Wishing wiseheart a good week off and plenty of relaxation. You've done sterling work keeping going for a month and a half. And welcome to elmey!
Now that having been said - my contributions to Pico are likely to tail off a little because I HAVE COMPLETED THE SECOND DRAFT! Did a sprint today and wrote several scenes and thousands of words. I am absolutely exhausted :)
And now for the last extract. Rewind back to 1914. Eva's teacher Shandlin (the guy with the mother) has opinions on Yeats as a poet.
Don't Hold Back, Tell Us How You Really Feel
And of course Mina wanted everything clearly explained and solemnly repeated Eva's every word until it was all Eva could do not to tell her to go away. And then she went away and Eva folded open the dratted thing, just to get it over with -
"Aha, Miss Downey! Loitering in the corridor, I see. This place charges good money to eradicate habits like that, surely?"
Oh go away you too, Mr Shandlin!
"I'm reading a book," Eva said abruptly, just about remembering to add, "sir." Oh she wished he would stop hovering around like a vulture.
"Well I can see that. What is it?"
"Yeats." Eva said. It was the first writer who came into her head. Hopefully that would shut him up.
"Yeats!" he exclaimed. "Oh dear. I really expected better of you. Do you not find him uncommonly irritating? Nothing but self-indulgent, jejune fantasies of kings and roses and unrequited love. I'm fed up of unrequited love: it's boring. It's like reading Swinburne after drinking cheap wine and getting a ferocious headache from the two together. He's nearly fifty and he's still drivelling on with that nonsense. And what's with the 'odorous twilight'? For God's sake if his twilight is beginning to stink that badly, he should open a window, no? Tread softly, my foot. I wish he'd tread on a banana skin."
Mr Shandlin stopped abruptly, perhaps surprised at his own vehemence. Eva could not resist a smile, which made him look slightly sulky.
[...]
Then - oh thank God! - he moved off down the corridor, almost tripping up on a holdall bag badly propped up against the wall. With an exclamation of annoyance, he started to kick it about.
"Why - must - there - be - stuff - everywhere?" he lamented, the bag skidding down the corridor in advance of his foot.
"I think that's Phyllida Smithson's games uniform." Eva called after him.
He turned his head one last time. "It's stuff and it's in my way."
With that parting shot, he disappeared behind the double doors.
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ninetydegrees
Gone till November
on 2012-07-08 01:25 am (UTC)Now that having been said - my contributions to Pico are likely to tail off a little because I HAVE COMPLETED THE SECOND DRAFT! Did a sprint today and wrote several scenes and thousands of words. I am absolutely exhausted :)
And now for the last extract. Rewind back to 1914. Eva's teacher Shandlin (the guy with the mother) has opinions on Yeats as a poet.
Don't Hold Back, Tell Us How You Really Feel
And of course Mina wanted everything clearly explained and solemnly repeated Eva's every word until it was all Eva could do not to tell her to go away. And then she went away and Eva folded open the dratted thing, just to get it over with -
"Aha, Miss Downey! Loitering in the corridor, I see. This place charges good money to eradicate habits like that, surely?"
Oh go away you too, Mr Shandlin!
"I'm reading a book," Eva said abruptly, just about remembering to add, "sir." Oh she wished he would stop hovering around like a vulture.
"Well I can see that. What is it?"
"Yeats." Eva said. It was the first writer who came into her head. Hopefully that would shut him up.
"Yeats!" he exclaimed. "Oh dear. I really expected better of you. Do you not find him uncommonly irritating? Nothing but self-indulgent, jejune fantasies of kings and roses and unrequited love. I'm fed up of unrequited love: it's boring. It's like reading Swinburne after drinking cheap wine and getting a ferocious headache from the two together. He's nearly fifty and he's still drivelling on with that nonsense. And what's with the 'odorous twilight'? For God's sake if his twilight is beginning to stink that badly, he should open a window, no? Tread softly, my foot. I wish he'd tread on a banana skin."
Mr Shandlin stopped abruptly, perhaps surprised at his own vehemence. Eva could not resist a smile, which made him look slightly sulky.
[...]
Then - oh thank God! - he moved off down the corridor, almost tripping up on a holdall bag badly propped up against the wall. With an exclamation of annoyance, he started to kick it about.
"Why - must - there - be - stuff - everywhere?" he lamented, the bag skidding down the corridor in advance of his foot.
"I think that's Phyllida Smithson's games uniform." Eva called after him.
He turned his head one last time. "It's stuff and it's in my way."
With that parting shot, he disappeared behind the double doors.