Writer's Block

Hello, Porkchaps! Long time no post!

Once again, I am bored at work so I thought I'd give a tiny update and what not.

Once again (again), it's Camp NaNoWriMo month! Yaaaaay! I'm still working on that same middle grade book (hooray actual dedication!), but for the last few days I have hit a stumbling block. I'm finally in the last phase of my first draft, leading up to the climax, but my brain decided to take a holiday (not that that's different from usual).

I've been trying to get myself to put down the next few words, but something is getting lost in translation between the images in my mind and my fingertips on the keyboard. So instead of forcing the words to come, I channeled that creative energy into a rant/encouraging tale of overcoming writer's block! 

Anyway, here's the poem, yo.

An Ode to Writer's Block

Oh, that wall in my brain

That makes me go insane,

Though I try in vain

To impale it

Writer's block is a pain

Of my existence, 'tis the bane

Like an oncoming train

Can I derail it?

What wisdom can I gain

When my brain's split in twain?

Like a barrel of hay,

Can I bail it?

It does no good to complain--

I'm a swashbuckling swain!

These words flow in my veins--

I shall prevail it!

So Writers of the World, let us unite! Pick up your pens and laptops (typewriters for you hipsters out there) and let us vanquish the Block Menace! 

Happy Camp NaNoWriMo, errrbody!

Still Hardly Working

So two and a half years ago, I made a post called "Hardly Working" that showed all the random pictures that I drew while I worked at Random Department Store, Inc. Well, here is the sequel, only this time I shall paint you a picture with WORDS.

Oooooooooh.

So, the queues at my current job are completely empty and have been for the past four hours. So, because my supervisors are cool and devious at the same time, they sent us creative writing prompts to keep us busy. I know I've said this before, but I'll say it again: I'll admit, I've actually been having way to much fun with these. Just like Obama & the Kangaroo, I decided to let my mind wander off the beaten path and just do whatever the bleep it wants.


Prompt: Create an advertisement (three to five paragraphs) using this image as your inspiration:

"Allow me to sing you the song of my people."

Now, to me, it looks like these guys are sharing in some particularly hilarious joke. As a result. here is what I spawned:

=====

Do you ever feel like the Netherworld is just a little too dreary at times? Our home may be riddled with trillions of dead folks, but that doesn't mean we have to act like it! Even Hades needs a chuckle once every few millennia.

As the sole proprietor of "Funderworld," I am here to bring the gift of laughter back into your afterlife. My improv training seminars give you the tools you need to tickle the funny bone of everyone you meet.

Whether you bump into the head of a somber guillotine victim down by the River Styx or a dispirited pioneer who has still not gotten over their death from dysentery on the Oregon Trail, I teach you how to transform any situation into a gold mine of comedic wonder. Along with my fellow humor instructors and the jocular antics of Cerberus, my in-depth classes are sure to make you a veteran member of the Army of the Fundead in as little as 37 years! Transform your eternal afterlife into the Laughterlife by enrolling today.

Contact Komos on the outskirts of the Fields of Asphodel to register for his posthumous and post-humorous training sessions.

=====

AKA; My life in a nutshell.

Also, shout out to the person in Romania that's actually reading this. "Vă mulțumim!" ;)

House Cups & Prompts

At the behest of Amelia de Mimsy Porpington (yes that was a Harry Potter reference), I was told to put my latest prompt writing on here. So here I go!

Prompt: Write about an injury.


This was it. I was dead.

By the looks on everyone's faces, I knew.

The pain was excruciating -- it was an intense searing the likes of which I had never before experienced, and I knew I never would again.

The wound was deep. My enemy had sliced me clean through.

Cold. Mechanical.

Deliberate.

Agonizing screams erupt from my throat and fell deaf on my ears. I drifted in slow motion towards the ground, seemingly defying gravity.

I was floating, my body now in two pieces.

I landed almost poetically on the ground, my eyes fixed upward. I saw the glint of steel and felt the cold, snipping voice whisper in my ear.

"I'm sorry, my friend," he hissed, grinning. "Scissors cuts paper."



==================


I'll admit, I had way more fun writing that than I should have. ;D

Oh, and speaking of Harry Potter from earlier, Shellie and I went back on Pottermore last week after two years of inactivity to read the newest JK Rowling story (awesomeness), but we decided to create new accounts. So we both re-took the Sorting Hat quiz.

Both of us were in Hufflepuff originally (shocker there), so we were curious to see what would happen.

Two years later, I am a Ravenclaw (ka-KAW!) and Shellie is. . .

. . . A Slytherin.

I knew that chick was evil.

Obama & the Kangaroo

Another strange title. Explanation:

At my job, we work out of a queue system, meaning there's a queue of websites that need to be written, and you go in order from there. After working overtime for a few weeks, we finally got the queues down to zero, meaning there was nothing to do.

Because of this, my now-supervisor, Stephen (whose blog you can read here), sent out a list of ridiculous creative writing prompts to do on company time to keep our creative juices flowing. This was one of them:

A kangaroo has taken the president hostage. His terms for release are the following: 

                This is Barack Obama, President of the United States of America. The White House has been overtaken by a group of Australian nationalists, code name Kangaroo. Wait, it's an actual kangaroo? Really? How did this happen?

                I have been informed that it is just one kangaroo, acting of his own volition, who has apparently subdued hundreds of trained special agents and overthrown the most heavily guarded building in the Western Hemisphere. Because he is unable to speak, since he is indeed a kangaroo, I am to read his demands on-air to the entire world. Because though he cannot speak, he still does know how to write for some reason.

                Firstly, stop calling him Kangaroo Jack. He prefers his Christian name, Kevin.

                Second Item: Stop trying to put things in his pouch. That's not for you.

                Third: An endless supply of Dunk-a-Roos.

                Fourth: Exterminate every dingo in the world. One ate his baby.

                And finally, the fifth demand: Meet the previous demands, or Kevin will kick you in the face.

                End transmission.

=====

My mother made the comment that I should have had Obama sitting in the pouch of the kangaroo for safekeeping, so I will leave you with that ridiculously amazing image in your head for the rest of the day.

Oh, and BTDubs: Camp NaNoWriMo starts again tomorrow! Oh boy. 10K word count, here I come. Again.

Stop That Ferret!

Hello, all! What up with thee?

So, NaNoWriMo came and went, with my not nearing that 35,000 mark at all. I was just a tad over-zealous with that word count goal, but I am remaining positive! I finished with 10,022 words which is way more than I have written in a while, so I am calling that a definite win! There is another camp in July, so hopefully I'll be able to make even more headway on my book!

Anyway, you're probably wondering what this title is about. Allow me to elaborate.

So Amy, Shellie, and I were at the writer's meeting this past week. We have gained some new blood recently, the lovely and talented Nicole, whose phenomenal blog Dancing on a High Wire you can read here. I realize that the more people we have, the better our meeting become because we are ALL insecure about our prompts and can share in the mutual shame of our writing styles!

But this time, I felt the most inspired for a prompt than I had in a while.

After getting the initial craptastic prompt out of the way, we moved on to something new and fun.

A few weeks ago, Amy lent me a book called "How to Be a Villain," and I randomly opened to a page and immediately burst out laughing.

The line my eyes instantly flitted to?

"Stop that ferret!"

So Amy took it upon herself to transform this out-of-context phrase into a prompt for our meeting. And for some unknown reason, I felt like I was in my element.

Ridiculousness and whimsy? Totes me, yo.

So since this is something I am actually slightly proud of (and if you hate it keep it to yo'self, ya nasty), I decided to share it with you all.

So, here goes:

******

"Stop that ferret!"

Fiero scampered as fast as he could, making sure not to drop the Golden Acorn. He panted, clutching his tiny pink fists as he dodged the steady stream of toothpick arrows that whizzed past his pointed ears.

The Nutcracker Army was hot on his trail, marching remarkably fast for wooden dolls. Fiero kicked himself silently for ever taking this stupid job in the first place.

Darting through the forest, he kicked up a slew of leaves and twigs in his wake. He thought wildly for a moment that he could simply climb one of the massive oak trees, but knew that it would be futile. The Nutcrackers had access to buzz saws and heavy machinery used to whittle their wooden offspring. No, scurrying would have to do for now.

He continued his journey, the protesting shouts of the army ringing in his ears. Keep going, he thought, just a bit further. . .

Then, he saw it. His salvation.

The river.

The Nutcrackers would get carried away by the current and they would be unable to catch him if they tried to follow. With all his might, he grit his teeth and launched himself off the riverbank.

Fiero flew through the air, one arm outstretched, the other clutching the Golden Acorn. He felt the air ruffle through his fur and heard the arrows fly by his head. He remembered the skills he had learned from Plucky the Flying Squirrel: "Tuck and roll, boy! Tuck and roll!"

Bracing for impact, Fiero pulled his limbs in tight, but let out a squeak of pain as a stray arrow grazed his arm. He toppled onto the grass, gasping. But he couldn't stop. He jumped up. With a last glance over his shoulder at the shrieking Nutcracker Army on the opposite bank, Fiero .

"That's the last time I help out the nut-brained Squirrel King," he muttered bitterly, the Golden Acorn grasped firmly under his bleeding arm.

********


Sooo yeah that's it! I actually came up with an entire plot line for this story, but that's for another time and another place. ;)

Also, some more shameless plugging! My friend Sarah is currently doing awesome Disney races and is blogging about her progress! She is highly entertaining and wondies, so read her blog Running for Inspiration!

Also, Shellie's got a new blog called Shut Up and Read and I'm hoping by linking her page and seeing that people are viewing it, it will hold her accountable to actually write something. So go annoy her and leave comments that cripple her sense of self-worth unless she writes! Do it now! ;D

All Roads Lead to Murder. . .

This week's prompt, as stated before:  You're in a motel.

Go.

~~~

He comes here every Thursday like clockwork.  He walks in the room, takes off his trench coat, and throws it on the broken armchair.

He thinks no one can see him.

But I do.

From under the bureau I can see him.  I can smell his cologne.

He pushes the rickety bed across the floor with a screech.

Every time.

The trapdoor is exposed.  He opens it and lowers himself down gingerly.  He stays down there for forty-five minutes exactly, a constant thump thump below the floorboards.  He climbs up and moves the bed back to its original position, as if nothing happened.  He lies on the quilt, wiping the sweat off his brow, a serene grin on his face.  He dozes.

He thinks he's alone.

He thinks he's free.

He thinks no more.

~~~

I know, it's really dramatic for a comedy blog, right? Eh, but what're ya gonna do?  Another thing we like to do is Amy (whom I have now dubbed Crown Grandmaster of Writermonies) will show us a picture and we have to write a line or so based on the picture.  I wish I could show them to you, so instead I will describe.

The first week was a picture of a broken window in an old wooden house.  This is my response:

"Hello, again," he whispered with a smirk, his pliers grasped firmly in his weathered hand.

The second week we saw a picture of a white sandy beach with mountains in the background.  Pretty much a screensaver.

The scenery is beautiful here.  Rumbling waves, the green mountains, the sand. . .  The sand that is currently in every annoying crevice of my body as I'm buried up to my neck, completely alone and helpless.  Oh no, my nose itches!

Kinda lame, but whatevs!  And finally, this week's picture prompt was a pair of red loafers placed neatly leaning against a plaster house near some white ropes and some stairs.

Maybe no one would notice that his dark red boating shoes had once been a pristine white.

Soooo I'm sensing a pattern here.

Apparently everything I write has to involve death or murder in some way (with the exception of the sand one.  Well, maybe he dies if the tide comes in.).  I need to stray away from this madness!  Not every story needs murder!  "Only the ones worth telling," says my creeper murderous alter-ego.  "Who doesn't love a good murder?"

Yesssssssssssssss. . . *Insane creepy grin*

Okay so I'm gonna go attempt to work on my play for NaNoWriMo again.  We got 21 days left and I still have 12,500 words left!  Aaack!

P.S. Next week's prompt is this:

Once, when no one was watching. . .

All roads lead to murder!

The Writers Meeting & NaNoWriMo

Hey everyone!  Sorry it took me three months to write again. . .  I'd come up with excuses, but I seem to do that a lot sooooo I'm just gonna ignore that and act like absolutely no time has passed.

Hooray it's still March!

Anyway, so back in February my friend and fellow writer Amy and I started a weekly get-together that we have dubbed the Writers Meeting (how original!).  She is in the process of writing this wondrously awesome novel (a trilogy, as a matter of fact!) and I am writing a musical set to the songs of the band Ludo!  Whoo!

We started this meeting as a means of sharing ideas and helping each other further our creativity, and it's been great!  Recently we even expanded our group to include Shellie (remember her???) and Amy's roommate Jamie (Amy and Jamie.  Yup.)

Shellie, Amy and I decided to try our hand at participating in NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month.  You write a novel in an entire month and get help from fellow participants online.  It's technically in November, but they've started something really cool called Camp NaNoWriMo where it takes place during July.  Yay, virtual summer camp full of geeks!  My kind of crowd.  =D

So I'll be focusing all my time and energy on this play because it's been a year in the making and I finally am going to complete it!  Whoo!  =D

I've found a good way to keep up with Midnight Porkchop while simultaneously working on the play!

Recently at our Writers Meetings, we have been using prompts just to get our creative juices flowing.  So I am going to share them with you!  Every Monday night at 5:30, 4:30 central, yo!  (Well, that's when our meetings are.  I'll probably publish them that night sometime.  Oh and also not next week because Amy has to hang out with her fiance instead of us.  What a horrible person.)

But here's a little ditty to hold you guys over for a while!

~~~~~

Prompt:
You're standing in a doorway.

"Don't forget to pack your underwear," she said, lazily leaning against the door frame.  Did she think this was some kind of joke?  Lives are at stake here!

I threw the jackets haphazardly in the corner.  I wouldn't need them where I was going.  I heard a loud rumbling noise above me and I gasped and jumped under the bed.

"It's just an airplane," she scoffed.

I climbed over a pile of boots that I wasn't bringing either.  I looked down at the settings on my ankle cuff.

Fifteen seconds until detonation.

I didn't have time for anything.

I breathed deeply and turned to Robin and grinned.

"Well, you might wanna move quick, or soon we'll both be artwork on the walls."

Her eyes widened.  She looked at my ankle.  I closed my eyes.

Beep.  Beep.  Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

~~~~~

Prompt:

You found out something you weren't supposed to know.

I run.  I run with all my might, leaves and trees a dark blue blur in the cold night.  My breathing is harsh and ragged and there's a stitch in my side, but I have to keep going.

Oh God, I can hear him behind me!  Calling to me, pleading to me in a hauntingly harmonic voice.  He doesn't sound out of breath.

Keep moving!

I gasped and suddenly the ground becomes my sky.  I tripped on a root, or was it a corpse?  I land with an echoing crack on the forest floor and the most excruciating pain enflames my ankle.  My eyes are closed as I will the pain and nauseating dizziness to subside for even the briefest of moments.

Silence.  No noise at all except the cacophonous drum beat of my heart.  Oh, God.

He's here.

 I dare to open my eyes.  I am met with a pale blue moon.  No, two moons.

His eyes.

"Darling," he whispers, like the purr of a lion.  He smiles, a serene, enchanting mask that covers the madman within.

My heart freezes as if I have been doused in ice-cold water.  He seductively caresses the silver of his revolver, a dark substance glittering on his cheek.  His eyes are now black.

"Darling," he coos, "you should have told me you'd be home early."

~~~~~

All right, guys, stay tuned for the next installment!  Maybe I'll even post Shellie's or Amy's excerpts next time, depending if they allow me the honor.

The prompt for next week is:

You're in a motel room.

Why, anything can happen.  ;)

UPDATE: Apparently Google Chrome is trying to tell me that "enflames" is not a word.  Well, in my world it is, so I'm keeping it.  Good riddance!