It Ain't Spamming If There's Content.
Because I've understood everything about getting a lot of readers, I've drabbled about the French movie Love Songs (Les Chansons d'amour) for week 61 on writing_game
[Ismaël/Julie, 100 words]
On impulse, Ismaël fell to his knees. "My princess, my sunshine…"
Julie blushed. "Ismaël, get up!" she hissed. "Everybody's staring!"
"Beautiful angel," he continued, undisturbed, "would you do this humble creature worshiping your every step the honor of agreeing to a date, tonight?"
The whisperings died down, the crowd of students collectively holding its breath alongside the curly-haired boy.
She pretended to think about it - ten, twenty, thirty seconds. Finally, she held out her hand. "I would," she conceded.
Taking her hand, he got up and demurely kissed her cheek.
Then, turning to his audience with a half-smile, he bowed.
---
[Jasmine, 100 words]
She could fool you, with her big dark eyes shining with intelligence.
She had fooled you, retelling her days at school in her own trademark mix of sarcasm and witty comments. So proud were you of your beautiful prodigy of a daughter that it took you a moment to notice what she wasn't telling you about. Shenanigans, shared laughs. Life.
You had taught her about poetry and literature, about the Age of the Enlightenment and the French Revolution, but you had never taught her how to act her age and make new friends.
And poor Jasmine, she wasn't a natural.
---
[Julie, 68 words]
Day in and day out, Julie was a princess, and her birthday parties were only an occasion to reaffirm her dominance over her court, acknowledge the rise of a new confidante, or mark another one's disgrace. She wore her prettiest dress, went through everyone's jewelry case in spite of her sisters' protestations, and was forgiven everything the instant she graced the room with one of her brilliant smiles.
[Ismaël/Erwann, 150 words]
Ismaël successively flipped several books open and rejected them, walked to the fridge, staring discontentedly at its content before closing it again, wrapped his arms around Erwann, distracting him from his homework, sat on the sofa, the armchair, the kitchen counter, before going to stand at the window, arms crossed, eyes unseeing.
Erwann finally stretched and got up for a break, pouring himself some coffee. He brought Ismaël a cup, that was moodily waved away. "One should drink tea on rainy Sunday afternoons," Ismaël grumbled, hugging himself.
Flipping his phone open, Erwann decided to call for back-up. He selected a number on his speed dial. "Jeanne? It's Erwann. Are you at your parents'? Would they have him over for a couple of hours? Great. Thanks. He'll be on his way."
Ismaël turned around, a weary look on his face. "Thanks," he mouthed, his sad smile not quite reaching his eyes.
[Ismaël/Julie, 100 words]
On impulse, Ismaël fell to his knees. "My princess, my sunshine…"
Julie blushed. "Ismaël, get up!" she hissed. "Everybody's staring!"
"Beautiful angel," he continued, undisturbed, "would you do this humble creature worshiping your every step the honor of agreeing to a date, tonight?"
The whisperings died down, the crowd of students collectively holding its breath alongside the curly-haired boy.
She pretended to think about it - ten, twenty, thirty seconds. Finally, she held out her hand. "I would," she conceded.
Taking her hand, he got up and demurely kissed her cheek.
Then, turning to his audience with a half-smile, he bowed.
---
[Jasmine, 100 words]
She could fool you, with her big dark eyes shining with intelligence.
She had fooled you, retelling her days at school in her own trademark mix of sarcasm and witty comments. So proud were you of your beautiful prodigy of a daughter that it took you a moment to notice what she wasn't telling you about. Shenanigans, shared laughs. Life.
You had taught her about poetry and literature, about the Age of the Enlightenment and the French Revolution, but you had never taught her how to act her age and make new friends.
And poor Jasmine, she wasn't a natural.
---
[Julie, 68 words]
Day in and day out, Julie was a princess, and her birthday parties were only an occasion to reaffirm her dominance over her court, acknowledge the rise of a new confidante, or mark another one's disgrace. She wore her prettiest dress, went through everyone's jewelry case in spite of her sisters' protestations, and was forgiven everything the instant she graced the room with one of her brilliant smiles.
[Ismaël/Erwann, 150 words]
Ismaël successively flipped several books open and rejected them, walked to the fridge, staring discontentedly at its content before closing it again, wrapped his arms around Erwann, distracting him from his homework, sat on the sofa, the armchair, the kitchen counter, before going to stand at the window, arms crossed, eyes unseeing.
Erwann finally stretched and got up for a break, pouring himself some coffee. He brought Ismaël a cup, that was moodily waved away. "One should drink tea on rainy Sunday afternoons," Ismaël grumbled, hugging himself.
Flipping his phone open, Erwann decided to call for back-up. He selected a number on his speed dial. "Jeanne? It's Erwann. Are you at your parents'? Would they have him over for a couple of hours? Great. Thanks. He'll be on his way."
Ismaël turned around, a weary look on his face. "Thanks," he mouthed, his sad smile not quite reaching his eyes.