Post by Elysia O'Broin on Mar 19, 2010 14:09:57 GMT -5
Even as a child the sound of a pencil scratching at paper had been soothing. It didn't have to be for anything creative like sketching or writing fine poetry, or even solving complex equations--just the sound alone was enough to keep her from wigging out over the stupidest things. That may have been why she took up writing in the first place; it kept her calm and from starting fires, sure, but it also let her mind wander from the here and now and what-could-have-beens to things much more enjoyable. Dashing knights swooping in to save the princess at the last moment, dastardly cowboys having showdowns at sunset with the town sheriff, lonely and tortured vampires who crave love almost as much as she did...she'd written all this and more by the time she was twelve.
Of course she realized right around then that good didn't always triumph over evil.
"When Irish eyes are smiling, sure tis like a morning spring." Her ipod sang in her ear, the smooth voice of the tenor rising and falling with the notes of the traditional tune. She always listened to music from her homeland when she wrote; it gave her all kinds of fun ideas. "In the lilt of Irish laughter, you can hear the angels sing. When Irish hearts are happy, all the world seems bright and gay."
Hm, maybe not that right there...she thought, twirling her plastic pencil in her hand and erasing a whole paragraph as if it were nothing. Elly couldn't afford a laptop on the small stipend her parents sent her every month, so most of that money went to new journals in town when they were allowed the small trips. She'd filled up nearly four since the beginning of the new year and there was a box full of them in her closet--each ornate and leather bound, but dually serving it's purpose aside from being aesthetically pleasing. People thought her hobby of collecting pretty journals odd since she only used them for writing, but she loved each and every one as if it were a precious child; the current one she was using was forest green with a Celtic cross emblazoned into the leather.
The story she was working on was about political discord during the Medieval Era in Ireland.
And when Irish eyes are smiling, sure, they steal your heart away. The song finished and shuffled into a rock rendition of Danny Boy and she paused it, stretching until her back popped and looking out the window of the classroom. She was the only one there.
Of course she realized right around then that good didn't always triumph over evil.
"When Irish eyes are smiling, sure tis like a morning spring." Her ipod sang in her ear, the smooth voice of the tenor rising and falling with the notes of the traditional tune. She always listened to music from her homeland when she wrote; it gave her all kinds of fun ideas. "In the lilt of Irish laughter, you can hear the angels sing. When Irish hearts are happy, all the world seems bright and gay."
Hm, maybe not that right there...she thought, twirling her plastic pencil in her hand and erasing a whole paragraph as if it were nothing. Elly couldn't afford a laptop on the small stipend her parents sent her every month, so most of that money went to new journals in town when they were allowed the small trips. She'd filled up nearly four since the beginning of the new year and there was a box full of them in her closet--each ornate and leather bound, but dually serving it's purpose aside from being aesthetically pleasing. People thought her hobby of collecting pretty journals odd since she only used them for writing, but she loved each and every one as if it were a precious child; the current one she was using was forest green with a Celtic cross emblazoned into the leather.
The story she was working on was about political discord during the Medieval Era in Ireland.
And when Irish eyes are smiling, sure, they steal your heart away. The song finished and shuffled into a rock rendition of Danny Boy and she paused it, stretching until her back popped and looking out the window of the classroom. She was the only one there.
