wow
Wow....
just wow.
It has been forever sence i got on last..........
soooo
i hadnt really written anything until about 2 weeks ago. I ve been writing once or twice a week scence then. But no stories. Cause i dont have a story thats writeworthy...
so this is my two favorites... Keep in mind the first took about 2 minutes, and the second 5.
The boy quietly sat at the screen, shoulders humped in the dejected manor of the beaten.
Suddenly he visibly brightened.
“I’ve got it!” he cried
His fingers began to madly type, creating a myriad of words on the screen.
“No writers block shall stymie me today! Nothing can stop me!”
The tippity tap of the keys grew faster still, as the computer's hum joined it to make a small symphony to his ears.
Writers block is no obstacle for the creative.
Graveyard tan
He walked into the graveyard, that man did. I told him not to. The girl was there. She gives everyone the creeps, even me. There were stories, after her parents died. There were stories of things they had done to her, of how they had ravaged her beautiful body. But people let the dead rest, and stories are only stories. Except to the characters. She always goes there. The graveyard. Where the man went. She sits by their grave. Doing nothing. She doesn’t play, she doesn’t sing. She doesn’t even bring any flowers, ever. She just sits there, and stares at the words on their tomb. Seeking peace, seeking that which will never come. The graveyard tan has seeped into her, has taken root, and it will never leave. While the dead rest she is forced to wander, until she is accepted into their fold.
I wrote that after i heard that phrase on the radio, in some song which wasnt all htat good. I know it sucks. I wanted to include something about him coming to adopt her, but she never comes with her adopters, there have been 5. But it just didnt seem to fit.
And, now, the qoutes which I came up with while i was bored in Am. Lit. They were analizing Poe extremely slowly...
The infant emerged from the womb and began to die. -I really don’t subscribe to this philosophy, but I liked the way this sounded.
There is something to be said for silence; however those who know what it is don’t speak very much. -I’ve had the idea for this quote since freshmen year, pretty self-explanatory. It came from walking home in silence, without music. Don’t like wording though.
To be normal is to die. -I really like the idea behind this, but I don’t think I phrased it as well as I might have. Truly normal things are something which everyone does, and death is the only thing which everyone does. Conversely, it could be taken that as soon as you seek to be, “normal,” you lose yourself, your identity of self, thus, dying.
To analyze oneself is to tell where the forest is, while you are standing under its branches. It can be done with difficulty, but often the answer seems to be, “here.” - I hate the wording on this one. The analogy is stolen from The Thief of Time by Terry Pratchett, but he used it in an entirely different manor. I want to include something about it can be done by traversing the edges comparing to landmarks, but that seems way too specific.
If words could fill me, I would never go hungry. -Reading and eating my words.
When you smile, you go against gravity. You go against the world. You go against the power constantly trying to pull you down. And it still takes fewer muscles than it does to frown.- funny that these words sprouted from the mouth of a pessimist.
And, to make up for the past 4 months, HOW IS EVERYONE DOING.
just wow.
It has been forever sence i got on last..........
soooo
i hadnt really written anything until about 2 weeks ago. I ve been writing once or twice a week scence then. But no stories. Cause i dont have a story thats writeworthy...
so this is my two favorites... Keep in mind the first took about 2 minutes, and the second 5.
The boy quietly sat at the screen, shoulders humped in the dejected manor of the beaten.
Suddenly he visibly brightened.
“I’ve got it!” he cried
His fingers began to madly type, creating a myriad of words on the screen.
“No writers block shall stymie me today! Nothing can stop me!”
The tippity tap of the keys grew faster still, as the computer's hum joined it to make a small symphony to his ears.
Writers block is no obstacle for the creative.
Graveyard tan
He walked into the graveyard, that man did. I told him not to. The girl was there. She gives everyone the creeps, even me. There were stories, after her parents died. There were stories of things they had done to her, of how they had ravaged her beautiful body. But people let the dead rest, and stories are only stories. Except to the characters. She always goes there. The graveyard. Where the man went. She sits by their grave. Doing nothing. She doesn’t play, she doesn’t sing. She doesn’t even bring any flowers, ever. She just sits there, and stares at the words on their tomb. Seeking peace, seeking that which will never come. The graveyard tan has seeped into her, has taken root, and it will never leave. While the dead rest she is forced to wander, until she is accepted into their fold.
I wrote that after i heard that phrase on the radio, in some song which wasnt all htat good. I know it sucks. I wanted to include something about him coming to adopt her, but she never comes with her adopters, there have been 5. But it just didnt seem to fit.
And, now, the qoutes which I came up with while i was bored in Am. Lit. They were analizing Poe extremely slowly...
The infant emerged from the womb and began to die. -I really don’t subscribe to this philosophy, but I liked the way this sounded.
There is something to be said for silence; however those who know what it is don’t speak very much. -I’ve had the idea for this quote since freshmen year, pretty self-explanatory. It came from walking home in silence, without music. Don’t like wording though.
To be normal is to die. -I really like the idea behind this, but I don’t think I phrased it as well as I might have. Truly normal things are something which everyone does, and death is the only thing which everyone does. Conversely, it could be taken that as soon as you seek to be, “normal,” you lose yourself, your identity of self, thus, dying.
To analyze oneself is to tell where the forest is, while you are standing under its branches. It can be done with difficulty, but often the answer seems to be, “here.” - I hate the wording on this one. The analogy is stolen from The Thief of Time by Terry Pratchett, but he used it in an entirely different manor. I want to include something about it can be done by traversing the edges comparing to landmarks, but that seems way too specific.
If words could fill me, I would never go hungry. -Reading and eating my words.
When you smile, you go against gravity. You go against the world. You go against the power constantly trying to pull you down. And it still takes fewer muscles than it does to frown.- funny that these words sprouted from the mouth of a pessimist.
And, to make up for the past 4 months, HOW IS EVERYONE DOING.