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Nov. 3rd, 2019 10:00 pmI always seem to be writing/starting fics but never finishing them. That being said, here's another one. It's just an idea right now and I haven't even finished the first part...but here is what I have so far. It may change and expand beyond this but this is what I got. Enjoy. I may post more at some later date.
A Different Pair of Bennet Eyes
For years I've yearned to write a Mary fic I just needed a few good ideas and now that I have a few I think I can get a decent start on one. Forgive the grammar and bad punctuation and the occasional typo. I'm not perfect and I do this for fun, not profit.
Summary:
I've always felt that the book's narrator POV not always reliable. At least not in regards to Mary (as she's seen though Elizabeth's eyes). And even as Mr. Darcy once said (of Lizzie) that her own defect is to willfully misunderstand people. Something I think she inherited from her father.
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"While Mary is adjusting her ideas let us return to Mr. Bingley."
The moment after her Papa finished his sentence Mary clapped her books shut loudly and rose gracefully from her seat before she angrily left the room without speaking a word. She then quickly ascended the stairs to her room, stomping almost loudly enough to block out her Mama's shrill exclamations of Mr. Bennet supposedly being the best father of all Meryton.
Mary didn't care to hear any of it, she was still silently fuming over her Papa's cruel words. Many thought, including her sister Lizzie, her Papa witty. Mary however, knew otherwise. He had taken advantage of the fact that she had been distracted by writing in her journal while only just paying the barest attention to the conversation when her Papa had surprised her with his question. She had been both distracted and shocked by the fact that he had been talking to her, Papa never talked to her unless to was to ridicule. She looked at him and barely had time for the fact to sink in before he made the verbal blow to her intelligence.
Mary had to keep herself from throwing her books to the floor as soon as she entered her room. If she had done that the additional noise would only open her up to more ridicule from her father, and likely, her two youngest sisters as well as snide remark or two from Lizzie. So instead she slipped them onto her small writing table. She stood silently at a nearby window wondering just when Papa had started being so cruel to her or even why. She understood why he often referred to her youngest sisters as the silliest girls in England. She had only recently realized he was lumping Mary into that category as well. She couldn't understand why was it so wrong to want to better herself or to share the knowledge that she had learned with them? She's never volunteered anything that wasn't relevant to any current conversations. She had made extracts of such information in one of her old journals. Whenever she had felt something worthy of remembering she kept it there, precious few that there were.
However she had not been making extracts as he had just teased her for, she had not made any for nearly a year. When she realized she wasn't being taking seriously that's when she had stopped and instead used her journals for their designed purpose, not that anyone knew or cared.
A Different Pair of Bennet Eyes
For years I've yearned to write a Mary fic I just needed a few good ideas and now that I have a few I think I can get a decent start on one. Forgive the grammar and bad punctuation and the occasional typo. I'm not perfect and I do this for fun, not profit.
Summary:
I've always felt that the book's narrator POV not always reliable. At least not in regards to Mary (as she's seen though Elizabeth's eyes). And even as Mr. Darcy once said (of Lizzie) that her own defect is to willfully misunderstand people. Something I think she inherited from her father.
------
"While Mary is adjusting her ideas let us return to Mr. Bingley."
The moment after her Papa finished his sentence Mary clapped her books shut loudly and rose gracefully from her seat before she angrily left the room without speaking a word. She then quickly ascended the stairs to her room, stomping almost loudly enough to block out her Mama's shrill exclamations of Mr. Bennet supposedly being the best father of all Meryton.
Mary didn't care to hear any of it, she was still silently fuming over her Papa's cruel words. Many thought, including her sister Lizzie, her Papa witty. Mary however, knew otherwise. He had taken advantage of the fact that she had been distracted by writing in her journal while only just paying the barest attention to the conversation when her Papa had surprised her with his question. She had been both distracted and shocked by the fact that he had been talking to her, Papa never talked to her unless to was to ridicule. She looked at him and barely had time for the fact to sink in before he made the verbal blow to her intelligence.
Mary had to keep herself from throwing her books to the floor as soon as she entered her room. If she had done that the additional noise would only open her up to more ridicule from her father, and likely, her two youngest sisters as well as snide remark or two from Lizzie. So instead she slipped them onto her small writing table. She stood silently at a nearby window wondering just when Papa had started being so cruel to her or even why. She understood why he often referred to her youngest sisters as the silliest girls in England. She had only recently realized he was lumping Mary into that category as well. She couldn't understand why was it so wrong to want to better herself or to share the knowledge that she had learned with them? She's never volunteered anything that wasn't relevant to any current conversations. She had made extracts of such information in one of her old journals. Whenever she had felt something worthy of remembering she kept it there, precious few that there were.
However she had not been making extracts as he had just teased her for, she had not made any for nearly a year. When she realized she wasn't being taking seriously that's when she had stopped and instead used her journals for their designed purpose, not that anyone knew or cared.
