mm..snippet he says.

Sep 19, 2005 09:21

Andy wants a "snippet" of my novel. *giggle* I don't want to post any really personal parts yet...I'm still kinda deciding the direction that I'm going to go. *NOTE* Not all of this is real life!!! I know some parts are going to be recognizable; especially to TJ and Andy, but alot of it is fictional as well. Right now I'm posting the very beginning, a random part, and the description of Old Man..(he's made up)... I love you guys...

To be a good writer, you must write about what you know. This is what I know. I am Landsy Amelia Evers; I am alive and here. I was born on Evers Street in the spring of 1986. I am nineteen years old. Beyond that, I know nothing. Sometimes, I don’t even know that much. But this is my story.

...Once the teacher told us to create a colorful picture. I used only black and white. She stood over me shaking her finger. “Landsy,” she’d say, “Why didn’t you use color?” Of course, I had to ask, well, if black and white aren’t colors, how come Crayola puts them in the crayon box? I was imprisoned by the corner for that remark. My teacher was rather young, at a mere twenty-four and even at five, I knew she was clueless. She didn’t exactly cut an imposing figure with her mousy brown hair and horn-rimmed spectacles. They were too big for her, and often slipped down her nose when she lectured. She was dreadfully soft spoken, and being only 5’2, she was sometimes mistaken for a nerdy sixth-grader. She believed that creativity was not to be freely entrusted to young minds, and stifled it as best she could. I probably wasn’t what she had in mind as a model student. One afternoon, the teacher said, “draw what you see.” Well, she didn’t say where you were looking. So I drew what I saw when I looked in my mind. Animals, aliens, water, and some other unidentifiable things bedecked my paper. The teacher went mad. “Where do you see these...things?” She exclaimed. “In my head.” I answered in a small voice. “LANDSY!!!” The teacher sighed in exasperation. She called my mother for a conference, and gently explained to her that I was probably best suited to be a rebellious doorknob. My mother rolled her eyes at the young woman, but she spanked me and made me promise never to do "it" again. I’d nod, not really knowing what I’d done wrong. I doubted my mother did either. Understand, I didn’t want to get into trouble…but trouble just seemed to find me; trouble and that pretentious nuisance of a teacher. Those damn conferences became a bi-weekly occurrence to darken my schooling. I would think of Jorge as I sat in their silly golden desk with their silly golden rules.

(this part comes in a distant chapter)
They also avoided the street because of Old Man. He had been around this street so long that people had forgotten his name and simply called him “Old Man”. He had been tall in his youth, but now was a withered man of a little over 5 feet. His icy blue eyes were sunken blindly into his wrinkly skull, and a perpetual frown darkened his blue veined face. The senile senior sat in his porch rocker day after day and mumbled to himself about long forgotten times. His ancient balding dog, Granger; who was stricken with cataracts, cancer, and a bad hip; lazed dutifully beside him. Whenever ice cream trucks tried to pass, Old Man would stand on his creaking joints, and holler. It was the melodic childhood music that emerged from the truck that bothered him. No one knew why, but he just couldn’t handle that music. “Git ya’ damn truck outta heer! Ain’t nobody want ya and ya damn music! Go long wit you!” Old Man’s voice was a terrible thing to hear. A whole lot of nails down a chalkboard and a screaming woman couldn’t compare. And Old Man thought it was his duty to keep those rolling musical menaces off Evers Street. Well, frankly, one encounter with the ill-tempered recluse was more than enough. We didn’t see any more ice cream trucks.

Snippet!
lol...
~Alex
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