Finally ,I have crossed the line of childhood. I am now,officially and legally, seen as a young adult.Gone are the disrespectful punishments and humiliation for honesty and opinion-I am entitled to my thoughts, my freedom and belief.
I am very much against modern societies laws and ettiquette.Dull, long hours of sincere, unwanted polite silence, snooty views of 'class' and 'culture' not to mention our unmentionably english mannerism of judging those who are different or opposing our opinion, be it right or wrong, as utterly wrong and therefore the poor victim in question should be treated as inferior and cut off from all society.
As I grew up listening quietly to my mother's social circle's sharp tongues and vicious, irratable attitude to any unfortunate woman who happened to stumble into their view in the wrong dress, you can imagine the nonsense and ridicule I heard while behind the curtains in the drawing room.
I can vividly remember my mother telling me about her sister's unfortunate encounter with her husband's parents.She had been about twenty, and had gone with her fiance to meet his parents. When asked how many estates her parent's owned, she replied, extremely foolishly, that it was none of their concern and she would hope, in today's society, her husband would love her no matter what her position in society was.I dread to think of the bitter consequences.
On another matter, I would like to reply to one of my comments on the previous statment.I utterly agree. When I write, it is impossible to explain the thrill and utter terror I feel as I create the passion between characters.It is, I suppose, like contolling the strings of puppets on a huge and impossible stage.
While I am in complete control, It is like I am observing the events from a perfect view, feeling the pain and the love between the characters. I love writing-nothing is more enjoyable to me than spending an hour or two writing a dark and passionate chapter.
Jealousy is all but published- I am working on the cover design as I speak. Iit took a lot of time and effort-but it was hugely enjoyable to write and the comments and replies I am recieving is truly extraordinary.
Thank you to all my supportive friends and collegues who have stood by me all the way thorough out this story.I will continue to update you on it's success.
Yours Faithfully,
Madelaine Lucie Hanson
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
Saturday, 13 February 2010
I almost forgot!I am 14 soon-on the 23rd to be exact.It all seems so long ago-doing ridiculous things you could only get away with when you were very young-dancing in the snow bare foot in the middle of the night, climbing a tree in the long-forgotten summer just so you can see over the village, pretending the willow trees were palaces of wicked spirits and frightening yourself so much you refused to go near them for well over a year...
It sounds very strange to look back at these events as if they happened well over a century ago-but for me it really does feel like that-In today's hectic logical world I feel supressed into a world of facts and exams-numbers and the bitter cold of this long winter seem to be all I can think about.
I suppose that's why I write. To escape from the world I live in and create the exitement and beauty of the world I remember.Ever since I can remember I have been dreaming up wild tales of magic and treachery.
I can vividly remember a girl called Anna-Clare.She lived in Cambridge, and every day after school we would go to the common and play by the bridge in the poppies and long grass, watching the punters come past, thinking up stories of dragons and fairies, and hiding in the flowers.
Now I think about it, we were very dark children. Instead of ending our stories happily, the characters would die horribly. We refused to let anyone overhear or join in our games-we prefered to imagine the characters-free to murder and destroy.The lovers in our story were cruelly parted-either the died tragically,were kep apart through society or cursed never to meet again.The evil socerer would always suceed- they won their innocent bride or got their revenge on the person they had vowed. Strangely, we very rarely looked on the unfortunate characters with pity.
I can also remember one character very strongly-his name appears in our stories many times. Vinido. He was a wicked sorcerer who could possess the souls of any one- exept the woman he loved. This drove him to insanity-and he swore that no man that could ever possess her love would ever escape his wrath.
O well, I shall live in the future.
It sounds very strange to look back at these events as if they happened well over a century ago-but for me it really does feel like that-In today's hectic logical world I feel supressed into a world of facts and exams-numbers and the bitter cold of this long winter seem to be all I can think about.
I suppose that's why I write. To escape from the world I live in and create the exitement and beauty of the world I remember.Ever since I can remember I have been dreaming up wild tales of magic and treachery.
I can vividly remember a girl called Anna-Clare.She lived in Cambridge, and every day after school we would go to the common and play by the bridge in the poppies and long grass, watching the punters come past, thinking up stories of dragons and fairies, and hiding in the flowers.
Now I think about it, we were very dark children. Instead of ending our stories happily, the characters would die horribly. We refused to let anyone overhear or join in our games-we prefered to imagine the characters-free to murder and destroy.The lovers in our story were cruelly parted-either the died tragically,were kep apart through society or cursed never to meet again.The evil socerer would always suceed- they won their innocent bride or got their revenge on the person they had vowed. Strangely, we very rarely looked on the unfortunate characters with pity.
I can also remember one character very strongly-his name appears in our stories many times. Vinido. He was a wicked sorcerer who could possess the souls of any one- exept the woman he loved. This drove him to insanity-and he swore that no man that could ever possess her love would ever escape his wrath.
O well, I shall live in the future.
Sorry it's been so long....
Sorry I have not written lately. A mix of family issues and work is my excuse-but you will be glad to know I have been working long, hard hours on the book as promised! I became deeply worried when I realised I didn't know how to end the book. But, after deep thought and support of my friends, I have come to a final desicion.
My apologies for keeping you waiting!I shall update you on Jealousy as soon as I have the publishing rights.For the time being, I have decided to open this story, The fire that roars, to the public.I hope it lives up to your expectations!
Yours Sincerely
Madelaine-Lucie Hanson
Chapter 1
Running from Death
The wind seemed cold that night. The frosted ground shimmered as the last candle blew out for the last time,the glow dying softly as the sunset faded. The bitter snowflakes fell to the ground, beautiful-yet so heartless and selfish.
Twilight had come, spreading her dusky cloak of rich cobalt far across the last burning flames of the sunset. Slowly, she began to embroider the first stars of the night. The scarlet clouds parted, the moon glimmered in the stars, longing for hope.
I had run so far from the city I had loved. Every footstep had echoed on the cobbles, every street darker and narrower than the last.I ran for my life, out of Paris's gates and along the river, away from the sorrow, the fear and the constant flow of tears.
My own sister had died to Paris's mistress, Madame Guillotine. I can still hear her fading screams and pleads,sobbing bitterly for this cruelty to end. Desperately, she had turned to me. "Marie!" she had screamed. "Help me please!I beg you! Please! I dont want to die!"Her words turned to a hollow moan,as the executioner raised the blade.The man pulled off her bonnet,revealing her shaved head to the crowd. They jeered selfishly,glad it was not them on the gibbet.For that awful moment, I saw what they truly were-row after row of innocent cowards being led to the blade by the cruelest of men.
My father ran forward to the guillotine, screaming in agony and fear. "My daughter!"He cried, rushing to the trembling Vienne. He was pushed into the crowd,and knocked to the ground by a huge,hideous guard ,with a vast cockade on his bulbous head.
"Vienne Invoute, you are here by sentenced to death by guillotine, for the crime of aiding and abetting the escape of Sir Pierre Jervaise, A deserter and enemy to the great revolution..."I could not hear the sentence I was so overcome with fury.
I ran to him, shaking with anger. "You monster!"I cried. He sneered down at me, his hand raised.Without thinking, I hit him hard, sending him flying backwards.The crowd stirred, before looking down in shock at the huge man.
"I hate you!"I sobbed. "I hate Paris.Everyone of you is drenched in the blood of innocent people. The walls of even the great cathederal are red with blood. The seine is flowing with lies, deceit and murder! Yet you continue to murder in the name of justice! My sister is going to die for the man she loved!"I cried.This moved the crowd, as they looked at m uneasily.
Suddenly, the man stirred. "Kill the girl!"He roared. "She is a traitor to the great cause!"The crowd turned, their faces black with the undying thirst for blood.That was when I ran.The roar grew louder, and I nearly fell down. I ran on and on, into the wilderness of a broken city.
I left my sister on her own death
And I keep running.
My apologies for keeping you waiting!I shall update you on Jealousy as soon as I have the publishing rights.For the time being, I have decided to open this story, The fire that roars, to the public.I hope it lives up to your expectations!
Yours Sincerely
Madelaine-Lucie Hanson
Chapter 1
Running from Death
The wind seemed cold that night. The frosted ground shimmered as the last candle blew out for the last time,the glow dying softly as the sunset faded. The bitter snowflakes fell to the ground, beautiful-yet so heartless and selfish.
Twilight had come, spreading her dusky cloak of rich cobalt far across the last burning flames of the sunset. Slowly, she began to embroider the first stars of the night. The scarlet clouds parted, the moon glimmered in the stars, longing for hope.
I had run so far from the city I had loved. Every footstep had echoed on the cobbles, every street darker and narrower than the last.I ran for my life, out of Paris's gates and along the river, away from the sorrow, the fear and the constant flow of tears.
My own sister had died to Paris's mistress, Madame Guillotine. I can still hear her fading screams and pleads,sobbing bitterly for this cruelty to end. Desperately, she had turned to me. "Marie!" she had screamed. "Help me please!I beg you! Please! I dont want to die!"Her words turned to a hollow moan,as the executioner raised the blade.The man pulled off her bonnet,revealing her shaved head to the crowd. They jeered selfishly,glad it was not them on the gibbet.For that awful moment, I saw what they truly were-row after row of innocent cowards being led to the blade by the cruelest of men.
My father ran forward to the guillotine, screaming in agony and fear. "My daughter!"He cried, rushing to the trembling Vienne. He was pushed into the crowd,and knocked to the ground by a huge,hideous guard ,with a vast cockade on his bulbous head.
"Vienne Invoute, you are here by sentenced to death by guillotine, for the crime of aiding and abetting the escape of Sir Pierre Jervaise, A deserter and enemy to the great revolution..."I could not hear the sentence I was so overcome with fury.
I ran to him, shaking with anger. "You monster!"I cried. He sneered down at me, his hand raised.Without thinking, I hit him hard, sending him flying backwards.The crowd stirred, before looking down in shock at the huge man.
"I hate you!"I sobbed. "I hate Paris.Everyone of you is drenched in the blood of innocent people. The walls of even the great cathederal are red with blood. The seine is flowing with lies, deceit and murder! Yet you continue to murder in the name of justice! My sister is going to die for the man she loved!"I cried.This moved the crowd, as they looked at m uneasily.
Suddenly, the man stirred. "Kill the girl!"He roared. "She is a traitor to the great cause!"The crowd turned, their faces black with the undying thirst for blood.That was when I ran.The roar grew louder, and I nearly fell down. I ran on and on, into the wilderness of a broken city.
I left my sister on her own death
And I keep running.
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