posted on Dec, 2 2004 @ 07:54 PM
Hello my fellow writers! I've been working on an idea for a novel that is set in the present, that could include paranormal activity (vampires,
e.s.p., extra-terrestrials, pretty much anything that is discussed on here). I would love to have ideas, revisions and hopefully additions to what I
have thus far:
Preface for the forum-
The story opens up with narration from Jasper, the protagonist's friend Seth. Jasper will be the object of the paranormal activity. I have him, in
my mind, set as immortal later in the novel; I figured what would be more interesting if you were perpetually 22-years-old?! He would have to had to
deal with the troubles of being immortal over many previous years, keeping his emotional ties short, and his housing (which should be extraordinary)
esoteric from the outside world.
Your one true love's a sailing ship
That anchors at our pier.
We lift her sails, we man her decks,
We scrub the portholes clear;
And yes, our lighthouse shines for her,
And yes, our shores are warm;
We’ll steer her into harbor -
Any port, in any storm.
The class fell silent, then gave the usual, learned applause due accordingly after every recitation. I watched my friend Jasper walk towards the back
of the room to take his seat next to mine. “Good work,” I smiled, engaging a low high-five as he sat down. The seven or so chairs in the room were
wooden rockers fashioned with a lap-desk. Two standing, modern floor lamps illuminated each corner of the older room, the overtone in this specific
classroom was a bit more “apartment-like” than the other rooms in the Liberal Arts building – the two couches and mini-fridge our professor kept were
evidence of her easy-going, sassy lifestyle.
“Nice reading, Mr. Letharian,” a heavenly voice spoke from the front of the room. Our literature teacher, Mrs. Sharon Wood was
unbelievably attractive, we both decided that we were going to jointly marry her once she divorced her husband, twenty-some years her senior. She
paced about the front of room and began to regale us on another “bar-story” in which she would write poetry on cocktail napkins, and the nature of
true (“capital ‘P’”) Poetry. She sat down on her desk, facing the class. Her long, brown skirt reached just below her knees, drawing attention to
the small flower tattoo above her Indian sandals on her left ankle. “So, now that you’ve found your inspiration from other books, I want you all to
write some poetry of your own,” she smiled as the instruction continued.
Mrs. Wood twisted to both sides to pop her back, which showed off her most excellent curves through the jacket and sweater. “She keeps giving us
reasons not to skip this class,” I leaned over and whispered with a chuckle.
“…And that’s what you need to do for when we come back, have a good holiday break--Seth? What was that?” Everyone got out of their seats, and began
to exit the room, Mrs. Wood grinned in our direction as she put her hands on her hips. We tried to smoothly leave the room. Jasper glanced at me,
nodded slightly and then smiled at the professor. We gathered our effects together and began to walk towards the exit, “I really enjoyed your
beautiful selection,” Mrs. Wood said with a coy smile, leaning her head to the side.
“Thank you,” Jasper spoke. He had a slight accent (from where I don’t know) which was a compliment to his rather distant persona. Since I’ve known
him, which I reckon has been two or so years since I met him as a Freshman here at Southern Indiana, he’s been quieter than most. He sat his brown,
vintage-looking sidepack down and pulled out a small article. Handing the small, black, leather-bound book to Mrs. Wood, Jasper smiled as he pulled
his bangs out of his eyes and ran his hand through his neatly messy, light brown hair. “You should find more beautiful writings in there,” he pointed.
Our professor took the book and looked at it like a child looks at a newly opened Christmas present, and promptly embraced him with a hug that could
Thanking him, she giggled, “I really appreciate it, now I have something to read over the break!” Jasper gazed vacently at Mrs. Wood, and again to
the book. His slate-grey, almost blue eyes widened with expression as he smiled and waved goodbye.
Zipping my jacket up, Jasper and I walked downstairs. Passing numerous student artworks hanging about the wall, and a few, oddly-shaped architectural
models that the artsy kids put up, we made our way to the main hallway of the Liberal Arts building. “Hell of a parking spot today,” I grinned at him,
“I didn’t think it’d get this bad,” we looked out from behind the glass windows in the large wooden entrance doors. It’s roughly a quarter of a mile
to our car and snow was beginning to screen the view of the rest of campus.