Untitled

[issy2]

First thing I've written in ages so not very successful I imagine. Sorry for the unimaginative title :P Let me know what you thing, improvements, c/c et cetera. Thanks very much and enjoy! Issy.

 

 

 

[hide=]The diary lay before me on the table, radiating temptation. The faded leather cover was covered in stratches and dents, proof of how unfailing a companion it had been to the author. I shouldnt read it, I knew. I shouldnt even consider it. It was private and privacy needs to be respected.

 

 

 

The weight of temptation is the hardest to bear and easiest to be relieved. With shaking hands I caressed the cover, ran my fingers over its surface, breathed the musty, dusty scent of pages which she had poured her life into. I could taste that life in the air as I turned onto the first page, conscious that, save the author, I was the only person to have ever touched it, to have heard the stirring and rustling of the pages as though impatient to be read.

 

 

 

Enchanted, I began to read.

 

 

 

As I read on the diary evolved, becoming less like a notebook and more and more the only place the author felt able to talk openly, sometimes in desperation, sometimes in good humour, about everything that made up her world. She began to sign her name, as though she was revisiting an old friend with every entry, often noted down quotes or sayings she admired before beginning to talk about herself, and filled pages with jokes, observations, and witticisms.

 

I realised that this was no ordinary diary. The author was quiet and shy, and yet she came to life within these yellowed pages. Or maybe all diaries are like that. Just people, normal people, hiding so much of themselves away because they couldnt share themselves with anyone. As we all do, to some extent.

 

 

 

By the time I reached the end I had forgotten myself, abandoned all pretence of solemnity. Raw emotion, not always negative. Sadness, anger, desperation and despair, yes but hope, affection, bravery and humour; it hit me hard, and I did not know what to do. Her jokes and stories had made me laugh out loud, but now I felt like crying.

 

 

 

And not only because of the shock of reality. She had written these things down in the belief that they would never be read, and I had abused that. I was disgusted with myself, appalled that I had given in to such a basic human instinct, curiousity in the guise of necessity. Moreover, no-one had ever had the time or patience to listen to her, and the world had gone on, barely noticing, let alone stopping to offer a helping hand.

 

 

 

I had been among those who turned away, who never had the time to listen and talk. I wouldnt be like that again, I knew. Because thats all a lot of people need, really. Someone to talk to.

 

 

 

So I shut the diary. The leather covers closed together with a soft, satisfied sound, as though they felt they had done their work. The time had come for the diary to be shut away once more. Maybe in a hundred years time some other would find it hidden away, blow the dust from its cover and be enchanted by the authors touching tale. But for now it would lie in peace. Undisturbed, until it was ready.[/hide]

[Earth_Poet]

Brilliant, descriptive imagery. The only thing I felt was missing was something specific inside the diary. It's hard to share the guilty pleasure with the narrator without having a glimpse for ourselves.

 

 

 

the musty, dusty scent of pages

 

 

 

I don't really like the rhyme. That would be the only criticism I would make. This would make a great short story though if there is just a little more context added to it. I felt it was very well written.

[Nom]

radiating temptation

 

 

 

This might just be me, but that's a bit hazy. Temptation is born in the mind of the one tempted--it's not some external force.

 

 

 

I could taste that life in the air as I turned onto the first page, conscious that, save the author, I was the only person to have ever touched it, to have heard the stirring and rustling of the pages as though impatient to be read.

 

 

 

Is the bolded modifying the pages or the narrator?

 

 

 

I was disgusted with myself, appalled that I had given in to such a basic human instinct, curiousity in the guise of necessity. Moreover, no-one had ever had the time or patience to listen to her, and the world had gone on, barely noticing, let alone stopping to offer a helping hand.

 

 

 

I had been among those who turned away, who never had the time to listen and talk.

 

 

 

I think this could use some fixing up. As it stands, "moreover" is sort of floating there without a firm anchor. If it were to read, "Moreover, I had been among those many who turned away . . ." it would tighten everything up a bit and make the meaning clearer.

 

 

 

I agree with JP that this could make a fantastic short story if you were to explore the contents of the diary, and I would suggest going further. Instead of telling us all of this, let us see snippets of her life, whether through the pages of the diary or the recollections of the narrator, or a combination of both. Show, don't tell. The juxtaposition of her everyday life and the diary would speak for itself.

 

 

 

Of course, I'm a huge character/dialogue writer so I guess you could call me biased, and don't let others write your story for you (NEVER!) but I think it could work really well. It's still pretty good as it stands though.

[issy2]

Thanks very much, comments really welcome : ) I might change one of those two words (musty and dusty) to heady... that fabulous smell of an old book is hard to describe though. I like the meaning of the two words but as you say perhaps the rhyme isn't right.

 

 

 

I definitely agree with you about the 'moreover' thing. 'Impatient to be read' - I'm not sure I fully understand what you're asking but I meant that in the rustling, stirring noises coming from the pages of the diary, there seems to be an impatience about them as though they want to be read. Sorry if that's not very clear, but yes, it's referring to the diary, not the narrator.

 

 

 

I think I will attempt to fill it out a bit with extracts from the diary itself. All I'm concerned about, though, is those extracts not living up to the narrator's description: if it's in the reader's imagination they can take the narrator's word for it about how touching and everything it is. If I provide bits of the diary it might undermine that ... I will give it a go though. Thanks very much guys! : )

[VEGHATERMEATLOVER]

thats really nice.

[Distracted]

Yeah, that was nice, really made me wonder who the author of the diary is; a close friend? An ancestor of the reader? But yeah, if we had some context to put it in, it'd really make it nice.

[issy2]

Thanks hextriplet : )

 

 

 

Yeah, that was nice, really made me wonder who the author of the diary is; a close friend? An ancestor of the reader? But yeah, if we had some context to put it in, it'd really make it nice.

 

 

 

Thankyou. :) I'd originally thought the reader would be her grandchild or great-grandchild, I've changed my mind though. They won't be related but there's a strong emotional connection.

 

 

 

I'm definitely going to add in the story around the diary reading but it might take a while.