Prepare Yourselves.

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:

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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.

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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."



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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.

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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.

Día de los Padres

Sup, guys?

Real quick before work starts, I thought I'd post a little blurb about my dad in honor of (belated) Father's Day.

Just to show you where half of my ridiculousness and narcissism comes from.

So on Sunday, my dad and I went to church and they're singing, ya know, the usual.

And my dad decides that every single song they sing, he's going to substitute the word "God" for "Dad."

Case in point: we walk out and he starts singing "My Dad is an awesome Dad, He reigns. . ."

I asked him about why he was being a blasphemer, and he just looked at me and said, deadpan: "Cuz I'm da bomb."

Despite basically calling himself God (of our household), he is right: My Dad is an awesome dad.

And now you understand me.

Sort of.

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