the project
I haven't been writing enough lately. I feel uncreative and generally boring and trite, but I have to force myself to write, if only to get back into the habit of it. The idea was born when I was writing to Danica about the college board, and what should replace SATs. I basically said,
"We should work to inflitrate the College Board and destroy it from the inside, and replace their tests by written exams with questions like "explain what would happen if every lake in the world suddenly turned into a crater full of your least favourite thing. How would society adapt? Would it? Be creative, and make sure to mention what your least favourite thing is," and "what if your uncle were really your father? Explore your psychological reactions," with an hour to answer per question, and four questions. Of course, the analysis of results would be complicated and time-consuming, but imagine the fantastic answers we would get!"
And then realized that I'd just had a potentially brilliant idea. Don't you love how modest I am?
Anyway, the project is that. I'll get people to ask me completely random, far-flung questions, which require a great deal of speculation, and that could result in any variety of answers, and answer them. I have about five hundred words to answer. I'll aim for three or four questions a week. Not more than one in a day. So here's the game.
if you think this is a good idea, and feel like answering the question too, for the sake of seeing the sheer disparity of the possible results, answer the question in the comments section BEFORE READING MINE. I am adamant that one not answer a question one has already seen an answer to, because I almost always find myself influenced by things that i read half a minute ago, if I liked them, especially if these things were on a similar topic. These have to be YOUR answers, and not an imitation of anyone else's.
Go crazy. The link leads to my answer. hopefully the quality of my answers will improve over time, or hopefully I'll come up with some good story ideas... also, PLEASE PROVIDE CRITICISM.
Question 1)
Asked by Thomm
First, there’s a white light. That’s predictable. If you’ve gotten this far, you either see it all the time, because you’ve gone either insane or strangely blind, or you know to expect it, because anything inexplicable and devastatingly significant is accompanied by a white light. Like in the last bit of the Lord of the Rings films, if you haven’t read the book and fear that Frodo and Sam will perish in the flames of Mordor on that dratted rock. Let’s assume, for the sake of answering the question, that some semblance of your sanity remains. You feel like the light is eating you… not a burning sensation, or a grinding sensation, but a sensation akin to being grasped very tightly by a great hand, grasping your body and mind and squeezing and losing you, like you’re a glob of corn starch goop in the hands of an irritable toddler. A great rushing fills you, with the light, like you’ve become a tide of whatever is squeezing you, and right when you think your mind will break, everything begins to ebb. You have time to realize that you were pulled in all the way, and that expecting to stick in just your head, much less be able to pull it back out again, was incredibly naïve. But then, as white light usually does, if you haven’t gone insane or strangely blind, it just… goes away. Fades to black. Beyond the end of the universe does not prevent the existence of clichés, after all, and you realize, comfortably, that the physical world is far from lost. Obviously, you still exist, and obviously, so does something else, because you feel like you’re suspended in a bowl of jello. You still exist, and your eyes are flowers. They expand like small peonies with petals of dimensional understanding, clotting the colorful flow of your reeling consciousness, and as your peonies mature and die and are reformed with the bleeding of your ex mind, which divorced you suddenly and without comment upon your exit from its universe of choice, the petals flutter into the sluggish, unpredictably melting and coagulating mass that surrounds you. Your flowers were programmed into you from the start, in case your universe were to collapse, and you were somehow to persevere. The universe has not collapsed… you have just crossed the divide from one land into another, but this one none the less sets off the divine interface to counteract surreality. The petals are antennae, the feelers explore the dimensions that you will never understand, and their processors send signals to your motherboard, which holds the programme that will save you- the metaphor generator. It boots up to make you think you’re a flower, and once it finishes loading, while you remain suspended, it hands to you in a white china platter the product of its labour: baklava.
"We should work to inflitrate the College Board and destroy it from the inside, and replace their tests by written exams with questions like "explain what would happen if every lake in the world suddenly turned into a crater full of your least favourite thing. How would society adapt? Would it? Be creative, and make sure to mention what your least favourite thing is," and "what if your uncle were really your father? Explore your psychological reactions," with an hour to answer per question, and four questions. Of course, the analysis of results would be complicated and time-consuming, but imagine the fantastic answers we would get!"
And then realized that I'd just had a potentially brilliant idea. Don't you love how modest I am?
Anyway, the project is that. I'll get people to ask me completely random, far-flung questions, which require a great deal of speculation, and that could result in any variety of answers, and answer them. I have about five hundred words to answer. I'll aim for three or four questions a week. Not more than one in a day. So here's the game.
if you think this is a good idea, and feel like answering the question too, for the sake of seeing the sheer disparity of the possible results, answer the question in the comments section BEFORE READING MINE. I am adamant that one not answer a question one has already seen an answer to, because I almost always find myself influenced by things that i read half a minute ago, if I liked them, especially if these things were on a similar topic. These have to be YOUR answers, and not an imitation of anyone else's.
Go crazy. The link leads to my answer. hopefully the quality of my answers will improve over time, or hopefully I'll come up with some good story ideas... also, PLEASE PROVIDE CRITICISM.
Question 1)
Asked by Thomm
First, there’s a white light. That’s predictable. If you’ve gotten this far, you either see it all the time, because you’ve gone either insane or strangely blind, or you know to expect it, because anything inexplicable and devastatingly significant is accompanied by a white light. Like in the last bit of the Lord of the Rings films, if you haven’t read the book and fear that Frodo and Sam will perish in the flames of Mordor on that dratted rock. Let’s assume, for the sake of answering the question, that some semblance of your sanity remains. You feel like the light is eating you… not a burning sensation, or a grinding sensation, but a sensation akin to being grasped very tightly by a great hand, grasping your body and mind and squeezing and losing you, like you’re a glob of corn starch goop in the hands of an irritable toddler. A great rushing fills you, with the light, like you’ve become a tide of whatever is squeezing you, and right when you think your mind will break, everything begins to ebb. You have time to realize that you were pulled in all the way, and that expecting to stick in just your head, much less be able to pull it back out again, was incredibly naïve. But then, as white light usually does, if you haven’t gone insane or strangely blind, it just… goes away. Fades to black. Beyond the end of the universe does not prevent the existence of clichés, after all, and you realize, comfortably, that the physical world is far from lost. Obviously, you still exist, and obviously, so does something else, because you feel like you’re suspended in a bowl of jello. You still exist, and your eyes are flowers. They expand like small peonies with petals of dimensional understanding, clotting the colorful flow of your reeling consciousness, and as your peonies mature and die and are reformed with the bleeding of your ex mind, which divorced you suddenly and without comment upon your exit from its universe of choice, the petals flutter into the sluggish, unpredictably melting and coagulating mass that surrounds you. Your flowers were programmed into you from the start, in case your universe were to collapse, and you were somehow to persevere. The universe has not collapsed… you have just crossed the divide from one land into another, but this one none the less sets off the divine interface to counteract surreality. The petals are antennae, the feelers explore the dimensions that you will never understand, and their processors send signals to your motherboard, which holds the programme that will save you- the metaphor generator. It boots up to make you think you’re a flower, and once it finishes loading, while you remain suspended, it hands to you in a white china platter the product of its labour: baklava.