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Ф. Гарсиа Лорка о колыбельных
Категория: В помощь поэту
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Лекция Ф. Гарсиа Лорки о колыбельных. Спасибо за наводку нашему автору Жене Стрелец (Age Rise).
 

Добавил: Lorenzia
Эльвира Барякина о диалогах в романе
Категория: В помощь писателю
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Диалоги — это одно из самых проблемных мест в рукописях начинающих писателей. Как всегда, наиболее распространенная ошибка — это избыточность: ненужные описания, ненужные реплики, ненужные «украшательства». В диалогах особенно важно соблюдать принцип «Краткость — сестра таланта». Помните, что несколько лишних слов могут сделать разговор героев вялым или смехотворно вычурным.

Рассмотрим типичные ошибки...

Добавил: Lorenzia
Темп произведения
Категория: В помощь писателю
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"Ваша книга кажется слишком затянутой" или "В вашей книге все делается "галопом по Европам"" -- это приговор чуть ли не 90 % отвергнутых рукописей. Писатель перечитывает свое произведение и никак не возьмет в толк, в чем дело. 


Речь идет вот о чем...

Добавил: Lorenzia

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Соцопрос

Сова или жаворонок? (Ваш биоритм)
1. Сова
2. Жаворонок
3. Голубь
Всего ответов: 70

Проза

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The love of my life

 

Every day, every night

You alone

You’re the love of my life

Dave Matthews


- I first saw her three years ago, on a subway. It was a plain and unremarkable day. Still, doesn’t matter. The main thing is that morning brought to my life that controversial and scary feeling, pain, doubt, and most importantly – the thing I had to decide on was beyond me. When someone trusts you, opens up the depths of one’s soul, it is hard to know what to do with it – either to seal it in the memory, or to use and betray the trust placed in you. On that day, as always here in New York, smog and crowd reigned. Stoically enduring all that is inherent to the large masses of people, I was patiently waiting until a slow measured voice announced the end of this unpleasant morning procedure. Instead, a people wave rushed past me, carrying two girlfriends, who were enthusiastically chatting about something. I could not make a proper impression of the first one as I saw her from the back. The other recovered her breath after an unequal fight with the crowd and dragged the unconscious gaze through the hemisphere in front of her. I stared her in the eye, and she stared back. She was the most beautiful creature ever encountered by me. I’m not lying. Every single one possesses some beauty, sympathy, fascination, charm and marvel, but it is usual that one thing dominates. The most remarkable feature about her were her eyes, like two bright topazes illuminating so intensely that it seemed as if that blue light-emitting color covered her eye entirely. The effect was intensified by her ashen skin, symmetrical facial features, slightly opened sensual mouth and the falling tiara of her blonde hair. She was seducing my heart with those icy glass eyes of hers, scorching with coldness, though inviting. She got out two stations later, but not before she had inserted in my open palm the ten digits she clawed on a sheet of her scrapbook.

 

She was perfect. But as I never saw her smile, I concluded she kept a secret to unravel the mystery of which I could not manage. She always was quiet and calm and sensible, and smart. We spent the little time we had enjoying each other's company. She was not emotional, on the contrary, she seldom laughed, and, I saw much oftener a seal of peace on her face. Guess she loved me. No, I know for sure. And she trusted me. Not entirely, but I never insisted on full openness.


The course of time significantly changed everything. I acquired a house of mine, so I asked her one day to move together. She agreed, smiling with her glowing cold eyes rather than lips. A two-week trip to Puerto Rico was also agreed upon. She never stayed at my place before that for more than two days. I was happy to spend so many hours by her side. She also seemed like it. But on the eve of leaving she grew noticeably nervous. Well, nervous is not the word. She strived to say something, and I had a feeling it had to be something important both for her and for me. But she could not go for it. Again, I did not insist, believing that the time would come.  Finally, a few minutes before the time zero that we had to go to the airport, she came up to me so hesitantly, and gently placed her hand on my shoulder.


Hey, she says, I need to tell you something.
I eagerly respond.
Something important, she says.
Okay, I answer
About me, she continues.


I firmly put her by my side. I sat down on right in front of her, revealing to her that my whole being was all ears, although on the inside I trembled and shaped up. I had no idea that she wanted to convey, was, internally of course, shocked and went through all the options, willing to accept any truth for the sake of it. Frankly, I was afraid to listen to her. Well, of course, it could have been any nonsense, which is so often a matter of importance in the world we live in.

 

She pleads, I'll tell you something, and you yourself decide, whether we'll go or not.
I nod
An awkward silence was drawn.

I'm sick. I'm an addict. It is beyond me, she blurts it all out and closes her eyes. Sighs.

 

I pull myself up not to reply immediately with those empty the encouraging words that slip off the tongue in such moments.
Assuming the main thing had been said, I just took her hand, and wanted to utter something like hey, together we make it, as she puts her finger to my lip and whispers.

 

I do not want this, she says, but I regularly need a dose.
I understand, I respond.
You do not seem to understand, sadly she replies.


Silence hit again. I looked at her arms. There were no trace of injections.


What is it that you do, I ask her.


For the first time since the beginning of the convo, these topaz eyes met mine, and I saw them fighting pain and fear, how much it costs to give away this little secret.


She replies plainly in a hollow metallic voice, I kill.
I got petrified.
I stopped following her, and but she still kept right on,

 

I kill at night. Once or twice a month something wakes up inside of me. So I get dressed up and go out. I do not know what drives me, you know. I tried to fight it, I choked on sleeping pills, I shot sedatives, I did what I could. But it's stronger than me. I chose my victims I do not know how, and kill with whatever is at hand.



It broke through her, and it was terrible – she was enjoying every word she articulated.

 


I like it. Well, rather, I do not like. But there so much euphoria. 
Like narcotics. This is my heroin. My curse. As if I am no longer myself. Nothing hints on me, I never arouse suspicions. I guess I am sick. You've never seen it yet, but listen. I do not know if I can control myself and not to leave at night over the next two weeks. I just have no clue.

 


Tears rolled down her cheeks so I gently hugged her. We both were sucked out and terrified.
However, the two weeks passed quietly, joyfully, peacefully and pleasantly. 
She never showed any signs of her malady ....

 

I sleep light, that’s why I am sure - she never escaped the room out at night. I do not know what it cost her. We were good together and we were happy as ever. So on the last full day before leaving, early in the morning while I was dressing for breakfast, I heard her sparse voice, the police are here.


I was taken aback and glanced at her. She was also perplexed, I swear. We stood still, until a commanding knock at the door woke us up from the slumber.

 

Who is that, I shout. 

 

I was told that as soon as we were ready, we were asked to go to the main lobby. The officer retired, and I, holding her hand in alarm and bewilderment, patiently waited for ten minutes. Off we went.
The picture calmed us down - there were too many people lined up in four lanes, quite a number of police officers was busy typing. My turn came. I relayed my name, date of birth, dates of arrival and departure, and where I was last night from 12 to 4 am, what I did and if someone could confirm this. Then I waited for her. She seemed calm about everything, they did not ask her about anything particular too. 
I inferred that it all was about some robbery as I overheard the police conversation about a brutal triple murder.


Soon, we were dismissed. We went to our room, and I looked at her with a silent question, horrified. She just shook her head. I believed her, but the seeds of suspicion have been sewn. She got it. The next day we flew home. A week later she finally moved to my place.


I loved her very much, honestly.
The more I adored her, the more her tears resonated in me a with a dull pain. 
She would often lie beside me and silently weep. I would pretend not to notice. What on earth could I do? What could I say? I tearlessly wept along. And sometimes she would smile in her sleep. It was so wonderful that she was dreaming peacefully with her face illuminated by a naive, but such a happy grin.


I had absolutely no idea what had to be done.


Ah, yes. She would go out at night ... and come just before dawn. 
From time to time. It was becoming substantially rare. But every time she returned she would lock herself for hours in the bathroom. I do not know what she was doing. My guess would be, praying and crying. And then she would share a breakfast with me. Nothing disturbed the silence, and her face was kind of apologetic, as if of a prankster girl. Can you understand? A couple of hours ago, she screwed a coach bolt into someone’s brain, or broke someone’s larynx with the tip of her fingers, and later, sat with an air of an infant!


Hell no, she was aware of that even better than I was. And it hurt. I remember those nights when she would stay, when she got up, dressed up, I heard a click of a the door lock ... and a couple of minutes later, the sound of the key turning in an opposite direction. 
And so she came back into the room, bathing in sweat, so pale and trembling, and sat in the corner of the bedroom, taking her head in her hands.
Pathetic being, she struggled with herself, struggled the best she could, and when her own self was defeated, her face would glow in a warming smile. And during those fights I thought her heart was hemorrhaging with life itself.


It was hard on me too. At night, when she was there, I either was happy she was around, or could not sleep because of her sufferings. And when she would leave, I would flip. I was so afraid of losing her, I was so afraid that she would not come back, that I could not see her again. 
I was so eager to look into her eyes during those moments. And with that feeling I also thought myself to be a silent accomplice, an accomplice of all her crimes.


No, I never tried to force her to stay. It just never occurred to me. She probably would have killed me ... I do not know.


I could not leave her either, I knew she trusted me, she needed me ...
Though, seldom, when she was next to me, I wished she was not there! I wanted her to disappear.
But I was so much in love. And I said nothing ...
What should I have done? Either rat her out or be silent, betray the one who loved me, ditch her, and crush her, throw under the bus ...


I could not do it, even knowing that she punctuates lives of people who had their own desires, dreams, aspirations, that the broken doll in a body bag, was, in fact, hurrying  home, carrying some gifts for children ...


Still, I could not, because she trusted me. She stood up and told me. And if I wanted to give her away, I had to do it at the very moment of her confession. But I did not do anything, I was hoping that our love would withstand it all no matter what.


And yes, I regretted it, regretted a thousand times.
And sometimes would not think about it at all. Under no conditions could I betray her love for me. And she loved me tenderly and truly. Listen, we were so wonderfully spending time together.
Ice cream made her tick. Chocolate one, especially. We would always have our freezer stocked. She loved the fall, would collect maple leaves, make a bouquet out of them ... She was so human!


And sometimes I felt so dreadful.
I kept silence, but every time I passed a police station, I looked at it as if hypnotized. I even dropped by a couple of times. But I always stranded away not daring to speak. I did not know what to do. I still have no idea what I was supposed to do.
It was all beyond me. I did not want to lose her, and at the very same time  longed her to disappear, I loved and hated her, I was afraid both for her and for myself ...
I was so devastated and destroyed by her, by myself. I do not know ... Oh God, I do not know ...


I am done, Your Honor.




  - Thank you, defendant. You may be seated. Miss Elliott murder hearing will continue after a short recess.

 

Категория: Рассказ | Добавил: alexlayton (02.11.2010)
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