Butterfly Dusted - Writers Forum

Wyndstar · 07-29-2005, 10:47 AM

I was thinking about Penelope and her poetry and this little blurb came to mind...

BUTTERFLY DUSTED

Lightly, he brushed her cheek with the back of his hand and murmured, “Butterfly dust.”

Touching a drop of dew glistening on a white rose, she smiled coyly and asked him what he meant.

“Once, it was believed that if you touched a butterfly’s wing, it could no longer fly.” He revealed, placing his hand on her bare shoulder. “ Its magic powder was wiped away.”

She turned, placed dew-dotted fingertip above his half-lidded eyes.

“Can you see fairies now?” She wondered. "If you are butterfly dusted, would you be able to fly? Like butterflies and fairies?”

“Have I not told you my lady, that I am Fey, the Prince of Whispers and Mists? And that I know all the secrets of both fairies and butterflies?”

His hand traveled along her shoulder, to the nape of her neck, moving smoothly, delicately as a whisper, from shoulder blade to shoulder blade.

“There aren’t so many dreams as precious anymore.” She responded, her hands dancing, partnered by streaks of sunlight.

“Could you change me?” she asked then, closing her eyes and practically dreaming it already.

His hand dropped along her spine, causing a delicious thrill throughout her entire being.

“For enough of a moment in time that your loveliness would grace eternity---but be warned.” He added solemnly “The loveliness of your soul drew me, and so shall it be what pays for the boon I grant. When your mortal coil winds down, you are mine.”

“What good is a soul without dreams?”

“Then in understanding my lady, become the dream…”

…And she did, flowing from bright light cascading in the endless, blue sifting a myriad hue and blending again into a single, liquid form transcribed onto solid, white reality.

She sighed, going from sky gliding to pen sliding, blissfully, in a single daydream.

“Hey! Ms. Poet Lady!” Came a yell from the fire escape above.

It was her neighbor; a nice, fatherly Muslim man who scrutinized her boyfriends and helped her with the butcher every Wednesday.

“Hi Bob.” She waved, her hand more like a flag than a butterfly “Greeting sunset early today?”

“Ah no.” He smiled graciously “Just basking in your little city garden” Bob gestured to her herbs and white roses “So refreshing amidst the gray.”

She couldn’t help but feel flattered.

“Just---doing the best I can with some visual poetry.”

“I think the butterfly agreed...”

She suddenly felt her heart stop.

“…Or perhaps, it was merely colored paper on the wind. Maybe that was your butterfly.” He considered thoughtfully, taking her expression as disbelief “Things are whatever a person perceives them to be, eh? And---you’re a writer. Why can’t butterflies be made of paper and dreams…?”

She looked down then at what she had written, fingers poised hesitantly over unfamiliar powder blue that she could not recall having before.

It had been the loveliest thing she had written in a long time. Writing it had made her spirit soar.

Apparently, prose came from butterfly dust, too…

-Sambo italiano- · 07-29-2005, 11:29 AM

I quite liked that well done. Normally I'm more of a Sci Fi fantasy man but It was quite enjoyable.

Keep Up the Good Work.

ToucanMan · 07-29-2005, 12:51 PM

I liked this story very much. Your prose is beautiful.

Quote:

“Once, it was believed that if you touched a butterfly’s wing, it could no longer fly.” He revealed, placing his hand on her bare shoulder “ Its magic powder was wiped away.”

“... it could no longer fly,” he revealed, placing his hand on her bare shoulder. "Its magic powder was wiped away."

Quote:

She turned, placed dew dotted fingertip above his half lidded eyes.

She turned and placed dew-dotted fingertips above his half-lidded eyes. -- This may work better.

Quote:

“Can you see fairies now?” She wondered lightly “If you are butterfly dusted, would you be able to fly? Like butterflies and fairies?”

“Can you see fairies now?” she wondered. “If you are butterfly dusted, would you be able to fly like butterflies and fairies?” -- This may work better.

There are a few more errors other than those I pointed out above. You may want to take a good look.

Chris Miller · 07-29-2005, 02:58 PM

Quote:

It had been the loveliest thing she had written in a long time. Writing it had made her spirit soar.

I would have to agree. I can imagine.

One foot in a romantic fantasy, just touching the erotic, and that is neither cliché nor melodramatic; the other planted firmly in mundane, day to day, reality. Beautiful contrast.

This was well written. I am tempted to say that you use too many adverbs. But here, I think they work. They help establish the rhythm/cadence of the piece.

“Can you see fairies now?” She wondered lightly

Second use of the adverb “lightly” seems wrong. I would strike. (Need period.)

His hand traveled along her shoulder, to the nape of her neck, moving smoothly, like satin, from shoulder blade to shoulder blade.

This is evocative, but the hand “moving” like “satin” doesn’t seem quite right. I believe you meant that the touch/skin felt like satin, but this doesn’t quite come across for me.

Beautiful work Wyndstar.

Wyndstar · 07-29-2005, 04:14 PM

Sambo Italiano, thank you for reading it, despite its gendre not really being your forte. I feel pretty honored, considering what it takes for ME to read a gendre not MY forte either.

eggo, Chris, you were right about the changes. I should have checked word because originally, those two phrases DID have hyphens and when I spell checked, they apparently were removed. Don't have the same excuse for the punctuation though.

Funny thing---I produce stuff like this at the weirdest times. I was up at 4 in the morning having been up all night finding out the hard way that my dog had brought visitors in while I was on vacation. They hatched. I think I'm gonna have to bring out da'bombs. No, I generally don't have - in a personal sense - a romantic bone in my body. And no, I haven't gone to bed yet, either...

gohn67 · 07-29-2005, 05:56 PM

Hey Wyndstar,
I agree with the others that this is beautifully written. It has a very poetic touch to it. And if when it comes to poetry I am usually lost unless it's shoveled into my mouth like pie, preferably pumpkin. So even after reading it 5 times, I do not fully understand it.

I have a feeling it has something to do with writing though. And butterfly dust is a metphor for something, which I still can't put my hand on it.

Quote:

eggo, Chris, you were right about the changes. I should have checked word because originally, those two phrases DID have hyphens and when I spell checked, they apparently were removed. Don't have the same excuse for the punctuation though.

You mean ToucanMan.

Wyndstar · 07-29-2005, 06:26 PM

Aw geez gohn---Toucan---I'm sorry.

I'm brain dead now I think...

Here's one way to look at it:
She is a writer, poet. She wanted to fly. For some writers, writing IS flying, so the butterfly dust sought out the beauty in her soul, gave it wings (the floating paper that looked like a butterfly) that it could condense, fly into her pen, and become prose. Since she wrote it down, her own beauty became immortalized, as the Prince promised.

He could simply have turned her into a butterfly and given her the remaining dust to write the experience.

It could have been just a hallucination of someone who'd been chasing fleas all night, and reading Penelope's poems as stress relief.

Y'never know...

gohn67 · 07-30-2005, 01:46 PM

Quote:

It could have been just a hallucination of someone who'd been chasing fleas all night, and reading Penelope's poems as stress relief.

Was that your inspiration for this story? Inspiration comes at strange times. Like earlier this summer I went to this dry cleaning place to ask for a job, and then after I existed I suddenly had an idea for a story, which turned into Job searchin', the first one.

Quote:

She is a writer, poet. She wanted to fly. For some writers, writing IS flying, so the butterfly dust sought out the beauty in her soul, gave it wings (the floating paper that looked like a butterfly) that it could condense, fly into her pen, and become prose. Since she wrote it down, her own beauty became immortalized, as the Prince promised.

Thanks, for the explanation, Wynstar. Makes alot of sense now that you explained it to me.

Taz · 08-06-2005, 04:54 AM

It was fun to read with a great concept. Very imaginative drew me in imedietly couldnt stop reading it. Keep up the good work