Snow freezes, seeping into your bones, swallowing sensation and suppressing your instinct to survive. It falls, silently, stifling sound, softening distance, an alluring blend of apathy and appeal. What becomes of the starry-eyed toddler when the playful snowman becomes a sentinel, when the dream becomes a nightmare?
I was reading a ‘how to write’ type book a while ago (I’m not 100% certain, but I think it was The Writing Book by Kate Grenville) which included practical exercises. One of the tasks was to choose a passage of writing that we loved and attempt to imitate the rhythm and calibre. The passage I attempted to emulate is quoted below. What do you think? Was I successful or did I dreadfully miss the mark?
‘Past midnight, something happens to time, that fragile concept we employ to order our sense of reality. It bends, stretches, turns back, or snaps, and sometimes reality snaps with it. And what happens to the wide-eyed observer when the window between reality and unreality shatters, and the glass begins to fly?
Stephen King, Four Past Midnight, Inside flap of dust cover
Categories: Fiction Friday
Rafferty's Rules is Closing Down 
What are your thoughts?