However I find I am quite enjoying writing about my two main characters interaction with each other. They are twins, but have basically grown up on different sides of the planet, and are about that far apart. One of them is naive, philosophical, idealistic, emotional, occasionally dark in a poetic sort of way. The other one is worldly, the strong silent type, very practical and down to earth, detached, but very cynical as well. It's fun, because both of them are a part of me. My sensible side and my dreamy side. They love to argue (:
Here's a sort of example of the two of them. It's not very good, but it's what I just wrote, so whatever.
Oliver sighed.
“Ah, just listen to the roar of that wind.”
“Yes,” said Roland, “There's likely to be a storm tonight. Kyk to the wind.”
He saw Oliver's face reacting to his choice of words.
“Sorry.”
“I love the wind. If you listen hard enough, it's like music. It sweeps through you and swells your soul in the most magnificent way. It's like the most lilting melody, and the greatest symphony.”
Roland laughed, and fondly tossed a sack in the general direction of his brother.
“Oh, shut up and go to sleep.”
“No, I am serious, and then there's the colours of the wind.”
“The what?”
“The wind is the music of creation,” started Oliver.
“Here we go again...”
“For every gust portrays a melody, a harmony, an emotion, a power. Right now, it's softly flitting about, whispering like a deep purple, calm, but strong. Suddenly it climaxes to the colour of Scarlet red! Wild and independent. It falls to soft yellow, trilling with a warm and gentle melody. It rises once more, a warm blue this time stirring with motion and desire, then rising up as if to burst with passion.”
Roland listened quietly, filling the sensation of the breeze sweeping off his face, becoming ever so slowly captivated with Oliver's words.
“Do you see what I mean? The wind, the rain, clouds, and sky, they're all just part of the symphony of creation, from the gentle kiss of the falling rain, from the rage of a cyclone, to the joy of a rising sun, and the melancholia of a setting one. It's all music.”
“I think, I think for once, I might actually know what you mean, brother,” Roland said, his arms clasped behind his head.
