Monday, October 18, 2010

Newspaper time.

Writin' stories for the school newspaper. For every month, I am re-doing an old fairy tale, which is proving to be quite fun thus far.
Now, this one is meant to be next month's story, but since I am so terribly kind, and since none of you (so far as I know) have access to our newspaper, I shall post it here for you to enjoy or, if it so suits you, spit at.
It is not entirely finished, but I like what I have so far.

Rapunzel Redone.
Once upon a time, there lived a young man and woman who had wished for a child but had been unsuccessful in producing one. “Honey,” the young wife wheedled her husband, “I have been wishing with all of my might for a baby, so why is it we do not have one yet?” Her husband rolled his eyes and rubbed his temples in an irritated way. “Darling,” the man said, struggling to keep the agitation out of his voice, “I have explained over and over again that one cannot simply wish for a child to appear. Must I explain the birds and the bees again?” The young man was just about to get out the puppets and demonstrate for what seemed like the 50th time, when his wife inadvertently stopped him by gaping like a moron out of the window. (Well. A bigger moron, that is.) “What is it?” the young man asked cautiously, squinting out of the window as well, “Is that squirrel back again?” The young woman continued to stare blankly past the neighbor’s tall wall and into the garden. “I bet,” she said slowly, “if we got some of that delicious-looking rapunzel from that garden, we’d get a baby in no time.” Now it was the husband’s turn to gape stupidly. “What the-?” he thought, confused. “How on earth did she come up with that? Why would eating a salad of all things produce a child? Maybe I should have made her take an IQ test before marrying her.” The young man took a deep breath before responding. “And how, dear wife” he said through clenched teeth, “do you think the rapunzel will help?” His wife smiled pleasantly at him, completely dissipating his annoyance with her (for the moment, anyhow,) and said, “I just know it will. Please?” She batted her eyes repeatedly for effect. Her husband sighed loudly and dramatically, saying, “Fine.” He sighed again, even more obnoxiously this time, and stomped out the front door.
Several hours and many bruises later, the young man had successfully scaled the high wall surrounding the neighbor’s property. He took a moment to catch his breath and to really think about what he was about to do. “Okay, Tom.” (For that is his name, you see. It seems I’ve not mentioned it up until this point, and for this, I apologize.) “Let’s think about this for a second or two. You have just, quite awesomely might I add, scaled the neighbor’s wall in order to steal some sort of cabbage that you could have just gone down to the market to get. And now you are about to trespass on the property of, if the rumors are correct, a particularly cranky and vegetable-obsessed witch just because your wife batted her eyes at you. Is that about right?” Tom nodded in response to his own question. “Just making sure. Well, we’ve already gone this far, Tommy ol’ boy; might as well finish the job.” He nodded once more and jumped down off the wall into the garden.

DUN DUN DUN.
That's all for now, I suppose.
Adieu.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

We can dance if we want to, we can leave your friends behind, 'cuz your friends don't dance, and if they don't dance, well, they're no friends of mine

...
So, I have joined the school newspaper. Or at least, I am in the process of joining.
I am a bit disappointed, however, that the student editor did not read the massive stack of stories/writing samples that I thrust at her during French class.
She claimed that the newspaper will accept anyone without examples of their writing, but I am certain she just didn't want to read my gargantuan pile of papers.
PSSHAW.
I will not stand for lazy editors. One cannot edit a person's writing if one does not read it beforehand, yes?
I digress.
In other news, my mom is shaving the puppies in the living room.
I was debating on using the dog hair strewn about the carpet to make fur coats for them, in case they get cold due to the fact that they now look like shorn sheep, but I figured it would be too much effort, and have decided against it.
It will grow back eventually, I suppose.
Anyhoo, with that, I shall bid you good bye for this afternoon, dear Blog.
Adieu.

Monday, September 20, 2010

College, college, college.

College essays.
College applications.
College campus visits.
Collage.
Collies.
Cauliflower.
...
I am rather disliking this whole college process.
Though, really, I cannot fathom meeting anyone who would enjoy it. Save for my english teacher, who seems to get some sort of sick, twisted joy out of reminding children that they are all going to have an emotional breakdown due to stress this year. How perfectly marvelous.
And then she goes on to tell us that she likes our class and that we're going to have a fun senior year together.
I am not sure when the fun will be, though, as she was not very specific. I am guessing it is either after my crippling psychological breakdown or sometime before it.
Or maybe the fun will be during my breakdown. I have never experienced a breakdown, so who knows? It could be a rousing good time.
Perhaps that is why my english teacher was so excited about it.
Of course, I will not know for sure until I actually experience this breakdown, so we shall see.
Anyhoo, I think that will be all for today, dear Blog.
Adieu.

Monday, August 30, 2010

The worst spy you've never heard of.

It occurs to me that I've been seriously slacking on blogging and story-writing.
SO, in order to rectify this, I'll post this lovely part of a story that I am working on with a good buddy o' mine.

Adrian Harper is probably the worst spy you've never heard of. Mr. Harper works for a tiny agency downtown which is cleverly disguised (at least, the head of the agency thinks it's pretty clever...) as a bakery. They used to use the baked goods they sold as means to spy on their customers, who, according to Adrian, were almost always enemy agents. Adrian oftentimes placed micro-cameras into the chocolate chip cookies, but the cameras were always destroyed by the customer's molars and stomach acid before they got to record any possible suspicious activities. The customers usually came back, brandishing both hospital bills that needed to be paid and the middle finger. The idea was quickly scrapped and Adrian was smacked upside the head for being slightly more stupid than usually. He deeply regrets ever listening to Adrian in the first place about that idea, and for weeks afterward, you could hear him grumbling to himself and kicking potted plants over.

That's it so far. :I
So, that is all for today, yes.
Adieu.

Friday, July 30, 2010

I have far too many Castlevania soundtracks on my iPod for not having even played a single game from the series.

I'm having a difficult time getting motivated to post anything.
In fact, I'm only really writing something right now in order to keep the spambots from piling up too many comments.
I wonder why those darling spambots decided to grace me with their presence, anyhow.
Did they look at my blog and think, "You know, this place is pretty nice, but I think some links to porn websites would really spruce things up a little."? I think that about certain blogs from time to time.
Or maybe I just have so many loyal readers visiting my blog, they felt that it would be an excellent place to get some views for their various websites dedicated to the erotic arts? < /sarcasm>
I can't say I know.
I wonder if other blogs have this problem. Maybe all of them do, only they're much more efficient at deleting the comments before the sheer numbers reach biblical proportions.
Also, on an unrelated note, I seem to have misplaced my old creative writing binder. Which really is a shame, because I had a bunch of unposted writing prompts and stories that I had yet to post up on here.
Perhaps if I find it, I shall treat my lovely spambots to some new stories.
Well, that's it for today.
Adieu, lovely spambots.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Doodlin's.

You would be amazed at the things you'll find in old history folders.
I found a bunch of ridiculous doodles I drew when I should have been taking notes.
The most disturbing of which being this:
Ignore the random "m," as I drew this on my history study guide and was too lazy to crop out all of "communism."
I did a lot of disturbing little doodles like this'un, I just felt this was the best of them all.
Anyhoo, I think that is probably enough to give all of you poor souls nightmares when you go to bed tonight, so, out of pity, I shall bid you adieu, sweet Blog.

Monday, June 21, 2010

Summer, yes.

Summer is here.
However, unlike any normal person with half a brain and access to an accurate calendar, I do not determine this by the date, but rather by the amount of insects that get into my home.
For instance, this morning, a stink bug fell onto my face, so, therefore, after a fairly reasonable amount of screaming and wild face-clawing, I was able to determine that summer was indeed here.
Although, I still find myself unable to determine whether or not the extra hours I get to sleep in are worth the persistant plethora of pests that parade themselves across my person in the wee hours of the morning.
Who am I kidding, of course it's worth it. It does not make it any less unpleasant when I find myself nose-to-thorax with a hideous insect, though.
Oftentimes, I wonder what makes my house so appealling to insects. With the amount of cats, dogs, and creepy-crawly loathing persons living in this home, you'd think they wouldn't find it to be a very welcoming environment to settle in. In fact, on more than one occasion, my father has been referred to as the Raid-toting Rambo, but yet they still insist on barging their way underneath door cracks and through windows solely for the purpose of crawling my face at night and, after the cats have had their fun with them, leaving their own dead carcasses on the floor for me to sweep up.
I'll never understand it.
So, if anyone who is an insect or perhaps has a talking insect friend (preferably named Raoul or Paulo, because those are awesome names) could provide me with some insight into the bug mind, I'd be much obliged.
All right, that's enough for this evening.
Adieu to all.

Sunday, May 23, 2010

DUCKS.

Right, so, being that I've not posted in a month, I feel kind of obligated to update. However, unfortunately, although not surprisingly, I really don't have a whole lot to say.
So, instead of writing something significant, I shall post a picture of some lovely plastic ducks for all to enjoy.
Yes, ducks in uniform. Despite having a rather distinct naval theme, none of them can actually float. Go figure.
And on another, non aquatic-fowl-related note, I have offically finished my term paper. Not that I mentioned having a term paper to any of you, (see first sentence regarding my not having posted in a month) but I'm sure you'll be happy to know that it's done.
It's not particularly good though, mind you, but then again, my term papers never are. They generally end up being about 10 and a half pages of caffeine-induced drivel with ten-line block quotes on every other page.
Oh well. At least I cited it properly.
Anyhoo, I should think that's about enough for this evening.
Adieu, dear Blog.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Summer's a-comin'.

I'm so glad summer's coming. I am entirely too tired of thinking.
The time is nigh, dear Blog, to allow my brain to dissolve into a pile of mushy goo due to severe lack of use, and to remain indoors for weeks on end.
Of course, on the other hand, I probably should try and make this summer at least somewhat significant, as the number of summers I've got left are dwindling rapidly.
Perhaps I should go to the beach, or band camp, or some other place that will get me involved in a plethora of wacky teenage hijinks. Not that I particularly want to get involved in adolescent shenanigans, but it does seem like the proper summer thing to do.
Or maybe, rather than go cow tipping or whatever it is my fellow young adults do when practicing tomfoolery, I could actually do writing exercises more often, as opposed to being a procrastinating lump all day, which is usually the norm for me.
Perhaps I could even update my Blog more regularly. (Pfft, that's not going to happen.)
Anyhoo, I think that shall be all for this evening.
Adieu, dear Blog.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

Thoughts 'n' Things.

Being that I always spend so much time inside of my own head, I always find myself curious as to what other people are thinking.
For instance, why was the older gentleman I saw on the bus the other day scowling at that bag of apples? Was it because they were over-ripe and he didn't notice when he picked them out at the supermarket? Were they plagued by a colony of earthworms? Or was it because he believed they could speak and that they were currently saying rude things about his rather overgrown eyebrows? I honestly do not know.
I also often wonder if people have the same general thought process that I do.
Would most people find themselves pondering over the dilemma of the old man and the apples? Or would most people go, "Hmm. That elderly fellow looks quite annoyed at his fruit. I think I'll look elsewhere now."?
And how is one "easy to read"? I find myself utterly unable to pick up on if someone has had a bad day or not.
Granted, yes, I can perceive the fact that someone might be annoyed after, say, having their forehead poked for the 100th consecutive time, but I find the little emotions to be difficult to distinguish.
But, ah well.
I suppose I'll just be glad that I do think. I've found thinking, or at least thinking before one speaks, to be a rather rare thing at my school.
So, then, I shall bid you good evening, dear Blog.
Adieu.

Monday, March 22, 2010

No one even reads the school newspaper anyway.

So, my english teacher keeps telling me I need to join the school newspaper next year. However, I am not entirely sure.
I mean, I probably should join the newspaper considering how good it would look on my college applications and all, but I am still not thoroughly convinced.
First off, I am not even sure if I would be allowed to use sarcasm in my articles, and, without any of my sardonic witticisms, my "writing" (if you can indeed call it that; generally, it ends up being just ramblings.) would be quite abhorrent.
Second of all, I would probably end up writing about the school's various sporting events, and I can't say that I would enjoy that, being that our school's sport teams generally lose every game they have to play. Wouldn't you think that it would start to get difficult to think of something to write about the game after their 37th consecutive loss?
"Hey, look at it this way, guys; most of the fans have already stopped coming to your games, so you don't have to feel embarassed about losing! No one was even there to see it! (Well, except for me, but I totally wouldn't have come if I didn't have to hand in this stupid article next week.)"
But, of course, on the other hand, the newspaper's editor is also my english teacher for next year, and I've heard she gives out extra credit to her staff members, so that's always a plus.
Besides, I do love to write. I'm sure that if it were for the sake of writing, I'd be willing to join the school's rather under-appreciated press.
So, I do believe that is all for this evening.
Adieu, dear Blog.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Curse you, HSPA's!

It has never occurred to me just how much I loathe standardized testing.
I hate the expository essays, I hate the persuasive letters I have to write to my fictional congressman stating my opinion on a subject I sincerely haven't any opinion on (and even if I did have an opinion on the matter, why would my fictional congressman care? He's a busy man, I'm sure he has better imaginary things to do), and I hate filling in those little answer bubbles with a number two pencil. Why number two? Why not number three, or perhaps even number four? Why must these tests discriminate against the types of pencils I use? Were I a writing utensil, I would be terribly offended.
What's even more terrifying is that if one cell phone were to go off, all of the tests would become invalid, forcing the entire class to go through the horror that is the HSPA's again, which would be, to me, and most of my classmates I'm sure, a fate worse than death.
I doubt I'll ever be accustomed to the blasted things, either. Whenever I take them, I always feel as nervous as I did when I first took them in the 3rd grade, my free, school-provided bagel sitting uncomfortably in my stomach as I panicked and filled in random bubbles in an attempt to get the test finished in the allotted timeframe. (Truly a terrible thing to do to a small child; provide them with unpleasant food and then make them stress out over something. This childhood trauma is probably one of the many, many reasons I turned out the way I did.)
However, tomorrow is the last day of testing, and then I'm free until senior year, so I suppose that's a plus.
So, I believe that shall be all for tonight, dear Blog.
Adieu.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Ramblings.

You know, it has only recently occured to me how frighteningly close I am to college.
I've only just one more year of high school and I have still no idea what I want to do with my life.
In theory, I could write stories for a living (if that is indeed an actual career path), but what if I suffer an unfortunate and permanent case of writer's block, and thusly would be unable to support myself, spiraling into a deep depression that eventually ends up with me being one of those crazy homeless people you find on street corners who spits at passers-by?
Or maybe I will be able to think of something to write, but when I bring it in to be looked at by a publishing house, an employee will look at it and say something along the lines of, "This is a terrible story that is significantly less adorable than you think it is, and if that was not enough to convince me not to publish your story, you also have something gross and unsightly in your left nostril. Rather than offering you a tissue, I shall give you back your story to blow your nose in, for that is all it is good for. Good day to you, madam."
Both of which seem like unpleasant scenarios, but honestly, I cannot think of anything else I'd rather do, aside from lying in bed like some sort of paranoid, insecure lump all day.
Which is why I'm kind of freaking out about the whole thing.
But I suppose I'll figure something out sooner or later.
Good night to you, dear Blog.
Adieu.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Fable Attempt.

Right, well, this one was for part of my Creative Writing mid-term. We had to pick an old proverb (mine was "attempt not impossibilities") and try to make a fable out of it.

It was a beautiful spring morning and all of the birds were out soaring in the sky. Turtle gazed wistfully up at them. "Why do I have to have this annoyingly heavy shell?" he grumbled to myself. "I could never fly like a bird with a shell as weighty as this!" (It was true. Turtle's stumpy little legs could barely support him and his shell while walking; what chance did they have if he tried flying?) "But your shell is so useful! It also protects you!" Hen told him, in an attempt to make Turtle feel better. "Oh yeah, it's great..." Bear said, unenthusiastically. (He had to listen to the whole "I want to fly" spiel every morning, and, frankly, he was getting a bit tired of it. We can't all be as patient as Hen.) "I don't want to be protected, though! I want to be freeee!" Turtle threw his stubby legs up towards the sky as if he was some sort of scaly, green Superman.
"It seems to me," Fox said mischieviously, popping his head out from the bush that he was rather rudely eavesdropping in, "that were you to step out of your shell, you'd be able to fly." All of the animals stared at Fox, wondering what he was up to. (He was always up to something.) Though, Turtle, desperate in his desire to fly, asked, "You really think that I could?" Fox grinned broadly. "Oh, of course I do!" he said, unconvincingly. "See, what you have to do is take off your shell and then find a big hill to jump off of! That way, the wind will catch you, and you'll be soaring through the air in no time!" Hen squinted at him angrily and squawked, "Oh, come on! You don't really think that Turtle is stupid enough to believe that, do you?" Fox jerked his head towards Turtle in response. His eyes were filled with stars, and anyone could clearly see that he was, in fact, stupid enough to believe that. "Come on, Turtle," Fox called out, clearly enjoying being evil, "let's go find a hill big enough for you to jump off of!" "Okay!" Turtle beamed happily, jumped out of his shell and streaked after Fox as Hen and Bear stood there gaping.
"Gosh," Turtle gulped, staring down over the steep drop of the hill. "You really think I can do it, Fox?" Fox attemped to hold back his laughed and managed to say, "Sure I do, Turtle. I believe in you!" Turtle, innocently fueled by Fox's insincere words, took a deep breath and a running jump off the hill. "I can fly!" he shrieked joyfully. He couldn't. After the words were out of his scaly little mouth, Turtle plummeted like a green rock towards the grassy meadow below. "Oof!" he hit the ground with a thud. Fox, after he was done with his immature laughing fit, helped turtle to his feet, dusted him off and smiled mischieviously, saying, "Attempt not impossibilities, little one."

Bluh. Sorry if the story sounds a mite clich├ęd, but it was my first attempt at a fable.
Besides, it's been awhile since my last update, so I wanted to post something, at least.
All righty, that's about it.
Adieu, Blog.

Friday, January 22, 2010

My sincerest apologies and one ridiculously long story.

It occurs to me that I have not put up a creative writing prompt in a frighteningly long time.
I could say that this is because my creative writing teacher was arrested for sexual assault, but that is not really an excuse, considering that we’ve already a replacement.
So, really, my lack of posting is entirely my fault.
Please feel free to grumble angrily amongst yourselves for a moment, perhaps stick a few pins into a voodoo doll that you’ve created to my likeness and then continue reading.
I’ll wait.
...
Are we good?
Splendid.
Now, without further ado, I present to you a story of sunburn, lobsters and floral beach umbrellas.
____________________________________________________
The waves roared thunderously as they crashed up against the cliff walls of the annoyingly touristy Hawaiian island. (Or maybe it’s in the Bahamas. At the risk of sounding prejudice against various land masses, they really look all the same to me.) At the very top of the bluffs, there was a rather fair-skinned boy, maybe 15 or 16, huddled up on a folding chair underneath his mother’s monstrously-sized, embarrassingly effeminate floral-printed beach umbrella. (He is deeply regretting having left his own umbrella at home.)
Such a lovely sunset, the boy mused to himself. What a shame that every second I sit here, more and more UV rays are being soaked into my skin. The boy's expression turned sour as he recalled his last family vacation to the beach, when he got such terrible sunburn that he couldn’t move for a week. A few moments later, his face expression morphed into one of unimaginable rage as he remembered his family’s complete and utter lack of sympathy, slapping his sunburn as hard as they could and then feigning innocence with a coy smile and a “whoops, I forgot.”
While the boy not-so-fondly reminisced about sunburns passed, a somewhat strange girl (of course, I cannot say that I know her personally, but, based on her zebra-striped swimming wear and comically over-sized sunglass, I think it is safe to assume she is perhaps a mite off-kilter) hiked up the bluffs and joined our pasty hero staring at the sunset. After a few moments, the girl directed her gaze at the boy, grinned, and attempted to strike up a conversation, completely ignoring the fact that he was entirely too engrossed in thinking up an assortment of ways to get back at his family to listen to her.
"Hiya," the girl said pleasantly. "I quite enjoy your umbrella, it's really pretty. My aunt has one just like it." Silence from the boy. "She tried again, "are you staying underneath it because you get really bad sunburns?" The boy continued to be silent. "Because um," she attempted again, somewhat less confident this time, "you seem like the type who starts to look like a lobster after you've spent 15 minutes out in the sun."
Half-way through the sentence, the boy glanced over at the girl. He thought he managed to catch something about a lobster. Where did this girl come from, and why is she talking to me about lobsters? He wondered. The girl continued to stare at him, waiting for a response with a somewhat desperate look on her face. The look was probably due to the fact that the boy had not answered any of her questions in the past 5 minutes, but he didn't know that and he assumed, not incorrectly, that the girl was a bit of a weird-o. Determined not to upset the strange girl any further, the boy uncertainly said, "Oh, um, yeah. Lobsters. They are quite delicious, escpecially with butter."
The girl stared at him as if he had grown a second, equally pale head. Oh god, what did I do? The boy groaned internally, somewhat worried if he had offended the odd girl. Is she a lobster enthusiast, perhaps? Did I hurt her feelings by saying I like to eat lobsters? Am I coming off as a jerk now?
The two continued to stare awkwardly for a bit, until the peculiar girl smiled and said not disagreeably, "You don't listen well, huh?" the pale boy grinned sheepishly in response, resolved not to say anything else that would embarass himself further. The girl shrugged, saying "that's okay, half the time I talk so much that people don't even bother to respond." She beamed brightly and asked, "mind if I join you?"
The boy patted a shady spot underneath the uncomfortably girly umbrella and the both of them sat staring at the sunset (much to the boy's happiness) in silence.
____________________________________________________
Hmm, that's a long entry.
I believe I am done for the evening, then.
Adieu to all!

Sunday, January 3, 2010

It occurs to me I never really put a whole lot of thought into my titles.

Why is it that I always feel the need to try and post something new whenever I have nothing to say?
Is my subconscious attempting to give me eye cancer by forcing me to stare at a blank document for an hour whilst thinking of something amusing to write? Is that it?
Because if so, that makes quite a good deal of sense, really. My brain seems to always be out to get me.
Ironically enough, though, my brain never seems to stop and think that, "Hmm. Eye cancer is a pretty unpleasant thing. Maybe I shouldn't force this poor little girl with the unfortunate amount of writer's block to stare at that blank screen for an indefinite period of time because it seems like having retinal tumors would probably be a fairly disagreeable experience for her."
So, here I continue to sit, staring at the screen with very little to say besides various vaguely paranoid statements and stories about my bodily organs that are attempting to passive-aggressively murder me.
Therefore, that'll be all the paranoia for this evening, I should think, unless, of course, my liver decides to try and poison my coffe again. We shall see.
Adieu.