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Post by Rikku on Oct 9, 2010 22:10:08 GMT -5
Oh I keep forgetting that I need to find the rest of the Giver books... So so so much love for that book. Rikku, I did the same thing as you-- read it over and over in elementary school, then I reread it recently and still loved it. And Kathleen, the lack of gaping plotholes thing is so weird, I agree! D: That's happening with the thing I've been working on since the summer. Plot holes just haven't shown up. 0_o I guess we get epic inspiration sometimes and we should run with it. =D EPIC INSPIRATION: Please do not lose! ... *coughs and sidles away sheepishly* |
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Post by Kathleen on Oct 14, 2010 0:29:29 GMT -5
A Dare devised by Celestial and me today: Dare: Winged velociraptors attack your protagonist. Bonus: If your story has been utterly serious up until now. Double Bonus: If there is actually a logical in-story explanation for the appearance of said velociraptors. I think I can completely do this and make it, like, a relevant plot point, and it will be so logical, too. =D Whee. Having most of the action go on inside a dream-world is going to be fun. =DD |
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Post by Kathleen on Oct 15, 2010 0:26:59 GMT -5
It’s not that I always hate Mondays. It’s just that, generally speaking, Mondays are the worst days. If one were to write a mathematical equation to relate the days of the week to the mood of a first-year college student, I’m betting happiness would be directly proportional to the day of the week, starting with the first weekday, letting 1=Monday, 2=Tuesday, and so on.
Part of the problem with Mondays is that usually, if it’s going to rain, it’s going to happen on a Monday. According to data accumulated over the course of my life, rain is 60% more likely on Monday than on any other day. There are, of course, all the usual factors that add in to the depressing state of the first workday of the week: for instance, on Monday, you can never find your shoes. Or your raincoat, if it’s raining.
If one were to create a mathematical equation to represent total happiness for a day of the week, there would obviously have to be a lot of variables, to represent the various things that can go wrong, from the cereal being all gone to having misplaced one’s homework.
I’m not really all that big on the math, even though it probably sounds right now like I am, the way I keep going on about it. I mean, dude, math is cool. I know that sounds weird coming from a guy like me, but some of my friends are total math geniuses, and if you’d seen the things that they can do, you’d think math is extremely cool, too.
The equation for this Monday would be loaded with tiny variables and probably a lot of radical signs, because it’s hard to calculate the precise effect something small will actually have on your day.
Today, for instance, my little sister Jasmine was trying to eat toast standing on her head.
“I think it will taste better,” she explained. Now I’m all for testing new theories, but I’m also a big proponent of the rules of physics, which say eating toast standing on your head is not the best way to do things.
My mom is apparently also a big proponent of the rules of physics, because she was yelling at Jasmine.
“You are not eating toast standing on your head! You are not Roger Ramjet!”
“Who’s Roger Ramjet?” Alice asked me as I wisely skirted Jazz and Mom, and got the cereal out of the cupboard.
“Dunno.” I shook the box of cereal, which rattled emptily, and let out a gusty sigh as I opened it to find the requisite four cornflakes.
I joined Alice at the table, reaching across to share in the box of Raisin Bran, which happens to be Alice’s favorite and my least favorite cereal in pretty much the entire world.
“In school we learned that everyone has Rights,” Jasmine announced loudly and sulkily, pushing past me to take a seat at the table, toast dangling from one hand. “I think I should be allowed to eat my toast upside down.” She glowered at me as if daring me to contradict her.
“Shut. Up,” said Alice with considered firmness.
“Alice Caroline Amelia Gabreyelewitcz!” came the thundering voice of Mom, whose ears had picked up the disallowed word apparently from the next room. She came storming into the kitchen, half her makeup on, one sleeve dangling from where she’d apparently been dressing. “You apologize to your sister right now. Asher, sweetheart, would you mind chauffeuring the little terrors home tonight? I have to work late.”
An age-appropriate surly response never even made it to my lips before my treacherous head was nodding good-naturedly.
“Thanks, angel.” And she actually leaned over and kissed my head before turning back to Alice and snapping, “Now, Alice. I mean it.”
“Sorry,” Alice muttered, her tone a complete contradiction of the words, glowering at Jasmine, who had lost interest long ago and was eating her toast in large and noisy bites.
And thus progresseth another morning in my life. There’s nothing like living in a house with your parents and two baby sisters. I just would not have the same outlook on life if I’d gotten a sibling closer to my own age.
And because today was a relatively non-busy day, I did some fail-photomanipulation with my mediocre photographs, and made a cover! =D I wouldn't dare try to draw one, nat'rally. And thus not only do I have a cool banner, but I have a cool cover. This should promote much incentive to write. ^_^ |
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Post by Amneiger on Oct 15, 2010 0:32:45 GMT -5
I like the excerpt. =D It's all sarcastic and stuff.
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Post by Rikku on Oct 15, 2010 0:47:27 GMT -5
=D Asher does, indeed, possess the awesomeness required by his name.
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Post by Kathleen on Oct 15, 2010 10:36:02 GMT -5
I like the excerpt. =D It's all sarcastic and stuff. Asher is not supposed to be particularly sarcastic, which is worrying to me. D= But I'm glad you liked it. =D =D Asher does, indeed, possess the awesomeness required by his name. I should hope so, it is an awful lot of expectation to live up to. =D It didn't come out exactly the way I would've liked, but he doesn't get any of his own point of view, anyway. So I'm not going to worry too much. ^_^ |
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Post by Amneiger on Oct 16, 2010 1:25:33 GMT -5
Well, maybe sarcastic isn't quite the right word. xD Dry? Clever? Sardonic?
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Post by Kathleen on Oct 28, 2010 12:09:06 GMT -5
Well, maybe sarcastic isn't quite the right word. xD Dry? Clever? Sardonic? Ahm, don't worry about it. ^_^ However he comes off is how he comes off, and he doesn't get any POV anyway. xD /queen of late replies And aaaaah NaNo is in like four days. =DDDD And this year, I actually know a couple of people doing it IRL. Which is kind of interesting, and should be, um, dare I say fun? For commiseration and all. =D I am so excited. It's dreadful that it begins on a Monday which is my busiest day, but who cares. =D This is going to be awesome. I just have to hope I actually write this, and don't end up with something about unicorns and kittens and high-heels. >.< Wheeee. |
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Post by Rikku on Oct 28, 2010 21:48:12 GMT -5
xD I'm delighted about the Mondayness, personally. The starting-day was curst inconvenient last year; I'm not allowed on the computer Sundays (because my parents think I am a child! =D), so all I could do was twitch and fidget and brainstorm, so that when Monday finally did come there was a vast torrent of words.
... Which. Was sort of convenient, actually. xD Perhaps I can harness Sunday-irritation this time as well. But isn't it exciting? =D NaNo's so close I can nearly touch it, or would be able to if it wasn't abstract!
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Post by Kathleen on Nov 2, 2010 23:08:06 GMT -5
Because of my inability to focus, I now end day two with the pitiful word count of 3,816.
... I am really going to need to get cracking. If only I were less interested in everything else. D= Also every time I sit down to write I think about a million different directions this particular scene could go in and the one I write is always the least interesting and least plot-moving one and I'm quite possibly completely disaster-ed. Quite possibly. Completely.
Also, I think it was a mistake to write in present tense. It sounded good at the time, but it's gotten all messy and less it's than four thousand words in. Aflkghg.
Here's to tomorrow and better. Cheers.
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Post by Kathleen on Nov 3, 2010 21:37:38 GMT -5
6,785 words, and things are actually starting to look up, at the same time as spiraling further and further downward in an unstoppable swirl. =D A character I'd never even heard of got introduced today, unplanned phone calls were made, and Marin became the angsty disbelieving panicked one. Oh, joy.
I check, but I don’t see any ocean. It smells real, though, this breeze, and it feels real, lifting my hair off my forehead. My knees are starting to get achy in a very real way from standing around here.
Cautiously, I step over the threshold of the doorway. I look down to watch my feet as I do it, seeing my tennis shoes plant themselves solidly on the cobblestones. I let go of the door. It swings shut behind me with a whisper-soft sound, and, in a kind of panic, I whip around and grab the handle again. I yank, hard, and it doesn’t budge. A tiny spiderweb of doom starts around my chest, growing and spreading outward. This is how all the horror movies go, and I am so not ready to have this nightmare. With a growl, I put all my weight into it and pull. A throbbing sensation starts in my right shoulder. The door doesn’t budge.
“You’re pulling, it says push,” a mild, accented voice remarks from behind me. I drop the door handle and spin around to look so fast I feel dizzy. I’m starting to sweat, and I can feel the hyperventilation of panic coming on, like someone’s left a fan on in my head. A girl about my own age with frizzy red hair and a bored expression is standing there.
“What?”
“It says Push. Look.” She shoulders past me, and I can’t help noticing that it is a very solid shoulder which sends me back a couple steps. The cobblestones feel hard and uneven underneath my feet. “See, push?”
I look up from my cobblestone observation. The girl’s pointing at a silver plaque on the door. It says, with some authority, PUSH.
“Oh.”
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Post by Kathleen on Nov 4, 2010 20:42:51 GMT -5
I had some kind of randomly insane writing spurt, and made it to 10k. =D *does small victory dance* The plot has been introduced and things are starting to get complicated. Hopefully in a good way. Because at the moment I'm actually, for the first time ever, having my doubts about whether or not this will make it to 50k. Which is frightening. I'm going to have to find more problems. And also solutions. Any swearing in the below has been kindly censored. No worries.
I blink, and breath out. My breathing sounds loud, like it’s right around my head. Just my breath and I. Alone in this place.
I know. I know absolutely that I am not dreaming. Asleep, but not dreaming. And everything is real. Everything is real, and here I am, the place my mom is supposed to be.
The door is waiting for me, that plain, misleading office door. I hesitate for one second, and then I stride forward quickly. My sneakers squeak on the floor, and when I look down I see red. I smile to myself as I pull open the door.
Amy is waiting on the other side. She looks small and scared, and her hair is frizzier and redder than ever, if that’s even possible.
“I’m so sorry!” she says the moment she sees me. I pause on the threshold of the doorway. The weird echoes of the misty white place are behind me, and Amy’s voice is quiet in entirely different acoustics. It’s bizarre.
"I am so, so, so sorry! I never meant to scare you, honest. Please don't be mad at me, I really never meant - "
“What’s the white place?” I ask. My voice floats over the doorway in a weird, slow fashion.
Stopped short, Amy blinks at me. “White place?”
“The place that’s right through this doorway?” I stare at her, trying to see if she’s making fun of me.
“Oh. It’s a white place for you? Huh. I’d heard that it’s different, but…” She leans forward, trying to peer around me. With a sigh, I step forward, letting the door whoosh softly closed behind me. I wonder if it would even slam. “It’s your own personal dreamworld,” Amy explains, looking a little annoyed. “It’s different for Dreamwalkers. We don’t really get our own dreams once we start Walking. Just little… personal spaces, I guess. Jeez. You’re completely insane, you know. Nutso.”
“I met a girl in my dream who then calls me up on the phone, my mom won’t wake up, I’ve just been told I walk through dreams, my dad was murdered by his best friend who apparently wants to also kill me now that he’s found me, and my aunt is taking over my apartment.” I examine my clothing, which appears to be the same as last time, my favorite clothes, right down to my underwear. “I think I have definitely earned the right to be a little insane.”
“Oh.” I look up to see Amy staring at me. “Oh. Wow. Fishsticks.”
“Yeah. Fishsticks,” I agree. There’s a long moment of silence. Then:
“I’m Amy,” Amy says with sudden authority, stepping up to me. She offers her hand, which I alternate between staring at and her. “I have this weird thing for umbrellas—not a weird thing like a weird thing, just a weird thing—my mom and dad hate each other but won’t get a divorce, I have a brother who writes emo poetry, and I’m really good at math so everyone hates me.”
I smile slowly, shaking my head.
“Well? Come on.” Amy shakes her hand at my face until I grab it.
“Fine. I’m Marin. I don’t have a dad but I love my mom, I like orange Skittles, I’m mostly really friendly, and on good days, I even sometimes smile.”
“Good enough,” Amy says critically and I let out an exasperated sigh through my nose.
“Look, apparently my mom is being held prisoner here, in Atlantis. I guess this is Atlantis, because you said it was Atlantis. Right? So since I seem to have ended up here, I would really like to find her so that we can both go home and I can go back to living a normal life and forget all about this. Okay?”
Amy raises one eyebrow after I finish my speech and take a gulp of air.
“You’re raising an eyebrow. Why are you raising an eyebrow. Don’t you like my plan?”
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Post by Rikku on Nov 4, 2010 21:39:55 GMT -5
I love the introductions in this. xD I wish people more often introduced themselves in this way.
... I have the strangest suspicion it isn't really 'fishsticks' they're saying! =D This is uncanny.
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Post by Kathleen on Nov 5, 2010 21:54:47 GMT -5
I love the introductions in this. xD I wish people more often introduced themselves in this way. ... I have the strangest suspicion it isn't really 'fishsticks' they're saying! =D This is uncanny. Thank ye very much. The world would be a better place if they did. *sage nod* Why would you say that! Of course it's 'fishsticks' they're saying! =D |
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Post by Kathleen on Nov 6, 2010 0:01:05 GMT -5
Made 12k, but it's all nothing I'm particularly proud of, and none of it makes much sense on its own anyway, so I'll leave off putting up anything today for any curious gawkers. xD
Also, I noticed a disturbing tendency to edit. But so far I'm making my wordcount, so I shan't worry too much for the time being.
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