manuscriptx
06-03-2006, 11:23 AM
I've posted a message here before about asking interested members to evaluate my work particularly my writing quality/style. Below is a sample of pretext ( quasi-synopsis ) I want to send literary agents and publishers. If you wish to view the full three pages, send me an e-mail to [email protected] Thanks.
__________________________________________________ ______________
I was born September 24, 1973, and again some years later. I was born one day in November, and died the month of September. An inconsistency I would agree. To understand what it means is to understand a life I define
non-sequitur.
This autobiographic novel is not a typical recount of a life lived, A to Z. It has only one beginning. No friend or personal relation. I am neither close to family, including one surviving parent. A denomination of mine is called conflict. A mind walk twenty years ago, has not ended since. Subsistence devoted to not money or power, passion, pride, prejudice, men or maidens.
I sat a hapless imp against intent. Her eyes, his feet, and their incessant squabbling pierced and tear my soul. It was there, in the nether region of abode dissident foes, I felt welcome. Solitude and loneliness is a powerful ally. Socioeconomics became trivial pursuits, so I abandon them readily.
Days are the problems unlike any other. Material wealth is not mine, liability is.
After my father’s pass, another endowment was sent by his most holy.
It was the magic of Anemia and its visual aide unencumbered my inhibition.
I am free. One axiom longs for independent strife. The other is temperament,
tumultuous in nature and lives, breathes a stinging desire.
__________________________________________________ ______________
I was born September 24, 1973, and again some years later. I was born one day in November, and died the month of September. An inconsistency I would agree. To understand what it means is to understand a life I define
non-sequitur.
This autobiographic novel is not a typical recount of a life lived, A to Z. It has only one beginning. No friend or personal relation. I am neither close to family, including one surviving parent. A denomination of mine is called conflict. A mind walk twenty years ago, has not ended since. Subsistence devoted to not money or power, passion, pride, prejudice, men or maidens.
I sat a hapless imp against intent. Her eyes, his feet, and their incessant squabbling pierced and tear my soul. It was there, in the nether region of abode dissident foes, I felt welcome. Solitude and loneliness is a powerful ally. Socioeconomics became trivial pursuits, so I abandon them readily.
Days are the problems unlike any other. Material wealth is not mine, liability is.
After my father’s pass, another endowment was sent by his most holy.
It was the magic of Anemia and its visual aide unencumbered my inhibition.
I am free. One axiom longs for independent strife. The other is temperament,
tumultuous in nature and lives, breathes a stinging desire.