Two Types of Poor

With my wedding two weeks away, I’ll admit that my internet presence may be rather scarce, and my word processing even scarcer. I did hit my word count goal for the month (10k) in three days, so I’m pretty much coasting until September, and anything that does manage to get written will be a very nice extra bit of progress.

Very rarely do I do anything consciously in my stories. Like, super rarely. I’ve said before that I don’t make decisions, the story just comes to me and I am the vessel it chose to speak through. (In an entirely figurative sense, that is.)

Let it also be said that I hate analyzing literature. This is mainly because my writing has no meaning. There is no secret message to de-code. It will never be a cry for help, or a stab at social injustice. It’s just a story. For entertainment. That is all.

I can respect the authors who do have a more cryptic form of writing, but I just don’t. Because of this, I also never ask why a character asked for his eggs poached instead of scrambled as usual. He just did and that’s all we need to know in order for the story to progress. If we do need a reasoning, it will be noted.

With that in mind, I was going through chapter two to see what I wanted to highlight and I came across a passage that initially was there only to launch my readers into an introduction of what the in-series Noble Project is actually all about. It wasn’t until I stepped back that I realized it applied to my life and something I go back and forth with inside my own head.

    The Noble Project.

    She had heard it spoken, but only in hushed tones and when people thought she might not hear. She had never considered it to be complete fact, as gossip spread and evolved rather quickly here, but now, as she stood before the parchment fluttering in the wind, she saw that it was true. Even the King’s insignia was there. This was it. This was her chance.

    Pulling the notice from the board, she held it before her, still not quite believing word had reached so far up North, to her town of miners.

    “That’s a load of pig shit, that there.”

    With a small gasp, Luke looked up to a burly man who had come up beside her.

    “It’s not,” she argued softly.

    “It is,” he insisted, “an’ if yer not careful, you’ll be put away juss’ like that mother o’ yers.”

    “My mother was not put away,” Luke huffed, turning from the man. A gust of wind came up from near knees, barreling upwards and snatching the note of The Noble Project away. She cried out in protest, but the man simply laid a hand on her shoulder to stop her from chasing after it.

    “Yer better off,” he told her.

    With a dejected sigh, Luke continued on her way to the market. If she were lucky, she’d just make it before Harry packed up.

Here we see an example of two characters, both peasants, with two very different, yet realistic views of the world. We have Luke, the dreamer, who desperately wants something more, and mystery man who doesn’t even need a name, who is happy, or at least accepting, with his position.

I’ll admit that I’m on Luke’s side of the fence. Everything I do, and every goal I achieve is simply a stepping stone to the next bigger & better thing. I set the bar extremely high for myself, and I never consider my hopes to be ‘pipe dreams’, no matter how outrageous they may seem. (Like the $800,000 house in that ritzy Boston suburb. I’ll get it. I will.)

But I know so many people who don’t want more. They’re like Mr. Mystery Man:  happy with what they have and fine exactly where they are. They don’t want fame or fortune. A big house with a big yard is just more that can go wrong, more things to clean, more to maintain.

I don’t think either Luke or Mr. Mystery Man is wrong, just different. Still, I can’t help but wonder:  when does dreaming become to much? Will it take over and turn into something ugly like dissatisfaction? But on the other hand, if you have nothing to work towards, what’s the point?

I never intended to enter into a philosophical tennis match with myself. Mr. Mystery Man was nothing more than a naysayer! Why couldn’t he stay that way?

So which one are you? Luke, Mr. Mystery Man, or something else?

Book of Luke completion progress: 9%

The Noble Project completion progress: 2%

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About Frenchie Leigh

I am an avid writer of the romantically tragic, the fashionably brooding, and foolishly believing. Though my plot lines come to me through music, my writing style is most greatly influenced by my personal favourite authoresses: Julia Quinn and Eloisa James. View all posts by Frenchie Leigh

2 responses to “Two Types of Poor

  • Brandi

    Ah, Frenchie, we are like sisters, or soulmates! I, at this moment, have two books in the works and I’ve never said it out loud, for fear of sounding silly! Mine are:

    Broken Carousel (11,000 words in)
    Handpicked, a cautionary tale (5,000 words in)

    I totally get you! I’m a dreamer, but more than a dreamer, because I work for what I want. My husband recently asked me, “When will you ever be happy with things as they are?”. Me: “Never I hope, as long as there are things that can be changed”

    Some people are boat-rockers and the world needs us! And the world needs people like my husband, who are content with what they have and look no further. Content. That’s a word I just don’t have.

    • Frenchie Leigh

      Ah! You make me feel so much better! Adam and I are both like that. We say, “we want THIS” and then, “okay, how can we get it?” and work and work and work until we have it, and then it’s something else, and something else.

      It’s not to say were aren’t thankful for what we have, but, well, life is out there. Why not take it?

      And now I know what you meant by Jordan was already taken! So you ARE a writer! I do hope you’ll share your work someday, even before it’s finished! 😀

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