How to write like a writerAnna-Lousie-Mary-Sakura-Bella was a girl with too many dreams.
she battered her eyelashes, closed and opened her eyes quickly and blinked several times.
Barry-Axel-Yuki-Edward was a manly man of utmost manliness.
he flexed his muscles and made manly movements with his arms
and then he met Anna-Lousie-Mary-Sakura-Bella
Anna-Lousie-Mary-Sakura-Bella made his days worth living through.
he tried to catch her sparkley sapphire of beauty and stuff eye.
he wrote his feelings for Anna-Lousie-Mary-Sakura-Bella on a sheet of rose-scented note paper (Though, his writing being quite large, Anna-Lousie-Mary-Sakura-Bella took up most of the page)
and called her when he knew she was not home.
he screamed her name out when he was alone
maybe she wasn't listening
Anna-Lousie-Mary-Sakura-Bella was sitting alone, drawing Canadians up her thigh with a compass
he was reading books by dead russian politicians.
she was close enough to touch, he was close enough to forget
I rememberI remember, not very long ago, waking up to the crisp morning sun and the sensation of warmth under blankets.
And I remembered the daunting truth - I had to go to college today.
I remember heaving myself to my feet and wading through the sea of mess engulfing my bedroom floor, and musing the pleasures of declaring "Fuck the day," and seeking refuge in the comfort of my bedclothes.
Cursed conciense. Has to ruin every bloody morning.
I let my hand search for my glasses amongst the cluttered shelves and made the daily trek downstairs. Oh bliss. No siblings awake to fight for computer rights. I remember instinctively opening my email and, I'm assuming here, deleting something of utmost importance. Next on the agenda - kitchen.
My English senses were tingling - calling me to the teapot and, after that hellish five minute wait - tea. Ah, bliss.
Wait, up before my siblings? That didn't seem right. I checked the clock. Quarter to nine.
I was late.
3 Point of view studiesA) 1st person, Present tense:
"Well, it's just cartoons, isn't it?"
"No," did she even read the things I handed in?
"I mean, these are just concepts - ideas- for the costumes."
I hate it. I loath and detest it with all my being. The way she just trails off like that. She sounds like a social worker or something.
She rises - She's allowed yo sit on the table, you see. But we're not. Oh no - and I revert my attention to my artistic genius spread on the table before me.
That God-awful, patronising voice again;
"So what's this done in? Pen?"
No, it's not pen, you imbecile. You're an art teacher and you can't distinguish between two hugely different mediums?
"Ehm, no, it's watercolour,"
I indicate to the palette and water pot on the table. You know, the one's I'm using right now.
B) 3rd person, Past tense (Limited to one person's thoughts though)
It wasn't exactly realism. Figures though. That's a start. She did so like her figure drawing. Who didn't? She smiled as she conte