BIG NEWS

Oh hello,
I know I haven't posted anything in roughly a millennium, but that's all about to change. You see I have decided that I'm actually going to start posting things I think and feel (since thought catalog hasn't responded to anything I've sent them yet) THIS IS MY VESSEL AND I WILL FILL IT WITH MY OWN NONSENSE!
So thanks for following me so far, I'm sure the rest of the internet is still okay.

Glass

I’m going to do another 20 minute challenge, given one word: ‘Glass’. I know I haven’t written in six months, and probably can’t write a decent thing to save my life anymore but here goes.

Glass

http://beautifulpictureshd.com/2012/06/14/black-and-white-pictures/black_and_white_pictures_broken_glass/

It’s so pristine, and clear and flawless.

 It didn't used to be, but that’s how it’s become.

 It used to scare you if it smashed to the ground, a million little pieces you couldn't see.

How it would hurt you, and tear through your skin, or maybe lodge in somewhere where you could never find it, until it tore through your insides.

 It is transparent like the truth you wish you could hide from everyone, but even your reflection screams it.

In its perfection, it is daunting.

 A plane so smooth, like a gateway into somewhere secret,

It’s waiting.

 It is a barrier; unyielding.

 Steady and high, it keeps you.

 Scratch the walls, and hear their screeches

You've come so far.  

But why do you stop, when you can see everything behind it?

These hands are too small to break glass walls,

 but maybe they’ll paint them red.

Writing for idiots, and bored minds 101.

This column, has absolutely no scientific basis and is not supported by any particular school of English. However, for the amateur writer who doesn't have much time to read 600 pages worth of 'how to write', I've concluded a few easy steps towards gathering your thoughts into meaningful and coherent pieces.

TIPS OF THE SELF-PROCLAIMED GURU! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

1. Never let an idea go to waste. Seriously even the silliest thoughts maybe acts of genius, without you knowing it. Even if the idea doesn't fit into the context of what you're writing at the time. Just write it down! Even a very brief plot can be merged into another story, making it much more interesting and brilliant!

2.You never know when inspiration is going to rain down on you. J.K Rowling thought

of Harry Potter on the train. So simply be prepared!

With the advancements in technology, most people can

write down anything, anywhere on their mobile phone. If you have a mentally challenged touch screen that drives you insane! (like mine), then it would be wise to carry around a small notebook.

3. EMOTION! EMOTION! EMOTION!

Every great poem or story holds an even better personal story for it's writer. SO WHEN YOU'RE ANGRY WRITE! It helps, plus it's usually awesome.

4. Don't be weird.To write what is best, you must write what you know. Or you can go completely crazy, which is even better!

5. Writer's block is the worse thing that can happen to a writer. Been there, done that. It's frustrating and sometimes intolerably cruel! But it passes, so chill! So when you feel like your well has dried up: listen to some music, read something, or better yet watch some television. My English teacher once told me, that the night before an exam all you have to do is watch show series. However unlikely that may seem, it really does help.

Well, That's all I've got for today, but I promise to provide more useful nonsense ASAP.

Join us again for another episode of writing for idiots and bored minds 101.

How to write a great character sketch/ Description.

Remember,

This column has absoloutely no scientific basis, and is not supported by any particular school of english.

What always impresses me about any story, is a strong foundation of unique and interesting characters. Even if the story is based on the perspective of a single character in his/her narrative voice, the presence of contrasting personalities and variable psyches broadens the dimensions of the tale. The psychologies and motives of the main characters may not arise until the midlle or end of the story, however there are many ways to convey the complex and distinctive personality of a character, thereby giving your readers hints about what this character's end will come to. This makes the story even more exciting when said character pulls a perfectly ,contradictory-to-all-their-previously mentioned-traits stunt.Like the revelation of Severus Snape's true agenda.

When the story is just begining, a character sketch, no matter how brief can be used to make even the most mundane and unintersting characters seem bizarre and significant.

Here are a few tips on how to write a great character sketch/description.


1. Implent psycho-analytic tools in your description.

for example: He embodied self-loathing.His feet dragged beneath him, eyes firmly fixed on the ground at all times, and had a posture that was made to scare crows away.

In this description, the reader is meant to percieve the character as a person with mere fragments of self-esteem, who seems to have no interest in achieving a particular goal or purpose in life.

IN contrary to someone with ''A stride that challenged the earth beneath it.''


2. Don't stick to every-day adjectives, use interesting, even slightly bizarre ones.

e.g: He had boulder shoulders and porcuppine hair.


3. Describe your characters using words that transport their emotions into the readers mind.

e.g: She had tense shoulders, and a strange excitement in her eyes.


4. Don't be too descriptive. One thing that can be very irritating for a reader, is when the writer goes on and on and on about something, like the characters clothing, that they forget what was going on in the first place.


5.Don't be too vague and abstract, and please don't use the elements of nature in your description, especially if they have nothing to do with what you're talking about! Remember not all minds operate on the same frequency, you might know what ''a smile of rainbows means'' but to me it just sounds like someone had too many fruity loops.


6.Be brief, but important. Try to put as much meaning into small, coherent sentences as possible.


Here's a short character sketch I wrote for my friend, just for fun:

If ever positive energy could be emobied into a being, it would be embodied into Rana A.B. She had a slim athletic figure, to complement her active state of mind. She could probably make boulders smile if she tried. She had dark hair and eyes, and an olive-toned egyptian complexion. But there was a certain brightness and beauty that emitted from the purity of her soul. She was not one to back down or shy away, and had enough confidence to practice kindness to everyone.


That's all for now, please excuse my punctuation.

Join us again, for another episode of writing for idiots and bored minds! :D
image taken from: http://www.tubeonline.info/.

The kettle

This is not a particularly strange week end; this is a typical end of week experience. I am tired and cold, also irritated. As usual there is nothing for me to do this Friday night. I imagined at this point in my life I would be the owner of a fully packed, riveting, and potentially enviable social calendar. Alas, that is not the case at least not in this dim and insignificant period of my existence. In a few years when I look back upon this frame of time, I shall regret not making use of it, in exercise or targeted reading, but I’d like to think in a few years I will not remember this time at all. Yes, that is much better; I shall pretend this time does not exist at all. In fact neither do I, not now, not until I find something useful to occupy my time with.

I stand up and walk towards the window. I could throw myself from it right now, no one would even notice. Except maybe my cat, but it might take him a week or so. Unless I fall, and leave the window open, then he will not realise that his source of sustenance has disappeared, and will simply crawl  out the window to a less negligent care-taker. It is a saddening thought that I must remember to isolate my domestic pet before leaping to a sudden death in order for my swift departure from this earth to gain some momentum.

It’s not as if the cat will gather my relatives, preach them on the fleetingness of life, and warn them of their near ends. Nor will he speak on my behalf on the wrongs they have committed, the injustices and betrayals. My brother, who obstructed any form of kindness that dared steer in my direction, and stole all of my Halloween sweets from under my bed. My uncle who made me clean out fish guts at the age of seven, permanently scarring me for life. My mother, who consistently compared me to her dog. My father, who implanted within me an irrational fear of balloon animals, and aluminium foil, and the list, goes onwards.

I walk away from the window, realising I am too much of a coward to actually take my own life, and that no one would truly benefit from my death, as I have no life insurance. I try to remember something, something I had forgotten something that may very well be the reason I am so irritated. What is it that is so compelling that it picks away at my peace of mind, yet does not reveal itself? Could I have been so completely lost in thought, that I have no recollection whatsoever of this single crucial detail that is hindering the natural progression of my life?

And then the sound goes off, a loud piercing whistle of steam escaping a metallic whole. I am suddenly reunited with rational thought and remember that I had left some water to boil on the stove, which I had forgotten about in my suicidal trail of thought. I walk to the kitchen, to make myself some pot noodles, and everything is right again in the world.

Dawn is beautiful.

I wonder if I should be writing this at all. If I still have a right to, after all this time. Here goes, I've decided to not make up a plot before hand, or even think about what I'm about to write. I'm going to give myself 30 minutes to write about whatever and then post it. Today the word is dawn, and I will write about that.

Dawn is beautiful.

The hour or two of dawn brings with it a rebirth, that might as well have swallowed the living world whole, and in that, ruptured it's feeble cloak of fortitude and substance.In that humble period of limbo, between the life and death of this new day, time is revealed, and our world is shamed and unfolded for what it really is. For when the cruel and magnificent night collapses into itself and pleads with the day for it's own life, and when the day blazes to life like fire catching to the skies, you know that change is upon us. This struggle ends far too soon, and then it starts.When the trees, and birds and clouds and earth come slowly back into visibility, slowly yet too fast for the world to see the sun flip through the pages of it's surroundings.Just before everything stops, and when the mode of conversion is at it's fastest and most inevitable, the entire universe screams. Whether in welcome or protest, it matters not. Then the sun lands in it's spot above the sky, and it's so bright,so brilliant, and so incredibly final.When the day arrives, there is no memory of the night before it, or the day before that, or any moment of time before this one,which seems to exist on it's own, as it always has. This moment which is Time's greatest device.

The Short Life of a Tissue Box part 2

The following entry is a record of the night June 24^th 2004. As the sole eyewitness of the events that took place on said night I believe it is my duty to submit my observations, to the literate world. This was taken during the events, and although they may seem biased towards one party’s favour, let the record reflect that no physical or audible action has been embellished or fabricated in any way.

Thursday, June 24^th, 2004

6:47 pm

I am about to write from where I have been sitting for the past 79 hours, on the cold and hideously dusty floorboards under Eva’s bed. Needless to say, these past few days have not been the highlight of my week, but alas I am powerless to cause any change that may remove my discomfort. On the bright side, Eva’s tendency to never get a job done has left her bed fairly uncovered, bare enough for the duvet not to obstruct my vision from the rest of the room. It is not entirely dark, the bedroom door has been left open and the fluorescent lighting from the corridor has been kind enough to shed some of itself here. It’s not that I fear the dark, or that I’ve been having terrifyingly vivid hallucinations of certain masked dust monsters pulling my deeper into the dark, or anything, It’s just that I would appreciate someone noticing my absence, and then retrieving me from the underworld.

I’ve been devising a genius plan to get myself out from under the bed. One which includes the toy car on my left being brought to life by its remote control and then carrying me out with it as it zooms out with brilliant strength and agility. However since I have had no such luck, I’ve decided to just wait for Devine intervention. I waited for a few more minutes when I heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor. They were light and slow-paced, like that of a small animal wearing ballet slippers. I listened intently and then looked up to find Eva’s brother entering the room. He looked about 2 or 3 years old and dressed the part, with crème coloured dungarees, a soft blue t-shirt and small blue trainers. His soft brown hair flopped over his face as he bounced around the room, holding his arms out in front of him and making strange noises that I was unable to translate into anything.

As amusing as it was to watch this strange human being explore the wonders of this new world he had just discovered, and knock over various objects within it, I couldn’t help but feeling a hunch towards impending doom. This child was obviously not supposed to be in here, especially not trying to climb over a stack of books and shoe boxes. What exactly are you trying to do little person? You are probably going to get injured. This is a very bad idea. Please get down! That’s when I saw it, the reason behind the boy’s sacrifice of his own short life, a large red ball mounted on top of the wardrobe. Even I, could see through my narrow field of vision that this plan of his was about to go south. The shoe-boxes were mounted unevenly on high stack of books that lay between the wardrobe and the dresser. The boy placed a foot on the highest shoebox, and held himself steady with a hand on the dresser as he mounted his feeble tower. GET DOWN NOW!

 Just as he balanced the rest of his weight on his climbing leg the shoebox gave in and slipped from beneath his foot. His body fell backwards, back arched, fists clenched. He let out a terrible scream as his back hit the floor hard, followed by his head with a loud thump.  

The sound of the boy’s head hitting the ground kicked the breath out of me. I felt as if I had just received a blow to the stomach and the panic overwhelmed me. The boy lay still on the floor, and dark red liquid seeped slowly from beneath him.

To be continued…