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Feb. 18th, 2004 11:00 amI've had this idea for a short story about Verdante for some time now. Ten past midnight, I sat down and scribbled a few lines:
I am old now, tired; my palms worn smooth by countless human destinies slipping though my fingers. Fingers that should be gnarled and black like the branches of the ash tree, but are instead soft and smooth like those of a child.
Idun's apples are keeping us all young. My long black hair falls in thick waves down my back, my skin is pale as the moonlight and my eyes sparkle with a fire of their own, yet the young men do not seek my council, for I twist the strands of life, I am the fickle one; I am Verdante.
I have the outline of the story, but this isn't working. Still need to figure out if I should write this in first or third person. The above would probably fit very well for a description of a painting, but is no good for what I am aiming for. The agony of first drafts! Better get back to reviewing and The Hunt.
I am old now, tired; my palms worn smooth by countless human destinies slipping though my fingers. Fingers that should be gnarled and black like the branches of the ash tree, but are instead soft and smooth like those of a child.
Idun's apples are keeping us all young. My long black hair falls in thick waves down my back, my skin is pale as the moonlight and my eyes sparkle with a fire of their own, yet the young men do not seek my council, for I twist the strands of life, I am the fickle one; I am Verdante.
I have the outline of the story, but this isn't working. Still need to figure out if I should write this in first or third person. The above would probably fit very well for a description of a painting, but is no good for what I am aiming for. The agony of first drafts! Better get back to reviewing and The Hunt.
