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Storm had never felt so relaxed in his life; watching his children play in the sand at the mouth of the River Shian, with his back against a tree and his mind roving through all sorts of pleasant scenes. There were a few select moments in his life where he’d been truly happy: the first was when Elder Cassi had finally released his powers, the second when King Seris granted him lordship for his services, the third when Amiasha had started to teach him Pa’aktan in the palace prison, the fourth when she agreed to marry him, and since then every day seemed even better than the last. He began absentmindedly fashioning a spell to create a cool breeze for the children, and wondered when exactly he’d become so soft.

There was a time, when he was a child, that Storm was almost constantly angry. In fact he’d always, even after all of Cassi’s efforts, had a short temper, but now–he couldn’t imagine ever being truly angry at Rin and Mirrek. Rin was pushing water into a moat the two had built around a sandcastle, and Mirrek was dumping water on her instead. Storm merely smiled. He would of course intervene if the two began any dangerous horseplay, but for now it was just teasing; children at play. He was so lost in thought that he barely noticed the figure to his left until it was nearly upon him.

Storm spun and stood, a strong Phrase already in mind, before he caught himself.

“Elder Storm. Never unarmed, are you?” Kalae chuckled, and Storm finally lowered his guard.

——

“Mirrek, are you alright?”

Mirrek groggily awoke on the sand, his sister standing above him, obviously startled. “I think so… sorry. I smashed the castle, didn’t I?”

“It’s fine. What happened?” Rin pulled him back to his feet and checked to be sure their father wasn’t watching. She was glad to see Kalae talking to him, it meant he hadn’t noticed and she might not get in trouble. She hadn’t done anything though; she’d given Mirrek a rock and he just collapsed.

“I don’t know…” he looked around, then realized the rock was still in his hand. “It was like being pushed… except there was nothing there.” He looked at it closer.

“What’s wrong?” Rin looked at the rock. It was pretty, but it was just a rock. But Mirrek was just looking at it like it was completely foreign.

“It’s pretty. Thanks.” He shoved it into his pocket and changed the subject. “What’s father talking about? Should we go back now?”

Rin glanced over towards their father once again, and saw that he looked slightly distressed. “Let’s stay here until he calls.”

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~Excerpt from The Grey Chronicles: Volume Four”

I actually just wrote that, but it’s going to be (basically) how Volume Four begins. Who can guess what the stone’s all about? Hint: Before Mirrek took it, it really was just a rock.

Volume 1 is going well, i’ve written two chapters and already Storm is the little brat I wanted him to be. It’s excellent. Next we meet his parents, and finally–Anger Management sessions with Elder Cassi! It’s gonna be cool to write this one; it’ll span roughly from when he’s twelve to when he’s about fifteen. Volume Two will cover his adventures from 18 to 22, Volume Three will be his final adventure in Pa’aktu (at about 26-28), and Volume Four is the story of his son, Mirrek, starting when he’s about 12, and spanning until he’s about 35. That one’ll be sad. But also good. And Five will be his son’s (daughter’s?) story. Or maybe Rin’s, i haven’t decided that yet. So that last one becomes sketchy. It’ll be chosen by how four ends.

But we’re starting with the sociopathic twelve year old.

BTW: Boston was beautiful, we saw the Museum of Fine Arts (and got lost inside, it was incredible), watched “Finding Neverland” again, and I got to meet and hang out with some of Jess’ friends, which was very cool.

~Tchau

 
She has finished and sealed the letter
At last, which he so richly has deserved,
With characters venomous and hatefully curved,
And nothing could be better

But even as she gave it,
Saying to the blue-capped functioner of doom
“Into his hands,” she hoped the leering groom
Might somewhere lose and leave it

Then all the blood
Forsook the face. She was too pale for tears,
Observing the ruin of her younger years
She went and stood

Under her father’s vaunting oak
Who kept his peace in wind and sun, and glistened
Stoical in the rain; to whom she listened
If he spoke.

And now the agitation of the rain
Rasped his sere leaves, and he talked low and gentle,
Reproaching the wan daughter by the lintel;
Ceasing, and beginning again.

Away went the messenger’s bicycle,
His serpent’s track went up the hill forever.
And all the time she stood there hot as fever
And cold as any icicle.

“Parting, Without a Sequel”

    John Crowe Ransom’s “Parting, Without a Sequel” very accurately captures a feeling which everyone experiences at some point in their life: regret. It tells the story of a person who has no choice but to break off a relationship. News “which he so richly has deserved,” she at first feels freed by this letter she has written, the capacity to pour her soul, her angers, her cares, onto a piece of paper and send it to him. But even with the best of reasons, no action born of anger leaves a person contented for long.

    The exploration on her feelings afterwards is actually very external; it is told from third person, and as such one does not hear what she is thinking per se, only clues such that the reader can, from his or her own experience, imagine it. She asks that it be delivered “into his hands,” clinging to the elation she had first felt when writing it, but the last piece of set up in the poem is her final hope that the letter might be lost; that she might be wrong, that the two might continue, that he be given by circumstance and random fate a second chance.

    The remainder of the poem observes her simply watching in nigh-shock as the messenger leaves, and these stanzas seem to almost confuse the issue by adding additional detail, extraneous detail. Her pale face, her father’s oak, and finally the rain are described fleetingly before it returns again to the matter at hand, the messenger, and the unnamed woman. But these stanzas are also important to the feeling; Ransom is creating an image which reflects from the outside the turmoil within. Starting with her own face, he describes how pale she is, “observing the ruin of her younger years.” She has obviously been in this relationship for many years, it may even seem her entire lifetime, and to so completely and drastically change your life in one single step would create intense doubt and even fear in anyone. The description moves to the next nearest object, the oak, which is personified by the capacity to “speak”, but stands “stoical in the rain,” unaffected by the woman’s pain or worry. Then finally the very weather is added in the form of rain against the leaves. “He talked low and gentle/ Reproaching the wan daughter,” because this is of course her own decision, and what’s done has been done.

    Finally, inevitably, the poem concludes with the messenger leaving with the letter. There is a single, but notable comparison of him to a snake, “His serpent’s track”, which could be seen as simply the winding trail he follows, but if you dig deeper into the choice of the word ‘serpent’, you may even be justified in thinking it is possibly a biblical creation story reference, the snake which convinced Eve into eating of the fruit of the tree of knowledge, which while sweet, ultimately caused her and Adam to be cast forever out of Eden. This is perhaps a large leap to make from one single word, but this connection may only strengthen the imagery Ransom has created. She has done what she needed to do most, and she is miserable for it.

Random comment: Stereotypes are metaphors.

Here we go: One can say, “Person A is a goth”, which is to say that there are certain qualities attributed to the ‘goth’ and certain qualities attributed to Person A which match. This is similar to something else we have exprience with:

“The sky was a canvas.” That is to say, the sky shared certain qualities commonly attributed to a canvas, or a painting. This is not to say that the sky actually was a canvas, because quite obviously the sky is considerably larger than most canvases (canvi?), and also lacks the capacity for even the most viscous of paints to stick to it.

Therefore, while Person A may not be exactly a ‘goth’, the metaphor may still stand if he shares attributes that you are attempting to portray through the device. “He is like a goth” is a better statement, a simile, but often times is less pleasing than its alternative.

Also, if you really want to stretch things, you can go ahead and say something else: time, being relative, is also commonly told metaphorically. “It is noon” is very rarely actually true. Most of the time, it simply means that the current time shares many qualities with ‘noon’, those being that many clocks will read “12:00″, and it is about the middle of the day.

ok, i need to finish my cs250 homework because it’s due in like an hour. (Simile.)