Further Creative Writing Assignments.

This time I have to write up a dialogue of what happened during my Thanksgiving dinner, which is somewhat difficult, being that my family does not really celebrate it.
However, this will give me the marvelous opportunity to disturb the bejeesus out of my teacher (of course, that is not to say that I do not do that anyway.) by making up some sort of depressingly upsetting holiday tale.
Perhaps the turkey will be slightly overdone and because of that minor mishap with the oven timer, my mother's manic-depressive half-sister will attempt to commit sepuku with a butter knife.
But then, perhaps, Aunt Crazy will have that knife snatched out of her hands by lackadaisical Uncle Phil, who was not at all trying to spare her from her fate of buttery doom, but rather wanted something with which to cut open his crescent roll.
But, alas, as it turns out, that was the last crescent roll! A mad fist-fight breaks out amongst both the adult and the children's tables as they battle to the death over the warm, flaky pastry, unbeknownst to the lot of them that there was, in fact, another batch being baked at that very moment!
It shall be filled with so many dysfunctional family moments that it shall be on par with those of the hit daytime television talkshow Jerry Springer.
Only, except for Billy Bob cheating on his wife and secret-other-family-girlfriend, Billy Bob will be hogging all of the cranberry sauce, which, if you ask me, is about as evil as the former offense.
Hopefully writing this will not earn me a trip to the school's guidance counselor, though.
I do not enjoy my visits to their office, you see.
But, I believe that is all for this evening, dear readers.
Adieu.

Creative Writing Prompt Deux.

High School Sketch: Create your own high school. Name, location, mascot, school colors, etc.

The high school is set in one of those dreary west coast states, perhaps Washington or Oregon, where it is constantly raining.
Well, actually, it’s not even rain; more like a perpetual drizzle, like the sky is continually urinating on its inhabitants, which is pretty gross. The students of Lakeville high school find it quite unpleasant as well.
The students don’t like a lot of things at Lakeville, like the name of their school, for instance. It is not near a lake, nor was there ever a lake. There was once a villa, but it’s long since burned down. I’m not really sure how that managed to happen, though, considering the aforementioned unending cloud-leakage, but, in any event, thanks to that, neither parts of the school’s name really make a whole lot of sense.
Their mascot is, rather unfittingly, some form of variation of the Loch Ness Monster. I would believe it to be more appropriate were there actually some kind of large body of water nearby, but, as I’ve stated earlier, there is not. I suppose they could have made their mascot a burning house, but that would be a pretty depressing, albeit more chronologically accurate, mascot, so I guess it's better this way.
The school colors are a kind of drab brown and musty-looking green. I presume that whoever picked the colors was some type of dastardly villain who constantly wanted to remind the students that they lived in the repulsive, sky-peeing Pacific north-west and get rid of whatever miniscule amount of energy these teenagers had to begin with, which really wasn’t a whole lot, but still.
Their motto is “Four more years until we’re out of this dump!” That’s not the official motto, of course, but the students do seem to enjoy saying it, and I find it far more fitting than whatever annoyingly perky saying that the administration did come up with.

Aaaaand, that's it thus far.
I am planning on finishing it eventually... No, really.
I just thought I would post the beginning of le Prompt because it would appear I've not posted in about 20 days or so. (So much for my attempt to start updating more often. D:)
All righty then. That is all.
Adieu.

Creative Writing Prompt

Family House Sketch - Describe the outside of a family home:

At first glance, there's nothing particularly out of the ordinary about the house, but let us look past its cliché suburban white picket fence for a moment and inspect it a bit closer, shall we? First, the yard.
The father of the household was one of those annoyingly meticulous lawn-lovers, so the yard was always in pristine condition, except for the small scorched splotch near the center of the yard, courtesy of little Billy and his magnifying glass one blistering August afternoon.
On the back patio, you'll find a grill. The father often enjoys cooking hamburgers and other various processed meat products for the family, but after learning about his son's unhealthy obsession with fire, (see above) he rarely ever asks little Billy to help start up the grill.
The front porch, you'll notice, is covered in crumpled up balls of paper. Ashley, the family's youngest, is something of an artiste and tries to draw everything she sees in the yard; dogs, cats, butterflies, little Billy and his matchbox, etc. However, recently, Ashley has become bored of the mundane routine of drawing on paper and has decided to move on to scribbling upon bigger and better things, like the side of the house.
Personally, I think Ashley should be praised for her lovely scribblings, as they are far more interesting to look at than the drab white paneling, but, as we all know, parents are cruel beasts who enjoy stiffling creativity, so instead of the reward she deserved, she was scolded by her mother and sent to her room. Alas, life is cruel, but we have one more section of the house to tour, so we shall be moving on.
Lastly, the back yard. Because the father doesn't care about the backyard, as only the front is judged by his many scrutinizing neighbors, you'll notice it is quite cluttered with toys. Little Billy often enjoys setting up tiny towns out of building blocks and then smashing them apart like some sort of miniscule 7-year-old Godzilla.
In my opinion, the parental figures of the household really should be more concerned for the mental health of little Billy, but don't tell them I said that. I am only the tourguide and it is not my place to discuss these sorts of things.
Anyhow, with that, the tour is over.
Please do not forget to visit the gift shop on your way out, as a portion of every item you purchase contributes to little Billy's therapy bills.
Thank you for joining us at Suburban Home tours, and please come again soon, as next week's tour will be of the neighborhood bully's home!

Epic Procrastination

Why is it that whenever we have to do something involving physical exercise for a grade, I somehow contract an illness?
Is there perhaps some sadistic little man in a chair somewhere in my head who shuts down my immune system whenever he hears I'll be graded for something involving me running?
"Ah, we're doing the mile today, I see. Hey, is that H1N1?"
Paranoid, you say?
I think not. "Correct" would be a more appropriate adjective.
But, I digress.
I actually meant to post an epic picture of procrastination on here, but it is not showing up very well.
However, I cannot tell you about the picture and then not show you, for that would make me crueler than the tiny evil man who resides in my brain.
So, here you are.

Overall, this took about 6-7 hours to do. It's also somewhat difficult to type because of the massive carpal tunnel it induced. I quite like it though.

If you'd like a larger size, as it is quite difficult to see right now, you may see my DeviantART. (Shameless self-promotion, you say? Perhaps.)

That is all.

Adieu.

Huzzah for procrastination!

So, rather than researching for my history project (how I loathe you, U.S. history 2 honors), I have spent the afternoon doodling a rather smarmy looking gentleman.I like to think that he is a more-than-slightly inebriated young entrepreneur who is spending his evening at a rather dank pub, making eyes at any woman or effeminate-looking man (mind you, he is quite drunk.) that catches his fancy.
I did not draw the bartender, but I imagine him to be making an exasperated face at our unctuous young gentleman, which is silly because as a bartender, he has probably seen rowdier crowds than the likes of him.
Perhaps he's a new bartender. I am not quite sure.
In any event, this is my first procrastination from a project (but certainly not the last) for the new school year.
Truly it is a joyous occasion.
Anyhow, I should probably get working now.
Adieu.

I've got to wake up HOW early?

So, the first day is over and done with.
My creative writing class does not seem too terrible, but apparently we will have to write a one act play sometime during the year, which scares me a bit. I am not exactly Shakespeare. (Actually, the idea of being Shakespeare scares me even more than the fact that I'll have to write a play, simply because I cannot say I would be fond of being a bearded fellow who has been dead and buried for nearly 500 years. Though, I digress.)
Perhaps it is just the insecurity talking, but I tend to think that any play I would be able to come up with would be pretty atrocious.
Generally, the stories I write don't really have a solid plot, so rather than writing an epic tragedy about star-cross'd lovers, I would probably write a story about an impatient guy who goes to the post office and encounters a lonely mailman who is desperate to talk to someone.
The whole play would be their conversation, which I imagine would go something like this:

"Mail Man: Ah, so you've got some outgoing mail, I see.
Impatient Guy: Yes.
MM: It's always nice to get mail. It makes me feel important.
IG: (glancing at watch) Indeed it does.
MM: Of course, people don't send a lot of mail these days. They send those -what'chacall'em - electronic messages! See, back in my day, we didn't have anything like that. We had one mailbox in town and you had to walk 3 miles in the snow uphill both ways to get to it...." Etc.

Needless to say, any play I would write would be quite abhorent, which is why I'm a bit nervous. But I suppose I shall cross that bridge when I come to it.
Overall, the first day was pretty all right, and that is all I have got to say, so I shall bid you adieu this evening.
Adieu.

School's a-comin'.

So, it just so happens that I did not get any art classes this year.
Please do not misunderstand me, I did attempt to get one, but I was unfortunately thwarted by my music teacher who, yet again, guilted me into taking Instrumental Lab, so if you were hoping to see any drawings of a higher artistic quality than my Microsoft Paint stick figures and unrealistically sized angry-bees, then I'm afraid I shall have to disappoint you.
However, I was able to get a creative writing class, so perhaps you will be able to see, dare I say, even more cranium-explodingly amazing writing from yours truly. (Egocentric, you say? Whatever gave you that idea?)
I am somewhat depressed that summer is coming to an end, though.
It hardly seems as if I was able to do anything these past few months except get attacked by various insects.
It is indeed quite a shame, but I suppose that these sorts of things are bound to happen.
To me, anyway.
So, it is on that note I leave you, my dear blog readers.
One hopes that your summers were filled with less leggy anthropods than mine.
Adieu.