I once read an Amazon review of a book where the reviewer said something along the lines of : “the prose was so purple that Harold’s crayon paled in comparison.”
That comment made me do a spit take. Seriously. I have got to stop drinking stuff while I’m at my computer.
It also made me think about purple prose. I haven’t read anything as purple as the reviewer above—lately—but I have read some lavender prose on its way to becoming purple.
I’ll usually encounter purplish prose in historical romances of varying heat levels with nobility for characters who have names that are more contemporary than historically accurate.
I’ve decided to write some purple prose for giggles. The result is the following scene between Lady Madison Smythe on her wedding night to the evil Count Jett Turboux:
Count Jett grabbed his frightened bride and threw her upon the marital bed, but to Madison, it should have been a funeral pyre.
“You are now mine, Madison. As your husband, you must submit to me!”
Madison knew there was no denying this man she loathed. She lay pliant as he trailed moist kisses down her neck and bosom. Finally, he entered between the moons of her mons, plundered her tender love garden with his wicked weed of lust, and laboured upon her.
All the while and through her tears she couldn’t help but think of Blaze…the lowly baronet who stole her heart, and like his name suggested, burned a place into her pitiful, tormented soul.
‘Oh, Blaze,’ she pined. ‘If only Fate weren’t so cruel to have it be this horrid man take me instead of you! Count Jett may have my body, but you will have my soul…Forever!’
With a grunt, Madison felt Jett spill his sap upon the bruised petals of her shattered maidenhead and collapse upon her tiny frame.
He may have been spent…but she was emotionally bankrupt.
Read any purple prose lately? Want to take stab at writing some? Do share! Leave a comment.
Originally published on my former blog. © 2015 by Jayne Marlowe. All Rights Reserved.