Original epanalepsis in a fictional home sentence

A chosen return

Original epanalepsis uses repetition with intervening words here. Collins describes that broad device; this page chooses a word returning at the end of its own sentence.

Home was the word I wrote before I knew the way home.

Home opens this sentence; home closes it. The opening capital changes, while the chosen word returns.

The narrator, visitor and house below are wholly invented. This is an original fictional writing page, with no actual home, remembered address or usable route behind it. The drawing belongs to the same imagined world as the narrator. It provides no building plan, property claim or directions for another person's journey.

The blank plan

I began with the kitchen window. It had a low sill wide enough for the bowl I wanted to put there, though I had not drawn the bowl yet. Beyond it I left a patch of plain paper for a garden. The window gave me somewhere to start looking into the house before I had decided how anybody would enter.

My pencil made the left edge of the window darker than the right. I turned the notebook and looked at it sideways, then turned it back. The mark could stay. I added a little latch and a line beneath the sill, setting the kitchen inside a room rather than leaving the window alone in the middle of the page.

There was a loose sheet under the notebook, one I had used to try the pencil before starting. Its marks showed a row of cups with handles leaning in different directions. I pulled it out and placed it on the floor beside my chair. I wanted the house page clear in front of me, with neither a cup nor a practice line mistaken for a room.

The kitchen acquired a table next. I drew it near the window and put a chair on the side facing the garden. That was the chair I imagined using in the morning. Its back was slightly uneven, and I left one leg behind the table where I could not see it. The house did not need every object turned toward the drawing's reader.

A room

Across the kitchen I made a doorway. I had expected it to open into a hall, but the space beyond it became a room with a narrow shelf instead. I put a blue bowl on the shelf and a pale cloth beneath it. The bowl I had planned for the windowsill was now somewhere else, leaving the sill empty.

I liked that change when I looked back at the window. The garden could reach the edge of the room without an object standing between it and the chair. I drew a few leaves outside, then stopped at the edge of the page. Their plant remained partly beyond the picture. I could see it growing there without having to fit its whole shape into the margin.

My friend Dev arrived while I was drawing the shelf's lower edge. He had brought back a book I had left in his room. He set it beside my notebook with a strip of paper keeping his place. I asked whether he had finished it. He said he had reached the chapter he wanted to show me, then waited while I completed the line.

“Is that somewhere you know?” he asked. I said it was somewhere I was making. He looked at the chair through the kitchen doorway and then at the bowl. “Where do you come in?” I put the pencil down. I had given the house a place to look out and a place to sit, but I had drawn no entrance from outside.

A doorway

Dev pulled the spare chair toward the desk. Its foot caught the loose practice sheet on the floor. He lifted the sheet, saw the little cups and put it on the returned book. I asked him to leave it there for the moment. The house page was still open between us, and I wanted to consider his question before returning to the chapter.

I drew an opening beside the room with the shelf. It led onto a short porch, which gave the doorway a place to arrive. The porch had no roof in this view. I could see its edge beside the paper garden and the beginning of a path leading away from it. The path ended where my hand had stopped.

“You have started from the inside,” Dev said. I nodded. It was true of the order on this particular page. The chair and bowl had been there before the porch. I could have begun with a gate, but I had wanted the window first. He moved the loose sheet off the book and opened the chapter he had brought back.

The passage concerned a person looking for a room in another town. Dev read a little of it aloud without saying that it explained my drawing. When he stopped, I asked him to show me the preceding page. He turned back and we read the beginning of the conversation. My pencil remained beside the notebook while his paper strip kept its place in the book.

The path

After Dev left, I put the returned book on a shelf and brought the practice sheet back to the desk. I found an unused corner beside the smallest cup. There I tried a gate with a round handle. The gate looked too heavy for the garden I had begun, so I tried another with two narrow uprights and a space between them.

I kept the second shape in the garden drawing. It stood a little apart from the porch, with the path joining them. I could follow the line from the open gate to the doorway and through the room with the shelf. Beyond that room, the kitchen chair waited near the window. The path now had an arrival I could recognize in the house I had made.

I moved the bowl from the shelf in a separate trial, drawing it on a scrap beside the notebook. On the windowsill it interrupted the leaves outside. On the kitchen table it took the place where I had imagined putting my hand. I returned to the page with the bowl still on its shelf. The scraps could keep the other positions without changing the selected house.

The cloth beneath the bowl needed only a small edge to show it was there. I gave it one folded corner. Dev had not asked about the bowl or the cloth, and neither needed a story about him. They were objects I had chosen before he arrived. His question had concerned the entrance, which the porch and gate had now supplied.

The page

I wrote my sentence beneath the drawing after the path was in place. It could look back at the order in which this imagined house had appeared to me. First there had been a name on the page I meant to fill. Later there had been a window, rooms and an entrance connecting the garden to the chair. The little picture gave that sequence somewhere to remain.

The pencil point had become blunt enough to make a broad mark beneath the last room. I used the broad edge to shade the porch, leaving the doorway light. When I lifted the notebook, a little dust lay where my wrist had rested. I brushed it onto the practice sheet and folded the sheet once before putting it in the drawer.

I looked at the part I had chosen that afternoon: the window, kitchen, shelf room, porch and gate. The rest of the imagined house remained beyond this particular view. I left the page with the garden's far edge unfinished and a clear way into the rooms I had actually drawn.

I put the pencil on the returned book, remembered that Dev's strip of paper was still inside it and opened to the chapter again. The strip had a small crease at one end. I left it between the same pages. Dev had shown me a particular passage, and I wanted to keep its place available while I looked at the house beside it.

From farther back in the room, the drawing's bowl was barely more than a blue mark. I came closer and found the folded cloth beneath it again. The gate and porch remained visible from both positions. I could leave the little details for a nearer look without making the entire page depend on seeing the bowl's edge from across the room.

In the drawer I found a loose paper frame from an older sketch. Its opening was narrower than the house drawing. I laid it over the kitchen first, hiding the porch and gate. The chair and empty sill filled the small opening, while the blue bowl disappeared beyond its edge. I lifted the frame to look at the whole page again.

With the frame moved toward the porch, I could keep the entrance but lost part of the window. I tried leaving it between the two positions. Now its edge crossed the shelf and cut the bowl in half. The frame had belonged to another sketch. I put it back in the drawer instead of making this house fit its opening.

The drawing looked wider when I returned to it without that border. I saw the gate, porch, shelf and kitchen together again. I placed the pencil below the notebook and moved the returned book a little farther to the right. The page could stay open with its own edges visible, beside the particular chapter Dev had left for me.

By evening I had put the loose scraps away. I placed the notebook upright against the returned book so that the page stayed open. The chair in the drawing faced its window, and my own chair faced the desk. When I came back with the room's light on, I could see the path from the gate to the porch without lifting the notebook.

I sat down and looked at the page for a while before turning back to the chapter Dev had read. The drawing remained beside the book. It had an entrance now, with the blue bowl still on its shelf and the kitchen sill still empty. I left the garden unfinished where the paper ended and kept the house I had chosen on that page.

An invented narrator keeps a home sentence beside a house drawing.

Actual towels

The Onsinn towel account names sku-16622651579. Eight galleries show flat fabric with fringed ends, use collages and a style matrix. The text's cotton/polyester blend contrasts with Pure Cotton advertising. No composition, absorption, drying, sand-removal, measured-size or care result is adopted. Clothing, hats, footwear, drinks and picnic props are not established supplied goods.

The Classic Turkish Towels PRO17189 account names sku-457985786 and describes three bath sheets. Five galleries show looped fabric, ribs and hems. Brand, origin, cotton and certification graphics remain observed labels, without authentication here. This construction differs from the flat fringed towel. Neither account identifies a textile in the invented house or establishes a use result.

Other pages

The actual word-chain poem guide carries each line's last word into the next opening. Its final word has no following handoff. This page has no chain of neighboring lines.

The actual original triolet guide keeps two rhymes and repeated complete lines at fixed positions. This sentence belongs to a separate project, without that eight-line arrangement.

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