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Purple Prose

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The Riveting Cerulean Sky [Mar. 9th, 2004|01:38 pm]
Purple Prose


[mood |youthful and innocent]

This story isn't bad at all, I just wish the author would remove at least half of the adjectives she used.

Story Title: A Midsummer's Dream
Author name: whitestag02
Fandom: Harry Potter
The Setup: The story is a Harry/Hermione romance, and the sample passage is Hermione's dream.

Sample Passage - Hermione's dream:

The cool April breeze rustled through the newly budded leaves and the golden sunlight radiated throughout the swaying field, illuminating nature at its most exquisite. The thick oak tree whispered secretly as the wind tickled its branches, chanting for her to come nearer. The clouds rolled through the riveting cerulean sky, every once in a while casting her young, eager face into shadow. One particularly large cloud uncovered the sun’s beaming rays and something glittered atop her favorite climbing tree. She squinted her youthful, innocent eyes, straining to find the glistening object once more. There it went again, at the very top of the tall oak tree in front of her grandparents’ summer cottage.

Adrenaline coursing through her five year old veins, the prospect of finding treasure almost unbearable, she raced toward the tree, her newly bought dress ruffling out behind her. The article caught the beams of the sun once more and flashed, drawing her toward it. She climbed up the tree with knowing skill, not allowing any obstacle to get in the way of finding her prize. Her dress caught a branch and ripped with a long, unyielding tear.

Feeling complete apathy toward her Sunday best, she pressed on, ascending higher and higher until she reached her goal. She gazed longingly at a necklace, which was bound tightly to a thin branch. Too eager to think, she edged out as far as she could and carefully unwound the precious jewel from the limb. She cradled it in her small, dirty hands like it was the most rare and dear necklace she had ever seen. The navy, oval gem sparkled in the sunlight, as though claiming her as its own.

She hastily climbed down from the tree, anticipating showing off her find. Too excited to watch where she was going, she tripped over a knot of roots, instantly feeling warm blood penetrate through her white stockings. Not even bothering to stop and whine about the inch-long gouge on her knee, she ran toward her grandparents’ veranda, the curtains that led inside billowing out from the frivolous breeze. Her chocolate braids smacked her in the face as she sprinted toward the cool indoors.

The rest of the story isn't as purple as the dream passage, but it has its moments:

  • He had shaggy blonde hair that always hung into his baby-boy eyes, which looked like piercing sapphires.

  • The early summer sky glinted with a florid coral tint, casting the fragile dew into a blushing pink drizzle.

  • She stared out of the lifeless window, though she hardly saw the point, there was no vision that could break the storm’s obscurity.


[User Picture]From: starherd
2004-03-09 03:02 pm (UTC)
The bad part is, some of those would be actual good turns of phrase, if they lost about half the adjectives, like you said... :-P

> She stared out of the lifeless window, though she hardly saw the point,
> there was no vision that could break the storm’s obscurity.

Obviously the point is being obscured by the storm!
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