Chromatic Compositions

It's been a very long time since I've been excited over an English assignment, haha. x] My very last English essay of this year, and my teacher has permitted us a creative writing option, where I have much more free rein! :D I'm so happy(: I have to do it on the play A Doll's House (Et dukkehjem in Norwegian) by Henrik Ibsen. My feelings on it are rather neutral, but I can't say I detested it, I suppose. x]]]

The three act play tells the story of Nora and Torvald Helmer and is set in the same room the entire time. It has been hailed as a feminist play, though Ibsen had not intentionally meant for it to be taken that way. He had written it for a female friend of his, to encourage her to be strong and independent, I believe. He conveys the societal norms of marriage and family life in Norway, and one can clearly see the strong chauvinistic views of Norwegian men, as well as how easily women simply accept it as the way of life. For example, women are not permitted to sign or hold contracts; that is for the man to handle.

"When I was at home with Papa, he told me his opinion about everything,
and so I had the same opinions; and if I differed from him I concealed the fact, because he would not have liked it. He called me his doll-child, and he played with me just as I used to play with my dolls...I have been your doll-wife, just as at home I was Papa's doll-child; and here the children have been my dolls. I thought it great fun when you played with me, just as they thought it great fun when I played with them. That is what our marriage has been, Torvald."

I won't say too much, but I would love if you would read it to help me out when I post up my piece(s) on dA. :] It's a short read, perhaps a couple hours tops.

On another note, I'm actually in the process of writing a short story for a contest on dA, and funnily enough it has to do with dolls as well :D Be on the lookout for that as well. C:

"When I was a child, I believed that my toys would talk behind my back and have parties while I was away. I’m twenty-five years old, and I still believe that."
~"What a Doll"

Not a star could be seen in the pitch black night sky. I purse my lips broodingly and stare absently at the blinking cursor on the screen before me.

Just try to think of another word to type, it leers. I dare you.

My expression sours, cursing that small flashing line of mere pixels. How does something as simple as a line dictate and take complete hold of my mind?

I tap my pencil against my notebook listlessly, not in the mood to listen to my teacher lecture today. I could feel myself falling into a haze, soon getting caught up in the world of one of my characters. Like the artist in front of a block of marble, I chipped away at the unnecessary bits, coming closer and closer to my target.

If I want to get good grades, it would be best for me to stop dreaming, I realize shortly. I fall back down to Earth with a disappointed smile. Time to start studying again.


_{(This lovely little stamp can be found here, created by vamptasticA.)}

Ah, the life of a young writer. School is really nothing but a hindrance to one's art.

Somehow, in between the chaos of starting a new semester and shifting around the knives I've been juggling, I've actually made some headway on my story. I've gotten over 2000 words on it now.

When I first started sketching out this story, I had a faint outline of what was to come. I essentially had the characters vividly drawn out and a barely there skeleton of a plotline. I thought that it was going to be an easy oneshot that I could crank out in one sitting, in a couple hours, tops.

I never anticipated it to take so much time. But even beyond that, I never expected to be so in love with this story. I would close my eyes and suddenly I was seeing through the eyes of "Jonathan" (the protagonist's temporary name) - I cringed at the pain he experienced, I began to map out my suddenly unfamiliar surroundings in a daze. A self-satisfied smirk settled itself on my face, uninvited. These feelings weren't mine. Suddenly I was that rebellious teenage boy who did as he pleased, dumped in a new environment.

I really love this story. Once the next plot bunny to progress it hits me, I feel really happy to start spinning this yarn. This may turn out that it necessitates being split into two chapters. Maybe even three.

NaNoWriMo (International Novel Writing Month) was a daring and crazy thing for me to take on; I still can't really believe I conquered it. That was most definitely what solidified my love for the written word. Now, thanks to Miss cinnamon-quill and many other fantastic deviants, I've become a stronger and more prolific writer than ever before.

<3

For one moment, Jonathan's curled simper is my own as I sneer at the blinking cursor. Just try and stop me.

This is it.

This is how it should be.

This is the life.