Attempt at a New Year's Resolution: write more stories, dangit!

Elise Knight would like to say that, for all intents and purposes, she is not a witch. However, Morgan Knight, Elise’s grandmother, was once one of the most powerful and feared witches in all the land; “was,” in any event. Currently, the 90-year old Morgan was contained to smaller acts of malevolence, such as cackling menacingly in her rocking chair and occasionally turning the odd passer-by into a cabbage. Elise never really minded. Some people’s grandmothers forgot names, and others turned people into cabbages – it was just one of those things. Besides, it’s not as if they permanently stayed as cabbages. The spell wore off in a day or two and those who weren’t carried off by wild animals or made into a nice salad turned out mostly all right. Unsurprisingly, though, because of her grandmother’s aforementioned fondness to turn would-be playmates for Elise into fresh produce, she really never had much luck making friends. The villagers assumed - and justifiably so, I should think - that the poor girl was just like her senile old grandmother and, if given the barest hint of a chance, would hex their children's normal heads into leafy green ones. Thus, the villager's children were never allowed to set foot anywhere near their cottage.

As such, Elise was a rather lonely little girl. Sometimes, she would attempt to talk with her grandmother, but old Morgan could never really keep up her side of the conversation, as her vocabulary was limited to chortling maliciously to herself and snoring loudly. Elise was positively desperate for someone to speak to who would not fall asleep every 30 seconds, or threaten to turn her into a vegetable when she misbehaved. So, with this in mind, Elise set her heart on traveling someplace where either a. no one knew magic or b. practiced restraint with their magic and didn't just turn people into leafy green heads of cabbage all willy-nilly.

_______________________________________________________

Well. It's been a while, hasn't it?

I missed you, Blog, I truly did. Did you miss me?

Who am I kidding, of course you did.

Now, dear Blog, I rather hope that you like this story. I, uh, I'm not really entirely sure where I'm headed with it, if I even intend to head anywhere with it at all. But, hopefully I can write more soon, as I am sort of, kind of attempting to update more lately.

BUT enough about that. It's 1 o'clock in the morning and I am off to bed to dream of cabbages and cackling witches.

I HAVE MADE A NEW BEST FRIEND; HIS NAME IS CAPS LOCK.

I haven't written anything in ages.
Summer makes me so lethargic.
I keep telling myself I'm going to start writing again, finish the billion-and-one art projects that have remained halfway done since January, get someone to fix the oven so it no longer catches fire when I'm trying to bake cupcakes, find nuclear waste and acquire super powers/die horribly in the process, etc.
I've been putting it all off.
BUT TODAY WILL BE DIFFERENT. I WILL ACCOMPLISH SOMETHING SIGNIFICANT AND CAPS LOCK WILL HELP ME DO SO.
For you see, I am going to write a story entirely off the top of my head.
Here goes:

There once was a koala bear named Manny who had severe anger issues. His anger issues stemmed from a deep-seated hatred of ignorant people calling koalas "bears" when they are, in fact, marsupials.
However, Manny, like everyone else in the world, was also annoyed by more common issues. For instance, traffic jams, bug bites, and people who make weird whistling noises while chewing. He was also irritated by lazy, pseudo-intellectual teenage girls who claim to love writing, but then sit on their butts for months giggling at lolcats and not writing a single thing.
Manny was so annoyed by this that he used his Koala Kung Fu (I am pretty sure that's a thing) to beat the bejeebus out of all of those lazy, pseudo-intellectual aspiring teenage writers that I had mentioned earlier and motivated them through fear and their love of adorable animals to write more often, and less crappily.
THE END.

Manny the unnecessarily angry koala may be a recurring character around these parts. WHO KNOWS? CAPS LOCKS AND I ARE FEELIN' PRETTY CRAZY TODAY, AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN.
Actually, I do know what's going to happen.
I am going to stop typing and bid you adieu, my lovely Blog and my lovely reader(s.)
Adieu.

Millipedes = Mobile Eyebrows

I saw a millipede today.
At first, I was convinced it was merely a great, big, hairy eyebrow moseying its way across the floor until I realized that eyebrows generally do not just fall off a person's face and decide to take a stroll around town. Usually.
Strangely enough, I only freaked out about seeing it after I found out it was a bug, not a walking eyebrow.
So, my last story is due for the newspaper on Wednesday, and I've run out of stories from my reserve of Creative Writing prompts from last year, meaning I'll actually have to write something new.
I am kind of looking forward to it. Maybe the fact that it has to be done will actually help me follow through with it.
I keep writing half-stories, or quarter-stories, or sixteenth-stories that I know will never get done.
I need to set more goals for my writing. And then, I need someone with a large blunt object to beat me if I do not make those goals. That way, I'll learn; or die. Either way, somethin's going to happen.
They want me to write something about the end of the year, about seniors graduating and all that jazz, but, honestly, that sounds rather dull. I'm graduating and I'm not even excited about it, so how can I write a story about said end-of-the-year excitement? I couldn't possibly.
...
I think I'm going to write about a lion. He will have a sidekick named Harry, who is in fact an eyebrow posing as a millipede with a tragic backstory and sassy catchphrases.
I will make millions.
And with that, I shall say goodbye, dear Blog.
Adieu.

PREVIOUSLY, ON LE BLOG TITLE....

Writing, writing, writing. I feel like writing this evening.
Of what I shall be writing, I am not sure, but I certainly do have some words I would like to spew all over the Internet's face. If the Internet has a face. Clocks have faces, so why not Internets?
I haven't written for, what, a few months now? Does anyone even read this thing? Does anyone wish to read the words I plan to spew in the possibly non-existant face of the Internet?
Probably not, at this point, but it matters not, for I am going to write anyway.
I kind of feel like starting this off with a TV drama opening.
"Previously, on Le Blog Title: blah, blah, blah, bloobity-blah-blah!"
However, since my life, and consequently my blog, is not at all like television show, I shall not be writing it like as such.
Instead, I'll just say that back in January, I partook in a writing contest. Nothing too big, really, just a local contest hosted by a community college. And it's not as if I was expecting to win.
I was, however, at the very least, expecting to see some results by this point.
You see, instead of physically mailing my entries along with contact information/general ways to reach me, I gave them to my English teacher who works part-time at said community college.
Makes sense, doesn't it? She works with the english department, the ones what are hosting the contest, so it only seems logical that she would know of the progress of the judging, no?
HOWEVER. I had asked her of this just the other day and the woman looks at my like I had suffered massive brain trauma by way of repeatedly smashing my english text book against me skull.
"Oh, they didn't contact you about it? Well, I don't know anything about it because it's totally not like I work at the english department, LOL. Now go write an essay or something, kthnxbai."
Asdfghjkl.
It's really not as if I'm asking a lot. It's not as if I'm saying, "WOMAN, you'd best be getting me that first place prize or I'll resurrect Shakespeare only to stab him right in front of your very eyes, GOT ME?"
All I want to know is who won and whom I can go congratulate! That's all I want, argghhh!
Whyyyyyyyy.
...
In other news, I shall be graduating fairly soon. Stangely enough, I am feeling rather apathetic about the whole ordeal.
Anyway, that is about all I am going to spew in the face of the Internet for this evening.
Adieu, sweet Blog.

FLASHHHBACK.

When I was in fourth grade, we had this reptile handler come to our school.
Being that us elementary students were not nearly important enough to have our own auditorium, we all sat on the floor in front of him on the gym/lunch room/all-purpose room floor.
The handler came out, holding a baby crocodile up high, so the kids in the back could see.
While he was off prattling random facts about the crocodile species, using large words no one understood and stating things about the crocodile family no one cared about, all of the sudden, it unleashed a torrential downpour of urine. It just kept coming and coming. Nobody said a word, neither the kids nor the handler. There was only the sound of urine splashing, droplets hitting the children unfortunate enough to be in the front row.
The only thought that was in anyone's mind, (except, perhaps, for those in the front row, thinking something along the lines of, "I wonder if crocodile urine comes out. I've never really needed to know this information until now.") was "I had no idea a creature's bladder could possibly contain so much."
Eventually, after what seemed like ages, the waterfall ceased.
Everyone continued to be quiet, not really registering what had just happened.
Teachers exchanged looks, unsure of what to do or say in this situation. Understandable, really, it's not something the teaching handbooks much covered. The handler continued to stand there, holding the crocodile at a somewhat awkward angle, facial expression showing both disgust and embarassment, as if he had been the one urinating all over the gym floor/children, not the crocodile.
He was the first to speak, saying, "Well! At least he won't have to go for a while now!" with an uncomfortable little titter.
The teachers joined in, awkward laughter ringing throughout the gymnasium. The children chimed in as well, figuring any bodily function to be amusing, and the show continued on as normal. After a short while, a janitor walked in with a mop, cleaning up the considerable amount of urine, and we all returned to our classrooms.

This event is one of the many reasons why I am what I am today. Had that overgrown lizard not done what it had done on that fateful day, I could be an entirely different person.
Somethin' to think about.
Anyhoo, that's enough for today.
Adieu, blog!

Blah.

So, I've recently acquired my driver's license.
I suppose it should be a good thing, but really, all it has been doing is making me feel old.
I can't imagine why, considering that a piece of plastic with an unfortunately unflattering picture of myself is not a magical aging device that sucks the immaturity out of a person, but I feel like perhaps it has. Or rather, it should.
I feel as if someone with a driver's license, job, checking account, debit card, etc., should not still be laughing, and quite hard I might add, at the word "duty."
I feel like, at this point in my life, I should be a bit more, I don't know, grown-up. But I'm not.
Although, I am led to believe that it is often not a bad thing to be young at heart. I can't imagine what it would be like to write if my sense of humor was not nearly as childish and silly as it is now.
And, were I to listen to Spongebob, adults have to grow sideburns and acquire a taste for freeform jazz, which hardly sounds fun at all, so I think it would be a fine idea to remain immature for a while longer.
Anyhoo, I think that is about all I have to say for today.
Adieu, all.

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.