You've Got a Book in You by Elizabeth Sims

Author:Elizabeth Sims [Sims, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-59963-556-9
Publisher: F+W Media
Published: 2013-12-08T16:00:00+00:00

This is great. You read it and you can miss half of it. The main thing I got when I copied this was the structure. The paragraph lets you in on the whole framework of the story, and you realize what to expect, and you’re already relishing what’s going to happen.

Translation of this graph: I’m not a very well-educated guy; no fancy airs, that’s for sure. No fancy intellectual or moral airs. I’m a pretty nice guy, don’t wish any harm on anybody. I’m the top cop, and I understand exactly how things work. I’ve got it cushy as long as I don’t rock the wrong boat.

Well, guess what’s gonna happen?!!! The paragraph all but tells us: This sheriff has got a tough choice coming up, quite the challenge. Just what it’ll be, we don’t know, and just how he’ll handle it, we can’t wait to see! Will his fondness for his own comfort trump what’s right? Or no?

Here’s the passage I mentioned earlier, Book II, Chapter Eight of Charles Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities. The chapter is titled “Monseigneur in the Country.” It’s not Dickens’s best known, but it is quintessentially Dickens.

A BEAUTIFUL landscape, with the corn bright in it, but not abundant. Patches of poor rye where corn should have been, patches of poor peas and beans, patches of most coarse vegetable substitutes for wheat. On inanimate nature, as on the men and women who cultivated it, a prevalent tendency towards an appearance of vegetating unwillingly—a dejected disposition to give up, and wither away.

Monsieur the Marquis in his travelling carriage (which might have been lighter), conducted by four post-horses and two postilions, fagged up a steep hill. A blush on the countenance of Monsieur the Marquis was no impeachment of his high breeding; it was not from within; it was occasioned by an external circumstance beyond his control—the setting sun.

The sunset struck so brilliantly into the travelling carriage when it gained the hill-top, that its occupant was steeped in crimson. ‘It will die out,’ said Monsieur the Marquis, glancing at his hands, ‘directly.’

In effect, the sun was so low that it dipped at the moment. When the heavy drag had been adjusted to the wheel, and the carriage slid down hill, with a cinderous smell, in a cloud of dust, the red glow departed quickly; the sun and the Marquis going down together, there was no glow left when the drag was taken off.

But, there remained a broken country, bold and open, a little village at the bottom of the hill, a broad sweep and rise beyond it, a church-tower, a windmill, a forest for the chase, and a crag with a fortress on it used as a prison. Round upon all these darkening objects as the night drew on, the Marquis looked, with the air of one who was coming near home.

The village had its one poor street, with its poor brewery, poor tannery, poor tavern, poor stable-yard for relay of post-horses, poor fountain, all usual poor appointments.

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