I feel really tired. I got home about an hour earlier than usual today, because Mrs. Smith, my Editorial Writing teacher, wasn't in. Even so, the time has passed very quickly, and I feel tired and cold. I think I may go downstairs to make a cup of tea in a moment.
Today's Wake Up Writing exercise was to set a timer for 20 minutes and write anything with the title 'The Sleeper' until the alarm went. I was bored enough to attempt this. Now that I read over my text, however, I can see how patronising it sounds. I tried to go for a little twist ending, but I honestly don't know how effective it was. I don't really care, though. I just need to keep writing until I'm ready to go back to my stories. Today, I thought of a few more characterisation aspects for Elayne and Dorcas that sort of just appeared, and I was moving some papers in my room this morning when I came across a sheet of information about Doreen, which I vaguely recall writing a few weeks back. Apparently she hates her handwriting, and has an older half-brother who is half-American. I didn't remember any of this, so I'm glad I found the sheet.
Wait, damnit! Doreen is supposed to be an only child. Does it really matter? Goodness, now I have to think all of this through again.
The Sleeper
The library was old and grand, and quite remarkable in an architectural sense. It was dusty too, though; not because it was unused, but because nobody could be bothered to clean it. Row upon row, bookcases were covered in thick, grey fluff that fell to the floor whenever books were pulled off shelves, and muffled the footsteps of those who walked down the aisles. Some parts of the library were visited regularly, others were utterly abandoned. For example, nobody knew what books were kept at the back, for nobody had visited there. Because of the area's seclusion, it was easy for strange things to manifest there without ever being noticed. All sorts of fanciful creatures rested in the dark, safe from the outside world where predators of all sorts lurked, before leaving to make a new home elsewhere. The Sleeper, however, had been there for a very long time, since before the library had ever been built, centuries ago. The Sleeper had crawled into a space and fallen asleep there, and when the humans had decided to build in that area, they unwittingly built around The Sleeper, unaware of its presence. The Sleeper was unique, unlike any other creature, and it had one marvellous ability; it created Dreams. The Sleeper was constant, unwavering, and always had been, and thus the world has never been without Dreams. Even when awake, The Sleeper transmits images to all sleeping creatures, showing us what has happened in the past, what will happen in the future, even what is currently happening in other worlds. The Sleeper has a sad story, though. Thousands of years ago, it started to lose a grip on its power. Some people had started to investigate the Dreamworld, analysing it, trying to pick it to pieces and discover how it worked. The more that was uncovered, the less mystery The Sleeper had, and thus the less power it had. It grew tired and weak, travelling at a slow pace for several centuries, unable to carry out its job as effectively as it once did. And so, eventually its only option soon became clear to it; The Sleeper would have to fall into a deep slumber so that it could feed off the Dreams of other creatures. It stopped moving, and fell asleep where it was, unconcerned by the changing world around it. And now, thanks to The Sleeper's great sacrifice, the World of Dreams is self-perpetuating, and each and every one of us is under the watchful eye of The Sleeper, guardian against Nightmares.
That is an example of how not to write a History essay.
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Now playing: Apocalyptica - Enter Sandman
via FoxyTunes
No. 8, My Life, Planet Earth
Thursday 20 September 2007
Tuesday 18 September 2007
Wake Up Writing
Because I really need to get back to writing (I haven't done anything for about a week, and I have all this stuff in my head, and I just can't put it down on paper in words) I figured I might as well carry out some of these exercises. I've only done one so far. I just wrote non-stop for about five minutes, without going back to edit anything, and I'm pretty pleased with what I came up with. This was the exercise I had to do:
Use any of the following to start a piece of fiction or non-fiction. If you’re feeling like a challenge, rather than just choosing the one that appeals most to you, see if you can actually complete a 500 word piece of writing on all of them (they don’t have to be connected - but of course if you can do that ….go you!)
1. It was humid the last time I saw ………
2. Despite the clinical cleanliness of the rest of the room, there was a dark stain spreading out across ………
3. Putting her hands on her hips, Mildred sighed deeply. “Count to 10″ she told herself as she looked at the ………
Here's what I wrote in response to the first prompt:
It was humid the last time I saw my brother decline the offer of pudding. We were in Troyes, France, in early August and the weather had been particularly hot that day. All four of us had beads of sweat forming on our foreheads for the most part of the day, and in the early evening, when we left the cool, air-conditioned safety of the hotel, we stepped out into the street only to be buffeted by the heat wave. We walked down the road to a church, and within minutes, my feet started to burn up. I took off my supermarket-bought pumps and walked along the pavement barefoot. The church cast brilliant shadows; it’s walls were dirty and grotty, but the general shape and composition of the building was magnificent, ancient-looking. It was at least four centuries old. As soon as I stepped out of it’s shadow, however, my feet started to burn on the hot concrete of the pavement. I hopped around, alternating between shadow and bright, red-hot ground surfaces.
We spent at least an hour walking around the town that evening, and it took us a while to settle upon a restaurant at which we would have our evening meal. The road we eventually decided to eat along was busy; many places had tables and chairs outside, so that we all ate in cramped conditions. Even once sitting down, a cool pineapple juice in hand, I felt extremely hot. Shorts and a tank top was all that I was wearing, and yet I could not have felt any different had I been wearing jeans and a ski jacket.
The meal was delicious, I know that much, although I do not recall specifically what it was. My parents got talking to two elderly British women at the table next to ours, and they mentioned Vimy Ridge and Arras, where they had stayed at the start of their own trip; I had been to Vimy Ridge before on a school trip, and at the mention of the place, I felt a sudden urge to visit there again. Once we had all finished our main course, the waiters came around again, and proffered dessert menus. My mum decided upon a chocolate ice-cream of sorts, but when it came to my brother’s turn to choose an item on the menu, he merely let out a groan and shook his head.
“It’s too hot to eat anything else,” he explained.
“Have you gone mad?” I asked him, surprised by his reaction. “When was the last time you turned down food?”
He did not answer. He ran a hand through his hair irritably and looked at my dad. “I just wanna go,” he muttered. “It’s too hot.”
He’ll probably never refuse pudding again. It must have been the weather.
Now that I read over it again, however, I realise that it's really not the most interesting of pieces. I'm pleased with how easy I found it to write, though; it pretty much just poured out, and - heck - at least it'll serve as a diary entry.
I have an idea for the second scenario, too, and that one is less anecdotal; it'll be a more fictional piece, inspired by a particular location in LOST (The Staff, the medical station that originally belonged to the Dharma Institute).
Seriously, though, I've been looking over the entries in this journal and although - admittedly - there really aren't that many, this place does still need a bit of humour injected into it. It's all dull and ... glum like Hull (I've honestly never been there, but I've heard bad things). Of course, the London attacks aren't really the sort of thing you should joke about, so I'm not saying that entry needs improving on, but currently this blog isn't really a reflection of my personality now, is it? It's hard, though, when I don't have an audience. Perhaps I should force some of my friends to join so that they can comment.
Or not.
They'd probably get a bit fed up of me making them creating loads of new online journals all the time.
Fine then.
Whatever.
----------------
Now playing: Apocalyptica - South Of Heaven Mandatory Suicide (Slayer cover)
via FoxyTunes
Use any of the following to start a piece of fiction or non-fiction. If you’re feeling like a challenge, rather than just choosing the one that appeals most to you, see if you can actually complete a 500 word piece of writing on all of them (they don’t have to be connected - but of course if you can do that ….go you!)
1. It was humid the last time I saw ………
2. Despite the clinical cleanliness of the rest of the room, there was a dark stain spreading out across ………
3. Putting her hands on her hips, Mildred sighed deeply. “Count to 10″ she told herself as she looked at the ………
Here's what I wrote in response to the first prompt:
It was humid the last time I saw my brother decline the offer of pudding. We were in Troyes, France, in early August and the weather had been particularly hot that day. All four of us had beads of sweat forming on our foreheads for the most part of the day, and in the early evening, when we left the cool, air-conditioned safety of the hotel, we stepped out into the street only to be buffeted by the heat wave. We walked down the road to a church, and within minutes, my feet started to burn up. I took off my supermarket-bought pumps and walked along the pavement barefoot. The church cast brilliant shadows; it’s walls were dirty and grotty, but the general shape and composition of the building was magnificent, ancient-looking. It was at least four centuries old. As soon as I stepped out of it’s shadow, however, my feet started to burn on the hot concrete of the pavement. I hopped around, alternating between shadow and bright, red-hot ground surfaces.
We spent at least an hour walking around the town that evening, and it took us a while to settle upon a restaurant at which we would have our evening meal. The road we eventually decided to eat along was busy; many places had tables and chairs outside, so that we all ate in cramped conditions. Even once sitting down, a cool pineapple juice in hand, I felt extremely hot. Shorts and a tank top was all that I was wearing, and yet I could not have felt any different had I been wearing jeans and a ski jacket.
The meal was delicious, I know that much, although I do not recall specifically what it was. My parents got talking to two elderly British women at the table next to ours, and they mentioned Vimy Ridge and Arras, where they had stayed at the start of their own trip; I had been to Vimy Ridge before on a school trip, and at the mention of the place, I felt a sudden urge to visit there again. Once we had all finished our main course, the waiters came around again, and proffered dessert menus. My mum decided upon a chocolate ice-cream of sorts, but when it came to my brother’s turn to choose an item on the menu, he merely let out a groan and shook his head.
“It’s too hot to eat anything else,” he explained.
“Have you gone mad?” I asked him, surprised by his reaction. “When was the last time you turned down food?”
He did not answer. He ran a hand through his hair irritably and looked at my dad. “I just wanna go,” he muttered. “It’s too hot.”
He’ll probably never refuse pudding again. It must have been the weather.
Now that I read over it again, however, I realise that it's really not the most interesting of pieces. I'm pleased with how easy I found it to write, though; it pretty much just poured out, and - heck - at least it'll serve as a diary entry.
I have an idea for the second scenario, too, and that one is less anecdotal; it'll be a more fictional piece, inspired by a particular location in LOST (The Staff, the medical station that originally belonged to the Dharma Institute).
Seriously, though, I've been looking over the entries in this journal and although - admittedly - there really aren't that many, this place does still need a bit of humour injected into it. It's all dull and ... glum like Hull (I've honestly never been there, but I've heard bad things). Of course, the London attacks aren't really the sort of thing you should joke about, so I'm not saying that entry needs improving on, but currently this blog isn't really a reflection of my personality now, is it? It's hard, though, when I don't have an audience. Perhaps I should force some of my friends to join so that they can comment.
Or not.
They'd probably get a bit fed up of me making them creating loads of new online journals all the time.
Fine then.
Whatever.
----------------
Now playing: Apocalyptica - South Of Heaven Mandatory Suicide (Slayer cover)
via FoxyTunes
Sunday 16 September 2007
Returned from the dead (how cool would that be?)
Obviously I haven't updated this blog in over two years. The main reason for that is because I kept forgetting about it, but also I was generally just too lazy to bother, even when I did remember about it.
Too much has happened between July 2005 and now, and I'm not going to bother trying to fill in the blanks, because that would take far too long. Besides, I have a few accounts of what I've been doing since then in several hand-written diaries that I keep, but also on my greatestjournal, which gets updated the most often; see the link to the side if you're mad enough to want to read it. Of course, you do have to be added as a friend to read my blog over at that site; I don't want weirdos advertising dating sites and giving me numbers to call for getting college degrees in less than two weeks, which is what I discovered when I came back here. Do people really have that much time on their hands?
Seeing as this is a sort of 'breaking the ice' entry, I'll leave it as it is, for now. I'll post more personal entries afterwards, although I'm honestly not sure if anyone is even reading this. Ah well, I like the layout and the design, so that's a good enough reason for me to continue using this blog.
Byesabye.
Too much has happened between July 2005 and now, and I'm not going to bother trying to fill in the blanks, because that would take far too long. Besides, I have a few accounts of what I've been doing since then in several hand-written diaries that I keep, but also on my greatestjournal, which gets updated the most often; see the link to the side if you're mad enough to want to read it. Of course, you do have to be added as a friend to read my blog over at that site; I don't want weirdos advertising dating sites and giving me numbers to call for getting college degrees in less than two weeks, which is what I discovered when I came back here. Do people really have that much time on their hands?
Seeing as this is a sort of 'breaking the ice' entry, I'll leave it as it is, for now. I'll post more personal entries afterwards, although I'm honestly not sure if anyone is even reading this. Ah well, I like the layout and the design, so that's a good enough reason for me to continue using this blog.
Byesabye.
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