Post by Athena on Dec 22, 2007 15:05:02 GMT -5
Name: Novel (no, it's not my real name)
Age: 15
Location: Florida
How long have you been rping: Not sure exactly. Three years, at a guess.
Favourite Thing: Books?
Way for me to contact you: Over e-mail: canary_323@yahoo.com
Roleplay Sample:
She pulled open the door, and her favorite smell in the world washed over her on the cool zephyr that emerged from the library.
She didn't exactly know how to describe the scent of a library except that it smelled like library. No other place in the world smelled just the same as that to Iris. The beeping of a book being checked in or out was as soothing to her as a lullaby might be to another.
It might almost be accurate to say that she worshipped at the altar of literature. Her bookshelf at home was nearly filled to bursting with books and still she hungered for more. The library, therefore, was the perfect place for her. Her interests lay for the most part in the past. Historical fiction had been her first love when she had begun to read chapter books. Strange as it may seem, the interest that had overridden that later was a renewed interest in the fairytales she had been told as a child. Rooting through her childhood books, urged by her father to get rid of some as she would probably never read them again, she had stumbled upon a beautifully illustrated telling of Rapunzel that she had forgotten about until then. As she turned the pages, a memory had come to mind of one rainy day in the time when an hour had seemed a long time and yet the passing of the days had meant very little to her. Cozy, leaning against her mother, her light brown locks mixing with her mother's red ones, she had been lulled by the sound of her mother's voice and drawn in by the scenes portrayed on the glossy pages next to the then-meaningless characters that somehow told her mother the story of the poor girl locked away in a tower.
It was her mother who shared Iris's love of books, who had read to her and later patiently helped Iris to decipher the funny black marks that so fascinated both of them. Iris still remembered the book she had first read on her own, the task seeming long to her five-year-old self; it was called Do Not Open and still held a place of honor on her bookshelf. It had been her mother who had taken her to the library, two blocks west and one block north from Iris's house, to get her first library card.
The ranks of her preferences had swelled since the finding of that book. She had learned some Greek mythology in school, then found an old copy of Bullfinch's Age of Fable at her house and read further into it (and had been delighted to find that Iris, a name she had thought was rather boring, was the name of the gods' messenger.) The parts towards the end about the mythologies of other places had largely bored her, except for the Norse mythology. This had led to the subsequent purchase of D'Aulaires' Book of Norse Myths. She read books involving these mythologies when she could find them, but there weren't many that she'd yet found. Luckily for her, she had stumbled upon retellings of fairytales, which had blossomed into a liking for books set in medieval times, especial fantasy. Poems didn't often hold her interest--something about seeing the lines all broken up put her off--but she could brave Tennyson and had a special liking for the comical poems Lewis Carroll had in his books.
Now she progressed into the library, waving to the librarians as she approached them. She had a sudden urge to say "hello, my good bard," but restrained herself out of shyness and the fact that, once examined, the remark would have sounded stupid in her timid voice. She fiddled nervously with the right earpiece of her glasses, as her hair was kept sensibly in a bun and unavailable for the exercising of nervous habits on it.
"Um. Out of curiosity, do you have any recommendations for books involving myths of any sort?" She was supposed to be hurrying, and picky read that she was, she often took a long time to found what she wanted, especially as she read things from both the Young Adult and regular fiction sections. She was half-hoping the oddly-dressed librarian she had adressed would have no recommendations. The reason she was to make haste was so that she could go shopping with her aunt, who had a very particular timetable--meaning that if Iris didn't get in the car within five minutes after she had honked the horn, then she was going to be left behind. As an almost cripplingly shy seventeen-year-old bibliophile, she detested shopping.
Is it an Intro or Post: An introduction
Average post length: Not certain--I don't really count. Usually a few paragraphs, I think.
Age: 15
Location: Florida
How long have you been rping: Not sure exactly. Three years, at a guess.
Favourite Thing: Books?
Way for me to contact you: Over e-mail: canary_323@yahoo.com
Roleplay Sample:
She pulled open the door, and her favorite smell in the world washed over her on the cool zephyr that emerged from the library.
She didn't exactly know how to describe the scent of a library except that it smelled like library. No other place in the world smelled just the same as that to Iris. The beeping of a book being checked in or out was as soothing to her as a lullaby might be to another.
It might almost be accurate to say that she worshipped at the altar of literature. Her bookshelf at home was nearly filled to bursting with books and still she hungered for more. The library, therefore, was the perfect place for her. Her interests lay for the most part in the past. Historical fiction had been her first love when she had begun to read chapter books. Strange as it may seem, the interest that had overridden that later was a renewed interest in the fairytales she had been told as a child. Rooting through her childhood books, urged by her father to get rid of some as she would probably never read them again, she had stumbled upon a beautifully illustrated telling of Rapunzel that she had forgotten about until then. As she turned the pages, a memory had come to mind of one rainy day in the time when an hour had seemed a long time and yet the passing of the days had meant very little to her. Cozy, leaning against her mother, her light brown locks mixing with her mother's red ones, she had been lulled by the sound of her mother's voice and drawn in by the scenes portrayed on the glossy pages next to the then-meaningless characters that somehow told her mother the story of the poor girl locked away in a tower.
It was her mother who shared Iris's love of books, who had read to her and later patiently helped Iris to decipher the funny black marks that so fascinated both of them. Iris still remembered the book she had first read on her own, the task seeming long to her five-year-old self; it was called Do Not Open and still held a place of honor on her bookshelf. It had been her mother who had taken her to the library, two blocks west and one block north from Iris's house, to get her first library card.
The ranks of her preferences had swelled since the finding of that book. She had learned some Greek mythology in school, then found an old copy of Bullfinch's Age of Fable at her house and read further into it (and had been delighted to find that Iris, a name she had thought was rather boring, was the name of the gods' messenger.) The parts towards the end about the mythologies of other places had largely bored her, except for the Norse mythology. This had led to the subsequent purchase of D'Aulaires' Book of Norse Myths. She read books involving these mythologies when she could find them, but there weren't many that she'd yet found. Luckily for her, she had stumbled upon retellings of fairytales, which had blossomed into a liking for books set in medieval times, especial fantasy. Poems didn't often hold her interest--something about seeing the lines all broken up put her off--but she could brave Tennyson and had a special liking for the comical poems Lewis Carroll had in his books.
Now she progressed into the library, waving to the librarians as she approached them. She had a sudden urge to say "hello, my good bard," but restrained herself out of shyness and the fact that, once examined, the remark would have sounded stupid in her timid voice. She fiddled nervously with the right earpiece of her glasses, as her hair was kept sensibly in a bun and unavailable for the exercising of nervous habits on it.
"Um. Out of curiosity, do you have any recommendations for books involving myths of any sort?" She was supposed to be hurrying, and picky read that she was, she often took a long time to found what she wanted, especially as she read things from both the Young Adult and regular fiction sections. She was half-hoping the oddly-dressed librarian she had adressed would have no recommendations. The reason she was to make haste was so that she could go shopping with her aunt, who had a very particular timetable--meaning that if Iris didn't get in the car within five minutes after she had honked the horn, then she was going to be left behind. As an almost cripplingly shy seventeen-year-old bibliophile, she detested shopping.
Is it an Intro or Post: An introduction
Average post length: Not certain--I don't really count. Usually a few paragraphs, I think.
