Viggo kept a box in his suitcase that he brought with him every single day.
I love the parallelism of this. And I love the simplicity of your storytelling here. It’s more painting portraits than giving the inside scope into your characters’ feelings this time; a more careful, neater, seemingly simpler way of writing, of storytelling that so perfectly reflects both Sean’s and Viggo’s need to keep in control, to keep everything – literally – boxed up.
that it was something almost sacred to Viggo; something he couldn't go anywhere without. Like his paints, like his camera, but infinitely more precious.
Ah, I love the difference in the syntax here, compared to Sean. Viggo searching for words, for adequate words and comparisons and somehow never _really_ hitting it on the head. And then right after, the parallelism regarding the () insertion, though in Viggo’s case they are used for seemingly random straying thoughts (those much safer than the original topic maybe).
He placed this one above a picture of Sean, half in Boromir's clothes, half out. Jeans and tunic and chainmail, his vembraces stark black with the White Tree, striking against the greys of his blue jeans and the smoke curled around his face. Sean was frowning, leaning his shoulder against the wall, his hand lax against his hip as he looked out into the distance. There was a blurriness to his foot as he tapped it, and Viggo could see the impatience of nicotine addiction and his contained frustration in the tendons of his wrists, white against white.
I _love_ that with Viggo it’s things he can see that fascinate him. That at the same time, he _tries_ to capture what he is seeing in words (and somehow fails, however apt his descriptions are, because what the moment meant to him is yet unsaid), whereas Sean takes Viggo’s words and somehow lets himself be captured by them. Lovely bit of difference.
Viggo could not help thinking that time was running out. He should reach out for him; to take a plane to London with his photographs in his suitcase, and find him through the address Sean had written in large, loopy handwriting and which Viggo had placed, almost reverently, in the box.
God, love this entire paragraph. Maybe because Viggo is so hm lavish with words here – such rich descriptions, esp. compared to Sean’s carefulness, even in his thoughts.
no subject
I love the parallelism of this. And I love the simplicity of your storytelling here. It’s more painting portraits than giving the inside scope into your characters’ feelings this time; a more careful, neater, seemingly simpler way of writing, of storytelling that so perfectly reflects both Sean’s and Viggo’s need to keep in control, to keep everything – literally – boxed up.
that it was something almost sacred to Viggo; something he couldn't go anywhere without. Like his paints, like his camera, but infinitely more precious.
Ah, I love the difference in the syntax here, compared to Sean. Viggo searching for words, for adequate words and comparisons and somehow never _really_ hitting it on the head. And then right after, the parallelism regarding the () insertion, though in Viggo’s case they are used for seemingly random straying thoughts (those much safer than the original topic maybe).
He placed this one above a picture of Sean, half in Boromir's clothes, half out. Jeans and tunic and chainmail, his vembraces stark black with the White Tree, striking against the greys of his blue jeans and the smoke curled around his face. Sean was frowning, leaning his shoulder against the wall, his hand lax against his hip as he looked out into the distance. There was a blurriness to his foot as he tapped it, and Viggo could see the impatience of nicotine addiction and his contained frustration in the tendons of his wrists, white against white.
I _love_ that with Viggo it’s things he can see that fascinate him. That at the same time, he _tries_ to capture what he is seeing in words (and somehow fails, however apt his descriptions are, because what the moment meant to him is yet unsaid), whereas Sean takes Viggo’s words and somehow lets himself be captured by them. Lovely bit of difference.
Viggo could not help thinking that time was running out. He should reach out for him; to take a plane to London with his photographs in his suitcase, and find him through the address Sean had written in large, loopy handwriting and which Viggo had placed, almost reverently, in the box.
God, love this entire paragraph. Maybe because Viggo is so hm lavish with words here – such rich descriptions, esp. compared to Sean’s carefulness, even in his thoughts.
Man, I love your writing.