To J.R.R. Tolkien,
* Thank you greatly for writing one of the best series I have ever read. Not just the Trilogy, but the entire host of Middle-Earth chronicles, including tales of epic heroes besides the Nine. I read The Hobbit in 5th Grade and I went on to read the Simarillion, Tales of Middle Earth, and several others. I found out my Elvish name, Elemmírë Oronrá, my hobbit name, Molly Smallburrows of the Sandydowns. I was completely taken with the books, and all I wanted was to have my own adventures.
*When Gandalf came back and told Frodo of his mission, I was ready to go. The trip from Hobbiton to Imaladris is filled with fear and new creatures, in the span of a couple descriptive chapters. I don’t see how you could fill a whole book with such descriptive narration on a few young hobbits’ tales of such an adventure! To me it seems like a long exciting trip, one of the ones where it’s so exciting, you get home and can’t find what to say. That’s how I would feel if I were in Frodo’s position, finishing There and Back Again. And how I’m feeling writing this letter, without words to express years of times reading and re-reading Lord of the Rings.
*I think in The Hobbit, I compared with Bilbo. How his longing for adventure overcame his fear of the unknown, and how he went with the dwarves to the Lone Mountain. It inspired me to come out of a timid shell, and to try new things and forget about the things I was too afraid to try. It was exciting to feel Bilbo’s response to every new thing he tried, or in each trial, how he overcame himself to help his friends.
* Though in The Lord of The Rings, I compared most to Aragorn. I am proud, but easy to anger and afraid to take power. I can, when pressed, but I’ve never been fond of it. His quiet, knowing character compares with mine, I spend hours a day reading and sitting quietly, often outside, in the woods. I can go days without feeling the need to talk, or be with people. But Aragorn overcomes this to become a great king. He taught me to take what I know and apply it to all situations, to find my courage and use it. He showed me how to be a better person in all. I also admired him, for his ruggedness, and modeled a lot of my quiet actions on his, taking time to think, and staying in the background, making myself feel noble and heroic.
* I often found myself having dreams in which I was the one that was fighting the war against Sauron and was consulting with Théoden or Ѐomer. It happened so that I explored all corners of Middle-Earth, experiencing all the same monsters and beings that Frodo and Bilbo did. I knew my weapon of choice, a bow and two single-handed swords, and I knew that I would like to be clothed in the manner of the elves, so that I could walk unseen through woods. I liked seeing this; it was the greatest thing that ever happened to me. Unfortunately I couldn’t really apply this; my parents might be slightly alarmed by me taking a hand and a half sword around with me. It’s funny that this book would stay around with me through days and nights, shaping actions even when I was not aware or in control of it.
* Mr.Tolkien, your book inspired me to new heights of reading. Though I maybe can’t live like Aragorn or Legolas, I can read other books and keep dreaming. Your books have given me the gift of imagination, like that of when I was younger. I only aspire to be such a compelling writer as you have been!
Sincerely,
Eleanor Knight
Monday, December 10, 2007
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Letter to J.R.R Tolkien
To J.R.R. Tolkien,
First of all, thank you greatly for writing one of the best series I have ever read. This is not just the Trilogy, but the entire host of Middle-Earth chronicles, including tales of epic heroes besides the Nine. I first saw, actually, the movie, The Fellowship of the Ring. After that I was hooked on the books (I had read The Hobbit in 5th Grade) and I went on to read the Simarillion, Tales of Middle Earth, and several others. I found out my Elvish name, Elemmírë Oronrá, my hobbit name, Molly Smallburrows of the Sandydowns. I was completely taken with the books, and all I wanted was to have my own adventures.
When Gandalf came back and told Frodo of his mission, I was ready to go. The trip from Hobbiton to Imaladris is filled with fear and new creatures, in the span of a couple descriptive chapters. I don’t see how you could fill a whole book with such descriptive narration on a few young hobbits’ tales of such an adventure! To me it seems like a long exciting trip, one of the ones where it’s so exciting, you get home and can’t find what to say. That’s how I would feel if I were in Frodo’s position, finishing There and Back Again. And how I’m feeling writing this letter, without words to express years of times reading and re-reading Lord of the Rings.
I think in The Hobbit, I compared with Bilbo. How his longing for adventure overcame his fear of the unknown, and how he went with the dwarves to the Lone Mountain. It inspired me to come out of a timid shell, and to try new things and forget about the things I was too afraid to try. It was exciting to feel Bilbo’s response to every new thing he tried, or in each trial, how he overcame himself to help his friends.
Though in The Lord of The Rings, I compared most to Aragorn. I am proud, but easy to anger and afraid to take power. I can, when pressed, but I’ve never been fond of it. His quiet, knowing character compares with mine, I spend hours a day reading and sitting quietly, often outside, in the woods. I can go days without feeling the need to talk, or be with people. But Aragorn overcomes this to become a great king. He taught me to take what I know and apply it to all situations, to find my courage and use it. He showed me how to be a better person in all.
I often found myself having dreams in which I was the one that was fighting the war against Sauron and was consulting with Théoden or Ѐomer. It happened so that I explored all corners of Middle-Earth, experiencing all the same monsters and beings that Frodo and Bilbo did. I knew my weapon of choice, a bow and two single-handed swords, and I knew that I would like to be clothed in the manner of the elves, so that I could walk unseen through woods. I liked seeing this; it was the greatest thing that ever happened to me. Unfortunately I couldn’t really apply this, my parents might be slightly alarmed by me taking a hand and a half sword around with me.
Mr.Tolkien, your book inspired me to new heights of reading. Though I maybe can’t live like Aragorn or Legolas, I can read other books and keep dreaming. Your books have given me the gift of imagination, like that of when I was younger. I only aspire to be such a compelling writer as you have been!
Sincerely,
Eleanor Knight
First of all, thank you greatly for writing one of the best series I have ever read. This is not just the Trilogy, but the entire host of Middle-Earth chronicles, including tales of epic heroes besides the Nine. I first saw, actually, the movie, The Fellowship of the Ring. After that I was hooked on the books (I had read The Hobbit in 5th Grade) and I went on to read the Simarillion, Tales of Middle Earth, and several others. I found out my Elvish name, Elemmírë Oronrá, my hobbit name, Molly Smallburrows of the Sandydowns. I was completely taken with the books, and all I wanted was to have my own adventures.
When Gandalf came back and told Frodo of his mission, I was ready to go. The trip from Hobbiton to Imaladris is filled with fear and new creatures, in the span of a couple descriptive chapters. I don’t see how you could fill a whole book with such descriptive narration on a few young hobbits’ tales of such an adventure! To me it seems like a long exciting trip, one of the ones where it’s so exciting, you get home and can’t find what to say. That’s how I would feel if I were in Frodo’s position, finishing There and Back Again. And how I’m feeling writing this letter, without words to express years of times reading and re-reading Lord of the Rings.
I think in The Hobbit, I compared with Bilbo. How his longing for adventure overcame his fear of the unknown, and how he went with the dwarves to the Lone Mountain. It inspired me to come out of a timid shell, and to try new things and forget about the things I was too afraid to try. It was exciting to feel Bilbo’s response to every new thing he tried, or in each trial, how he overcame himself to help his friends.
Though in The Lord of The Rings, I compared most to Aragorn. I am proud, but easy to anger and afraid to take power. I can, when pressed, but I’ve never been fond of it. His quiet, knowing character compares with mine, I spend hours a day reading and sitting quietly, often outside, in the woods. I can go days without feeling the need to talk, or be with people. But Aragorn overcomes this to become a great king. He taught me to take what I know and apply it to all situations, to find my courage and use it. He showed me how to be a better person in all.
I often found myself having dreams in which I was the one that was fighting the war against Sauron and was consulting with Théoden or Ѐomer. It happened so that I explored all corners of Middle-Earth, experiencing all the same monsters and beings that Frodo and Bilbo did. I knew my weapon of choice, a bow and two single-handed swords, and I knew that I would like to be clothed in the manner of the elves, so that I could walk unseen through woods. I liked seeing this; it was the greatest thing that ever happened to me. Unfortunately I couldn’t really apply this, my parents might be slightly alarmed by me taking a hand and a half sword around with me.
Mr.Tolkien, your book inspired me to new heights of reading. Though I maybe can’t live like Aragorn or Legolas, I can read other books and keep dreaming. Your books have given me the gift of imagination, like that of when I was younger. I only aspire to be such a compelling writer as you have been!
Sincerely,
Eleanor Knight
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Writing Assignment Draft 3
Helen slid across the floor, dipping and twisting her fingers with the smooth caress of the swaying music. Her brown hair tied back in a ponytail barely brushed broad shoulders set on a thin, well-muscled body. Her partner, Rick, was a little newer to her current studio, but learning the ropes as he gently pulled her back to him. Their toes moved back and forth in rhythm, both hips swaying together, reminding Helen of leaves falling in a storm, tripping and twisting in limbo. The guitar strumming along paused, and struck it’s final chord, as Rick and Helen hit their final poses, arms up, bodies arched and sweating from the final throes of the Spanish dance. Helen smiled, panting a little from the exertion, and let her arms down.
“You’re an excellent dancer,” she shyly murmured. “I didn’t expect to be placed with someone so…well…talented.”
Rick’s ribs moved in and out as he caught his breath, holding up one finger to indicate ‘hold on’. He straightened up, saying merely ‘thanks.’
Helen was surprised, she’d expected a little more from a man who could dance beautifully, perhaps expecting his verbal charm to be guaranteed and added to the package.
Over the next couple weeks, Helen felt like she was pushed up against a brick wall with Rick. He wouldn’t communicate with her; there was no passion or character to their dance. If anything was happening, the dance was getting worse.
Helen had to confront him; finally, she did after practice. She came in from the rain, soaking wet and shivering, flipping on the fluorescent lights as she did so. They came on with a faint buzz, illuminating the mirrored walls around her. Deciding that being anti-social to avoid the problem was not the answer, she set up the CD player, and popped in a continuous CD to practice endurance dance for a while. She sat down and waited for Rick. When he came, she stood up, and turned on the music. A samba. Rick turned, long, lithe body unfolding in the doorway, then shaking rain out of his short dusty hair and scowled.
“Rick-is there something wrong with what I’m doing when we dance? Tell me please Rick, we’re not…clicking.”
He turned, looking surprised. His muddled green eyes flickered, he hadn’t been expecting that.
“No.” Another mono-syllable, it was frustrating, and Helen had heard enough of it.
“Rick, we’re not getting anywhere, and you know it. What’s wrong with it?”
“What’s wrong? I’m a decent dancer, you don’t think so? What’s wrong with me now?” He whipped her into the dance, surliness and anger in his face, the dance increased tempo as their anger grew. Their eyes locked, they twisted across the floor, Rick exercising daring lift moves, Helen moving her feet quickly, flipping and twisting in surly rough grip. They danced through the rain, till they were exhausted, dripping with sweat, too exhausted to feel emotions.
Rick bent over, hacking with exhaustion.
“What were we arguing about again?” He laughed now.
“I was innocently asking what your problem was when you snapped on me,” Helen retorted.
Rick became grim again.
“You really want to know that?” His face was a stone, features flat, only a cool emotionless mask was in his place now.
“Yes,” the scared whisper came from Helen. She didn’t know what she needed to hear now.
Rick breathed out in a heavy sigh. He looked at her and smiled.
“Sit down.”
Helen sat obediently, shyness not preventing her sinking into the cool couch a very puzzled but curious girl.
“A week after I came here and started dancing with you, I collapsed on the way home. I was driving. I swerved off the road and hit a tree. I wasn’t over the limit, so my car wasn’t damaged. They took me to the hospital for just a check up to look for trauma or internal bleeding, and they noticed something funny with my heart. It was beating irregularly. I was diagnosed with Arrhythmia a day later.” He sat quietly then, holding his head in his hands, fingers digging into his temples in agitated circles.
Helen blew out. She had been expecting something terrible; Arrhythmia couldn’t be that bad, irregular beats and that was it. She touched his arm in an attempt to be reassuring, but not too hard, she was still a little hesitant.
“So, your heart just beats funny? Nothing will ever happen, it just feels funny?” She laughed, smiling at him.
“No,” Rick’s glance was desperate, afraid. Helen lost her smile. “having Arrhythmia means that my heart is so irregular, that I can collapse at any time, but also…Die at any moment. It could happen now. While we’re sitting here, in the middle of my sentence. I could be gone.”
The rain beat an incessant ticka-ticka-ticka against the windows, Helen sat stunned.
“But,” She started, “That doesn’t mean you’re definitely going to die does it?”
Rick smiled a twisted, rueful smile.
“No. But I don’t think I’ll live to be very old, do you?”
“Well - maybe not,” Helen murmured, looking up again she said, “is this why you were angry? These few weeks – you’ve been afraid?”
Rick looked down at his feet, hands folded in his lap.
“Yes,” the word came out, sounding like a scared little boy, afraid of the dark. “Yes. I am afraid. One day, I could get up, go somewhere, and not know it was the last time I’d ever see my friends, family, or do something. It would just end. I would never get to do the things I loved again, dance, run, football, anything.” He trailed off sadly.
Helen furrowed her brow, thinking on how to phrase her words.
“Rick, I know its’ scary, I would be terrified too! But - at the same time, you can’t let it keep you from doing the things you love, because then you can never say that you did them at all, much less for the last time. I think that right now, we can take care of the dancing part.” She grinned.
Rick smiled. Helen got up, the music was still playing.
“The music continues…It slows down for nothing, until it’s free mind decides to make a change. Not because anyone wants it to, or anything,” her voice freed Rick. “Dance?”
“You’re an excellent dancer,” she shyly murmured. “I didn’t expect to be placed with someone so…well…talented.”
Rick’s ribs moved in and out as he caught his breath, holding up one finger to indicate ‘hold on’. He straightened up, saying merely ‘thanks.’
Helen was surprised, she’d expected a little more from a man who could dance beautifully, perhaps expecting his verbal charm to be guaranteed and added to the package.
Over the next couple weeks, Helen felt like she was pushed up against a brick wall with Rick. He wouldn’t communicate with her; there was no passion or character to their dance. If anything was happening, the dance was getting worse.
Helen had to confront him; finally, she did after practice. She came in from the rain, soaking wet and shivering, flipping on the fluorescent lights as she did so. They came on with a faint buzz, illuminating the mirrored walls around her. Deciding that being anti-social to avoid the problem was not the answer, she set up the CD player, and popped in a continuous CD to practice endurance dance for a while. She sat down and waited for Rick. When he came, she stood up, and turned on the music. A samba. Rick turned, long, lithe body unfolding in the doorway, then shaking rain out of his short dusty hair and scowled.
“Rick-is there something wrong with what I’m doing when we dance? Tell me please Rick, we’re not…clicking.”
He turned, looking surprised. His muddled green eyes flickered, he hadn’t been expecting that.
“No.” Another mono-syllable, it was frustrating, and Helen had heard enough of it.
“Rick, we’re not getting anywhere, and you know it. What’s wrong with it?”
“What’s wrong? I’m a decent dancer, you don’t think so? What’s wrong with me now?” He whipped her into the dance, surliness and anger in his face, the dance increased tempo as their anger grew. Their eyes locked, they twisted across the floor, Rick exercising daring lift moves, Helen moving her feet quickly, flipping and twisting in surly rough grip. They danced through the rain, till they were exhausted, dripping with sweat, too exhausted to feel emotions.
Rick bent over, hacking with exhaustion.
“What were we arguing about again?” He laughed now.
“I was innocently asking what your problem was when you snapped on me,” Helen retorted.
Rick became grim again.
“You really want to know that?” His face was a stone, features flat, only a cool emotionless mask was in his place now.
“Yes,” the scared whisper came from Helen. She didn’t know what she needed to hear now.
Rick breathed out in a heavy sigh. He looked at her and smiled.
“Sit down.”
Helen sat obediently, shyness not preventing her sinking into the cool couch a very puzzled but curious girl.
“A week after I came here and started dancing with you, I collapsed on the way home. I was driving. I swerved off the road and hit a tree. I wasn’t over the limit, so my car wasn’t damaged. They took me to the hospital for just a check up to look for trauma or internal bleeding, and they noticed something funny with my heart. It was beating irregularly. I was diagnosed with Arrhythmia a day later.” He sat quietly then, holding his head in his hands, fingers digging into his temples in agitated circles.
Helen blew out. She had been expecting something terrible; Arrhythmia couldn’t be that bad, irregular beats and that was it. She touched his arm in an attempt to be reassuring, but not too hard, she was still a little hesitant.
“So, your heart just beats funny? Nothing will ever happen, it just feels funny?” She laughed, smiling at him.
“No,” Rick’s glance was desperate, afraid. Helen lost her smile. “having Arrhythmia means that my heart is so irregular, that I can collapse at any time, but also…Die at any moment. It could happen now. While we’re sitting here, in the middle of my sentence. I could be gone.”
The rain beat an incessant ticka-ticka-ticka against the windows, Helen sat stunned.
“But,” She started, “That doesn’t mean you’re definitely going to die does it?”
Rick smiled a twisted, rueful smile.
“No. But I don’t think I’ll live to be very old, do you?”
“Well - maybe not,” Helen murmured, looking up again she said, “is this why you were angry? These few weeks – you’ve been afraid?”
Rick looked down at his feet, hands folded in his lap.
“Yes,” the word came out, sounding like a scared little boy, afraid of the dark. “Yes. I am afraid. One day, I could get up, go somewhere, and not know it was the last time I’d ever see my friends, family, or do something. It would just end. I would never get to do the things I loved again, dance, run, football, anything.” He trailed off sadly.
Helen furrowed her brow, thinking on how to phrase her words.
“Rick, I know its’ scary, I would be terrified too! But - at the same time, you can’t let it keep you from doing the things you love, because then you can never say that you did them at all, much less for the last time. I think that right now, we can take care of the dancing part.” She grinned.
Rick smiled. Helen got up, the music was still playing.
“The music continues…It slows down for nothing, until it’s free mind decides to make a change. Not because anyone wants it to, or anything,” her voice freed Rick. “Dance?”
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