"You're so tragic, you're so sad, 'cause your brother is your dad!" ♥
I freaking love NaNo. Here's some omg it's so shit um, words I've written:
Lithe, pale Lenore had been spared the disappointment of being born a second son by taking upon herself the shameful handicap of being born a woman. Widow remembers how damnably well she bore that infirmity - Lenore knew to be silent when her brother spoke, smiled softly at him when he did, even when some quote from Franklin or Voltaire milled about in her head, begging addition to the conversation. She knew to make no sound, knew to sink quietly into her chair or leave the room entirely when no one needed anything from her.
For this reason Lenore had once enjoyed a rather merciful shade of her mother’s tolerance, for indeed, it happened once that she almost had genuine faith in the girl - her daughter once held her head high, once answered with saccharine aptitude when spoken to, once regarded life and family with eyes brimming with light and laughter. There was a time she seated herself beneath diminishing oaks in autumn, some tattered novel resting upon a knee, the breeze flitting in and about silken ribbons tied up in raven hair. Lenore was once at peace.
But Lenore is none of these things now, of course, she cannot be, for she is no more, and no longer her daughter before God. Lenore is dead, and nothing to Widow now other than a defector from God’s way, a cretin and a slut, the disgraceful trull who had died so uselessly giving birth to a tiny, misshapen corpse. At least, that is what the letters from the mainland had told her, recounting in cold, impersonal curlings of ink how they had found her daughter on the other shore, frozen to death in a ditch halfway to Yorktown. Widow had calmly read the letter in its entirety, then coolly taken out a fresh sheet of her plainest stationary and dipped her quill into the clottiest jar of ink in her possession, penning a letter of thanks to the constables for their trouble as well as instructions to kindly not trouble her any further with the matter.
She would not house a slattern, and her family’s plot would provide no rest for one either.
Tee hee hee. I'm having far too much fun with this woman, you don't even know. And the person who is quickly becoming something akin to the main character, haha, I intended from the start to kill her, so this will be interesting to see. I wonder if that's ever been done before in literature, killing off the person through whom you are seeing the story. xD
So the NaNovel is tentatively called Gethsemane. Was totally going to use the 'memorise another Golgotha' line from act one scene one of Macbeth, but then I figured that this place is really more a Gethsemane than a Golgotha. For now, at least. *g*
I've discovered why we must suffer so in English though - symbolism? Fun as hell.
Oh, my dear baby car might yet be saved. The mechanics think it's the oxygen sensor and they can fix it. I hope so. Though, it's blasphemous, I feel stoopidly sexy driving my father's truck. He never drives it anymore since he's got the mother's car that she left here, and girls in trucks are hot, I tell you. I see them and I'm like, "Rock on, sister." And today I was a rockin' sister. xD Rain + truck = YEAH NOT GOOD though. I almost died a few times. It was ridiculously fun in a way. Tomorrow I must walk to and from school though. It's good for me. I won't get fatter this way.
Shiiiiit sleep now. After checking the electoral damages, that is. Totally did wear my Republican for Voldemort shirt for part of today, yes, the one of my own creation. I'm proud, damn it. Voldemort in '08! ♥ Will probably have some thoughts tomorrow, after things are more definite. Prepare in all likelihood for my conservative wrath, roarrrrr.
Oh man my father is seriously going to beat me in a minute. I flee!
Lithe, pale Lenore had been spared the disappointment of being born a second son by taking upon herself the shameful handicap of being born a woman. Widow remembers how damnably well she bore that infirmity - Lenore knew to be silent when her brother spoke, smiled softly at him when he did, even when some quote from Franklin or Voltaire milled about in her head, begging addition to the conversation. She knew to make no sound, knew to sink quietly into her chair or leave the room entirely when no one needed anything from her.
For this reason Lenore had once enjoyed a rather merciful shade of her mother’s tolerance, for indeed, it happened once that she almost had genuine faith in the girl - her daughter once held her head high, once answered with saccharine aptitude when spoken to, once regarded life and family with eyes brimming with light and laughter. There was a time she seated herself beneath diminishing oaks in autumn, some tattered novel resting upon a knee, the breeze flitting in and about silken ribbons tied up in raven hair. Lenore was once at peace.
But Lenore is none of these things now, of course, she cannot be, for she is no more, and no longer her daughter before God. Lenore is dead, and nothing to Widow now other than a defector from God’s way, a cretin and a slut, the disgraceful trull who had died so uselessly giving birth to a tiny, misshapen corpse. At least, that is what the letters from the mainland had told her, recounting in cold, impersonal curlings of ink how they had found her daughter on the other shore, frozen to death in a ditch halfway to Yorktown. Widow had calmly read the letter in its entirety, then coolly taken out a fresh sheet of her plainest stationary and dipped her quill into the clottiest jar of ink in her possession, penning a letter of thanks to the constables for their trouble as well as instructions to kindly not trouble her any further with the matter.
She would not house a slattern, and her family’s plot would provide no rest for one either.
Tee hee hee. I'm having far too much fun with this woman, you don't even know. And the person who is quickly becoming something akin to the main character, haha, I intended from the start to kill her, so this will be interesting to see. I wonder if that's ever been done before in literature, killing off the person through whom you are seeing the story. xD
So the NaNovel is tentatively called Gethsemane. Was totally going to use the 'memorise another Golgotha' line from act one scene one of Macbeth, but then I figured that this place is really more a Gethsemane than a Golgotha. For now, at least. *g*
I've discovered why we must suffer so in English though - symbolism? Fun as hell.
Oh, my dear baby car might yet be saved. The mechanics think it's the oxygen sensor and they can fix it. I hope so. Though, it's blasphemous, I feel stoopidly sexy driving my father's truck. He never drives it anymore since he's got the mother's car that she left here, and girls in trucks are hot, I tell you. I see them and I'm like, "Rock on, sister." And today I was a rockin' sister. xD Rain + truck = YEAH NOT GOOD though. I almost died a few times. It was ridiculously fun in a way. Tomorrow I must walk to and from school though. It's good for me. I won't get fatter this way.
Shiiiiit sleep now. After checking the electoral damages, that is. Totally did wear my Republican for Voldemort shirt for part of today, yes, the one of my own creation. I'm proud, damn it. Voldemort in '08! ♥ Will probably have some thoughts tomorrow, after things are more definite. Prepare in all likelihood for my conservative wrath, roarrrrr.
Oh man my father is seriously going to beat me in a minute. I flee!