I'm going to cheat and post somebody else's words for a change. The following is an extract from tonight's reading of Virginia Woolf. The essence of stream of consciousness style is still there, but the narrative flows more directly, more simply, than I've found in most of her writing so far. It's almost like reading a regular story. It still needs to be read carefully, though, because the balance of phrasing as dictated by the punctuation is a little unconventional. Just a little effort, and I think it's worth it.
...to run and hurry and ponder on long solitary walks, climbing gates, stepping through the mud, and through the blur, the dream, the ecstasy of loneliness, to see the plover's wheel and surprise the rabbits, and come in the hearts of woods or wide lonely moors upon little ceremonies which had no audience, private rites, pure beauty offered by beetles and lilies of the valley and dead leaves and still pools, without any care whatever what human beings thought of them...
Does that remind you of anybody you know, only more keenly observed and much better written?
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