?!</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_9oivo2="143" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">5. Everyone is straight and everyone is white. We live in a diverse world, and I like to see it reflected in the books I choose to pick up. Something I think is especially common with YA and children’s fiction is that readers look for themselves in the books they read. Being a teenager is a turbulent time, one where people usually question everything about themselves and feel like no one in the world could possibly ever understand them. They should be able to not only take pleasure in escaping with a book, but also find some relief by relating to someone on those pages. The fact is, a gay teen or an ethnic minority usually has to scour the Internet for specialist areas if they want to find a piece of themselves in their fiction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_9oivo2="127" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_ge3i3r="115"><div closure_uid_2mm53d="120">6. Once the love story has developed, it becomes the ONLY thing that matters. All friends are forgotten, all family is irrelevant and school is an annoying irritancy that keeps the protag from their loved one. I don’t think that LOVE justifies total selfishness where a character is willing to run out on their family/dump all their friends/put everyone in danger, just because their special someone is extra cute and extra perfect. I have nothing against love stories in my YA fantasy - I enjoy them - but I don’t agree that they permit the protagonist to act like a myopic, selfish dick. It’s ok because he/she is in lurrvve. No. *Shakes head.* No it’s not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><div closure_uid_ge3i3r="117">For all the clever, perceptive followers out there, you may have noticed that Twilight has all six of these issues. Congratulations, you win a prize, and no, it wasn’t deliberate. *Ducks as Twihards across the internet throw dictionaries at me.* Why dictionaries? Because they’re big and heavy. </div><div closure_uid_ge3i3r="117"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_ge3i3r="117"><div closure_uid_p48kv6="116">Agree/disagree with the six points? Have any opinion on anything at all or just want to complain about how apathetic you are? Sound off in the comments!</div></div></div><div closure_uid_9oivo2="123"></div></div>Charlottehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18230500142287179267noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-449958076030209694.post-42209904703723361622011-08-27T09:44:00.000-07:002011-08-27T09:44:15.440-07:00‘If all girls are like that-’ said William. ‘Well, when you think of all the hundreds of girls in the world – well, it makes you feel sick.’<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">So, after tearing apart a character yesterday, and saying all the things that I DIDN’T like about her, I thought I’d do a reversal today, and talk about a character that I do love. Perhaps I should warn that there isn’t a great deal of (or any?) sarcasm in this post. I’m afraid there’s less to be sarcastic about when you’re not insulting something. Hopefully this piece can stand on its own without my brilliant attempts at wit, but if you feel sarcasm withdrawal, tell me off in the comments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_pri1bj="139" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A great character brings a story to life, transforming even an average book into one to be re-read. You know you’ve experienced a great character when you finish the final page of a story and feel a pang of sadness at the thought of no longer reading about said character’s exploits. A great character lingers with you for days, staying in your mind, in the back of your thoughts. Almost like a friend you haven’t seen in a while, you want to be in their company again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Whenever I think about a favourite character, my mind instantly goes to lisping, six-year-old Violet Elizabeth Bott, from the <i>Just William</i> series.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><i>Just William</i>, by Richmal Crompton, was a children’s series that spanned five decades from the 1920s, to the author’s death in the 1970s. Nearly every book is a set of individual stories containing anti-hero William Brown’s misadventures. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_pri1bj="137" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">I loved these books as a child, but in my opinion, they get better with age. Crompton narrates with a dry humour and a keen eye for humanity’s foibles that goes right over the head of child readers but is a pleasure for adults. Whilst I think every book is worth reading, the stories that I admit to enjoying the most are the ones that include Violet Elizabeth Bott. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Violet Elizabeth is the spoilt, cosseted, only child of the wealthy Botts: a pretty little thing that looks like a porcelain doll, with blonde hair that is curled every day, and lots of flouncing outfits. ‘Violet Elizabeth was so treasured and guarded and surrounded with every care that her small pink and white face had never been known to do anything else except shine with cleanliness.’ </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Below is her first meeting with the eleven-year-old William.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">‘D-don’t you like me?’ Quavered Violet Elizabeth in incredulous amazement. William looked at her. Her blue eyes filled slowly with tears, her lips quivered. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">‘You’re making me cry,’ sobbed Violet Elizabeth. ‘You are. You’re making me cry, ’cause you won’t say you like me.’ </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">‘I-I do like you,’ said William desperately. ‘Honest- I do. Don’t cry. I do like you. Honest!’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">A smile broke through the tear-stained face. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">‘I’m tho glad,’ she said simply. ‘You like all little girlth, don’t you?’ She smiled at him hopefully. ‘You, do don’t you?’</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">William, pirate and Red Indian and desperado, William, woman-hater and girl-despiser, looked round wildly for escape and found none. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Violet Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears again.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Strangely enough, the sight of Violet Elizabeth with tear-filled eyes and trembling lips made him feel that he must have been brutal indeed. Beneath his horror he felt bewildered. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">‘Yes I do,’ he said hastily, ‘I do. Honest I do.’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">She smiled again, radiantly through her tears. ‘You with you wath a little girl, don’t you?’</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">‘Er-yes. Honest I do,’ said the unhappy William.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">‘Kith me,’ she said, raising her glowing face.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">William was broken. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">As well as being the queen of manipulation, Violet Elizabeth is up for anything. She is so laid back that she will happily laugh at herself when teased, enjoy becoming filthy with mud and ruining her fancy clothes, and keep up with the boys’ rougher games. For a six year old she is inordinately clever, and is easily able to outwit William and his friends and even her own parents. Anyone who knows this series at all will probably recognise her most famous line, where she convinces someone to do something because if they don’t she will ‘thcweam and thcweam ’til I’m sick.’ </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_pri1bj="114" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">At the same time she is loveable and endearing, with her upbeat, sunny disposition, her loyalty to William, and because you can’t (or at least I can’t) read anything she says without laughing. I think my favourite episode of hers is where she tries to leave a ghost a ‘thauther’ of milk. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_pri1bj="138" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">Violet Elizabeth may not be the most rounded character, but Crompton deliberately writes caricatures for humorous effect, and in my humble opinion, it works.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_pri1bj="138" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">I don’t know that these books are for everyone- the humour is the subtle kind, and some people might find them too old-fashioned, or even too English- but if you’re intrigued then definitely check them out. If you’ve ever read them or are now inspired to read them, let me know in the comments!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div></div>Charlottehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18230500142287179267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-449958076030209694.post-23402180917591376672011-08-26T09:48:00.000-07:002011-08-26T14:46:46.087-07:00"Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, Oh Sarah-ah-ah (Sarah)...Are you saving me?" (A character study.)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span closure_uid_6b4sxv="103" closure_uid_abbonf="114" style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">No, this post is not about how much fun it is to write the name Sarah over and over, (although that is quite fun), but is actually about <em>I Am Number Four</em>, by Pittacus Lore (pen name of Jobie Hughes and James Frey.) I want to start by stating that I Did Not Buy this book, but got it for free, which makes it so much more acceptable to be caught reading it. (Maybe? Kind of? Not even a little bit??) </span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" closure_uid_6b4sxv="124" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Warning: spoilers abound for those who want to read this book and haven't yet. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span closure_uid_6b4sxv="125" style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Ok, moving on. <em>I Am Number Four</em> is in many different ways an extremely flawed book, but this review will be focusing on my personal biggest problem, the love interest of narrator John: Sarah Hart.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span closure_uid_6b4sxv="127" style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Yes, that is her name. It says it all really. To get all nitpicky and deconstructionalist on you (thank you literacy theory!) that is one terrible, <em>terrible</em> name. Now, every Tom, Dick and Harry knows that the name Sarah is found a dime a dozen, so, if you're going to write a book, even a book completely set in the real world (which <em>I Am Number Four</em> is not), you should tread carefully with a name like Sarah. But in a YA fantasy/sci-fi novel? Seriously?? I mean, why not call her Mary Sue and be done with it?? And as for Hart, well, don't worry folks, it's not ironic. This girl's heart is so big she spends her holidays saving homeless kittens. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
???!!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
(The above was words failing me.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span closure_uid_6b4sxv="129" style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
Sarah is the pancake-flattest, Mary-Suest, female-love-interest I've ever had the misfortune of meeting in print. Here's what I know about her: She's incredibly, unbelievably, astonishingly, oh-my-goddingly, up there with Aphrodite, in-your-face Edward Cullen, flat-out beautiful. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><div closure_uid_6b4sxv="106"><span closure_uid_6b4sxv="105" style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
Wait...she's beautiful? Oh! Well, thank god! Phew! I was worried for a minute there. I'll let Disney's <em>A Swan Princess</em> sum it up with the following 'how to offend a woman in five syllables or less' incident:<br />
<br />
Odette: "Is beauty all that matters to you?"<br />
Derek (genuinely baffled): "What else is there?"<br />
<br />
Hmm. Good question. What else is there? There are a few other points to Sarah's character, but not many. Shall I make a list?!<br />
<br />
1. She lurrvveess animals and being kind and extra nice and sweet to people, with an extra oozy dollop of saccharine and rainbow sprinkles. For the record, I am not some sort of happiness-Nazi with a vendetta against nice people, or nice characters. I attempt to be a nice person and to include nice characters in my stories. The problem is that I don't believe Sarah really is the genuinely selfless girl she's made out to be. For if she was, how she could ever let poor Sam be a friendless outcast and never bother speaking to him before John arrives? </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Now, don't worry, I'm not delusional. I know this is lack of thinking on the authors' parts rather than a deliberate fakeness to her character, but unfortunately it still means that Sarah + nice = fail. *Nods head in agreement with self with what can only be described as Percy Weasley style pompousness.*</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
2. She is smart. There is no proof that she is smart, she never acts smart, the reader is just *told* that she is. In fact, she seems quite stupid. The only initiative she shows is when they're trapped in the school by dangerous aliens, and she says that she knows another exit. This is clearly not impressive as it is something anyone would know if they have been going to that school for longer than five minutes. But John feels a moment of pride. <em>Pride</em>. What a clever little girl she is! She can say her ABC in the correct order and <em>everything</em>. Next step- tying her own shoelaces! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
3. She's completely passive. John: "I'm an alien..." Sarah: "Well, whatever makes you happy, dear." This girl is so passive she makes Bella Swan look proactive. I can only assume Sarah spends most of her time zoned out on happy pills. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
4. She needs to be rescued a helluva lot. Big, mean ex-boyfriend hijacking her? Check. Stuck in a house fire when everyone else escapes? Check. Evil aliens after her? Check.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
5. She has a rubbish sense of humour. Case in Point? John makes a completely reasonable comment and she laughs and says: "you're silly" and pokes/nudges/punches him. What is so frickin silly?? </span></div><div class="MsoBlockText" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;">In all the time I've known John (and I've been in his head far longer than is comfortable) I've never once heard him say anything that could be understood as funny, humorous, witty or even faintly amusing. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Actually, correction, how about "I'm in love with Sarah"? I'll admit, you need an outlandish sense of humour for that to tickle you, but really, the idea that these two could fall in love is like someone insisting that a pair of newspaper dolls are in love. Actually, that sounds quite sweet. How about someone insisting that two opposite facing walls are in love? Yep. Makes No Sense.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><br />
6. Final point, I promise. She gives lingering kisses. Every single kiss *lingers.* Excuse me, rant/babbling session over now, I'm on my way to throw up. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">And that is it. That is Sarah. That is literally all that I know about her.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Characters like Sarah are not only disappointing, they're also baffling. Perhaps I could understand her if she was a perfect depiction of a male fantasy, but she's clearly not. Her taste in clothing proves that. (Who wears a blouse to a house party??)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">What Sarah is, in fact, is the typical result of authors who know they want a female love-interest in their story, but beyond thinking she's 'perfect', never bother to flesh out her character.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">What we're left with is a pencil outline trying to impersonate a watercolour, and no one's buying it. Good characters take thought, love, back-story, and most importantly, flaws. Flaws! Yes, Sarah is flawed, but those flaws were never ones that the authors intended her to have. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">If one thing can be learned from her though, it is that she is a perfect example of a 'how not to do it' character. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span closure_uid_abbonf="109" style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">So there you have it- the end of my first 'review'. Cough*over inflated opinion*cough. I am impressed with your ability to wade through my babble/lashings of sarcasm and make it to the end unscathed. If you now have a strong need to explain exactly why I'm hideously wrong or to congratulate my brilliant deconstruction of a soggy tissue character, feel free to do so in the comments. Every comment made is loved and appreciated, even if it is simply to write a reminder to yourself to never come back here again, and I will give each commenter imaginary cookies. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 13.5pt 0pt 9pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;">Until next time boys and girls... </span></div><div closure_uid_abbonf="105"></div></div>Charlottehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18230500142287179267noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-449958076030209694.post-72488700977836009422011-08-25T10:55:00.000-07:002011-08-25T10:55:07.382-07:00A Series of Unfortunate Babbling:<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div closure_uid_vwtb5b="106"><span closure_uid_vwtb5b="131" style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">So I've heard that Good Things come to those who Blog, and I thought I'd give it a try, even though I'm quaking in my Converses. Apparently, as an aspiring author, I should have been doing this, like, five billion years ago, but better late than never! At the moment I'm strangely lost for words, even though I started writing this post knowing exactly what I wanted to say. Which kinda makes this post completely at odds with its title. Oh well. Anyway, don't worry, there will be plenty of babbling, because once I get started on a topic, I don't shut up until I've dissected it and snipped at it and turned it into a pretty pattern. (I'm almost 100% sure that that metaphor didn't make sense. *Shrugs*.) What I will write about are thoughts on writing - which will be as general as it sounds, ranging from ideas on characterisation to plot to language - and reviews/over inflated opinions of books/tv programs. I will try to be funny, I will try to be clever, I will try to be insightful. I will probably fail at all three but I will try. Happy reading!<br />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /></span></div></div>Charlottehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18230500142287179267noreply@blogger.com10