Piano Descriptive

Original Paragraph:
Anger flashed through me, hot and wild. I gasped in surprise at the unexpected reaction. I'd heard of the emotional instability of these human bodies, but this was beyond my ability to anticipate. In eight full lives, I'd never had an emotion touch me with such force.
I felt the blood pulse through my neck, pounding behind my ears. My hands tightened into fists.
The machines beside me reported the acceleration of my heartbeats. There was a reaction in the room: the sharp tap of the Seeker's shoes approached me, mingled with a quieter shuffle that must have been the Healer.
"Welcome to Earth, Wanderer," the female voice said.

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Blinding lights. That is all I see. BAM. I am in front of just about the whole world (or so it seems). Up on this platform; I don't remember signing up for this. I have a ball of regret in my stomach tying yours truly up in knots. My hands are shaking like the dead leaves that have fallen off the maple trees in Autumn. I lightly place my hands on the keys. Oh what was the beginning note again? My hands sweating violently, they slip off the key and hit the wrong note. It seemed like that impurity resounded for centuries. I clear my throat to get back on track and think: get over yourself, it's just a concert, you and your piano in Central Park. My heart is beating violently as I start into my masterpiece. This is the first time I've performed my own creation for an audience. The adrenaline hits and I go wild. This is possibly the best I've ever played my piece. The end is in sight...I finally let my breath out...I smile and thank that undeniable force that made me do it.

Easier 4 U?

Okay, so apparently someone had a really hard time reading my blog awhile back...I changed the background...is it easier to read?

The Living Reed, Pearl S. Buck

Original Paragraph
Then he had heard, far off, like the surf of a distant ocean, the uproar of human voices. That had decided him. He must chance his escape. He worked all day on the thick iron mesh of the hole in the wall that served for light and air, an aperture too small, one would have supposed, for a human body, but he was bone-thin, a collapsible skeleton, he had told himself grimly, and he had forced himself though it in the night, tearing the flesh from shoulders and hips. Immediately he had lost himself in the swarming crowds and then had hid in a ruined temple outside the city walls, where old and toothless monks were his faithful watchmen. From here he sent out the small printed sheet. Another young rebel, disguised as an acolyte, helped him here in the temple, sleeping by day and at night distributing the sheets throughout the city and to others throughout the country. Others, monks themselves, were also his messengers and his news gatherers.

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Then he had heard, far off, like the surf of a distant ocean, the uproar of human voices. That had compulsed him to do it. He must chance his escape. He worked all day on the thick iron mesh of the hole in the wall that served for light and air, annihilating it, an aperture too small, one would have supposed, for sperning a human body, but he was bone-thin, a collapsible skeleton, he had told himself grimly, and he had forced himself through it in the night, tearing the flesh from shoulders and hips. Immediately he had lost himself in the swarming crowds and then had hid in a ruined temple outside the city walls, where old and toothless monks were his faithful, steadfast watchmen. From here he sent out the small printed sheet. Another young rebel, disguised as an acolyte, helped him here in the temple, sleeping by day and at night distributing the sheets throughout the city and to others throughout the country. Others, monks themselves, were also his messengers and his news gatherers.

Stargirl, Jerry Spinelli

Original Paragraph:
You never knew when it would happen. Maybe you were a little ninth-grade nobody named Eddie. As you're walking down the hall you see a candy wrapper on the floor. You pick it up and throw it in the nearest trash can-and suddenly there she is in front of you, pumping her arms, her honey hair and freckles flying, swallowing you whole with those enormous eyes, belting out a cheer she's making up on the spot, something about Eddie, Eddie and the trash can teaming up to wipe out litter. A mob is gathering, clapping hands in rhythm, more eyes on you than all the previous days of your life combined. You feel foolish, exposed, stupid. You want to follow the candy wrapper into the trash can. It's the most painful thing that's ever happened to you. Your brain keeps squirting out a single thought: I'm going to die...I'm going to die...
And so, when she finally finishes and her freckles settle back onto the bridge of her nose, why don't you? Why don't you just die?
Because they're clapping for you, that's why, and whoever heard of dying while they're clapping for you? And they're smiling at you. People who never even saw you before are smiling at you and slapping your back and pumping your hand, and suddenly it seems like the whole world is calling your name, and you're feeling so good you pretty much just float on home from school. And when you go to bed that night, the last thing you see before you zonk out are those eyes, and the last thing on your face is a smile.

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The author of Stargirl, Jerry Spinelli, has a very "different" style of writing. I am a huge fan of this type of writing where the author is trying to make you imagine the situation at hand. I like how you are engaging with the characters in the story and you feel what they feel too. This is a great book and I would recommend it to anyone that appreciates creative writing and can get into it and see the real beauty in it. I also really love the way Spinelli describes "Stargirl," with her "honey" hair and her dancing freckles. In this book, Stargirl is sort of a naturalist. She wears dresses and skirts and doesn't wear make-up. I envy her alot because she doesn't really care what people think of he appearance and personality. She figures that if people are worth knowing, they will accept her for what she is. This is something I look up to.