I was looking through the posts...
on marysues someone asked if it was possible to write a good version of classic MS tales; ie. hogwarts transfer student or "girl falls into Middle Earth"
so, i'm attempting to start the latter...
Dorothy was a dreamer, always being yelled at for spacing out in class or in the middle of a conversation. Of course, since she possessed this necessary quality, she was an artist. The only thing she could concentrate on for more than thirty seconds was a sculpture or oil pastel she was working on. She was hopeless in math and science; passable in geography (she loved maps, and would study her atlas for hours when she was young); and pretty good with foreign languages. But art was her one great strength.
That is why it happened to be, on one spring day, that she fell into another world. She was painting a scene of a natural stone dais in the middle of a forest. All the trees were ancient, tall, and covered in moss. The sunlight made it’s way through the leaves to make patterns on the stone. Just as she was working on one part of the painting, she thought she saw something move on another. Upon examination, though, it was the same. Usually, she could only find fault with her works, but this painting, she decided, was perfect. The trees looked so real, it was as if they were alive; the light looked like it could warm her; and the rock looked as though it would feel rough and cold if she touched it, and she had the sudden impulse to touch it. Without thinking, she reached out and did so, but she only felt the sticky thickness of oil paint. But, when she went to quickly pull her fingers away, lest she smear more of it, she felt herself being pulled into the painting. She felt her hand, and then her arm, enveloped in the paint. Then she pitched forward.
The next thing she felt was cold, rough, rock. She opened her eyes, and found herself in the forest of her painting. She shook her head to clear it, to make the illusion go away. She pinched herself, slapped her face, and pounded on the ground to prove to herself it was real. “I’ve inhaled too many paint fumes,” she muttered to herself. A broken limb above her swung in the breeze. She took low and ragged breaths, trying to keep panic from taking over. She sat down heavily on the low dais, cradling her head in her hands.
I just wrote it, so it hasn't been beta-approved (sorry cat) but, what do you think?? can it work??
so, i'm attempting to start the latter...
Dorothy was a dreamer, always being yelled at for spacing out in class or in the middle of a conversation. Of course, since she possessed this necessary quality, she was an artist. The only thing she could concentrate on for more than thirty seconds was a sculpture or oil pastel she was working on. She was hopeless in math and science; passable in geography (she loved maps, and would study her atlas for hours when she was young); and pretty good with foreign languages. But art was her one great strength.
That is why it happened to be, on one spring day, that she fell into another world. She was painting a scene of a natural stone dais in the middle of a forest. All the trees were ancient, tall, and covered in moss. The sunlight made it’s way through the leaves to make patterns on the stone. Just as she was working on one part of the painting, she thought she saw something move on another. Upon examination, though, it was the same. Usually, she could only find fault with her works, but this painting, she decided, was perfect. The trees looked so real, it was as if they were alive; the light looked like it could warm her; and the rock looked as though it would feel rough and cold if she touched it, and she had the sudden impulse to touch it. Without thinking, she reached out and did so, but she only felt the sticky thickness of oil paint. But, when she went to quickly pull her fingers away, lest she smear more of it, she felt herself being pulled into the painting. She felt her hand, and then her arm, enveloped in the paint. Then she pitched forward.
The next thing she felt was cold, rough, rock. She opened her eyes, and found herself in the forest of her painting. She shook her head to clear it, to make the illusion go away. She pinched herself, slapped her face, and pounded on the ground to prove to herself it was real. “I’ve inhaled too many paint fumes,” she muttered to herself. A broken limb above her swung in the breeze. She took low and ragged breaths, trying to keep panic from taking over. She sat down heavily on the low dais, cradling her head in her hands.
I just wrote it, so it hasn't been beta-approved (sorry cat) but, what do you think?? can it work??