#secondperson — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #secondperson, aggregated by home.social.
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There should be a ban on #second-person #headlines. Eg “Five Best Books You’ve Never Read”, “Eight Things You Need to Know About …”, etc. Besides their hectoring tone, they often imply some very condescending assumptions about the readers they’re directed at.
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The #shortstory #anthology Other #Stories by #AliSmith, which I recently read, uses #second-person based #narratives very effectively and was, overall, quite good read. #books #BookSky
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The #shortstory #anthology Other #Stories by #AliSmith, which I recently read, uses #second-person based #narratives very effectively and was, overall, quite good read. #books #BookSky
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A new post at toGround.link:
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A new post at toGround.link:
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One reads plenty of stories with third-person narration, and a lesser number with first-person. What's rare is a tale in second-person. When does that come up? When someone tells an amnesiac about stuff they've forgotten they've done? When a time traveler tells someone about what they're going to do in the future?
"Aesop's Elevator" is a short story by William Alexander about a town-size orbital elevator designed and built and run by the fourteen-year-old narrator's mother, who agrees to a bet with the trillionaire owner of a fleet of rocket ships about who can get the most cargo to geosynchronous orbit in a month, the time it takes Turtletown to make its ascent. #hopepunk
The narrator thinks and talks about herself in the second person. Sentences like these abound:
You live inside a flying, kaiju-size turtle.
Your big sister Addy is right next to you.
You realize that you left your breakfast uneaten in the kitchen.
“Why aren’t you angry?” you ask.
Keep him talking, you think.It's a weird and somewhat disorienting feeling, reading a #SecondPerson story.
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One reads plenty of stories with third-person narration, and a lesser number with first-person. What's rare is a tale in second-person. When does that come up? When someone tells an amnesiac about stuff they've forgotten they've done? When a time traveler tells someone about what they're going to do in the future?
"Aesop's Elevator" is a short story by William Alexander about a town-size orbital elevator designed and built and run by the fourteen-year-old narrator's mother, who agrees to a bet with the trillionaire owner of a fleet of rocket ships about who can get the most cargo to geosynchronous orbit in a month, the time it takes Turtletown to make its ascent. #hopepunk
The narrator thinks and talks about herself in the second person. Sentences like these abound:
You live inside a flying, kaiju-size turtle.
Your big sister Addy is right next to you.
You realize that you left your breakfast uneaten in the kitchen.
“Why aren’t you angry?” you ask.
Keep him talking, you think.It's a weird and somewhat disorienting feeling, reading a #SecondPerson story.
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𝗥𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗲𝘄: "𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗥𝗲𝗹𝘂𝗰𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗙𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗮𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁" 𝗯𝘆 𝗠𝗼𝗵𝘀𝗶𝗻 𝗛𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗱 -
Hamid's layered narrative, in an implied second person point of view, traps Western readers in revealing ambiguity, in genuine and healthy discomfort.
#bookreviews #literature #books #bookworm #read #book #readreadread #mohsinhamid #thereluctantfundamentalist #film #waronterror #fiction #thriller #secondperson
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A new post on To Ground Link:
https://toground.link/caressed-by-color/
This is part of the IndieWeb Carnival for August, hosted by @immarisabel - Colors!
#indieweb #nature #blog #indiewebcarnival #blogging #bearblog #secondPerson #natureWriting #crows
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A new post on To Ground Link:
https://toground.link/caressed-by-color/
This is part of the IndieWeb Carnival for August, hosted by @immarisabel - Colors!
#indieweb #nature #blog #indiewebcarnival #blogging #bearblog #secondPerson #natureWriting #crows
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Steel Mind
You sit in front of the door to your home, waiting for your owner to get back from work, always feeling so sad when she's gone. You can't wait for her to get back, so you can cuddle, and get lots of pets and scritches, and do lots of tricks for her! You even get to be her test dummy for all her hypnosis practice. But that's alright... because hypnosis doesn't work on you.~
*This story is available for early access to Silver Explorers and above on my SubscribeStar!
https://subscribestar.adult/posts/1656959Story Previews
SoFurry: https://www.sofurry.com/view/2218688
Weasyl: https://www.weasyl.com/~pircachupi/submissions/2457076/#Story #Writing #Smut #PircaWriting #petplay #hypnosis #SecondPerson
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Splash of Color
Two sides of a coin... which side do you find yourself on? Are you confident enough to take the tigress's leash into your own hands, or are you more fit to be a canvas for their magical paint?
This story is available for early access to Silver Explorers and above on my SubscribeStar!
https://subscribestar.adult/posts/1646375Story Previews
SoFurry: https://www.sofurry.com/view/2214067
Weasyl: https://www.weasyl.com/~pircachupi/submissions/2452411/#Story #Writing #Smut #PircaWriting #ABDL #Diaper #Diapers #Chastity #Hypnosis #SecondPerson
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#PennedPossibilities 211 — Where does your MC draw inspiration in life? What motivates them? Wintereyes in the Caves of Wood
Nature—it's all around you.
Imagine, for a moment if you will, that you are a little girl and you live in a small farmhouse near a forest. You like playing outside any chance you get. When you sit on a log, listening to the rustling of the leaves and watch the butterflies flit by, you feel the entire world of life speaking to your heart. Sometimes birds fly over, even land on your shoulder or head, and they chirp and sing, as if they know you understand them. You want to believe that you do, just as you are aware of a deer crashing through the underbrush and think her unhappy because of the stag she smells, just as you hear the mice skittering to their dens and think they whine about the red fox. You hear all the beasts as they pass by or watch warily.
You always have, but now you're 7 years old and the spirits pull you strongly.
One day the rain ends, and something tells you to look through the droplets spattering the glass and wetting the garden. The world is so verdantly green, uncounted spirits sing in delight that they are so incredibly alive. Your gaze lifts to the forest, to the brush and brambles.
To the left, about there...
You see...
Tawny eyes.
Your eyes meet. You know they've met. You feel your heart thump in growing anticipation. What is this? Like a friend you knew once long ago, you now recognize what you've forgotten, though you know not what it is. The beast takes a step, branches part, and you see a wolf. Grey ruff. Tan and brown fur. Pink scarred black nose.
You lift the casement window without hesitation, to see more clearly, to smell the rain freshened air and hear the dripping from the eaves. The wolf looks either way, sniffing, ready to bolt should the farmer who hates him be lurking, but he isn't. You know it is market day, and you are alone, practicing your numbers and letters. You lean out, waving, knowing your Mom and Da would say that's wrong.
The wolf trots into the clearing, then along the row of cabbages, careful not to touch, leaving prints in the mud. Not worried he might be tracked, but curious because he feels something. Within a minute he stands below the sill, looking up. You see a curved tongue for a moment, then he sniffs. You smell wet fur, and because he pants, you smell that last mouse he ate.
You can tell he feels what you felt. He sees a friend he knew once long ago and now recognizes that it is you he forgot.
"Wait," you say.
He tilts his head, eyes blinking, as you scramble to the drawer beside the tiny table that serves as your desk. You grab the tine of a deer antler you knew was special, grasping it and rushing back, only to see paws on the sill, the wolf studying your room, and you, frowning. He is /that/ big. He whines softly, tapping his teeth together.
You walk up, wondering if he might take fright. Might snarl. Might bite, but you know better. You don't stop until your nose touches his muddy wet one. It's cold. You've seen this greeting from very far away. You breathe the same warm moist air, and he blinks, not frightened at all!
You're not frightened, either, and your heart races with certainty.
Grasping the tine, you think, /We're friends and have always been. I so want us to speak again./
The antler tine warms and a silvery glow envelopes you both in the same warmth, that very warmth that kindred spirits feel when they meet again. The air sings with a chorus of half-heard voices of joy.
Friends once more.
The texture and fabric of a whine and a yip and clicking of teeth change. You understand he says, "The hunt has been good. The world is new once more and the air clean! Why do you hide from us in these caves of wood?"
-=-=-=-=-
When nature speaks to you, the spirits inspire you to know it better.
[Author retains copyright (c)2024 RS.]
#BoostingIsSharing and #CommentingIsCool
#fiction #fantasy #sf #secondperson #2ndperson #presenttense #sciencefiction #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory
#RSInklingsStory -
#PennedPossibilities 211 — Where does your MC draw inspiration in life? What motivates them? Wintereyes in the Caves of Wood
Nature—it's all around you.
Imagine, for a moment if you will, that you are a little girl and you live in a small farmhouse near a forest. You like playing outside any chance you get. When you sit on a log, listening to the rustling of the leaves and watch the butterflies flit by, you feel the entire world of life speaking to your heart. Sometimes birds fly over, even land on your shoulder or head, and they chirp and sing, as if they know you understand them. You want to believe that you do, just as you are aware of a deer crashing through the underbrush and think her unhappy because of the stag she smells, just as you hear the mice skittering to their dens and think they whine about the red fox. You hear all the beasts as they pass by or watch warily.
You always have, but now you're 7 years old and the spirits pull you strongly.
One day the rain ends, and something tells you to look through the droplets spattering the glass and wetting the garden. The world is so verdantly green, uncounted spirits sing in delight that they are so incredibly alive. Your gaze lifts to the forest, to the brush and brambles.
To the left, about there...
You see...
Tawny eyes.
Your eyes meet. You know they've met. You feel your heart thump in growing anticipation. What is this? Like a friend you knew once long ago, you now recognize what you've forgotten, though you know not what it is. The beast takes a step, branches part, and you see a wolf. Grey ruff. Tan and brown fur. Pink scarred black nose.
You lift the casement window without hesitation, to see more clearly, to smell the rain freshened air and hear the dripping from the eaves. The wolf looks either way, sniffing, ready to bolt should the farmer who hates him be lurking, but he isn't. You know it is market day, and you are alone, practicing your numbers and letters. You lean out, waving, knowing your Mom and Da would say that's wrong.
The wolf trots into the clearing, then along the row of cabbages, careful not to touch, leaving prints in the mud. Not worried he might be tracked, but curious because he feels something. Within a minute he stands below the sill, looking up. You see a curved tongue for a moment, then he sniffs. You smell wet fur, and because he pants, you smell that last mouse he ate.
You can tell he feels what you felt. He sees a friend he knew once long ago and now recognizes that it is you he forgot.
"Wait," you say.
He tilts his head, eyes blinking, as you scramble to the drawer beside the tiny table that serves as your desk. You grab the tine of a deer antler you knew was special, grasping it and rushing back, only to see paws on the sill, the wolf studying your room, and you, frowning. He is /that/ big. He whines softly, tapping his teeth together.
You walk up, wondering if he might take fright. Might snarl. Might bite, but you know better. You don't stop until your nose touches his muddy wet one. It's cold. You've seen this greeting from very far away. You breathe the same warm moist air, and he blinks, not frightened at all!
You're not frightened, either, and your heart races with certainty.
Grasping the tine, you think, /We're friends and have always been. I so want us to speak again./
The antler tine warms and a silvery glow envelopes you both in the same warmth, that very warmth that kindred spirits feel when they meet again. The air sings with a chorus of half-heard voices of joy.
Friends once more.
The texture and fabric of a whine and a yip and clicking of teeth change. You understand he says, "The hunt has been good. The world is new once more and the air clean! Why do you hide from us in these caves of wood?"
-=-=-=-=-
When nature speaks to you, the spirits inspire you to know it better.
[Author retains copyright (c)2024 RS.]
#BoostingIsSharing and #CommentingIsCool
#fiction #fantasy #sf #secondperson #2ndperson #presenttense #sciencefiction #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory
#RSInklingsStory