Autobiographical
I recently submitted a couple stories to my friend's GrumpStump. I've received a couple positive comments on them, not only for their content, but the manner in which they're told as well. So, let us suppose that there is more of the following. Would you continue reading?
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It was snowing outside. Having received this information, most people require a second opinion. After the initial disbelief, they'd go to the window, pull apart the shades, get close enough to leave their mark in exhaust, and see for themselves. But when he told her about the state of the world, she didn't even open an eye. She simply lay there, smothered in the pillows, duvets, and other heavy feminine bedding she slept under year-round. In a long-past-hopeful plea, she invited him under the covers with her. But he just wiped away his own mark he had left on the window and, knowing she'd already fallen back asleep, headed into the study.
He never could sleep. And it wasn't just the heavy blankets making him feel claustrophobic. Sleeping meant he wouldn't be the one disbelieved in seeing the first snow of the season. It was the chance to breathe the air not bothered by the slumbering world. To be the only one awake was, for him, to be the only one in this reality. That, and when he slept, he couldn't help but to see the other side of things.
So, instead, he retreated to his study. He was wrapped in a loose knit, burnt orange sweater. This happened to be the same color as his goatee, the only hair on his otherwise shaved head. And though he had convinced himself the duvet was likely a better defense against the late November draft, his favorite sweater, supplemented with a sweatshirt blanket, would suffice this early morning.
As is likely obvious, this had been his modus operandi since his high school days. And though he could no longer remember why he originally cut down to a non-existent sleep cycle, he was well-hearsed in the reasons for sustaining it. He had had to explain himself to the somnambulistic skeptic so many times, his reasoning had become concise and flawless...
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Please do me a favor and leave comments. I have a severe lack of a hobby right now, and if my writing style is appealing, maybe I could start working on plot and character development (it's not really autobiographical). Anyways, it's just something I was playing around with.
Post Scripts...
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It was snowing outside. Having received this information, most people require a second opinion. After the initial disbelief, they'd go to the window, pull apart the shades, get close enough to leave their mark in exhaust, and see for themselves. But when he told her about the state of the world, she didn't even open an eye. She simply lay there, smothered in the pillows, duvets, and other heavy feminine bedding she slept under year-round. In a long-past-hopeful plea, she invited him under the covers with her. But he just wiped away his own mark he had left on the window and, knowing she'd already fallen back asleep, headed into the study.
He never could sleep. And it wasn't just the heavy blankets making him feel claustrophobic. Sleeping meant he wouldn't be the one disbelieved in seeing the first snow of the season. It was the chance to breathe the air not bothered by the slumbering world. To be the only one awake was, for him, to be the only one in this reality. That, and when he slept, he couldn't help but to see the other side of things.
So, instead, he retreated to his study. He was wrapped in a loose knit, burnt orange sweater. This happened to be the same color as his goatee, the only hair on his otherwise shaved head. And though he had convinced himself the duvet was likely a better defense against the late November draft, his favorite sweater, supplemented with a sweatshirt blanket, would suffice this early morning.
As is likely obvious, this had been his modus operandi since his high school days. And though he could no longer remember why he originally cut down to a non-existent sleep cycle, he was well-hearsed in the reasons for sustaining it. He had had to explain himself to the somnambulistic skeptic so many times, his reasoning had become concise and flawless...
----
Please do me a favor and leave comments. I have a severe lack of a hobby right now, and if my writing style is appealing, maybe I could start working on plot and character development (it's not really autobiographical). Anyways, it's just something I was playing around with.
Post Scripts...
posted by J.B.P. at 1:12 AM
3 Comments:
I have to say that I am sufficiently amazed by your ability to function so well in the wee hours of the morning. I for one, as you are well aware, am useless after 11pm.
I look forward to your posts as an escape from the chaos that has been my life these past few weeks. Continue to write (notice this is not a request but a demand!).
It's totally you ... I've never known anyone else to think up such silly excuses not to sleep
I like it though :)
Keep up the good work there killer
- J
I think he shouls have jumped in teh snow, or brought some snow in and dumped it on her.
Pretty good though. I can't really comment on writing style thoguh because I am an engineer.
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