Saturday, March 29, 2014

Romantic Tag

Because what is a blogging event without a tag?

I believe the general list of questions is somewhere between ten and twenty. Frankly, I don't have the time nor inclination to do twenty (but eight is just a good, don't you think?).

1. What is your favorite literary couple?
2. Least favorite?
3. Favorite romantic story?
4. Have you ever fancied yourself in love?
5. Do you have a favorite book-to-movie adaption of a romantic book?
6. Do you have a song that you play while writing that gets you in a romantic mood?
7. What sort of weather is romantic to you? Sunny, rainy, snow?
8. Share your most recent romantic set-up or couple that you've written.

1. What is your favorite literary couple?
 Emma can be annoying, but Mr. Knightley is so amazing that I think they still win out over everyone.

2. Least favorite?
Umm, Therendil and Cimorene (obviously).

3. Favorite romantic story?
Can this be answered?

4. Have you ever fancied yourself in love?
A few times, but, alas, 'twas not to be. *sniff sniff*

5. Do you have a favorite book-to-movie adaption of a romantic book?
P&P'05 is pretty much wonderful. It may not be completely accurate, but I love it.

6. Do you have a song that you play while writing that gets you in a romantic mood?
The Pride and Prejudice (2005) and the Ever After soundtracks.

7. What sort of weather is romantic to you? Sunny, rainy, snow?
Rainy is the most romantic (though I wilt without enough sun).

8. Share your most recent romantic set-up or couple that you've written.
I finally gave in to the idea of Winnifred and Finn being maybe more than 'just friends'…

And with that I conclude Romantic Snippets Fortnight!

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Friday, March 21, 2014

So, The Author from To Write or Not To Write decided to participate in Romantic Snippets Fortnight (or Thricenight). Yay! So go read her snippets!
Today I share a snippet from my story The Five Rings. This snippet does not depict a conversation or situation between two lovers, but it counts because Dill is married and the scene is chiefly concerned with that.

Dill’s mother had never actively spoken out against her father, but Dill had seen her open her mouth as if to speak, but change it to a sigh instead. As Dill explored the kitchen, early that first morning, in search of something to make for breakfast, she couldn’t imagine being her mother. Silent, patient, wounded; for almost twenty years. Dill was a shy girl, but she didn’t have her mother’s long suffering disposition. If her married life was anything like her mother’s, she didn’t know if she could stay there, just waiting to be hurt.

“I just don’t know what to think of him,” she said out loud, as she stirred up the fire.

“Of whom?” Bered’s voice startled her, and she nearly dropped the fire poker.

“Oh, no one in particular,” she managed to stammer. She dared not turn around, lest he see her red face.
“I – I hope you slept well,” he said, after a moment.
“Oh, yes,” Dill replied, forcing herself to sound cheerful.
“That’s good.”
Dill filled a kettle from the bucket of water and hung it over the fire. She heated another kettle of water and rummaged through the pantry to find what she needed. All the while, she ignore Bered, who stood awkwardly as if waiting for something.
“I’m going to go fill the water bucket,” she said after they had been in silence several moments. “Where is the well?”
“Oh, I can fill it,” Bered answered, crossing the floor swiftly to take the bucket from her. “Not that you couldn’t do it, but it’s a long walk and I don’t want to – I mean, I don’t mind you doing it – I just –” He stopped. “I'll do it.”
Dill didn’t mind. It was only half empty anyway; she had only been using it as an excuse to leave. She stirred the pot on the stove absently and sat down at the kitchen table. She put her head in her hands. Can I live like this? she asked herself. It would be exhausting; trying to stay cheerful, trying to keep him happy, and with no one to support her. He should be the one who supports me.
Dill had not heard the footsteps, so the hand on her shoulder startled her. Bered’s dark eyes looked concerned. Dill tried to smile.
“Thank you.” She took the bucket from him.
“I- you slept well?” He’d already asked. She stirred the kettle.
“Yes, my lord,” she said quietly.
“You needn’t call me that.” Dill’s mother had rarely called her husband by his name. It was strange to think of doing otherwise.
“It is only fitting, my lord.”
He sighed softly. Inwardly, Dill sighed herself.

Dill turned at the sudden shriek. Cecily threw herself at Dill, barely giving Dill time to put down her market basket. Dill let herself be embraced and held Cecily tight, fighting back tears when she thought of the last time they had been together: six months ago, it was. Before she was married.
“Oh, Cecily,” she murmured
“Dill, how have you been? It’s been ages!” Cecily held Dill at arms length and looked her over. Dill couldn’t keep back the tears anymore and she held out her trembling left hand, displaying the five ponderous rings.
“I’m married,” she whispered.
Cecily’s face changed immediately. “What? I didn’t know – I – I didn’t hear– Oh, Dill, what kind of man is he? Do you love him?”
Dill cried into Cecily’s shoulder. “He’s a big silent beast! I don’t even know him. How can I love him?”
Cecily was quiet. As Dill’s sobbs decreased, she slowly pushed Dill away and held out her own hand. A flash of gold caught Dill’s eye.
“What? Not you, too?”
Cecily nodded, unwontedly solemn. "I've been married two months. I've hated him two months." She covered her face with her hands. "If he doesn't go to town every night, he goes every other at least. To drink, to play cards, to– ugh!" She looked up, her eyes fierce. "Dill, don't put one ounce of trust in him. You give them an inch and they take it a mile."
  Cecily put her hands on Dill's shoulders and looked her right in the eye.
  "Don't trust him! Don't ever trust him."
Dill shivered.
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Sunday, March 16, 2014

Romantic Snippets Thricenight

I'm extending the Romantic Snippets Fortnight another week. So it's a Thricenight. Or something like that.
The snippet is from one of my works-in-progress (it may or may not go in the story, however, so those of you that recognize it, not a word about its origin!).

“I love Ireland. As much as England.”
“Enough to stay here forever?” Loch’s voice had an undercurrent of something in it that reminded her of someone.
She looked over at him. “No; I'm just staying here temporarily.” Although his words were what she had wished, more than once.
“How long is ‘temporarily?’” Loch leaned closer. She felt slightly annoyed. It was hard enough as it was not to want to stay here forever; he didn't need to encourage her!
“Until late May, as I told you.” She said a bit snappishly.
“That is very temporary, for sure.”
“What is wrong with that?” She grew pricklier as the conversation continued.
“Oh, I thought you might want to stay longer.”
“I have responsibilities in England. I belong there.” She said harshly, though something inside of her said, What responsibilities? You could stay here forever.
“Well, I-” Loch stopped speaking. He gestured at the sea. “I thought you loved Ireland.”
“I do,” Her snappishness disappeared as he spoke. “I do. I do love Ireland. But-”
“But what?” Loch persisted. “You told me your family was dead?”
"Yes, but..." But what? Was anything truly holding her back?

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Friday, March 14, 2014


No one answered when he knocked, so he opened the door and went in.
He smiled. Though he hadn't seen Arianelle for years, he knew her house when he saw it. The tiny pair of flats by the door, the shining dishes in the dish drainer, the spotless counters, the piano, the tactfully arranged portraits on her wall. It was a very small house, neat and comfortable all the same. Well-loved books filled a small shelf near the settee and winding stairs led to an upper story.
It was marked by her fingerprints to be sure, but the house was missing one thing.
It had felt strange when he first walked in, but now he knew for sure. The counters were too empty, the books too neat. And since when was her father rich enough to have his portrait drawn (and with darker hair, too)?
"Arianelle?" he whispered. He knew her like he knew his own hand, and he knew that she hadn't lived in this house for some time.
He ran his hand over the dust on the piano. Arianelle passionately waged war against dust every day, or every week at the least. This much would never be left to itself.
He heard a strange noise, and his heart began to pound. Not out of fear for himself – himself he could take care of. For her.
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Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Romantic Snippets Fortnight

Her voice trembled, but she pressed on.
"How could you expect me to still love you after that–that despicable behavior tonight? You want to fall at your feet like a dog, but I'm not a dog! I'm not–" she choked on a sob.
His hand, cold yet reassuring, rested on her shoulder. Despite her words, she did love him. No! She shouldn't. He had been wrong – cruel even. Yet here she was, falling for him again.
"You betrayed her," she whispered. He might even do the same thing to me.
"Liza," his voice was soothing, maybe patronizing. She pulled away.
"No! Get away from me!" It was the hardest thing she'd ever done.
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P.S. You want the answer? Well, I'm afraid I can't give it in this post. Sorry.

Sunday, March 9, 2014

Which came first: the cabinet or the undergarment?

It's a riddle, you see – what is both part of a cabinet and an undergarment? You get a bonus if you know which came first.
I'm now going to announce Romantic Snippet Fortnight. Okay, I've announced it.
Basically, I'm going to post random romantic snippets for the next two weeks (it's going to be a fortnight and not a week because all my readers might faint if I started posting that consistently).
Anyone is welcome to participate. Your snippets can be long or short, random or related to some writing you're already working on, basically anything that applies to these three rules (which of course I myself will adhere to):
1. It has to be original material (duh).
2. The story or snippet has to be about a guy and a girl who are in love, were in love, or will be in love.
3. You have to post at least 3 snippets from March 9th to March 23rd.

That's it! It's basically to practice writing romantic scenes and enjoy writing them, without having to make up a whole plot if you don't want to (although it could turn into a story).

EDIT: To clarify #2, love triangles are perfectly acceptable. Just one of the characters needs to love the other.

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Saturday, March 8, 2014

She turned at the sound of his voice, her navy skirts flaring out around her legs, and a sudden smile lighted her face.
"Shall we walk together?" he asked.
She answered by taking his offered arm. They strolled away from the main party and down a neatly trimmed path.
She asked him how he knew the bride, and he answered that the groom was a cousin of his. Then he stopped and looked at her.
"I almost didn't recognize you," he said. "You look much more grown-up since I saw you last – you ran out in the rain, your hair getting wet and your boots muddy, yet not minding."
She smiled again, and sat down daintily on the arm of a park bench. "Am I so very changed?"
"No, you're very much the same, in one way. But you have to admit that you're much more of a lady. Why, you're old enough to be a bride yourself!"
She looked down and was silent a moment. "Is that a bad thing?"
"No," he said softly. "No, it isn't."
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