My dad knows I'm planning to write a Gothic-y novel that takes place at a girls' boarding academy (The Primrose Chronicles), so he sent me this e-mail the other day:
"Your book:
Ok. Picture this.
The wind is howling. I don't mean blowing a little; I mean, tree-moving, window-shaking wind. It's thundering and lightning is lighting up the sky. Without the lightning, you couldn't see two feet in the rain. The worst storm in twenty years.
The school is dark with the exception of a lone lit window on the third floor, where the girls are huddled together in a primitive search for comfort from the ravages of nature. The dorm is silent as the girls cling to each other.
OK? Got it pictured?
Chapter One: It was a stark and dormy night."
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