So...Sarah tagged me for ^ this thingy. I just have to say that this has been really hard...I've had the struggle of "That would be good for that" "But didn't I have another part?" "Wow, 104 is too many pages to search through". It's been quite the struggle, so I hope you all keep in mind that I have many other pieces to this puzzle. Without further ado...here's my scribbles from Gift of the Sea.
*ahem* obviously I had to include the whole thing and not just the first line. But really...this is not my best because *surprise* *surprise* I've progressed past this...writing skill wise.
“Oh, dear God!” A cry, A plea, a beg, echoed across the tossing waves. Sitting arms tied to the back, was a girl, young in years, on top a chair. She bobbed dangerously in the waters, which played with her unmercifully, and of no doubt would soon become bored with her, ending her anxiety."
{2} Share a snippet that made you want to shout to the world that you're SO. HAPPY.
I think the reason that this made me...I dunno...joyful, is because I not only described what was yet to me an undescribed feeling, but because I found a relish in putting Christ in my joy...writing.
"A spirit washed them both; they could not think of evil, nor worry, nor the vile, useless things the world rained upon them. Their faces brightened with the hope of the savior, the Lords son who had died for a sinner such as them, and all in that room grew closer to perfect than any outside it. This was a power stronger than death. Any who have not felt it cannot understand it, because it changes every eye that looks out on things, every ear, and every opinion. There is a joy in Christ’s children that cannot be bought any other way than by accepting him into their heart. Because it cannot die, nor grow weary. Whatever life brings, there is a joy when thinking of the next, knowing that it is more pure, righteous, and beautiful than anything the sinful world can grow, give, or have. And this, though not explained by the preacher nor preached at the pulpit, was evident in every mind and soul, and grew to preserve those spirits though their bodies be mortal and flesh. "
{3} Share a snippet that gives you a bit of insight into one of your most favorite characters ever.
I suppose Charlie was always my favorite; even when she was unborn, and just the distant thought of her floated about my mind's eye. The curly, golden hair; sea-sparkling blue eyes, flashing, righteous temper, go-lucky forever optimistic attitude (a fighter) and a humble girl, beautiful though she does not know it. Yes, she shaped her own clay.
"The light made her skin and her face pink. Whether if she had stormed or raged or cried or taunted, she would still look salmon-pink in this light.
She was a girl, and, if only there were nights like these every night, Charlie felt she could always be one.
Always have that right, lovely word at the right, precise time. Always have roses in her hair; oh, how splendid did roses sound now. She did not want pink, or red roses; nor yellow or orange or lavender or even the rarest blue. No, white roses were the best, there was no comparison. For they were spotless in beauty and soul, the perfect example of an angel in form of a flower. Yes, when she was married-it would never come but why not dream on a night like this-she would carry white roses. Because then all would be perfect, and she would never think of the past or future; it would only be the present. At this moment Charlie looked down, and there at her feet was a pool of water so big she saw her whole appearance, from braided hair to black boots. If she had not known herself she would have immediately denied that the person below her in the puddle was, indeed, Charlie prodigy, with the Greek style dress tunic and the pretty flushed face. This, this was an incredible thing, there must be a fairy godmother somewhere turning the puddles into magical mirrors. But the big eyes that fluttered up in shock so told her that she had eyelashes, too. And what a surprise it was."
{4} Share a snippet that gets you beaming with pride and you're just like 'yep, I wrote that beauty'.
(My brain ^ after I write something good)
Okay...this was actually super hard because there are so many of those little, precious moments where the writer takes her fingers from the keyboard, smiles like the Cheshire cat, and squeals. But here we go...
(My brain ^ after I write something good)
Okay...this was actually super hard because there are so many of those little, precious moments where the writer takes her fingers from the keyboard, smiles like the Cheshire cat, and squeals. But here we go...
"Yet she stood by the window, placidly looking out onto the wide world from her small, humble place, and whispered, “Father I thank you.” If she had not wasted all her tears she would have cried then; not a painful weep where one’s heart is stabbed, but a sprinkle of gladness so thankful, so much full of hope, that water comes from the eyes uncontrollably. Suddenly, one tap or noise came into the house, and gradually it began to make music of the normal mornings sounds. Leila smiled when she heard it, for life, it’s little things like Nana setting a pot of oatmeal on the stove or Charlie falling down the steps, were like beautiful notes in an orchestra. She could not help but love them, each little note that made up the song of this thing called living. Some were low, they reached into your soul, pulling the nasty things from their hiding places, and some were high and celestial, as you thought of heavenly things and lovely happenings. In all, Leila decided, it was a song worth listening to, for you yourself were singing it, but it had been written by a more supreme power than your own. She turned from the window pane and out of the room into the hall, to join into the tune of the day. Where it would lead her, she did not know but would follow the lyrics note by note."
{5} Share a snippet of genius, deliciously witty dialogue between your characters.
Charlie and Leila have a way of talking that makes the contrast between their characters show immensely, yet all the while it shows their bond. Like a dialogue paradox, really. (to understand this know that Charlie onced disguised herself as a boy for work purposes).
"“Oh, I don’t know.” Leila squirmed in the sight of Charlie’s anxious eyes as they locked on her expression; if she would not say it Charlie would get it out of her face. But Leila held as close to decent composure as she could. “I thought you were trying hard to be polite, though you were rude. For that I already liked half of you. You cared about me, obviously. And…had some sort of secret you always seemed to be hiding, that at the most random moments kicked you in the heart. I didn’t like you at all, firstly. You debated some boy on whether to ‘keep me’, and after just coming from a hopeless situation I was thankful, yet at the same time mad at myself for being thankful towards such character. When you gave me bread, I think I realized that it all was a font on your paper front. After that I think I got used to you.” Charlie was pale. “Most persons would just say they hardly knew me as a boy; then there is you.” She said it so lovingly that Leila laughed, fell out of her cross-legged position and fell like a toddler is often onto the carpet. “You can describe two seconds in the length of three volumes.” “Yes; but are they a good two seconds?” “It doesn’t matter, you’d make it interesting.” “Thank you, Charlie.” “Always dear.” "
{6} Share a snippet that leaves you breathless, in a cold sweat with action-induced intensity.
Unfortunately, my most intense scene is too long to put down here. So I'll go for the verse that leads up to the chorus, the anxiety that plunges into desperation.
Unfortunately, my most intense scene is too long to put down here. So I'll go for the verse that leads up to the chorus, the anxiety that plunges into desperation.
"With a lunge and a strength rare for such a woman, she wrenched Charlie from Leila’s arms, carrying her as she had when she was but a one-year-old newly orphaned babe and rushed her to the kitchen counter. All the while Nana was watching those big, blue, frightened eyes-those baby eyes-she did not see the teenager, she did not see the tomboy, she saw her sister’s baby, alone, frightened, orphaned and injured. There was no better nurse at that moment, when Nana had pulled forth a freezing cold cloth and placed it on the gash. Charlie’s eyes disappeared as she squinted painfully; all present seemed to hold their breath with the sight of it. Her mouth opened as if she was gasping, though no words could be heard by the human ear. It was a horrific moment. Leila, in fear that Charlie would lose conscience and fall onto the hard kitchen floor, stood behind the counter by her curly wig, supporting Charlie’s head with her hands. “Oh Charlie, oh Charlie! You beautiful baby girl! See me, see Nana. Hold the pain, Charlie, hold it.” "
{7} Share a snippet of a most interesting first meeting between your characters
Charlie and Leila, my two main characters, are painting in the woods on a spring morning. There they are surprised by a neighbor whom they have never met, Lucy Ann. Since their first few words are not 'most interesting' I'll skip to this part, just a page or so away...
"“Do you like it here?” Lucy dropped her paintbrush, scanning the sky, and said decidedly, “No, I don’t. It’s a bit like a worn book.” Leila for some reason or the other had never particularly felt that ‘this place’ was strikingly beautiful, nor that it was dryly ugly. But when Lucy Ann had so flatly stated her feelings, all at once an old friend was being mocked in Leila’s eyes. She looked to Pebble Brook, that creek which gentle laughs played with her eyes and delighted her ears; she thought back to the humid yet graciously beautiful summer, and with an undertone of vengeance, said proudly,
“Yet worn books are far more interesting than new ones.” “how so?” Said the other. “They have 99% more character, for the foremost part, being used one always thinks of what kind of people that used it, and what they were like.” “Probably drunkards who chopped trees and plain, mistreated farm wives.” “Yes, maybe.” Said she with pain in her voice, “but what were they like. Did one of them have a good egg out of a bad batch, a good son, who cherished that book and when reading it thought of the beautiful, orphan girl across the creek? Did he finger the tattered pages with love and loss and bravery brewing in his heart? When he penned his name on the flyleaf page, was he thinking of me, a hundred years later, reading it and in turn thinking of him?”Lucy Ann’s voice became a sort of baffled mumbled as it replied, “New books are still more beautiful.” “Ah, but they do not have three-hundred-year-old tombstones spotted across their tawny brown fields, or Indian burial grounds with stranded necklace beads hinting history. There are no old bricks to kings castles still lingering with reminisce of their glory days in the sun. I will always like the old things; beaten and battered as they are, they fascinate me and intrigue me. New things are so dumb and naïve I cannot stand them.” "
I proudly hand the pencil too...
{Micaiah}
{Grace}
{Hannah White}
Hope you all enjoyed! Let me know what you think...okay?
