Emulating Charlotte Bronte

It is an excellent British book-on-tape series; I have been listening to Charlotte Bronte’s unabridged Jane Eyre. As I write to you, dear Reader, I find in myself gravitation toward emulating C. Bronte’s style.

I am reclining in my book-laden, ornament-strewn bedroom. Although this article is slated for January publication, I am writing it in early December; Christmas preparations are well underway. There is a distinct chill in the air, but not from air-conditioning, as you might well suppose, since Houston tends toward a hot and humid climate time without end. In the out-of-doors at this moment, the air is whooshing in great gusts, ushering in near-freezing temperatures. My neighbor – the same one whose husband offered and did artfully hang an abundance of outdoor lights on both levels of my townhouse and whose thoughtfulness was rewarded with a homemade apple pie – has a collection of decorative wind chimes which hang from their back porch. The wind instruments are performing a melodious concert, directed by their jubilant maestro.

Frigid blasts are especially welcome to me this year, for I have a true coat, not a mere jacket, as in all of the years past. It is with consistent delight that I frequently pull it on and take my dog, Evian, for a walk.

I say that Evian is a dog; she is, in fact, an adorable little shih-tzu, though more child than canine in this house. All of her golden tan hair was once black-tipped, as are her ears, still. I myself am her faithful groomer. I keep her hair rather short, purposefully affecting a punk style, especially on her head, though I stop short of applying spiking gel. Evian is approaching her 5th birthday – 35th, of course, in dog years. Though undeniably spoiled with kind attention, she has mellowed so that I can finally enjoy having company without a frustrating interruption by a display of persistent barking, as though Evian were chastising me for failing to teach her how to speak English in order that she might contribute meaningfully to the conversation.

You, Reader, are, in effect, my current visitor. While you may not find appeal in the style in which I now write, I hope you can glean something useful from the purpose of my rambling. It is to both affirm and demonstrate that emulating the style of the author whose work we’ve been reading is perfectly natural. Nothing to be concerned about in the doing of it, experts have said in many volumes on writing that I have read. In time, as long as we are honest and true to ourselves with our prose, our own unique style will eventually emerge. It will be as refreshing as both a wind chime symphony in winter and the brand new start rung in by a fresh calendar year.

(published January 2006)