The first breaths of autumn have begun to swirl about, gingerly starting their yearly rounds. Soon the tree will be touched by that fire of this season. Everyone pray for autumn a Godspeed . . . may it come fast and soon, and hopefully arrayed in the beauty this season is known for. I have been gone for a long time. That’s life. But I’m back again for a short hello. School has been the all-consuming activity that must prevail “many moons” more.
BUT. This doesn’t mean I haven’t been busy in the evenings, after homework has been duly completed. The enchanting spell of words has not relented, and I’ve been under the blade of many a Penslayer, stayed into submission by their magic powers. Margaret Mitchell, Baroness Orczy, and Charlotte Bronte, are those storycrafters. And I’m vanquished before them. Margaret Mitchell does know how to wield a description, a character, a scene, and totally capture your heart and mind. Of course, I’m only 156 pages into it, and I haven’t reached the heavier matter of Gone With the Wind. But no matter how heavy the material of this story is, I’ve been penslain.
And you can’t deny that Baroness Orczy can pinpoint emotion exactly, and rivet you with a fast-paced plot set in the elegant but treacherous time of the French Revolution, in King George III’s England.
As for Charlotte Bronte, the story of Jane Eyre is beautiful and enrapturing, while at the same time dark and moody. Frankly, I adore it, and admire the depth and richness of her characters. These three women do know how to deftly paint the people in their stories.
YES!!! These are foremost among my favorite movies. Actually, I didn’t include another favorite–Gone with The Wind. But that will be for another time. I’m madly in love with the movies Lorna Doone, The Phantom of the Opera (and if you’re wondering why the pictures are only of Erik and Christine, it’s because I don’t like Raoul as much. Sorry.), North and South, Downton Abbey, Anne of Green Gables , Jane Eyre . . . ahhh. And Lewis and Clark. They’re kind of out of place, since that movie is more of a historical docudrama than a movie/show. *Shrugs*
And now for the Snippets of Story. The time has come! I have been writing quite a bit, and creating short stories along with working on my main Work In Progress (WIP).
He did not see her at first it seemed. Diana’s feelings roused to a height of excitement. She watched him carefully, trying to be unassuming and cool. He carried conversation with the man across from him, and from the words she caught she found that he discussed a matter of the land, which did not hold her interest long, however much his appearance did.
“But of course, your Excellency! Pardieu!” exclaimed the monsieur with whom Lewis conversed, as though he had provoked the other by something he had said.
Diana made an effort to turn her concentration elsewhere, self-conscious then, and afraid her gaze might be noticed. Julia leaned towards her and whispered, “That is Governor Lewis–my husband’s friend.”
~Strong Hearts WIP
He observed her as she hastily remounted the now-placid mare. The hardness of his jaw, the lines about his face more defined now than usual, indicated that he was annoyed by her insurgence to his counsel.
“But ‘twould be folly–unfortunate, indeed!” Lewis was looking up at her, squinting slightly in the bright daylight, “There are many perils so far out.” His voice trailed off, but there was assertion in his warning tone. Diana thought,
‘How disagreeably imposing he is! He thinks he may tell me what he deems best, and that is only because he was a captain, and now a governor.’ She lifted her chin, pride flashing in her eyes.
“I think I know the way,” she said, giving a small, rather scornful laugh that sparkled in the still, chill air. “I have ridden further before, than what I mean to to-day. You needn’t think I have no knowledge of where to go,” and this spoken in a cool tone, as she picked up her reins, and prepared to nudge the mare with her heels, to start forward.
Lewis’s mouth tightened. “You are alone. I do not doubt that you may be a fine horsewoman, yet do you not think of the consequences of solitude?” A stubborn flush raised in his face. But his tone remained low, however sharp and smooth it became. He inhaled deeply. “Would you consent to my escorting you to where you mean to go–if that is no intrusion–if it would not trouble you? But this road is not so safe as the others around.”
Strong Hearts WIP
[Archie] bore such a thoughtful serenity, as he must have been thinking of something else, his mind miles and miles away. My heart sank. But it rose again eagerly when he replied of a sudden,
“I have so missed Shenandoah. I have longed for it with all that is in me, as must every man for his native land. This valley is a part of me.” I thought sadness had entered his voice as he spoke–a mysterious wistfulness that made no sense, when I wanted to remind him that he had returned at last to his home, and that everyone was overjoyed to see him.
Again that faraway look returned to his countenance, and again I felt I had been estranged by the melancholy in his soft grey eyes. That melancholy enhanced the certain boyishness about him, the lines about mouth and eyes that come with manhood not yet visible, thus giving to him an almost vulnerable, pitiable aspect.
“They mean to lodge here!” Millicent cried softly to herself. “They mustn’t—they can’t!”
“I’m afraid we can. And we must.” Pike entered at that moment, his eyes lowered, before he met Milly’s heated gaze. She made a striking picture, her hair tumbling about her shoulders, eyes bright and burning as two embers. Her high-collared dress of indigo cotton became her well . . . the captain found himself wondering what she would look like in an evening gown, a nosegay of roses at her bosom, as he had seen many women wear at dances in Philadelphia and New York.
Milly opened her mouth, prepared to retort, but must have thought better of it. Her anger manifested itself in her trembling body, as she stood before the sunlit window. She tilted her chin up slightly. Pike coolly observed her, as he sat by the fireplace. “You mustn’t concern yourself with protesting. This is war.”
“It is!” Milly murmured her face livid.