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We know the protagonist when we see him. The protagonist can also be called the hero or main character, but these terms are imprecise, and for some stories, plainly false.
She defines the plot and moves it forward. Her fate determines whether the story is a tragedy or comedy. You may not know who your protagonist is until you are halfway through writing your novel. You may think your protagonist is one character, only to find out your villain is actually your protagonist. How do you make a protagonist more interesting?
The best way to characterize the protagonist is through an antagonist. The human mind loves to compare. It especially loves to compare people, and by characterizing your antagonist, you naturally create a comparison that characterizes your protagonist. The more you increase the values of your antagonist, the more interesting term paper writing websites protagonist becomes.
Write me classic english literature blog post is the single most important element of your protagonist, and thus one of the most important of your novel as a whole. If your protagonist fails to do this, your story will fail. Protagonists must make decisions.
A character who does not choose her own fate, and thus suffer the consequences of her choice, is not a protagonist. She is, at best, a background character.
Your protagonist may reject the choice at first. She may debate back and forth between which option to choose. She may spend a hundred pages waffling. This can actually be a good thing. However, she must choose. They will endure selfishness, pride, and even cowardice in a character. However, readers will not endure a protagonist who does not decide. Your protagonist is presented with a choice, perhaps a choice to accept or reject some type of quest. For fifteen minutes, show her internal or external write me classic english literature blog post between the two options.
Which does she choose? When your time is finished, post your practice in the comments section. And if you post, please be sure to give feedback to a few other writers. As they say: the protagonist IS the plot. Because true write me classic english literature blog post WILL be brought to their knees. Oops my porridge is ready… gotta go! To combine the two ideas, could you say a protagonist must suffer failure but stay the course of their choice?
And gets separated from his family for the rest of the movie. So Jamie is the cause of all that happens to him. A character is their choices.
Joe, can I just say I think this article is great? Thank you esl work websites canada much for it. Good luck with your story! I long for my protagonists to reach that depth. I also think, that in some works, there are multiple parallel as well as connected protagonists.
I think of The Game of Thrones right away. It can be lovely write me classic english literature blog post have many characters who are complex enough to take you away with them on their journeys. And yet… in the WIP I am editing currently, thought there are several such character lines and stories, there is STILL the main protagonist. Another thing I try to remind myself about is active choices Vs.
They have to work, reach, want for their goal actively. Serials like Star Trek and even Game of Thrones, in some ways sometimes play by different rules. Serials are usually made up of many write me classic english literature blog post stories woven together. The strident alarm form the door being open too long startled her and she slammed the door shut.
Heaving a deep sigh she wandered over to the sink and poured herself a long glass of cold water. She leaned back against the sink and stared at the fridge door. Stuck to it by cheap and cheerful magnets were the detritus of her life, the calendar for March — appointments, meetings, deadlines all neatly laid out.
There was a drawing of a fire engine presented to her by her 5 year old nephew and a painting from his younger sister. It was ridiculous all this procrastination, simple decisions had suddenly become impossible.
She was planning what to cook for dinner, not the solution to problems in the Middle East! She stared at the ceiling, her shoulders slumped and she was overwhelmed with tiredness.
She was going to have to do something. Write me classic english literature blog post pulled the piece of paper hidden under the painting of the bird — a pencil list of pro and cons. It and every other decision making tool pointed in one direction. It was a direction she did not like. But the alternative scared her. It would shake up her ordered life, it would mean chaos for her and confusion for her family. The ideas churned around in her mind, battering at her.
She scratched her arm — the rash had come back. Could be food related the doctor said, could be stress and he had looked at her with a raised eyebrow. She turned it round in her hand and squinted and suddenly she could see that bird. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes and visualised what it would be like — the good and the bad — if she failed what was the worst thing that could happen?
What was the worst that could happen? The worst that could happen could not be as write me classic english literature blog post as this grey, limbo she was living in. She raised her chin and ripped the calendar form the fridge and tore it into a million little bits and flung write me classic english literature blog post in the air.
They rained down on, a ticker tape parade, a celebration of confetti. She would do it! I love your imagery—a riot of primary colours, a ticker tape parade.
Or go on quest to find a unicorn …. Feels like a mystery developing to me. Claire looked around in dismay. Michael said he would be back at noon for her, if she wanted to go with him. The books and papers strewn about the floor suggested she was not ready for the impending journey. The wall clock ticked the seconds by, loud and intimidating. It would be so much easier to just stay ensconced in her little room, protected from prying eyes. She stepped to the closed door and touched the knob.
The cool metal revived her spirit and calmed her nerves. She could do this. It was only one little trip. In the past two months, the only traveling she had done was in her mind when she explored other lands with her friends in books. It was time now to popular argumentative essay ghostwriting services united states that step outside, into the sunshine, and let the breeze rake its fingers through her hair.
Resolved anew to right the room before Michael arrived, Claire collected the books from the various pieces of furniture and returned them their rightful bookshelf.
She ran her cleaning rag over the windowsill, banishing the dirt and little dead bugs. One stack of papers—The papers—had slipped off the edge of her desk and she stooped to gather them. Stuffing the papers into a folder, she shelved her fears and walked away. The room was straightened, cobwebs knocked down, dust brushed away. She smiled as she thought of her plans for the day. Michael would be so proud to know that her mental cobwebs were swept away.
Change was hard, but once you cashed in your bonds, freedom was so liberating! Jessica — You have some very nice imagery here. I rewrote the furniture and papers part, and also scanned the rest of the story and added a couple other succinct adjectives. I read this morning about not overloading the reader with unnecessary details, and I think I got scared about that. Somehow I have to find that balance between being specific and too many details!
It had been demolished and her sister was nowhere to be found. Not call the police? What kind of insanity was that? Of course she had to call them. Only took a second to dial on her cell phone, but Janie paused before tapping the call button.
The police could dust for fingerprints. And track them down and save her sister? Turning the phone over in her hand, she unlocked it and saw the numbers still displayed on the screen. All she had to do was press the call button.
But Joan never asked for anything. Joan was always strong and in control. Write me classic english literature blog post was the one who cared for Janie when more info fell apart.
Could Janie do this one thing for her sister? Janie balanced the cell phone on the toppled coffee table and ran her uninjured hand through her hair. She crossed the room to the French door she studied her reflection in the dark glass. Could she do this one thing? That scene is really intense. I want to know what happened to Joan. Why is she so timid and uncertain. I like the way you used someone other than the protagonist to help her make her decision.
Powerful choice — wonder if she called the police or responded to the number on the phone. I felt that Llewelyn Moss was the protagonist, but my nephew suggested that it is actually Sheriff Bell.
I think Cormac McCarthy breaks all the rules but is genius in the way he does it. What do you think? I think what you said about Chigurh is interesting. You throw rocks at him. Does that make sense? Thanks Joe, yes your illustration is really helpful. I agree, I think Moss is the main protagonist and Chigurh is definitely a severe consequence!
I guess he is the orbiting write me classic english literature blog post character, if you will.
Write me classic english literature blog post by click to see more the most likeable of the three. After reading The Road, yes, I definitely felt I needed a break. I mean, they wanted me to decide right then and there!
It would be so cool to have him back here again. I remember he used to be my protector, my strong man on the playground when the other kids would pick on me. Everyone would be mouthing off with f this and m-f that. He would set them straight. But kГnnen popular masters critical analysis essay ideas fГr brother is coming home.
What if he only stays the weekend and I miss him. Blood is thicker than water, right? He did that once before. Should I stay or should I go? Of course he will stay home and expectantly wait for his brother. But will he show up??
I thought the dilemma quite compelling, but I would really like to know what the protagonist chose to do. Difficult choice, and then adding the pressure of an immediate decision. I like the internal dialogue that is used to make the decision. To jump or not to jump? Had his rival tampered with his parachute as had been claimed, or was it a bluff?
This write me classic english literature blog post the definitive dive lohnenswerten top speech proofreading websites for masters Eintritt the comp.
He had to succeed at this. The weather was almost perfect, they were almost at the drop zone, he had to decide in the next few seconds. Was his life worth a stupid sky diving championship? Decide, he angrily told himself. She would think him a coward if he refused. But that warning, it had sounded real. An anonymous phone call and his life was now completely changed. He usually loved the exhilaration of the anticipation of the jump, the serenity of the drop.
Now, it was all at stake. Nothing would be the same write me classic english literature blog post. One last chance to back out. I loved the internal debate, and write me classic english literature blog post final decision.
Is the investigator always the protagonist and the murdered the villian? If the murderer was framed, or if it was self defense I think that would make the murderer aka the villian an unexpected protagonist, Sure. Lots of stories are like this.
The Fugitive and Enemy of the State are two examples I think of immediately. In the case of The Lovely Bones, the murdered girl surely was the protagonist? So, sometimes your narrator can be write me classic english literature blog post, depending on the context.
Yvette is also right that sometimes the Murdered is the protagonist they got there because of their write me classic english literature blog post. I guess, there are just so many possibilities, even in a murder mystery. I am not embarrassed to say they I have always been confused by exactly what a protagonist is. Newbie that I am, I still thought write me classic english literature blog post protagonist was the hero or main character.
It is a challenge for my sister to have me in her home because she married early to escape her memories of abuse. My mom kept notebooks that were used to get me out of that house. Keith is a nephew — these things have been introduced earlier in the book. Any suggestions as to how to make it come more alive is appreciated: I watch the kids play from the kitchen window while chopping onions and green peppers for Spanish rice with pork chops.
Before long, depressed thoughts drape my mind, so much for the few moments of joy with the kids. I lean against the sink and stare out the window, seeing nothing. Why should I keep trying? I want to crawl into a dark hole and curl up into a ball and die. All my dreams of love and safety are shattered into a billion pieces.
All I wanted was to feel safe and feel things are under control. Wish I never got involved. I wish I write me classic english literature blog post told her about those notebooks. Wish I could have amnesia. I wanted Diane to understand me, to hold me, to love me. No matter how much I do or what I try, she still hates me. I wish I were dead.
Death is so much easier than life. You slip into a sweet nothingness, no feelings, no hurt, no suffering. I rinse the rice, mix in the vegetables, place the pork chops on top, and slip the casserole into the oven. After I wash up, Link hold the paring knife next to my wrist.
So tired of the nightmares of Daddy coming into my room. The dreams are so real I wake feeling the impression of his hands on my body.
I place the knife on a vein. Keith slams the write me classic english literature blog post, races down the hallway, and runs to the bathroom. What was I thinking? Hi Heather, Wow, this story is so sad and unfortunately rings true for too many people out there.
The internal monologue does evoke a good deal of the emotional turmoil that you want to bring out. Or if you want to keep the first person point of view just try to avoid simply telling the action. In order for the reader to be drawn in you need to show what is happening. Keith is pushing his little sister on the swing. I smile thinking of how lucky she is. The onions make me tear up. I hate chopping onions. Does that make sense to you?
I think all he heard was slam the door. Hey, I hope the ending is happy! I like your idea of including more of the senses in this. Yes, the ending is happy — it is a journey of healing and I am healed from my past, write me classic english literature blog post married and have three wonderful kids.
Heather, a very powerful piece. Personally I think that telling the action is OK here, this web page is short and emphasises the inner turmoil.
Thank you for this. I appreciate the time you took to read this. We were driving along the road, it was paved but the growth either side was overgrown. Most parts of this country offer lush landscapes and rolling hills as far as the eye could see, but this inland for some reason offered only dried long grasses blanched to the colour of wheat by the summer sun.
I was driving, Franz was in the passenger seat and Woody was in the back. Both were extremely hung over and fast asleep. So I drove, going that open road speed that is a little faster than legally allowed. There were no signs but I could feel the space between us and the town contracting. I felt like if I looked best ghostwriters site liverpool me I would see the world shrinking into void, leaving us stuck in our destination.
I took a deep breath in and re write me classic english literature blog post each finger on the click the following article wheel. I could not deny it, I had had this knot in my stomach since I first heard of this town. Some evil chill had run over me when I first read the headlines about the arson and crime and as we drove closer the chill was coming in on me again.
I set my teeth together in determination, if there was something that needed routing out in this town I knew fully well that me and my companions were the ones to do, and had a responsibility to do it write me classic english literature blog post well. I pushed my foot down on the accelerator, eager to get to the town quickly so I could not cave in to my apprehension and turn around. Also I would like to know a write me classic english literature blog post more about the protagonists.
Why are they going there? HI Carmen, I can feel the protagonists indecision and tension. There are 2 things that are confusing though. First — if this mission is so important write me classic english literature blog post are Franz and Woody hung over and fast asleep. The rest get exciting though. Thank you guys so much for your feedback. Audrey and Steve, thank you for pointing out that the character development in weak in some parts, I had completely overlooked them in my focus on the tension building!
And thanks Yvette, I am glad that the suspense was effective. Whew, I think I needed to hear that it was okay at this point or I may have taken out a lot more.
The debate builds tension, reveals motivation, and illustrates consequences, which makes the actual decision so much more powerful. In my opinion, the job of the protagonist is to get the audience to care what happens.
The top critical essay ghostwriter site toronto important thing for a protagonist to be is someone the audience can relate to. Yep, relatability is definitely important. Thanks for mentioning that, Misha. And for me, James was both relatable and able to make a choice. Peter stared at the write me classic english literature blog post email.
How could the Group ask him to go out in the field again, so soon after the trials of the last mission? The Group leaders might be former operators themselves, but Peter thought they were losing touch with just how difficult each mission was. Maybe it was time to leave this line of work altogether. Peter had certainly paid his dues. He felt a momentary chill as he remembered several former colleagues who had left the Group for what they thought would be a more peaceful life, only to have it cut short through an accident of some sort.
Those events still seemed plausible, but Peter wondered what really happened. Could he just disappear, and start over somewhere new?
In the past, Peter had quickly dismissed that idea, and he did so again this time. The Group had some of the best trackers in the business.
Trying write me classic english literature blog post hide from those bloodhounds was a foolish idea, although at least one former operative appeared to have done it.
Peter felt the tension rising up his neck as he read the message again. He took several deep breaths and relaxed slightly. Carrying out these missions gave him purpose, something to prepare for and execute. The fact that sometimes people got hurt in the process, well, that was just part of the work. He read the message one more time.
He started mentally unfolding the likely scenario. It seemed well contained and quick. Maybe it could be a clean last job before he moved on. Closing up the laptop, his mind was already blocking out anything but the mission. He had two hours to get ready. Is this going to continue Paul? To be continued, perhaps… Wow Paul, what a set of choices!
Peter could almost toss a coin, but in the end he does what he must. Makes it hard for the protagonist, unless there is a hidden choice he is expected to make. Its a great place to introduce an unexpected solution. I am very sorry about the poor editing on my part. The typewriter is ready, as well as the uncut sheets of paper are predisposed well ranked on the old desk.
Our protagonist, in fact, keeps well away from computers that kills creativity. And the charm of the writer, of course. James strode along the room, back and forth.
The parquet floor has become a rut darker because of the constant coming and going of the young. Why yes, James is an avid budding novelist, and is grappling with the most difficult choice of his still short career. His gaze falls on a crumpled letter, leaning on write me classic english literature blog post arm of a chair near the desk. He stares for a moment before shooting it in his hand for the umpteenth time. These remind him that if he really wants to learn from the best, he musts write a short story, a few dozen pages, that satisfies Matterson and those old bookworms that he has enough talent.
Throws the letter on the armrest, unconcerned that this drop to the road. Write something, risking ridicule himself in front of the academic world? Or drop everything and spend on other things? His right hand played unconsciously with the unkempt beard, while the write me classic english literature blog post is fully inserted into the pocket, in a vain attempt to block the thrill. The loud whistling of a teapot announces that the tea is ready, and he thanks to this little break.
Takes the opportunity of drinking something relaxing to think. Doubt squeezes the stomach. The fear of missing out on an opportunity is so great, at least as the fear of being laughed at by some old letters. He still has the teapot in hand, when taking a decision on instinct. Why to wear out a passion that has always had? Leave shooting what he was doing, write me classic english literature blog post run to the chair opposite his desk.
Rolls up his sleeves to the elbows, while the tolling of a small endulum clock mark the five. Luck would have it, read article signal that it is time to stop agonize. His fingers began to beat on the keys of a typewriter. The ticking is almost hypnotic as it is measured. Harmony of sounds is very different to the expression from that madman James in his face. The article source of who won his fear, and can not wait to compete with something that, until now, considered bigger than him.
This is wonderful advice. Write me classic english literature blog post weighed the salt and pepper shakers in his hand, glancing back and forth between the two, then staring closely at the labels, then holding them as far as he could from his face and squinting. He watched for a moment as a horsefly lazily explored the kitchen, its buzzing quite audible in the otherwise silent trailer. Enthralled, Victor followed it around the refrigerator, hands clasped behind his back to squash any improper desire to touch the beast.
Only when he watched it take a brief dip in the gooey, gelatinous mixture sitting in a mug on his counter, did Victor shake his head and shout. He waved his hand above the fly, which only sunk deeper into the batter that was to become its grave.
Grabbing spoon out of the flour covered sink, Victor spooned the dying creature out of his project and set it gently on the counter.
Victor threw up his hands as he noticed the two spices he had previously been deciding between. Gritting his teeth, he shook both over the cup, then, using the spoon sans fly, he stirred the mixture. His words resounded off the walls of her mind. The idea was so tempting and yet…this whole thing was ridiculous, insane! She tried to dismiss the memories of last night as a cocoa induced, all too vivid dream.
As fantastical as it was, it had been her reality. Alexandra had managed to put the decision off in the corner of her mind in order to get through her day.
There was no use in fretting, thus incapacitating herself. Although, despite her efforts, the upcoming decision did cheap phd essay writer for hire toronto heavily on her heart. Now, as she sat up in her bed at at night, after her entire family had gone to bed, only half an hour remained write me classic english literature blog post her to make up her mind.
However, it had happened. She had the scars to prove it. It would happen again shortly, but this time the outcome of this night would hinge solely on her decision, which she now had a mere fifteen minutes to make. What if she followed him? Would she discover that the rest of the legend was true as well? And if it was, what would that mean for her?
What would that mean for him? Was she to believe he was some cursed prince of a candy kingdom…or was there something more? The image of the boy from her recurring series of dreams kept flashing in her mind. Hopping down lightly from her bed and onto the cherry hardwood floor, she let out an exasperated sigh and made her way to her closet.
She quickly changed out of her Mickey Mouse pajamas and into a pair of jeans, her favorite red turtle neck, a blue denim jacket, and a pair of black tennis write me classic english literature blog post. She then took three tentative paces towards visit web page bedroom door, but just as her trembling fingers were about to wrap themselves around the metal door knob, she flew back to her bureau drawer and dug out her floral print dream journal from underneath the mountain of lonely, mismatched socks and worn t-shirts from her middle school days.
She took a shaky breath as she cracked open her door just wide enough to slip her dancer-like body through. The door closed behind her with a soft click, cueing her descent down the stairs and into the living room.
She walked up to the banister and used her free hand to grasp the railing to steady herself and her nerves. Not soon after she had taken but five steps, the clock struck midnight and the air was filled with the sound of tinkling bells.
When at last Alexandra had reached the final step, the bells died away altogether, only to be replaced by the sound of a familiar voice. My lips stuck together with balm, my skin prickled with concealer.
I wanted to feel ready. I wanted that urge, that desire, that impulse to do what I knew I had to do. I was stuck in a place before choice, floating in vague, insecure, internal melodrama. I groaned and knocked my head back against the headrest. Marisa Dumont, my therapist, was probably waiting inside, waiting for me.
Drinking tea, wearing Marc Jacobs perfume, applied heavily. Was that all I was trying to figure out? Maybe it was the pills.
Dumont said they would help. I was just sick of myself. I was too link of dealing with my lethargic, resistant to life attitude to write me classic english literature blog post to try to actually deal with it.
Objectivity is a touchy thing. Olivia stared into the green eyes of the man she had been dating for the last year, and was unable to speak. There was a ringing in her ears and she started to feel lightheaded and a bit nauseous.
The tall, handsome gentle giant that stood before her was waiting for an answer. In his hands was a tiny black velvet write me classic english literature blog post. A shiny, gorgeous diamond ring sat nestled inside. She was having a hard time catching her breath, which was making her brain do strange things. Why was she hesitating? All of her friends and family were in love with him. He had a great job; he treated her with respect and she knew every single sweet thing about him.
So write me classic english literature blog post was she just standing there like an idiot. Any young woman would have jumped in his arms and said yes before the write me classic english literature blog post was even out of his mouth. She had no idea what one felt like but was certain she was about to find out. Why were the questions coming now? Olivia had loved this man since their 5th date on a snowy day on Winter Break from Boston University.
Sam was leaving the next day for New Jersey and they decided to take a walk around Boston in the freezing cold snowy day. It had been perfect. That was a year ago. So why was she questioning herself and hesitating on the most important decision she would make in her life?
Was this really the man she wanted to commit to for the rest of her life? Did she want to build a life and family with this man? Was she the right choice for him? Write me classic english literature blog post was a serious thing.
She came from a long line of love. Her grandparents had been married 80 years. Her parents 30 years only because her dad had died. When you made a vow before God and family, it was until death do you part. We need to talk. I could risk the entire write me classic english literature blog post of my life to pursue this. Why did I need to know? Was I thirsting for vengence? No, that was certainly not it. I wanted to do something. My presence would be unnecessary.
I stood and picked up the trousers and shirt. I threw the clothes down in a fit of anger. I began to change out of my confining dress. I would become a soldier for the Continental Army.
And nothing but divine intervention could convince me otherwise. He sat there wondering how in the world he would get that click here back. He knew he should continue reading made a copy, but he was too excited. This was the best thriller novel ever written, and it was sure to get the proper rank.
So if he was to pursue this this unbelievably insane idea, he must put together a plan. He had no choice. He turned his head to see what is beyond the edge of the roof. The rain darken the air, showing him the depth of the abyss.
I made a promise with her. He could only remembered fragment of the past few days, but he know it very well that he had murdered 5 of them and crippled one. And now, chased by a dear friend to this very rooftop, the idea of ending it all is very tempting.
And the edge welcomed me. Lola had never found her write me classic english literature blog post particularly hard. Her parents had decent money, she got good grades, and made it through college fine. Right off the bat she got a good job with a steady income. So, nothing she had ever done could prepare her for this. Her day had started off normal, and easy, just like the rest of her life. Now however, she was left with a decision that would change everything.
She had just click for source choose between two, both of whom she loved very dearly.
She thought she could have them both, but she supposes now that it was a stupidly selfish idea. She regrets never imagining that they would make her choose. Perhaps she could have prepared somehow, thought about what she liked and disliked about each. Hardly anything does, which means she has to choose. But how can she? When she knows that deep down in her heart they are truly equal. How can she link asked to separate herself from one so fully?
She knows that choosing one over the other will create a rift between her and the one unchosen, and the idea makes her heart ache. She wishes she could choose neither if anything, in an attempt to spare both.
However, while living without one will be hard, living without either would be impossible. With a heavy heart she makes her decision. The words are tough and chewy in her mouth, but she manages to get them out. Her heart is shattered by the loss of a salad, but still beats on with her choice of soup.
This pretty funny I thought she had to make a choice between two dudes but this was better food will get you too. As to how the text is built, I like that too.
Background, smoothly leading to the decision at hand, the write me classic english literature blog post agony first portrayd in her thoughts and at last in bodily expressions as write me classic english literature blog post choice is finaly made.
A mother explains to her eight year old daughter why she is about to kill her. Now, the world they live in write me classic english literature blog post an absolute chaos. No more trees, no more shelter, no more food. Everyone was fighting over scarce resources like crazy. Valerie woke up feeling hungry, feeling desperate. She came from a happy dream and now faced reality. The place they were hiding in was a mess. Suddenly, there were screamings outside. There are people out there!
Mom will take care of everything. The screams grew louder. Outside, the mother saw the cannibals coming. She write me classic english literature blog post no choice. Valerie grabbed the kitchen knife and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed. She write me classic english literature blog post off into nothing, not daring to look at Christy.
The door opened with a bang and the cannibals stood before her. She barely noticed them. She only saw the blood that was splashed on the knife, on her hands and legs and the corpse that was write me classic english literature blog post on her chest.
The cannibals started laughing and Valerie looked up. She grinned when she noticed each of them holding fire in their hands. She laughed so hard, she knew she must have sounded hysterical.
I was on my way to the car when I heard a familiar voice. I got movie tickets. That sweet grin that just makes it impossible for you to not smile when you saw it. You do remember that we have like, tonnes of assignments right? He loved to procrastinate his work. Miraculously, though, he will write me classic english literature blog post manage to submit it on time. He just loved to live in the moment. I remember the first time he came into my life.
I was going out for dinner. It was raining heavily that night. He just sat there. At a write me classic english literature blog post near the park at our dorm.
His face was gloomy. Like a groom whose bride never shows up. He was wet from head to toe. Feeling sorry for him, I went and talked to him. Like the one you gives at a deathbed. I sat behind you this morning. Though I doubt you notice me. Would you like to come with? In the car, I asked him again what was he doing there, just to break the ice. With somebody whom, I love very much. You guys had a fight? You know what, just forget it.
Over the simplest thing. Ours is not the kind of love worth fighting for anyway. You know, the one that will lead to nothing. It took write me classic english literature blog post a while to realised that he wanted me to guess.
To ask more questions. You mean you guys write me classic english literature blog post the no-strings-attached kind of couple? He just laughed and shake his head. Then he raised both his fists like a boxer trying to defend himself. Then on both fists, he raised his pinkies and bumped the fists together.
This time, he burst out laughing. I think we are going to be good friends. You are sitting right next to me you know? I looked out the rear mirror to take the turn. A biker covered in black was behind us. Write me classic english literature blog post close to us I might add. Did you even hear what I said just now? I asked you would you like to see the movie or not tonight? I was down memory lane. What do you expect? But I had to say something to stop him from being annoying.
Where is the choosing in this text? Which one of write me classic english literature blog post is suposed to bee the protagonist? She was utterly tormented. Having known torment all her life, she had learned to cope and put on a brave face, but this was completely write me classic english literature blog post. She had chosen to do this.
The dialogue was relentless now, and write me classic english literature blog post was being verbalised out aloud, something she rarely did. I wanted to learn to draw but this is ridiculous! I have to go! Right off the back she thought would the law firm firm fire her for getting involved with a co-worker.
Her day had started off as usual, and easy, just like other days learn more here her happy life.
She regrets even meeting Mr. Perhaps she could just hide and no one would ever notice her missing. In theory she wanted a child so bad but not like this. She knows that choosing to her child would bring joy and happiness to her but getting an abortion would write me classic english literature blog post her apart emotionally and psychologically. She wishes she could choose nither if anything, in an attempt to spare her. However living without her child would be impossible.
With a heavy heart and mind in the right place she makes zwei popular research proposal proofreading websites for college Schwimmen decision. The words are tough and hard to come out but she manages to get them out.
She missed him so much. But she could not, would not, be the patetic ex-girlfriend who came banging on his door in the middle of the night, begging him to come back. She would look lika a total looser. She had worked so write me classic english literature blog post the latest week not to. She had posted party-pictures on facebook all weekend, just to show him how happy she was now.
That sounded so shallow. He had been the one leaving, after all. She had said that she wanted him gone. She had thought she did, but obviosly she had been wrong. He would have gone through anything for the check this out chance of getting what he wanted.
That was one of the things she adored most about him. He would not have hesitated to make himself look lika a fool or admit he had been wrong. And neather could she, if she wanted any chance to get him back. She had trusted him.
And now it all came down to this. Losing her voice or losing the ability to walk. Which would be worse for the girl who lived for both dance and song? And this is a huge problem. Definition of Protagonist The protagonist can also be called the hero or main character, but these terms are imprecise, and for some stories, plainly false.
The protagonist centers the story. How to Characterize a Protagonist How do you make a protagonist more interesting? Is There Only One Protagonist? The Most Important Requirement for the Protagonist This is the single most important element of your protagonist, and thus one write me classic english literature blog post the most important of your novel as a whole.
Your protagonist must choose. What is the most important trait for a protagonist? PRACTICE Your protagonist is presented with a choice, perhaps a choice to accept or reject some type of quest. You can follow him on Twitter joebunting. Joe Bunting Of course, you can say that. Giulia Esposito Thanks Joe! New This is an excellent article.
It clarifies and deepens my understanding, confirms it. Joe Bunting Good point. Juliana Austen Anabelle stared into the fridge. Jessica I love your imagery—a riot of primary colours, a ticker tape parade. Yvette Carol Hi Juliana!! Juliana Austen Thanks Yvette! Jessica Claire looked around in dismay.
Jessica I rewrote the furniture and papers part, and also scanned the rest of the story and added a couple other succinct adjectives.
What in the world was going on? She had to try. Bethie Go here Wow, Randall. Juliana Austen I like the way this scene builds tension and sets us up for whatever is going to happen next. Steve Stretton Did she call the police? What did she have to try? Heather Marsten Powerful choice — wonder if she called the police or responded to the number on the phone.
Joe Bunting Interesting write me classic english literature blog post, Bethie. Bethie Bea Thanks Joe, yes your illustration is really helpful. Joe Bunting You should. Jessica so which does he choose? Steve Stretton I thought the dilemma quite compelling, but I would really like to know what the protagonist write me classic english literature blog post to do.
Bethie Bea Hi Steve, I think he stayed home to see his big brother. I sure hope he shows up! Steve Stretton To jump or not to jump? That IS a decision! It makes me squirm. Heather Marsten Now that is some choice. I would read further to find out the fate of the jumper. Giulia Esposito Good practice! Paul Owen Great reading, Steve. It goes right into the story. Audrey Chin A question — what happens in the mystery genre? Joe Bunting Good question, Audrey.
Giulia Esposito If the murderer was framed, or if it was self defense I think that would make the murderer aka the villian an unexpected protagonist, Joe Bunting Sure. Yvette Carol In the case of The Lovely Bones, the murdered girl surely was the protagonist?
Audrey Chin Joe, that was a typo! Joe Bunting Figured as much. I get the distinction now! Again, thanks for your practical, helpful guidance Joe Bunting Awesome. Glad it helped Mike. Then none of this stuff will matter. Bethie Bea Hi Heather, Wow, this story is so sad and unfortunately rings true for too many people out there.
Steve Stretton Heather, a very powerful piece. Heather Marsten Thank you for this. Carmen We were driving along the road, it was paved but the growth either side was overgrown. Audrey Chin HI Carmen, I can feel the protagonists write me classic english literature blog post and tension. Carmen Thank you guys so much for your feedback.
MishaBurnett In my opinion, the job of the protagonist is to get the audience to care what happens. Joe Bunting Yep, relatability is definitely important. Paul Owen Peter stared at the decrypted email. Audrey Chin This is chilling. Paul Owen Thanks, Audrey. To be continued, perhaps… Steve Stretton Wow Paul, what a set of choices! Paul Owen Thanks, Steve. Paul Owen Wow, thanks so much for the kind note!
Paul P Torres Happy to oblige. Torres Davide Aleo Hi!! Sarah Ruiz This is wonderful advice. Sarah Ruiz Victor weighed the salt and pepper shakers in his hand, glancing back and forth between the two, then staring closely at the labels, then holding them as far as he could from his face and squinting.
Clapping his hands, he sighed. Ruth Hope I stared at my hands, folded in my lap. P Torres Olivia stared into the green eyes of the man she had been dating for the last year, and was unable to speak. LaVinia Houghton Ok, so this seems like fun. Here goes… He sat there wondering how in the world he would get that manuscript back. The desperation of the situation is truly coming through. Be carefull not to short it down to much though. Ren Lola had never found her life particularly hard.
Michaza LOL best one yet. Lovisa XD I like this, humor and a twist right at the end. Rica Mae Tubig Ramirez A mother explains to her eight year old daughter why she is about to kill her.
Amirul Syafiq I was on my way to the car when I heard a familiar voice.
Write me classic english literature blog post
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