can't write without coffee..
before I start my write about it session of the week, I thought you’d find this interesting and ironic.. my favorite coffee cup is a united states coast guard cup my dad brought with him off of one of the ships he was on. hm, I guess I should get an army one so I’m not cheating on my branch with the uscg. (:
alright, on to business. this is the second write about it, and since last week was kinda therapeutic, I’ve no problem committing twenty minutes of my time to the cause today. I had an idea for a book a while back on my way home from psych class, (let’s face it, I was daydreaming through most of class anyways), but I’ve never really taken the time to flesh out any of the characters. I’ll give you a vague idea of the plot, but today i’m mostly just going to play around with some character sketches.
plot: it’s sometime in the future, and the entire world is under one collective government. in this future, people are books, and live in libraries. they can get “borrowed,” and they recite the contents of the book they were born to represent. when they’re not checked out, they’re just like regular people, and they live communally in libraries around the world. as a result of these “talking books,” everyone but members of the government have lost the ability to read, and the gov’t has destroyed lots of think-for-yourself books. later, when the gov’t realized it was even harder to control people instead of books, they begin putting books back on paper and killing the people books, going even further with their censoring. there’s a rebellion (when isn’t there?), and it’s just begun as a small baby girl is left on the steps of a library. The head librarian, against all protocol and law, takes her in. she grows up amongst the books, and fights alongside the rebellion. yeah, it’s rough, I know. I’m gonna toy with what she looks like, what she likes, what she thinks, etc. forgive me, it’ll be scattered and rough, but so is all literature in its infancy.
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Her hair was such a light yellow it was nearly white. The older Books liked to say it looked like parchment, and the younger ones didn’t care what it most closely resembled, but they loved seeing its contrast against the darkness of their own. She kept it wrapped, mostly, even in the Library. It didn’t help much that her skin was dark. Not black, no, but not the usual shade of brown either. She wasn’t olive tinted, nor red. Her skin was a creamy, chocolaty brown. Pure as anyone ever saw nowadays, even though they still insisted on calling her a mutt. She wished she could change things, sometimes, blend in better. But she never hated herself; never hated the colors that defined her, the words that matured her speech far beyond an average orphan’s, or the great walls that made up her home–so different from the rest.
Today she was out, at the behest of the Librarian, and felt her skin crawl with every light-footed step. Head down, hair wrapped tight, she traced a path so familiar it should have worn into the ground years ago. Nothing ever wore the steel ground down, though. She was thinking of the carpet in the Reading Room, and the beautiful hardwood in the Librarian’s quarters. Her mind was always caught in memories, daydreams, and heavy-handed contemplations. Often, it got her into trouble. She managed the walk today without trouble, and was almost optimistic as she crossed the threshold of the town’s chemist. Raven had hurt himself again, said the Librarian, he’s such a clumsy man.
time’s up. I love writing. (:
[...] week 2 [...]