The day i met you

yves

New member
The library, it was silent, quiet. A perfect place to be at peace to read books or to study for a test. That's how I, Lilly felt. I got here about 30 minutes ago and ever since I've been studying for an upcoming test, it’s not relatively hard but I just want to prepare for the worst-case scenario. Not to mention there’s a group of guys at the table in front of me. One of them is pretty cute, I think his name is Alec? He’s in architecture, I want to get to know him I always thought he was attractive. Unknowingly while she was studying and having a curious mind about Alec, the feeling was mutual. He, Alec was also curious about her. thinking "she looks so pretty with her hair up”. Dumbfounded, Alec realized he said that out loud and his friends started making fun of him. Joseph said, “Damn Lover boy”, while the others laugh. He put a palm to his face, then said “Shut up or else she’s going to hear you guys”. By the time Lilly was finished studying, she was craving coffee, it’s autumn and the perfect season for a latte. While Lilly stood up and went to the exit Alec still found himself enticed by her beauty and aura.

I've taken a passion for writing recently, I'm just a beginner though if you have some critiques or suggestions feel free to leave them below :)
 

chowderman

Super Moderator
Staff member
uhmm, does not make a wow impression.
implausible situations with no transitions.
reads like a soft porn lead in dime novel.

and piles of grammar and punctuation errors.
 

FrancSevin

Proudly Deplorable
GOLD Site Supporter
It's not wow but I did get the feeling of being there as the words rolled off.

Here is a bit of my latest prose;



Is there a sign I can see
A pathway I can follow
A road or hidden hollow
that would bring you back to me



I too find it pleasant to write. This is the foundational paragraph on which I have built a piece for my wife's birthday.
If it is okay with you, I'd love to post all of it later.

And BTW, yves, welcome to our Agora!
 

FrancSevin

Proudly Deplorable
GOLD Site Supporter
In the darkness of my dreaming
A letter to my wife on her 72nd birthday

In the darkness of my dreaming
I see you from afar
Though but a heartbeat away
I know not, where you are.

Is there a road that I can follow,
A sign that I can see
A pathway or humble hollow
That will bring you back to me

Our world was fractured
Torn by unmet need
The longings unfulfilled
By distance, challenge and grief.

As winter lies beneath the snow
So my soul laid deep below.
From the darkness of my dreaming
Where morning light could go.

Is there a road that I can follow,
A sign that I can see
A pathway or humble hollow
That will bring you back to me

There were moments in our evenings
When I struggled to touch your heart
I needed you beside me
But life kept us apart

Is there a road that I can follow,
A sign that I can see
A pathway or humble hollow
That will bring you back to me

Somehow through the darkness
You found your way to me
My search for pathways to you
Made easy from your efforts to see

My life is now fulfilled
Your presence sates the need.
My search for humble hollows gone,
You're here, in love, with me
 
Last edited:

FrancSevin

Proudly Deplorable
GOLD Site Supporter
Post #4 was written as a companion piece to my original efforts on the wife's 70th birthday Again, I had it hand printed on parchment by a calligrapher, and framed.
This was the original piece

Quiet whispers in the morning
from two lovers in the night
are roaring by like rivers now

Holding tightly to your body
I feel each breath you take
Your voice is soft and tender now
with a love I can't mistake

The sound of your heart beating
makes it very clear to me
That feeling I could not go on
has melted away

Whilst there may be times
I seems I'm far apart
never wonder what I'm feeling
'Cause you're always in my heart

You are my best friend
You are my wife
You are my partner
You are my life

Whenever you may need me
no matter where you are
just touch your heart my love
I will be there


Written and transcribed to parchment for her 70th birthday.
Inspired by the song, "The Power of Love"

A third is piece is in gestation.
 

Gary O'

Well-known member
I've taken a passion for writing recently, I'm just a beginner though if you have some critiques or suggestions feel free to leave them below
Write more
much more

Then
read it yourself
and again

Then, ask yourself
'Would I enjoy reading it again?'

You've got a passion?
Keep it
Enjoy it



I too enjoy writing
But
I'm a word butcher
fractured prose
grammar out the window

Folks say they enjoy what I write
so do I

Here's a little story of mine;


When I was about four or five, we lived out in the country.
A sparsely populated neighborhood tucked back in the Chapman hills about twenty miles outta Scappoose.
Our place, and gramma’s place, atop the hill, was separated by five acres of strawberries carved out of a thicket of fir trees.
Ever so often I’d stay at grammas on a summer evening.
She made good pancakes….and the folks were going out.

One time I waited too long at home.
There was just too much cowboy’n to do, and I’d lost track of time.
It was already twilight, and I had several hundred yards up the hill thru a couple clumps of trees to negotiate.

As I trudged thru the first glade of trees, I thought about eyes staring at me.
I’d seen lots of bear sign in my tiny travels, and some bobcat and cougar scat here and there. So, plenty to consider.
(Actually, years later, coming from town one evening, we pulled into the garage, and a big cat jumped down from the rafters and fled into the night. We just saw body and tail, but it was, without a doubt, a full grown cougar.)

Whistling seemed to rid the noises of the stillness in the dark regions of my petrified mind.
A generous moon lengthened shadows, turning stumps into animals of prey, licking their lips, fixated on my dashing form, like Tag would when I showed him the stick I was about to throw.
Ever so often I'd give a quick glance back, but the glaring, glowing eyes that were obviously there would mysteriously disappear.

The clearing, the path, the 300 yard dash.

Breathing came in gasps and pants…or was that the breath of the galloping cougar that was about to sink his teeth into my neck any minute and tear my puny body to shreds.

The folks will wonder in the morning, ‘Where’s Gary?’

Then, days later, they’ll find bits of Oshkosh b’goshes, right at gramma’s door, and shreds of poop stained fruit of the looms, and the brim of my straw cowboy hat, the hat part that once housed my furrowed little noggin now several miles away in a steaming mound of mountain lion poopoo.

The clump of trees loomed ahead, separating me and gramma, good ol’ pillowy armed gramma…..even good ol’ grumpy grampa.

I heard something shriek, or was it a howl…
I don’t recall my feet touching the ground over the last few yards thru their back yard thicket.
I do recall gramma, and her audible laughter, her high pitched teehee, as I hung my coat in the utility washroom of the back porch.
Apparently, my countenance that morphed from bug eyed terror to smiling relief in the time space of flipping a light switch sorta tickled her.

The pancakes were extra good that next morning.


aaaand, I dabble in poetry

ZxGHCZc.jpg


3iJztsU.jpg
 

FrancSevin

Proudly Deplorable
GOLD Site Supporter
Write more
much more

Then
read it yourself
and again

Then, ask yourself
'Would I enjoy reading it again?'

You've got a passion?
Keep it
Enjoy it



I too enjoy writing
But
I'm a word butcher
fractured prose
grammar out the window

Folks say they enjoy what I write
so do I

Here's a little story of mine;


When I was about four or five, we lived out in the country.
A sparsely populated neighborhood tucked back in the Chapman hills about twenty miles outta Scappoose.
Our place, and gramma’s place, atop the hill, was separated by five acres of strawberries carved out of a thicket of fir trees.
Ever so often I’d stay at grammas on a summer evening.
She made good pancakes….and the folks were going out.

One time I waited too long at home.
There was just too much cowboy’n to do, and I’d lost track of time.
It was already twilight, and I had several hundred yards up the hill thru a couple clumps of trees to negotiate.

As I trudged thru the first glade of trees, I thought about eyes staring at me.
I’d seen lots of bear sign in my tiny travels, and some bobcat and cougar scat here and there. So, plenty to consider.
(Actually, years later, coming from town one evening, we pulled into the garage, and a big cat jumped down from the rafters and fled into the night. We just saw body and tail, but it was, without a doubt, a full grown cougar.)

Whistling seemed to rid the noises of the stillness in the dark regions of my petrified mind.
A generous moon lengthened shadows, turning stumps into animals of prey, licking their lips, fixated on my dashing form, like Tag would when I showed him the stick I was about to throw.
Ever so often I'd give a quick glance back, but the glaring, glowing eyes that were obviously there would mysteriously disappear.

The clearing, the path, the 300 yard dash.

Breathing came in gasps and pants…or was that the breath of the galloping cougar that was about to sink his teeth into my neck any minute and tear my puny body to shreds.

The folks will wonder in the morning, ‘Where’s Gary?’

Then, days later, they’ll find bits of Oshkosh b’goshes, right at gramma’s door, and shreds of poop stained fruit of the looms, and the brim of my straw cowboy hat, the hat part that once housed my furrowed little noggin now several miles away in a steaming mound of mountain lion poopoo.

The clump of trees loomed ahead, separating me and gramma, good ol’ pillowy armed gramma…..even good ol’ grumpy grampa.

I heard something shriek, or was it a howl…
I don’t recall my feet touching the ground over the last few yards thru their back yard thicket.
I do recall gramma, and her audible laughter, her high pitched teehee, as I hung my coat in the utility washroom of the back porch.
Apparently, my countenance that morphed from bug eyed terror to smiling relief in the time space of flipping a light switch sorta tickled her.

The pancakes were extra good that next morning.


aaaand, I dabble in poetry

ZxGHCZc.jpg


3iJztsU.jpg
Wow!

Good stuff Gary
 

Gary O'

Well-known member
if you have some critiques or suggestions feel free to leave them below :)
@yves

It seems you might be wunna them newbies that post one or two times...then....poof....gone

However, if you return, here's a strong suggestion;

Grammar is not the most important thing in regard to writing something that others will enjoy

Don't get me wrong, it's important
just not the most important (as long as the reader easily comprehends)
No
The most important is structure
Look at your composition
It's one unbroken humungous long ass paragraph
with many thoughts and actions

Nobody wants to mentally separate those jammed together sentences to attain comprehension

Make this your religion.

: a subdivision of a written composition that consists of one or more sentences, deals with one point or gives the words of one speaker, and begins on a new usually indented line
: a short composition or note that is complete in one paragraph

Hope to hear from you again
 
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