Posted: 24 September 2006 02:45 AM   [ Ignore ]
Total Posts:  639
Joined  2005-08-30

I just edited this story.  If you already read it, perhaps you can let me know if I’ve made any improvements.

I wanted to develop a deep appreciation in the reader for the depth of Julia’s devotion.  It’s a true story, and it was the contrast between the intensity of her suffering and the speed with which it left that motivated me to write it.  I think I could have developed it better, but I’m not sure how.

Posted: 09 October 2006 01:02 PM   [ Ignore ]   [ # 1 ]
Total Posts:  18
Joined  2006-10-08

When I was around eight, my Grandma had this house with a very beatiful garden having natural butterfly habitats. My siblings and I used to find caterpillars to examine how these wriggling creatures grow into beautiful butterflies. We would keep one in a match box, of considerably good size, along with some leaves. Unfortunately we never got to see the metamorphosis infront of our eyes, since the caterpillars would die too early. We were amateur and inexperienced butterfly breeders afterall!
        This writing piece provided me to picture the phenomenon that I never got the chance to see. Though seeing it would be great but reading about someone’s devotion like me seemed like an ‘experience’ as well. This is one great thing about reading!


Slow down you crazy child… you’re so ambitious for a juvenile… - Billy Joel

Posted: 18 October 2006 10:53 PM   [ Ignore ]   [ # 2 ]
Total Posts:  286
Joined  2006-07-29

My dad was insect enthusiast. Unfortunately, part of the enthusiasm was to catch, document and display as many couples of insects as he could in his ‘insect boxes’. I grew up surrounded by jars of all sizes containing beetles, butterflies and the sort, awaiting the inevitable ‘pin-down’.

One day (I must have been 4 or 5), I told my dad I too wanted to be an ‘insect collectioner’. As any proud dad realizing he has inspired some of his passion into his youngest child, he swiftly built a little ‘insect box’ just for me. He proudly presented me with it one day (it was an exact replica of his own, only maybe half the size) and told me that we could now share the same hobby.

I looked my dad square in the eye and told him: ‘you didn’t understand me. I want to collect LIVE insects. Not dead ones!’.

What could he say to that?

From that point on, the deck out back (and sometimes, to my mother’s horror, the kitchen counter) was lined up with various containers of all sizes in which caterpillars, crickets, praying mantis and the sort munched away at leaves, grass, and, sometimes (as I painfully realized when introducing the praying mantis in the cricket habitat) each other.

All this to say that I have witnessed the wonderful transformation of the caterpillar into butterflies, and remember too well the amazing feeling of awe and wonder as they emerged and dried their wings. None of my containers ever contained butterflies: I was always compelled to let them go.

I did end up using the box however. It filled up with the empty chrysalids smile

I just wanted to thank you for allowing me to go back to these precious memories. Your story really moved me.

(I would have posted this as a comment, but the option was not available)


Artificial intelligence is no match for natural stupidity.

Editing your stuff: Because an apostrophe is often all that stands between writers who know their shit and writers who know they’re shit.

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