Best wishes,
Anna
First Commenter:
xxx
Tuesday, 31 January 2012
Sunday, 29 January 2012
Saturday, 28 January 2012
Katie and Mohammad - The Last Dance - Romantic Friday Writers Challenge No 30
Welcome to the Romantic Friday Writers' fortnightly writing challenge, started and hosted by Denise Covey_L'Aussie, where participants share their own 300-400-word text - story or poem - on a given theme. This week's theme for Friday, 27th January, Challenge No. 29, is 'The Last Dance'. My text is written directly for this REW-challenge.
Here is my text : (Scroll down to read the corrected text in ORANGE with the name Joseph changed to Mohammad)
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Katie Norris, 63, sitting near the refreshments table at the Williamspost Senior Prom, was one of two music teachers on duty as chaperones that evening.
Maybe I can make myself invisible, thought Katie, sipping the alchohol-free fruit juice and Seven-up mixed punch from a plastic mug, Isn't that's what wallflowers are supposed to do? Disappear?
At least she did not have to play the piano. They flipped a coin and her colleague Bertha 'won' that assignment.
Katie day-dreamed about her late husband, Kevin Norris. What a wonderful man he was! How I loved dancing with him. Then Katie's thoughts wandered forward to retirement. Maybe I could travel. She saw herself seated on the deck of a cruise ship headed for Burmuda or some beautiful tropical island. Sipping a mint julip reading a paperback novel she meets a distingished-looking man in his sixties, wearing a dark grey suit, who asks: Haven't we meet before?
'Mrs Norris?' said a young man with dewy, dreamy, dark eyes, taking her out of her reverie. It was Joseph, eighteen years old and always very polite and well-groomed. His family came from somewhere in the Middle East. When the drama classes, put on the musical Oliver, he was chosen to play the part of Fagin, and did it well. He ignored the type-casting of being force to play a Jew, when he himself was of Arab-extraction, and took it in stride and with a sense of humour. He even imitated Alec Guinness' role from studying David Lean's 1948 film version of Oliver Twist and did a passable Yiddish accent for the part. He has a beautiful singing voice too. 'May I have this dance?'
Maybe I can make myself invisible, thought Katie, sipping the alchohol-free fruit juice and Seven-up mixed punch from a plastic mug, Isn't that's what wallflowers are supposed to do? Disappear?
At least she did not have to play the piano. They flipped a coin and her colleague Bertha 'won' that assignment.
Katie day-dreamed about her late husband, Kevin Norris. What a wonderful man he was! How I loved dancing with him. Then Katie's thoughts wandered forward to retirement. Maybe I could travel. She saw herself seated on the deck of a cruise ship headed for Burmuda or some beautiful tropical island. Sipping a mint julip reading a paperback novel she meets a distingished-looking man in his sixties, wearing a dark grey suit, who asks: Haven't we meet before?
'Mrs Norris?' said a young man with dewy, dreamy, dark eyes, taking her out of her reverie. It was Joseph, eighteen years old and always very polite and well-groomed. His family came from somewhere in the Middle East. When the drama classes, put on the musical Oliver, he was chosen to play the part of Fagin, and did it well. He ignored the type-casting of being force to play a Jew, when he himself was of Arab-extraction, and took it in stride and with a sense of humour. He even imitated Alec Guinness' role from studying David Lean's 1948 film version of Oliver Twist and did a passable Yiddish accent for the part. He has a beautiful singing voice too. 'May I have this dance?'
'Oh, hello Joseph. Yes, I would be delighted!' It was a slow dance too, but Joseph didn't mind. Nor did Mrs Norris.
'Are your plans for next year all set, Joseph? How did your college applications go?
'Oh, better than I expected. I've been accepted to three different colleges, so I can choose.'
'I'm so glad to hear that, Joe. You'll be just fine, I think.'
Yes, and I'll be just fine too, thought Katie and let her handsome young partner twirl her around on the dance floor. Yes! It will be divine!
[Text copyright 2012 Christina Wigren]
Word count according to WordCalc: 375;' NCCO'; No Critque, Comments Only.
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Best wishes,
Anna
P.S.
This is a purely fictional story. I have gone out on a limb, because I am writing about a character who is very much older than I am. I am guessing about how she may think and feel. My idea is that love is eternal and something for all ages. She is not too old to love someone if the right man should come along. In the mean time she can enjoy life for what it is. I don't mean that she should run off with this boy, Joseph (Mohammad). I mean she is ready to meet different kinds of people. And if she is open to new aquaintances, one day she may very well meet someone who really suits her.
Sorry about the linguistic inconsistencies. I've set this story in an American high school, but am still writing with mostly British spelling. I don't plan to do anything with this text later on. It's just an exercise for RFW.
Mrs Norris? I'm inspired by the the cat named Mrs Norris in the Harry Potter books and films. Mrs Norris, the cat, is owned by the caretaker at Hogwarth, Mr Filch.
Kevin and Kate Norris would have made a great pair. I'll have to write a prequel about them.
The dark, young, handsome man, Joseph, is modelled after a very sweet 18-year-old-boy who lives in my apartment building. I don't know that much about him. I don't even know what exactly his backgound is. I've only met him in the hall or just outside of my building. But he is very nice and always polite and helpful. He always opens the door for me! So this one's for you, Josef!
Another source of inspiration is a former collegue named Mohammad, from Iraq. His mother-tongue was a kind of Persian language, Farsi, and not Arabic. He belonged to a minority group, the Kurds, and probably came to Sweden as a refugee (but I never asked). He was of the muslim faith. He was very kind, thoughtful and helpful. His wife was from Finland, but I never saw them outside of work, so I never met her.
Between shop-talk at work, I often asked Mohammad about Persian poetry. There are some amazing story-tellers in the Persian literary tradition. There is for example an interesting Swedish translation of many Persian poets by a man named Eric Hermelin (1860-1944). He wrote his translations in 18th-century Swedish (which feels a lot more archaic than 18th-century English, because the Swedish language has changed more rapidly than English), which is not easy to do. He did not think that modern Swedish was the right vehicle for these rich and mystical poetical works.
------
Here's the same text with the name Joseph changed to Mohammad (or Muhammad; I don't know which spelling is more correct.):
'Oh, hello Mohammad. Yes, I would be delighted!' It was a slow dance too, but Mohammad didn't mind. Nor did Mrs Norris.
'Are your plans for next year all set, Mohammad? How did your college applications go?
'Oh, better than I expected. I've been accepted to three different colleges, so I can choose.'
'I'm so glad to hear that, Mohammad. You'll be just fine, I think.'
Yes, and I'll be just fine too, thought Katie and let her handsome young partner twirl her around on the dance floor. Yes! It will be divine!
This is a purely fictional story. I have gone out on a limb, because I am writing about a character who is very much older than I am. I am guessing about how she may think and feel. My idea is that love is eternal and something for all ages. She is not too old to love someone if the right man should come along. In the mean time she can enjoy life for what it is. I don't mean that she should run off with this boy, Joseph (Mohammad). I mean she is ready to meet different kinds of people. And if she is open to new aquaintances, one day she may very well meet someone who really suits her.
Sorry about the linguistic inconsistencies. I've set this story in an American high school, but am still writing with mostly British spelling. I don't plan to do anything with this text later on. It's just an exercise for RFW.
Mrs Norris? I'm inspired by the the cat named Mrs Norris in the Harry Potter books and films. Mrs Norris, the cat, is owned by the caretaker at Hogwarth, Mr Filch.
Kevin and Kate Norris would have made a great pair. I'll have to write a prequel about them.
The dark, young, handsome man, Joseph, is modelled after a very sweet 18-year-old-boy who lives in my apartment building. I don't know that much about him. I don't even know what exactly his backgound is. I've only met him in the hall or just outside of my building. But he is very nice and always polite and helpful. He always opens the door for me! So this one's for you, Josef!
Another source of inspiration is a former collegue named Mohammad, from Iraq. His mother-tongue was a kind of Persian language, Farsi, and not Arabic. He belonged to a minority group, the Kurds, and probably came to Sweden as a refugee (but I never asked). He was of the muslim faith. He was very kind, thoughtful and helpful. His wife was from Finland, but I never saw them outside of work, so I never met her.
Between shop-talk at work, I often asked Mohammad about Persian poetry. There are some amazing story-tellers in the Persian literary tradition. There is for example an interesting Swedish translation of many Persian poets by a man named Eric Hermelin (1860-1944). He wrote his translations in 18th-century Swedish (which feels a lot more archaic than 18th-century English, because the Swedish language has changed more rapidly than English), which is not easy to do. He did not think that modern Swedish was the right vehicle for these rich and mystical poetical works.
------
Here's the same text with the name Joseph changed to Mohammad (or Muhammad; I don't know which spelling is more correct.):
Katie Norris, 63, sitting near the refreshments table at the Williamspost Senior Prom, was one of two music teachers on duty as chaperones that evening.
Maybe I can make myself invisible, thought Katie, sipping the alchohol-free fruit juice and Seven-up mixed punch from a plastic mug, Isn't that's what wallflowers are supposed to do? Disappear?
At least she did not have to play the piano. They flipped a coin and her colleague Bertha 'won' that assignment.
Katie day-dreamed about her late husband, Kevin Norris. What a wonderful man he was! How I loved dancing with him. Then Katie's thoughts wandered forward to retirement. Maybe I could travel. She saw herself seated on the deck of a cruise ship headed for Burmuda or some beautiful tropic islands. Sipping a mint julip reading a paperback novel she meets a distingished-looking man in his sixties, wearing a dark grey suit, who asks: Haven't we meet before?
'Mrs Norris?' said a young man with dewy, dreamy, dark eyes, taking her out of her reverie. It was Mohammad, eighteen years old and always very polite and well-groomed. His family came from somewhere in the Middle East. When the drama classes, put on the musical Oliver, he was chosen to play the part of Fagin, and did it well. He ignored the type-casting of being force to play a Jew, when he himself was of Arab-extraction, and took it in stride and with a sense of humour. He even imitated Alec Guinness' role from studying David Lean's 1948 film version of Oliver Twist and did a passable Yiddish accent for the part. He has a beautiful singing voice too. 'May I have this dance?'
Maybe I can make myself invisible, thought Katie, sipping the alchohol-free fruit juice and Seven-up mixed punch from a plastic mug, Isn't that's what wallflowers are supposed to do? Disappear?
At least she did not have to play the piano. They flipped a coin and her colleague Bertha 'won' that assignment.
Katie day-dreamed about her late husband, Kevin Norris. What a wonderful man he was! How I loved dancing with him. Then Katie's thoughts wandered forward to retirement. Maybe I could travel. She saw herself seated on the deck of a cruise ship headed for Burmuda or some beautiful tropic islands. Sipping a mint julip reading a paperback novel she meets a distingished-looking man in his sixties, wearing a dark grey suit, who asks: Haven't we meet before?
'Mrs Norris?' said a young man with dewy, dreamy, dark eyes, taking her out of her reverie. It was Mohammad, eighteen years old and always very polite and well-groomed. His family came from somewhere in the Middle East. When the drama classes, put on the musical Oliver, he was chosen to play the part of Fagin, and did it well. He ignored the type-casting of being force to play a Jew, when he himself was of Arab-extraction, and took it in stride and with a sense of humour. He even imitated Alec Guinness' role from studying David Lean's 1948 film version of Oliver Twist and did a passable Yiddish accent for the part. He has a beautiful singing voice too. 'May I have this dance?'
'Oh, hello Mohammad. Yes, I would be delighted!' It was a slow dance too, but Mohammad didn't mind. Nor did Mrs Norris.
'Are your plans for next year all set, Mohammad? How did your college applications go?
'Oh, better than I expected. I've been accepted to three different colleges, so I can choose.'
'I'm so glad to hear that, Mohammad. You'll be just fine, I think.'
Yes, and I'll be just fine too, thought Katie and let her handsome young partner twirl her around on the dance floor. Yes! It will be divine!
First Commenter:
Adura Ojo
To read other texts for Romantic Friday Writers Challenge No. 30, with the theme 'The Last Dance', please visit this site or click on the image below:
Tuesday, 24 January 2012
Treasury Round-Up for Tina/parltradet
I've been so busy that I haven't noticed that Tina's jewellery has been featured in several Etsy treasuries. I am taking after Rose Clearwater and posting a 'Treasury-Round-up' to thank those who have curated these treasuries and included Tina's pieces.
Here is a necklace from jammerjewelry:
Saucy Squirrel's shop SmittenKnittinKitten was empty.
Here is a necklace by Eva Kuklica from feelingwild
Here are a pair of mittens from Skye's shop, skybluewater
And lastly, here is a doll from gbvintage's shop:
Best wishes,
Anna
First Commenter:
xxx
To visit more treasury round ups go to this site:
Monday, 23 January 2012
Tina/parltradet has curated a new Etsy treasury: Pink for Valentine's Day
Best wishes,
Anna
First Commenter:
Karen Stahlecker
of
WillOaksStudio
Karen is also a member of The Red Cat Society
Saturday, 21 January 2012
A Cliff-Hanger Epilogue - Mrs. Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus Week 90
Welcome to Mrs. Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus, a weekly writing challenge in which participants write a text based on a given prompt using a limited number of words. This is week 90 and we are to write an epilogue to our two-part stories that we have already written, using only 150 words. We may include extra pictures if we wish.
Before reading my text for this week, let's read part I & II from last week and the week before:
Part I:
Charles took the footpath up the hill overlooking the town and the bay. It was misty at twilight, but he could still see the reflections of the city-lights in the sea. It started to rain when he reached the top, which was above a wall of seabirds' nests. They dug into the limestone making it hollow and it could crumple under your weight and leave you hanging off a cliff, if you were lucky enough not to fall 400 meters down onto the rocks.
With pencil and notebook in hand, he heard a voice. Turning around, he felt the ground sinking. 'No!' he gasped. (Word count: 104)
[Text Copyright 2012 Christina Wigren]
Part II:
Crawling toward the voice, Charles came to firmer ground, but found no one there. Thinking he saw a light, he found the right path. It was then he heard the wall, where he just stood, crashing to the rocks. Safe at home, he wondered who or what had saved him. (Word count: 50)
[Text Copyright 2012 Christina Wigren]
Here is my epilogue or part III:
Charles thought: The voice got me to crawl away in time, and the light helped me find a path down the mountain. But I saw no one. I was alone.
A volume of the encyclopedia lay open on his desk. I don't remember leaving this here. Underlined in pencil were these words:
Gnomes are invisible, are able to lift heavy objects, blow air, shine a light and even speak if a human is in danger. You were lucky I could help you, Charlie! Best wishes from Fredrika.
How is this possible? thought Charles. This book was printed in 1904.
He looked again and saw more underlined text:
Gnomes can also alter text in printed books. Look tomorrow and this message will be gone.
Charles made a note of the page and just as Fredrika had promised, the message was not to be found the next day.
[Text Copyright 2012 Christina Wigren]
Word count: 147
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Best wishes,
Anna
P.S.
That's alright Jenny. You can almost throw any assignment at us and most of us will be able to make a post out of it. We love you, Jenny!
P.P.S.
Here is an epilogue to this epilogue. Talking about literary devices, I found this literary device in the 1950 film Harvey, starring James Stewart. There is a scene in which one of the characters looks up the word 'pooka' in a dictionary and reads a message inserted in the text from the Pooka himself. If a pooka can do this, why not a gnome?
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First Commenter:
Sue
of
To visit other SC week 90-posts please go to this site or click on the image below:
Read Mrs. Jenny Matlock's instructions:
Welcome to week ninety of Saturday Centus.
Please consider this picture as an official olive branch between us.
Mea culpa! Mea culpa!
Since I simply cannot bring myself to use the phrase 'my bad' as an apology, all that remains is for me to say,"I'M SORRY!!!! I'M A JERK!!! AND A LIAR!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Our nightmare of kitchen destruction happened last Friday when I wrote the instructions for week 89. And, yes, that is my excuse. I did write you could use 100 words for part two, but then I reneged and made it 50.
Mea culpa, mea culpa!
But I'm hoping this weeks challenge redeems me.
Please consider this both a formal apology AND a challenge for this week.
How about an 'epilogue' to your cliff hanger?
You know...a new writing device for the week.
Epilogues are an inherent part of any story or poem and are essential to the structure of any written form. The epilogue is an important literary tool that acts as the afterword once the last chapter is over. The purpose of an epilogue is to add a little insight to some interesting developments that happen once the major plot is over.
So...
THE PROMPT THIS WEEK IS AN EPILOGUE OF BOTH PARTS OF YOUR CLIFFHANGER STORY
WORD COUNT - Since I cheated you on words last week, how about a few extra for this weeks prompt? Word count is not to exceed 150 words total.
STYLE OF WRITING - Any
ADDITIONAL PICTURES IF DESIRED
The regular restrictions apply: PG, no splitting of the prompt, play nicely and visit the other entries, any style or genre of writing you prefer.
Please display my link button or just a hyper-link back to Saturday Centus. Be careful to link your SC URL to the Linky and not just link to your main blog.
E-mail me directly with ???'s or ask your question in a comment and I will do my best to get back to you as soon as possible.
Feel free to link up anytime between now and next Saturday!
If you still like me, that is.
To quote one of our sweet Grandlittle's, I sorry.
Friday, 20 January 2012
New Blog? No just a new address
I had to suddenly change blog-address.
Please follow this blog too!
I am glad that you have found your way to this new version of my blog.
Best wishes,
Anna
Please follow this blog too!
I am glad that you have found your way to this new version of my blog.
Best wishes,
Anna
Wednesday, 18 January 2012
Sunday, 15 January 2012
A Cliffhanger Part II - Mrs. Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus Week 89
Welcome to week eighty-nine of Saturday Centus.
This is PART Two of last week's PROMPT, 'Hanging off a cliff!'
THE PROMPT THIS WEEK IS A CONTINUATION OF YOUR STORY USING: Hanging off a cliff!
WORD COUNT - Not to exceed 50 words total.
STYLE OF WRITING - Any
ADDITIONAL PICTURES IF DESIRED
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Before we look at Part Two, let's re-read last week's text:
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Charles took the footpath up the hill overlooking the town and the bay. It was misty at twilight, but he could still see the reflections of the city-lights in the sea. It started to rain when he reached the top, which was above a wall of seabirds' nests. They dug into the limestone making it hollow and it could crumple under your weight and leave you hanging off a cliff, if you were lucky enough not to fall 400 meters down onto the rocks.
With pencil and notebook in hand, he heard a voice. Turning around, he felt the ground sinking. 'No!' he gasped.
With pencil and notebook in hand, he heard a voice. Turning around, he felt the ground sinking. 'No!' he gasped.
------
And now, the rest of the story:
------
Crawling toward the voice, Charles came to firmer ground, but found no one there. Thinking he saw a light, he found the right path. It was then he heard the wall, where he just stood, crashing to the rocks. Safe at home, he wondered who or what had saved him.
Word count according to WordCalc: 50
------
Best wishes,
Anna
P.S.
About part two:
I like happy endings. I am inspired by a Danish children's TV Christmas series, Pagten (=The Pact; The Nowegian version has more information, if you can read Norwegian.) by Maya Ilsøe about a family of gnomes who are invisible to most people except one special boy who can see and speak to them. It sounds corny, I know, but they did an excellent job. My idea is that Charles, who is alone on his walk, has been saved by gnomes.
Source: Pakten
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About part two:
I like happy endings. I am inspired by a Danish children's TV Christmas series, Pagten (=The Pact; The Nowegian version has more information, if you can read Norwegian.) by Maya Ilsøe about a family of gnomes who are invisible to most people except one special boy who can see and speak to them. It sounds corny, I know, but they did an excellent job. My idea is that Charles, who is alone on his walk, has been saved by gnomes.
Source: Pakten
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First Commenter:
Anita
anitamombanita
of
Lovin' Life
Anita's Saturday Centus 89 - The Mountain Road Part II
To visit other SC-posts please go to this site or click on the image below:
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Here are Mrs. Jenny Matlock's instructions:
Welcome to week eighty-nine of Saturday Centus.
I am having a wicked time visiting blogs for some reason. Hopefully blogger will be more cooperative over the weekend.
So...
Last week we tried using the cliffhanger literary device...
...and hopefully you literally left us hanging.
There is no official prompt this week. Just a continuation of last weeks story.
...and because I want to challenge you AGAIN...
What about if we do the conclusion in fifty words.
Yes.
Five zero.
I was going to do ten but I thought you'd all throw a revolt.
So...
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