New change of plans

For those rare chaps who stumble upon this blog on any fancy whim, listen up. From now on due to literary reasons, and by literary reasons for my own writer career, nothing that I am planning to give to writer contests or journals are going to be put on this blog. its just going to be my dream posts, or just whimsical things in my head. On a better note for this I am going to write down something cool. There is this girl I met called Danielle, and I saw her, and had she been made up of ink and words I would have fell in love with her on the spot. So i tried to recreate her as much as possible.

She had walked out of the noir genre and right into my sights. It wasn’t the black coat which hung on her, in a way only a boyfriend or her brother could have shouldered her with. She could have nothing but pale bare skin underneath that coat and I wouldn’t have cared. It was her face, the way it made so gorgeously on that fair damsel face that made her such a literary character. It was good standard, that made her up. From the blue blue eyes, the full flat curvature of her forehead made rectangle by the cut of her blondish hair, which hung like fishing lines, drawing drapery on her.  Yet she wasn’t the femme fatale with the red dress, a flowery dalliance and needy. Her face put out her best she could offer, her hands offered what was sacrificed. Spindly knuckles, that stretched the skin, white, dirtied by each nick and blotch like the opposite of ebony. Yet she wasn’t that Spade assistant, who did things that women were good for, perky and pert with a pair of horn-rimmed glasses on the balancing act. She was the character child between the distilled perspective of dame and doll that was that woman. She was the good woman, not adequate, nor gorgeous, nor simple. She did not have that beguiling detail, that little flash of her eyes of infinite colours or the way she smiled, making such details greater than others. No what she had was an independence away from all inherited traits. She was character independent of her own, that common goodness which brought stability for nothing of her was lacking. She was the last women that men married the widower of the too eager first. Not of her control just the characteristics of her persona. The kind of character I love.