The Lost Princess » Moving Pictures

ink and vanities

Skylark — Thu, 04 Nov 2010 12:16:30 +0000

I am reading too much in a vain effort to make the words come back. Reading of burning girls and betrayal, and boys who watch through window panes as everybody dies. The March’s History for a dash of comfort, milk in tea, although it grows a little safe for me to be truthful. I’ve long wished to be a Jo, up all night with inky fingers, but I’m afraid I shall always be Amy, full of little vanities, pining after French satin ribbon and a perfect nose.

November means early mornings and trying to draw out just three more words to line up a thousand, and none of them worth the paper they’re written on. Cups of tea gone black and cold, and writing on trains until there is a steady avalanche of dialogue slipping off the page. All of this, solely to prove to myself that I am not so small and weak willed, after all.

el espíritu de la colmena

Skylark — Sun, 17 Oct 2010 07:08:34 +0000

for brave girls who make friends with the beasts in the closet
and the monsters under the bed.

From the Witch of the West to the Witch of the East

Skylark — Sun, 14 Mar 2010 06:02:06 +0000

To do magic or work miracles you need strength of spirit. To become a witch the most important thing is strength of will. The power to make up your mind and do what you’ve decided to do. Until you can overcome that most difficult part, you might not get what you want. But give it a try anyway. 西の魔女が死んだ (The Witch of the West is Dead)

Whenever I go out in to the world, I see so many Kenji-sans and I cry when they cut down the trees or dig up the earth in my sanctuary. I want to stay at Grandma’s house, where time stands still and there are fields of wild strawberries for birthday presents and biscuits baked at midnight and flowers in my tea cup. I would never leave.

Eloise

Skylark — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 13:08:07 +0000

In my heart of hearts I am still exactly six years old and, I imagine, always will be.

wish list

Skylark — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 06:20:49 +0000

Swan Song

Skylark — Sun, 20 Dec 2009 06:26:22 +0000

I am sitting in shadows and eating chocolate biscuits because it is too bright outside. The sun singes the leaves and makes the pavement hot to run on. Patch and I watch L’Ecole and I tie ribbons in my hair. My christmas tree has white leaves with gossamer film. It doesn’t snow here, it never snows, but I can pretend.

p.s. I made a little film for you, because I couldn’t just photograph it. The music box is from Claire.

a boy, pretending to be a wolf, pretending to be a king

Skylark — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 09:28:48 +0000

It was beautiful and true. I miss them already, especially Alexander (he was my favourite) I want to go back again soon. Even if I cry an ocean on the way.

Matilda is my Hero(ine)

Skylark — Sun, 04 Oct 2009 14:07:05 +0000

She has style. Of course I love Lavender too and we can’t forget Miss Honey (except if I was her I would have stayed in the pretty little cottage with the honeysuckle.)

I’m sorry I have been away so long. Work has been swallowing up my hours like a tigershark. I miss taking photos, but I am still writing. I’m writing a story about a boy, I hope I will finish this one.

It is four sleeps until my birthday.

Flying Lessons

Skylark — Sun, 09 Aug 2009 00:41:00 +0000

Sorry Harry, but Mildred and Ethel won my heart first. Cold nights and bats and tapioca pudding. I’d rather go to Miss Cackle’s all the same.

Ballet Shoes

Skylark — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 01:15:59 +0000

Pauline, Posy and Petrova (right-to-left)

The Fossil sisters lived in the Cromwell Road. At that end of it which is furthest away from the Brompton Road, and yet sufficiently near it to be taken to look at the dolls’ houses in the Victoria and Albert every wet day, and if not too wet expected to “save the penny and walk”.

“Gum,” Pauline, the eldest would say, “must have been a very taxi person; he couldn’t have ever thought about walking or he’d never have bought a house at the far end of the longest road in London.” Noel Streatfeild

I liked Posy best. That’s what ballet is like, it gets inside of you and quietly steals part of your soul and you know that even if you’re not very good, even if you never had a chance, a little dreaming part of you will dance Swan Lake on some invisible stage of the heart.