starStuff

In a bout of silliness I wondered what it would be like to write in second person PoV. Lets see what comes of that shall we? Lets have some volunteers. It can be any tense.

GO!!!

__________________
Please read and critique my Novella-in-Progress, tentatively titled:
The Gadon Stone
Prologue
Chapter 1: The Library

Chapter 2 is in the works. These are posted in the Critique and Advice forum here.

lin

Been done. It give a sense of immediacy.
(They're coming for you. You only have a canopener and your underwear. You hear them...)

Best in small doses.

Probably the most prominent 2P novel was "Bright Lights, Big City" by Jay McInnery..a flash fad eighties writer like Brett Easton Ellis.

It wears thin in a hurry. ESPECIALLY since it's a highly inappropriate choice.
(You step out of your apartment building and look across the street to see a huge poster of your wife advertising cologne.) Yeah, sure I do.

__________________

starStuff

you realize that everything has been done already. yet you can't help but wonder what you would do if you were writing in second person. a siren from around the corner rips you from thought and you barely dodge the muddy splash as a cop car rips around the corner. Scowling at the poster of your wife, you head to the coffee shop to write your story in second person...

__________________
Please read and critique my Novella-in-Progress, tentatively titled:
The Gadon Stone
Prologue
Chapter 1: The Library

Chapter 2 is in the works. These are posted in the Critique and Advice forum here.

Tiamat10

Oops.

__________________

Foxee

I needed a laugh like this first thing in the morning. Thanks!

Hey, this is under writing challenge, not debate or discussion. Writing a little bit in second person is just as valid an exercise as writing 500 words using an unreliable narrator or free writing for five minutes. Sometimes anything to get someone writing (like me) is a good thing.

Chances are good that if I try second person I'll slip into first accidentally. And I've never tried second person so what the hey I'll give it a shot...


****

You thought you were alone on the white sandy beach in Nassau, your hair an ebony ribbon in the wind, your dress a white flag, the tiny mirror in your palm making a bright spot on the white yacht just outside the breakwater as you tilted your wrist.

At the airline locker you again wore a look of satisfaction when you placed something inside, when the lock snicked shut and you sidled a glance in each direction your sloe-brown eyes saw nothing to trouble you.

And perhaps there was nothing.

Perhaps you really were alone, your secrets safe, your fortune preserved so that you can live the life you’re sure you deserve. Perhaps you still are. God knows you tried hard enough between embezzlement and the murder of someone you claimed to love.

“More than little drops of tears in the ocean,” wasn’t that how you put it, Darlyne?

It was an odd proclamation of love.

And now your world will burn, love. Your yacht, the envelope from the locker, as though every place you’ve walked is a trail of gunpowder footprints or casts in plastique.

Now your world will burn.


****
Interesting, I did have to keep alert so that I didn't slide into first-person because the temptation to reveal the narrator is so strong. Second should probably lend itself to more description than I used here (especially considering the subject matter...the observer/narrator would creep her out more the more he knew) I doubt I would want to write a long piece in second but it was an interesting experiment.

__________________
By trying we can easily learn to endure adversity. Another man's, I mean. ~Mark Twain

SnowWhite

you are standing in the aisle of Piggly Wiggly trying to decide between white or wheat bread. unbeknownst to you someone is watching. someone whom you've tried to avoid. someone who could make you feel. your fingers brush the wheat, but instantly halt. your eyes glance around suspiciously. opening the lips of your olive green trench you insert the bread and move on. as you reach the corner, you see her standing there, arms folded. Mr. Pig's usual round jovial eyes have now taken on an incriminating glare. You stare at your former flame. Her bright orange hair stands out in huge tufts among a visor that can't seem to deter the pain of your existence. her outstretched hand is as rigid as a ruler, but all she is measuring at this moment is your ability to change. you open your trench. something deformed and crushed that has been stolen and returned passes between the two of you. but then her fingertips graze against your knuckles, and this feeling travels past the frozen food section and beyond. this is not the whole sale love that you thought it was. this isn't the coupon wanton, but instead the pickup truck girl you met in high school. you can still smell those pall malls, can still see the pom poms in her eyes.

__________________
underconstruction

TragicReality

You don't have a plan. It doesn't matter; you have a 36-inch axe, an i-Pod set to random shuffle, and a sharp sense of fatalism. You're ready.

Yesterday you were managing your finances online and worrying about that weird mole growing above your dog's left eye. Today, you're boarding up the windows to your turn-of-the-century farmhouse and preparing to fight for your life. Not exactly what you'd expected to be doing, but hey: you and your friends had already planned for this scenario, even if it was half in jest, so you have an idea about what you have to do.

The dog is dead. Well, sort of. In any case, that most likely malignant mole won't be bothering either of you now. You try not to think about what she was like when she was alive, full of energy and sporting that coy smile with her tongue drooping over her bottom jaw. That was then. This was now.

In an indirect way, she saved your life. She was the first sign something had gone wrong. Her eyes pointing to the left no matter where she turned her head; drool leaking over her lips; a pronounced limp and a low constant growl emerging from her throat.

That prepared you for the others. And the others did come, individually and in small groups. Luckily you live outside the city limits and most of them had enough to occupy them there. The only ones you had to worry about were the neighbors and their farm animals.

You can hear them outside now, over the low volume of "Harder, Stronger, Faster" on your headphones. The mindless moans of hunger and desire floating past the cracks in your defenses, the scrabbling of broken fingernails on the hollow front door. The house isn't designed to keep anyone out; it will only be a few more minutes before they get inside. Among the creature's voices you can hear the howl of your beloved pet. It spurs you to a decision. You're not going to wait for them to break down the door and come to you. You're taking the fight to them.

You swing the axe over your shoulder and walk to the door. Yesterday, you were worrying about money. Today, you're fighting the undead.

There's nothing you'd rather be doing.

C.Gholy

Let's give this a go, although it's came out with a horror genre.

------
You will feel a dark wind crawl against your skin. Your legs are aching in sheer agony. Thirty hours of hiking with a limited supply of food must be a pain for you, but you are just about to face an even grueling torture. The reason for this is that the ghosts and demons do not wish to be dull on a Halloween night. You are in their territory so be prepared for your life to bitterly end it's span. The flames will transform into dust and thy flesh will be the maggot's feast tonight.

Your blood will be the drink of our lady vampire, she will be your new beautiful venom and your final pleasure before thy death. Once our lady kills you, your blood will be in her body and your soul will remain lost for eternity and you will remain homeless.

Thy bones will be the toys of demons and you will officially the property of hell. Thou shivers from the sound of this, you may think this is all made up. Mark my words, this voice of horror that invades your head is of course the voice the the demon that has possessed you.

Resist me if you wish, but you will never escape this thrilling fate. Feeble mortals such as yourselves our our number one desire. So much flesh, so much fresh blood around your veins. The lady Vampire is licking her lips as she spies on dreaming in your slumber.

We are watching you, wanting you, needing you and yearning you and we will hunt you down.

__________________

Thanks Sweet May/ Emerald bird/ Cyn for this stunning banner.

AlittlePlum

Hmmmm, tis interesting, the only versions I can think of to do with second person were the 'choose your own fate' Goosebumps books I used to read when I was in my acne phase of adolesence. I'll try....


You watch him intently. You know him well, every curve, every muscle, every imperfection. You know all there is to know of this man but you watch him like a hawk.

He doesn't know you're watching. That's most of the excitement of it. The thick forest surrounding you both blocks out any wind or heat, leaving you entirely untraceable. You prance lightly from one place to the next. With his every move you follow compliantly with your own. He gave up turning to find you months ago, he now thinks it's in his mind. You have always been so gifted in keeping your prescence unknown to him.

Tonight is the night, you decided this when you first laid eyes on him one year ago today. Tonight he will see you, tonight you will have him. At the thought if this you feel the weight of the weapon in your pocket. Heavy lead weighing down your coat and moving you closer and closer to sheer ecstasy with every thud it makes against your thigh.

He stops, you stop. Curling your hands around the tree in front of you, you watch him stretch his arms out and reach for his flask. Slowly you mimick the action with your own hand, taking in every move of his arm to make sure you have copied him to perfection. You predict the gasp he takes after his third swig and move in complete syncronation with him as he wipes his mouth with his free arm. You blink when he blinks, you breathe when he breathes, you imagine the water droplets trickling down your chin the way they do down his.

As you go to wipe the non existent droplets from your mouth one last time you observe his large, rough, dirty hands. You look down at your own, small compared to his. You could never be mistaken for him, but you needed to try to be closer to that goal.

He sits on a log, you crouch behind the tree. You reach into your pocket and wrap your fingers around your lead tool. He has his head in his hands. Perfect you think to yourself and you smile.

You raise out of the crouch and you move into the clearing.

__________________
Only I can change my life, no one can do it for me.

I watch therefore I write
New: The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas, Taken, Tropic Thunder
http://filmsworthseeing.blogspot.com/