Yeah...my apologies. I will certainly try to amend this. I do have more prompts to list, though.
Plots of TV Show Writers - 15
Dreams - 16
Vengeance - 17
Music - 18
Aliens - 19
Drugs - 20
Pesticide (This one oughta be interesting) - 21
Pinto beans (Not as interesting as this one) - 22
Dachshunds - 23
Toe jam (I think this one takes the cake on the interesting-ness) - 24
Censorship - 25
Euthanasia - 26
Corporate offshoring (This one might prove to be a tad difficult, as well) - 27
Might I point out to those who are not privy, that these topics are totally sporadic and are gleaned daily by friendly random people that I know. I have no part in choosing my topics. It helps me to climb out of my comfy little box. :)
Monday, January 23, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Writing Challenge - Day Fourteen
Prompt: Chuck Norris
I stared blankly at the glowing computer screen before me. Ever since I had gotten my next writing prompt, all I could do was sip my coffee and ponder plenty of perilous possibilities - none of which came to fruition. Every now and then I would pull up Facebook and glare at the unchanging screen. I simply could not think of what could be written about Chuck Norris that had not already been said! Don't get me wrong, the man's got plety of interesting facts about him, but something within me refused to delve any deeper than the surface. Then it hit me - the answer had been staring at my confused face the entire time. An exposé on Chuck Norris! I hurriedly typed my idea, bobbing my head like a happy chicken. Such insight, such magnificence! Oh, inspiration! I leaned back and grinned, thoroughly unaware of the looming figure crouched in the darkness just beyond my line of vision.
You know, I suppose things could have been worse...I'm quite lucky to be alive; I don't think that would have been the case if I'd actually written anything besides "Exposé". I mean, come on. I didn't even write the guy's name, and he, all of a sudden, *poof*. Right there. The man is not normal, I'm telling you. If you want to live your life in peace, then don't ever write an exposé on Chuck Norris. Or...even think about potentially writing an exposé on Chuck Norris. You know what? Just try to avoid the topic altogether. Cause if you don't...then he will find you. (And ship you to Mozambique in a little monkey-sized box.)
Not that...I would know from experience...
I stared blankly at the glowing computer screen before me. Ever since I had gotten my next writing prompt, all I could do was sip my coffee and ponder plenty of perilous possibilities - none of which came to fruition. Every now and then I would pull up Facebook and glare at the unchanging screen. I simply could not think of what could be written about Chuck Norris that had not already been said! Don't get me wrong, the man's got plety of interesting facts about him, but something within me refused to delve any deeper than the surface. Then it hit me - the answer had been staring at my confused face the entire time. An exposé on Chuck Norris! I hurriedly typed my idea, bobbing my head like a happy chicken. Such insight, such magnificence! Oh, inspiration! I leaned back and grinned, thoroughly unaware of the looming figure crouched in the darkness just beyond my line of vision.
You know, I suppose things could have been worse...I'm quite lucky to be alive; I don't think that would have been the case if I'd actually written anything besides "Exposé". I mean, come on. I didn't even write the guy's name, and he, all of a sudden, *poof*. Right there. The man is not normal, I'm telling you. If you want to live your life in peace, then don't ever write an exposé on Chuck Norris. Or...even think about potentially writing an exposé on Chuck Norris. You know what? Just try to avoid the topic altogether. Cause if you don't...then he will find you. (And ship you to Mozambique in a little monkey-sized box.)
Not that...I would know from experience...
Writing Challenge - Day Thirteen
Prompt: Pen vs Pencil
A philosophical touch on Pens vs. Pencils. :)
Upon my heart, if I had written a promise in pencil, the promise would no longer be in effect and would be forgotten, as pencil marks disappear over time.
If I dare to etch my signature on a marriage license in pencil rather than pen, it would not be "til death do us part", but rather "till signatures fade do we part"
When the time comes for me to have children, I will not write their names on their birth certificates in pencil, as they will become "he/she who has not been named", or simply cease to exist.
I do not write my memories in pencil, nor do I keep my mind etched in graphite.
However, when I have made mistakes, and hurt someone I love, I want nothing more than to have used a pencil, so I can erase the pain and sorrows from their heart.
A philosophical touch on Pens vs. Pencils. :)
Upon my heart, if I had written a promise in pencil, the promise would no longer be in effect and would be forgotten, as pencil marks disappear over time.
If I dare to etch my signature on a marriage license in pencil rather than pen, it would not be "til death do us part", but rather "till signatures fade do we part"
When the time comes for me to have children, I will not write their names on their birth certificates in pencil, as they will become "he/she who has not been named", or simply cease to exist.
I do not write my memories in pencil, nor do I keep my mind etched in graphite.
However, when I have made mistakes, and hurt someone I love, I want nothing more than to have used a pencil, so I can erase the pain and sorrows from their heart.
Writing Challenge - Day Twelve
Prompt: Puffery
An older man wages a debate with someone...or is it himself?
Puffery, I say, puffery. Such words are nonsense to the realm of hearing. I simply refuse to harken unto anything you might say to me.
Simply, extraordinarily, puffery. That is all there is to it. Without a doubt, that is the most absurd thing I have ever lent my ears to - the poor mistreated sensory organs of mine.
Exacly what were you attempting to achieve by doing this? Instantaneous insanity of the general public? Well, I refuse to consent to the chaos.
Well-versed nonsense, you say? I declare, that is what I was going to say about you!
Harum...PUFFERY! I simply will not give in.
So be it...you've provoked my wrath. I will see to it that your rubbish arguments never see the light of day.
Harumph...kids these days...pure puffery.
An older man wages a debate with someone...or is it himself?
Puffery, I say, puffery. Such words are nonsense to the realm of hearing. I simply refuse to harken unto anything you might say to me.
Simply, extraordinarily, puffery. That is all there is to it. Without a doubt, that is the most absurd thing I have ever lent my ears to - the poor mistreated sensory organs of mine.
Exacly what were you attempting to achieve by doing this? Instantaneous insanity of the general public? Well, I refuse to consent to the chaos.
Well-versed nonsense, you say? I declare, that is what I was going to say about you!
Harum...PUFFERY! I simply will not give in.
So be it...you've provoked my wrath. I will see to it that your rubbish arguments never see the light of day.
Harumph...kids these days...pure puffery.
Writing Challenge - Day Eleven
Prompt: December
Awaiting the days they would return, dancing past the mountains and in the flowing grasses. Harbringers of joy, each and every one carrying a tintillating scent of clean freedom. They gracefully alight atop the houses, playing to their audience's loves. Floating across the fields, they do not harken to symphonies, rather symphonies perform in their honor. The crowd will cheer as they arrive, and shed tears at their departure - awaiting the day in which they will return. Awaiting December.
Awaiting the days they would return, dancing past the mountains and in the flowing grasses. Harbringers of joy, each and every one carrying a tintillating scent of clean freedom. They gracefully alight atop the houses, playing to their audience's loves. Floating across the fields, they do not harken to symphonies, rather symphonies perform in their honor. The crowd will cheer as they arrive, and shed tears at their departure - awaiting the day in which they will return. Awaiting December.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Writing Challenge - Day Ten
Prompt: Eyes
Your eyes tell me who you are. The softness, the way you hold a person's gaze - or not - tells me how you would handle a situation. When you speak, the direction your glance flicks whispers truths to me - whether or not your words follow suit. I can tell if you smile much by how many thin lines gather around your eyes. When you first look at me, your eyes weave a tale - telling me of your thoughts and emotions before they are sealed away with your words. I can sense if you are a caring person, or if you would rather be alone. The color of eyes amazes me, the different variations of hues mixed together to create a unique palette for every person I see. It mesmerizes me to no end; though out of all the people whose eyes I observe, I continually wait for one who will study my eyes as deeply and considerately as I study theirs. Your eyes will tell me who you are.
Your eyes tell me who you are. The softness, the way you hold a person's gaze - or not - tells me how you would handle a situation. When you speak, the direction your glance flicks whispers truths to me - whether or not your words follow suit. I can tell if you smile much by how many thin lines gather around your eyes. When you first look at me, your eyes weave a tale - telling me of your thoughts and emotions before they are sealed away with your words. I can sense if you are a caring person, or if you would rather be alone. The color of eyes amazes me, the different variations of hues mixed together to create a unique palette for every person I see. It mesmerizes me to no end; though out of all the people whose eyes I observe, I continually wait for one who will study my eyes as deeply and considerately as I study theirs. Your eyes will tell me who you are.
Writing Challenge - Day Nine
((My sincerest apologies for not hurrying up with these, I have a lot of them to catch up on!))
Prompt: Friendship
The explosion racked the eath, sending debris from the crumbling buildings pelting down on the people below. Horrified screams rang brilliantly through the city square, setting Brad Colbert's hair on end. He stood with his mouth agape; the once-majestic skyline of his beloved city was gone. Citizens scrambled frantically through the remnants of the fifth block of Jackson Street, bloodied and coated in a thick raiment of grey soot. Some people sat in the rubble, unable to comprehend what was happening, and sobbed uncontrollably.
Brad pulled at his brown hair in a panic. He had only just gotten out of his apartment when the attacks came - if they were attacks. Nobody seemed to know what was happening. No matter which way he looked, there was chaos and pain. He could only pray that his roommate and friends hadn't faced the same fate as some of the unfortunate people he saw. He swallowed back a lump; he needed to make sure everyone was okay.
A loud crack echoed through the ground. Brad stared in horrified confusion at the pavement as it split open directly beneath his feet. With a yell, he quickly sprinted away from the expanding chasm; he grunted as the ground suddenly rose up six feet in an instant, catching him by his chest and hoisting him abruptly into the air.
"Brad!" His roommate's voice bellowed from beyond the cloud of dust. "Hang on, man, I'm coming."
"Alan..." He grasped at the grass as he rolled down the rising incline of the uneven earth, plunging towards a groaning gap in the ground.
A tall, dark-skinned man emerged from the dust cloud and grabbed ahold of Brad's arm, pulling him to his feet and away from the shifting ground. They both panted for breath, clapping each other on the back and chuckled at having narrowly escaped being devoured by the restless earth.
Alan grinned, his skin lighter from the ash caked on his face. "It's good to see you, man," His expression suddenly grew serious and tired. "Kendra's not in her apartment. She hasn't been answering my calls. I don't wanna think the worst, man, but..."
Brad inhaled sharply. Alan's girlfriend was on the of greatest women he'd met in his life, and she meant everything to Alan. He honestly didn't know how Alan would take it if Kendra somehow didn't make it. He clapped his hand on Alan's shoulder and looked him in the eye. "We're gonna find her, bud. Alright?" He turned to the destruction of the city that used to be. "We're gonna find her."
Prompt: Friendship
The explosion racked the eath, sending debris from the crumbling buildings pelting down on the people below. Horrified screams rang brilliantly through the city square, setting Brad Colbert's hair on end. He stood with his mouth agape; the once-majestic skyline of his beloved city was gone. Citizens scrambled frantically through the remnants of the fifth block of Jackson Street, bloodied and coated in a thick raiment of grey soot. Some people sat in the rubble, unable to comprehend what was happening, and sobbed uncontrollably.
Brad pulled at his brown hair in a panic. He had only just gotten out of his apartment when the attacks came - if they were attacks. Nobody seemed to know what was happening. No matter which way he looked, there was chaos and pain. He could only pray that his roommate and friends hadn't faced the same fate as some of the unfortunate people he saw. He swallowed back a lump; he needed to make sure everyone was okay.
A loud crack echoed through the ground. Brad stared in horrified confusion at the pavement as it split open directly beneath his feet. With a yell, he quickly sprinted away from the expanding chasm; he grunted as the ground suddenly rose up six feet in an instant, catching him by his chest and hoisting him abruptly into the air.
"Brad!" His roommate's voice bellowed from beyond the cloud of dust. "Hang on, man, I'm coming."
"Alan..." He grasped at the grass as he rolled down the rising incline of the uneven earth, plunging towards a groaning gap in the ground.
A tall, dark-skinned man emerged from the dust cloud and grabbed ahold of Brad's arm, pulling him to his feet and away from the shifting ground. They both panted for breath, clapping each other on the back and chuckled at having narrowly escaped being devoured by the restless earth.
Alan grinned, his skin lighter from the ash caked on his face. "It's good to see you, man," His expression suddenly grew serious and tired. "Kendra's not in her apartment. She hasn't been answering my calls. I don't wanna think the worst, man, but..."
Brad inhaled sharply. Alan's girlfriend was on the of greatest women he'd met in his life, and she meant everything to Alan. He honestly didn't know how Alan would take it if Kendra somehow didn't make it. He clapped his hand on Alan's shoulder and looked him in the eye. "We're gonna find her, bud. Alright?" He turned to the destruction of the city that used to be. "We're gonna find her."
Monday, January 9, 2012
Behind Schedule!
I do have to apologize for being behind schedule with my writings, as I have a big paper due Wednesday that I desperately need to turn my attention towards. So, it might not be until Friday until you hear from me again. (Unless I die of overload, then I'll turn to my writings to cool down.) :) So, as a token of reward for your patience (and in hopes you'll continue returning), I bestow upon you the topics for the next five posts (days 8-12).
Family - 8
Friendship - 9
Eyes - 10
December - 11
Puffery - 12
Family - 8
Friendship - 9
Eyes - 10
December - 11
Puffery - 12
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Writing Challenge - Day Eight
Prompt: Family. (Continued from Day Four - Spicy Mustard)
I had woken up in a dark, windowless prison cell with no recollection of anything at all, and a steady drumbeat pounding out two words constantly in my head. That was the extent of the company I had. Days upon days fell one upon another, until time grew so long I felt there was no method in which to measure it. It was strange...for a length of time danced past me, and yet I did not grow tired or hungry. I was confined to a chair that restricted an movement, even the most subtle of motions. Perhaps I am a criminal. Will I ever know?
I feel as if I have aged so much whilst enclosed in this prison; physically, I'm still eighteen, but my heart...my heart beats as if it knows the pain of a thousand lifetimes. I am an old soul now. I am no longer young, and I am not sure I will ever understand why.
My brother. I think of him often, trying to recall his face, his name. What he means to me. I wonder what life was like for us before I was imprisoned. Though it seems as if I've all but forgotten. I have decided, after much thought on the subject, that one's family is essentially the basis of one's identity. Common knowledge, I would expect, but it may be the reason why I have forgotten myself - because I cannot remember my family...at least, that is my theory.
I would give anything to see my brother again.
I had woken up in a dark, windowless prison cell with no recollection of anything at all, and a steady drumbeat pounding out two words constantly in my head. That was the extent of the company I had. Days upon days fell one upon another, until time grew so long I felt there was no method in which to measure it. It was strange...for a length of time danced past me, and yet I did not grow tired or hungry. I was confined to a chair that restricted an movement, even the most subtle of motions. Perhaps I am a criminal. Will I ever know?
I feel as if I have aged so much whilst enclosed in this prison; physically, I'm still eighteen, but my heart...my heart beats as if it knows the pain of a thousand lifetimes. I am an old soul now. I am no longer young, and I am not sure I will ever understand why.
My brother. I think of him often, trying to recall his face, his name. What he means to me. I wonder what life was like for us before I was imprisoned. Though it seems as if I've all but forgotten. I have decided, after much thought on the subject, that one's family is essentially the basis of one's identity. Common knowledge, I would expect, but it may be the reason why I have forgotten myself - because I cannot remember my family...at least, that is my theory.
I would give anything to see my brother again.
Writing Challenge - Day Seven
Prompt: Sovereignty.
There is no question. Somehow, all of us know this to be truth; whether we declare it with our words or if we hold it deep within ourselves, reluctant to give voice to the actuality we're afraid to admit. All of us know; we were born to know. God is sovereign.
Many people deceive themselves, forcing a falsehood to take residence in the area of the soul in which truth lies. Such attempts only produce dissension and will not promote a fully submissive and open spirit. We must give it to Him. The truth remains that God is sovereign.
Hurt. Loss. Betrayal. Brokenness. God is sovereign.
We experience so much pain, whether it be emotional or spiritual, we endure so much hurt and sorrow, that we wonder why its not visible to the rest of the world in the form of cuts or bruises. We feel deeply. We love deeply. But we also hurt deeply. But God remains sovereign.
Upon going through times of hurt, I have gone from standing with my fists clenched tightly, boldly refusing to let the pain get me down, to curling up within myself for protection - chastising myself for trusting too deeply, and vowing to never let it happen again. Comparatively, I thought to myself more than once, immense physical pain would have been so much more welcome. On every such occasion, I took it upon myself to protect my heart. I believed God would protect me. To a point. But doubts reigned. Why should God concern Himself with trivial matters, such as the whimsical emotions of my pain-ridden self? God has always been sovereign.
We must remember this. No matter how insignificant we think our pain to be, God knows. God cares. We must, however, give our hearts and broken dreams fully and devotedly to Him rather than fixing them ourselves. We are not capable of fixing emotional and spiritual brokenness. He won't, however, merely fix them. He will craft something new and beautiful out of the fragile shards. He will forge them to a stronger mold, polish them to a more brilliant hue, He will imprint His mark. He will heal. He is All-powerful.
He is sovereign.
There is no question. Somehow, all of us know this to be truth; whether we declare it with our words or if we hold it deep within ourselves, reluctant to give voice to the actuality we're afraid to admit. All of us know; we were born to know. God is sovereign.
Many people deceive themselves, forcing a falsehood to take residence in the area of the soul in which truth lies. Such attempts only produce dissension and will not promote a fully submissive and open spirit. We must give it to Him. The truth remains that God is sovereign.
Hurt. Loss. Betrayal. Brokenness. God is sovereign.
We experience so much pain, whether it be emotional or spiritual, we endure so much hurt and sorrow, that we wonder why its not visible to the rest of the world in the form of cuts or bruises. We feel deeply. We love deeply. But we also hurt deeply. But God remains sovereign.
Upon going through times of hurt, I have gone from standing with my fists clenched tightly, boldly refusing to let the pain get me down, to curling up within myself for protection - chastising myself for trusting too deeply, and vowing to never let it happen again. Comparatively, I thought to myself more than once, immense physical pain would have been so much more welcome. On every such occasion, I took it upon myself to protect my heart. I believed God would protect me. To a point. But doubts reigned. Why should God concern Himself with trivial matters, such as the whimsical emotions of my pain-ridden self? God has always been sovereign.
We must remember this. No matter how insignificant we think our pain to be, God knows. God cares. We must, however, give our hearts and broken dreams fully and devotedly to Him rather than fixing them ourselves. We are not capable of fixing emotional and spiritual brokenness. He won't, however, merely fix them. He will craft something new and beautiful out of the fragile shards. He will forge them to a stronger mold, polish them to a more brilliant hue, He will imprint His mark. He will heal. He is All-powerful.
He is sovereign.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Writing Challenge - Day Six
Prompt: Coffee.
Judah watched me closely as I stumbled gracelessly from one car to the next; I was about to push my key into the lock of the wrong Chevy Suburban when he snatched the keyring from my grip, and dangled it just above me.
"I think it might be best if I drive," he smirked and strode over to his Lancer just a few parking places away. "Did you snooze straight through class or something?"
I blinked fervently, attempting to bat away the drowsiness as I trailed after him. "Of course not. I was simply...fading in and out every once in a while."
"Try half the class period!" Judah chuckled, turning the ignition. "Dr. Keller kept frowning at you during his lecture."
Sighing, I shut the car door. "I think he would frown at me even if I wasn't nodding off. I'm not exactly at the top of my game in his class. The material is really difficult to understand."
Judah glanced over as he pulled out. "I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit. You're kind of the reason why I got through Chemistry," He poked my shoulder and dragged his words into a Bronx accent. "You gots smarts, kid."
I laughed, rubbing my heavy eyes. "Yeah, "instant genius: just add coffee."
His smile widened. "Seriously though, Averra, you'll do great, you always have," He reached over again, this time ruffling my hair playfully. "I'm here for you, sis."
"Thanks," I smiled, happy that I chose the same university that my brother attended, crazy and unpredictable as he was, he was nice to have around. "But I'm still not writing your Ancient History paper for you."
"Aw, come on!" He faked a frown, which made me giggle even harder.
We pulled into the parking lot of Starbucks, running our usual routine in the wrong order. We both stepped out of the Lancer with a new anticipation.
At least, Judah stepped out of his Lancer. I managed to get my foot tangled in the seatbelt somehow and promptly tumbled out. If you ask me, the entire fifteen minute adventure of struggling to break free really is not worth documenting.
Once that ordeal was over (this kind of stuff happens to me when I'm half asleep, if that revelation hadn't occurred to you yet), we sauntered into the establishment: Judah was keen to defend any innocent bystander from my unpredictable clumsiness (Judah says its natural, I say it's induced by the absence of coffee or any form of caffeine). I was partly thankful, but mostly annoyed.
Upon crossing the threshold of the most blessed coffeehouse, it had naught been but a moment's passing that I spotted a most undesirable aquaintance.
"Averra!" A hand emerged from the mass of caffeine-starved people and swiped at the air furiously. A tall guy came into view, his broad smile aimed directly at me.
I groaned inwardly. It wasn't that Aiden was a bad person or anything, only that he always sought me out at any social function that we were both present at. It was irritating, and I usually did everything in my power to avoid him. I shot a pleading glance to Judah, who furtively shrugged back, as if to say I was on my own.
"Fancy catching you here!" Aiden strode up to me, his silly grin never leaving his face. "How are you, Averra?"
"Aiden...hi." I glanced around for an easy escape. "I, uh, am actually in a bit of a hurry. I just needed a quick energy boost."
"Oh, well I could...-"
His voice almost immediately faded to the dull hum of the crowd as I caught up on a few moments of unconsciousness. He would probably not even notice that I wasn't responding. My mind hovered astray, thinking about my previous class, my paper due next Monday, movie night with the girls, and (I let out an audible sigh at this moment) my date with Trent tomorrow. He was such a nice guy, with killer copper-tinted eyes. I pretty much thought he was excellent, and I hoped he thought the same of me. We'd only been on two dates, but...-"
"Avvy..." Judah's voice held a tone of warning in it, which made me wonder vaguely what kind of trouble I was about to get myself into.
I turned to face him, which was my first mistake. You see, whenever I make any sort of move that involves my head moving with me, I have a bad habit of flipping my hair (my waist-length, super thick and heavy, red hair)with such force that it could knock a sumo wrestler off of his wrestling mat. Now, apparently, Aiden had bought two coffees while he was chattering at me (my mental state wasn't really present at the moment), and was handing one over. As I was totally unaware of this, Aiden was becoming more aware that I wasn't listening to him. (Hence, Judah's usage of my nickname in a warning tone.)
Which, everything would have been alright if Judah hadn't said my name. Yes, Aiden would've been slightly devastated, and I would've felt horrible about being so inconsiderate. However, that particular situation would've been at least publicly humiliating. What happened instead, was so much worse.
As I spun around, my waist-length, super thick and heavy red hair (which was in a bulging braid, making it more lethal)slammed into both of the coffees that Aiden clutched in his hands. Steaming liquid splashed everywhere, casting scalding brown splotches into the wind. Judah dramatically threw himself in front of two stunned middle-aged ladies to protect them from my klutzy antics.
I whipped my head around (again, didn't really think that one through) to apologize fervently to Aiden, whom I sincerely didn't mean to hurt. As I did, I got a glimpse of Aiden's face and hands, which were coated in redness and steaming slightly. He looked at them with a horrified sort of calmness. I also managed to snag the handle of the blender lid behind the counter as my hair flew about my shoulders (that's talented, even for me), which was on and full of frozen mocha. To understate the situation, chaos and anarchy ensued.
Long story short, I was banished from the Hanover Street Starbucks, for the rest of my existence. Seriously, they pulled out a restraining order. They refused to even let me buy a coffee. Needless to say, I was bummed (and was that much more lethal to anyone who dared associate with me and my clumsiness). Which is why I was shocked at the fact that Aiden, even after I what I did to him, came over to me afterwards and gave me a reassuring hug. He asked me if I was alright, and went on to say that Starbucks had given him two more coffees to replace the ones I had flung freely across the room in a frightful fix. So, with a sheepish smile, he (carefully) handed me a brand-new coffee and asked me again, in a concerned tone, if I was alright.
And I thought to myself, maybe he's not so bad after all.
Judah watched me closely as I stumbled gracelessly from one car to the next; I was about to push my key into the lock of the wrong Chevy Suburban when he snatched the keyring from my grip, and dangled it just above me.
"I think it might be best if I drive," he smirked and strode over to his Lancer just a few parking places away. "Did you snooze straight through class or something?"
I blinked fervently, attempting to bat away the drowsiness as I trailed after him. "Of course not. I was simply...fading in and out every once in a while."
"Try half the class period!" Judah chuckled, turning the ignition. "Dr. Keller kept frowning at you during his lecture."
Sighing, I shut the car door. "I think he would frown at me even if I wasn't nodding off. I'm not exactly at the top of my game in his class. The material is really difficult to understand."
Judah glanced over as he pulled out. "I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit. You're kind of the reason why I got through Chemistry," He poked my shoulder and dragged his words into a Bronx accent. "You gots smarts, kid."
I laughed, rubbing my heavy eyes. "Yeah, "instant genius: just add coffee."
His smile widened. "Seriously though, Averra, you'll do great, you always have," He reached over again, this time ruffling my hair playfully. "I'm here for you, sis."
"Thanks," I smiled, happy that I chose the same university that my brother attended, crazy and unpredictable as he was, he was nice to have around. "But I'm still not writing your Ancient History paper for you."
"Aw, come on!" He faked a frown, which made me giggle even harder.
We pulled into the parking lot of Starbucks, running our usual routine in the wrong order. We both stepped out of the Lancer with a new anticipation.
At least, Judah stepped out of his Lancer. I managed to get my foot tangled in the seatbelt somehow and promptly tumbled out. If you ask me, the entire fifteen minute adventure of struggling to break free really is not worth documenting.
Once that ordeal was over (this kind of stuff happens to me when I'm half asleep, if that revelation hadn't occurred to you yet), we sauntered into the establishment: Judah was keen to defend any innocent bystander from my unpredictable clumsiness (Judah says its natural, I say it's induced by the absence of coffee or any form of caffeine). I was partly thankful, but mostly annoyed.
Upon crossing the threshold of the most blessed coffeehouse, it had naught been but a moment's passing that I spotted a most undesirable aquaintance.
"Averra!" A hand emerged from the mass of caffeine-starved people and swiped at the air furiously. A tall guy came into view, his broad smile aimed directly at me.
I groaned inwardly. It wasn't that Aiden was a bad person or anything, only that he always sought me out at any social function that we were both present at. It was irritating, and I usually did everything in my power to avoid him. I shot a pleading glance to Judah, who furtively shrugged back, as if to say I was on my own.
"Fancy catching you here!" Aiden strode up to me, his silly grin never leaving his face. "How are you, Averra?"
"Aiden...hi." I glanced around for an easy escape. "I, uh, am actually in a bit of a hurry. I just needed a quick energy boost."
"Oh, well I could...-"
His voice almost immediately faded to the dull hum of the crowd as I caught up on a few moments of unconsciousness. He would probably not even notice that I wasn't responding. My mind hovered astray, thinking about my previous class, my paper due next Monday, movie night with the girls, and (I let out an audible sigh at this moment) my date with Trent tomorrow. He was such a nice guy, with killer copper-tinted eyes. I pretty much thought he was excellent, and I hoped he thought the same of me. We'd only been on two dates, but...-"
"Avvy..." Judah's voice held a tone of warning in it, which made me wonder vaguely what kind of trouble I was about to get myself into.
I turned to face him, which was my first mistake. You see, whenever I make any sort of move that involves my head moving with me, I have a bad habit of flipping my hair (my waist-length, super thick and heavy, red hair)with such force that it could knock a sumo wrestler off of his wrestling mat. Now, apparently, Aiden had bought two coffees while he was chattering at me (my mental state wasn't really present at the moment), and was handing one over. As I was totally unaware of this, Aiden was becoming more aware that I wasn't listening to him. (Hence, Judah's usage of my nickname in a warning tone.)
Which, everything would have been alright if Judah hadn't said my name. Yes, Aiden would've been slightly devastated, and I would've felt horrible about being so inconsiderate. However, that particular situation would've been at least publicly humiliating. What happened instead, was so much worse.
As I spun around, my waist-length, super thick and heavy red hair (which was in a bulging braid, making it more lethal)slammed into both of the coffees that Aiden clutched in his hands. Steaming liquid splashed everywhere, casting scalding brown splotches into the wind. Judah dramatically threw himself in front of two stunned middle-aged ladies to protect them from my klutzy antics.
I whipped my head around (again, didn't really think that one through) to apologize fervently to Aiden, whom I sincerely didn't mean to hurt. As I did, I got a glimpse of Aiden's face and hands, which were coated in redness and steaming slightly. He looked at them with a horrified sort of calmness. I also managed to snag the handle of the blender lid behind the counter as my hair flew about my shoulders (that's talented, even for me), which was on and full of frozen mocha. To understate the situation, chaos and anarchy ensued.
Long story short, I was banished from the Hanover Street Starbucks, for the rest of my existence. Seriously, they pulled out a restraining order. They refused to even let me buy a coffee. Needless to say, I was bummed (and was that much more lethal to anyone who dared associate with me and my clumsiness). Which is why I was shocked at the fact that Aiden, even after I what I did to him, came over to me afterwards and gave me a reassuring hug. He asked me if I was alright, and went on to say that Starbucks had given him two more coffees to replace the ones I had flung freely across the room in a frightful fix. So, with a sheepish smile, he (carefully) handed me a brand-new coffee and asked me again, in a concerned tone, if I was alright.
And I thought to myself, maybe he's not so bad after all.
Writing Challenge - Day Five
Prompt: The color green.
((Nothing really creative came to my mind when I thought of the color green, but, strangely enough, I have a plethora of memories that arise. So, I'm going to try something new that will be a tad unconventional. This is how my memories flow. And yes, every single one of these has something to do with the color green.))
Horses galloping on carosels against a field in my bedroom.
Stories from my mother, about celebrating my grandfather's birthday with his least favorite color.
A glittering crystal bowl filled to the brim with foamy punch.
Anticipation of travelling across the country.
The shade of the warm cotton shirts Mom wore.
The dressing room for theatre, designed to calm nerves.
The tint of the grass as I buried my face in its lushness.
Summer days, never-ending.
My heart swelling with pride at my hard-earned belt.
Neon shirts worn proudly.
Playfully cracking glow sticks.
Pouring boiling jello into a cool vat.
Laughing joyously over field-ruling victories.
The foreign lands curving into majestic hills.
Simple wonders of Converse and ankle socks.
The notebook of hopes, dreams, and forever-thoughts.
The hurts sealed in an envelope.
Feeling warmth of being home for the holidays.
The days behind, and the future beyond.
((Nothing really creative came to my mind when I thought of the color green, but, strangely enough, I have a plethora of memories that arise. So, I'm going to try something new that will be a tad unconventional. This is how my memories flow. And yes, every single one of these has something to do with the color green.))
Horses galloping on carosels against a field in my bedroom.
Stories from my mother, about celebrating my grandfather's birthday with his least favorite color.
A glittering crystal bowl filled to the brim with foamy punch.
Anticipation of travelling across the country.
The shade of the warm cotton shirts Mom wore.
The dressing room for theatre, designed to calm nerves.
The tint of the grass as I buried my face in its lushness.
Summer days, never-ending.
My heart swelling with pride at my hard-earned belt.
Neon shirts worn proudly.
Playfully cracking glow sticks.
Pouring boiling jello into a cool vat.
Laughing joyously over field-ruling victories.
The foreign lands curving into majestic hills.
Simple wonders of Converse and ankle socks.
The notebook of hopes, dreams, and forever-thoughts.
The hurts sealed in an envelope.
Feeling warmth of being home for the holidays.
The days behind, and the future beyond.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Writing Challenge - Day Four
Prompt: Spicy Mustard
((I ask my roommate for a list of random prompts and this is the first thing she comes up with. :) Haha, love ya, Britt! Well, since I have a couple of prompts to catch up on, this is going to be fairly short. Let's see what I can come up with...beware: this might be dangerously lame, but delightfully (I hope) entertaining. Ha.))
I never figured out why, but something my brother told me last year struck a chord deep within the recesses of my soul; the words he whispered fleetingly into my ear reached into my spirit, churning up a torrent of despair within my gut. Perhaps it had something to do with the way he said it, or the context of the situation we were faced with. I might never know for sure. But the words he uttered were so heart-pounding, that I barely had time to realize that my knees had buckled underneath me, until my head slammed to the ground.
Or, at least, that is what I was told.
You see, I don't remember anything. Not standing next to my brother. Not what I was doing at that moment. Not even falling to the ground really, just that I did. I have the bruise to prove it.
The words. My brother's voice. His breath harshly tickling my ear as he desperately hissed them. That is all I remember. I'm not even positive why I know that I have a brother, because as far as I'm concerned, I don't know who or what I am. All that I am certain of are the words. And even then...I don't understand. What meaning could they hold? Are they life-saving utterances of power, or a code to a deeper mystery? I sometimes wonder if I will ever understand.
Could you help me? Help me to decipher these words; they might hold the answer to so many questions. Help me.
Spicy Mustard.
((Now...place a comment on the bar telling me what you think the words mean. And depending on how many responses I get, and how interesting they are, this might become a rather entertaining series I could write. :) I'm seeing potential! Corny potential, but potential nonetheless!))
((I ask my roommate for a list of random prompts and this is the first thing she comes up with. :) Haha, love ya, Britt! Well, since I have a couple of prompts to catch up on, this is going to be fairly short. Let's see what I can come up with...beware: this might be dangerously lame, but delightfully (I hope) entertaining. Ha.))
I never figured out why, but something my brother told me last year struck a chord deep within the recesses of my soul; the words he whispered fleetingly into my ear reached into my spirit, churning up a torrent of despair within my gut. Perhaps it had something to do with the way he said it, or the context of the situation we were faced with. I might never know for sure. But the words he uttered were so heart-pounding, that I barely had time to realize that my knees had buckled underneath me, until my head slammed to the ground.
Or, at least, that is what I was told.
You see, I don't remember anything. Not standing next to my brother. Not what I was doing at that moment. Not even falling to the ground really, just that I did. I have the bruise to prove it.
The words. My brother's voice. His breath harshly tickling my ear as he desperately hissed them. That is all I remember. I'm not even positive why I know that I have a brother, because as far as I'm concerned, I don't know who or what I am. All that I am certain of are the words. And even then...I don't understand. What meaning could they hold? Are they life-saving utterances of power, or a code to a deeper mystery? I sometimes wonder if I will ever understand.
Could you help me? Help me to decipher these words; they might hold the answer to so many questions. Help me.
Spicy Mustard.
((Now...place a comment on the bar telling me what you think the words mean. And depending on how many responses I get, and how interesting they are, this might become a rather entertaining series I could write. :) I'm seeing potential! Corny potential, but potential nonetheless!))
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Writing Challenge - Day Three
Prompt: Petrichor
I discovered this word the other day, by watching a Doctor Who episode. :) Who says Sci-Fi isn't educational?
The word means "the smell of rain on dry earth", a beautiful word with such a simple connotation; it holds a greater significance for those who have experienced this phenomenon. Petrichor is not only the smell of rain on dry earth, it is a soothing, partially fantastical scent, one whose dewey breath we never fail to pause and inhale deeply. Scents tie themselves to memory, and petrichor brings about a sense of peace and calm, not unlike the relief one feels after a raging storm. It reminds us to appreciate our surroundings, and enjoy them while they last. All you desire to do after a storm is to stop and fill your lungs with this incomprehensibly amazing scent, never stopping, wishing to hold the moment still for an eternity. Such it is like life, when one has weathered a storm, a plethora of arduous trials, that all they wish to do afterward is savor the peace and the constant reminder that there is a Higher Power who will provide for us during and after the hardship. He cares enough to give us something as simple and insignificant as petrichor, so we are encouraged that He will provide for the greater events in life. :)
I discovered this word the other day, by watching a Doctor Who episode. :) Who says Sci-Fi isn't educational?
The word means "the smell of rain on dry earth", a beautiful word with such a simple connotation; it holds a greater significance for those who have experienced this phenomenon. Petrichor is not only the smell of rain on dry earth, it is a soothing, partially fantastical scent, one whose dewey breath we never fail to pause and inhale deeply. Scents tie themselves to memory, and petrichor brings about a sense of peace and calm, not unlike the relief one feels after a raging storm. It reminds us to appreciate our surroundings, and enjoy them while they last. All you desire to do after a storm is to stop and fill your lungs with this incomprehensibly amazing scent, never stopping, wishing to hold the moment still for an eternity. Such it is like life, when one has weathered a storm, a plethora of arduous trials, that all they wish to do afterward is savor the peace and the constant reminder that there is a Higher Power who will provide for us during and after the hardship. He cares enough to give us something as simple and insignificant as petrichor, so we are encouraged that He will provide for the greater events in life. :)
Writing Challenge - Day Two
Prompt: Write about a legend.
Alright, then. This legend I'm about to relay to you will also appear in my book "The Last Generation", which has not been written yet, ha. Anyways...here it is.
There have many accounts of a deadly creature that dwells just within the fields of Misàraeh, right along the border of the savage country that has warred continually with us for generations. No one is particurally certain on the appearance of this beast, only that it possesses a fiery orange color, whether it be fur or scales. We have long associated this creature with that of our enemy,as they have embraced the evil that is representative of it as their own. We have no knowledge as to any domestication of the animal, though all previous accounts passed through the ages would deny any willing contact or cooporation with humans, as everyone who has come in contact with one has perished.
It is said that the creatures themselves are impervious to flame. Such a thought was presented by a man many years ago, who claimed to have survived the fiery bite of the beast. His tale told of many survivors over time, those who had fallen victim to the beast's bite, but not it's venom, which, he predicted, was the reason for the deaths of countless others before him. The man lived two generations ago, sharing his story with anyone in sight. Everyone knew of him, though no one knew of where he had gone. With him went his story, and its feasibility. There were few who believed his tale beyond his disappearance, and even they miscontrued the story even further with their own added details.
There are certain impossibilities presented with the legend as it goes now, speaking of the effects a bite from this creature had on those it was wrought upon. Tales were made up of the beast's origin, debates as to whether it became horribly dangerous, or if it was simply created that way. One such account claims that the beast (pictured in the form of a snake or reptilian creature) fell into the deep of the earth and was trapped in a cavern of liquid fire, enduring the poisonous gases and acid. Strangely enough, this snake-like creature survived, only procuring a dark reddish-brown blemish on its skin to prove its adventure. From that moment, the beast was unaffected by fire; it felt no pain, and suffered no burns.
It is said that upon striking a human and inserting its venom, that the human will not die instantly, because the venom is not, inherently, poisonous. Rather, the real struggle for survival lies in overcoming the horribly enormous amount of pain. Many people either give in to the poison's welcoming death-warning, or they are driven to find a way to enter into the grips of death in a quicker manner. However, the tale tells of a fortunate few who have survived the entire venom process, and lived to experience their precious painless existence once more. Those few, those who were so fortunate, and yet so cursed, are said to have lived longer lives after their encounter. Like the legend of the beast, they emerge with only a large blotch where the creature struck them. It is said, tentively, that those who were bitten by the creature were the recipients of the creature's gifts. They also retained the immunity to fire and the pain of its heat.
But this is certainly just a wild tale conceived by those who dreamed of the impossible. Pay no mind to its claims.
Alright, then. This legend I'm about to relay to you will also appear in my book "The Last Generation", which has not been written yet, ha. Anyways...here it is.
There have many accounts of a deadly creature that dwells just within the fields of Misàraeh, right along the border of the savage country that has warred continually with us for generations. No one is particurally certain on the appearance of this beast, only that it possesses a fiery orange color, whether it be fur or scales. We have long associated this creature with that of our enemy,as they have embraced the evil that is representative of it as their own. We have no knowledge as to any domestication of the animal, though all previous accounts passed through the ages would deny any willing contact or cooporation with humans, as everyone who has come in contact with one has perished.
It is said that the creatures themselves are impervious to flame. Such a thought was presented by a man many years ago, who claimed to have survived the fiery bite of the beast. His tale told of many survivors over time, those who had fallen victim to the beast's bite, but not it's venom, which, he predicted, was the reason for the deaths of countless others before him. The man lived two generations ago, sharing his story with anyone in sight. Everyone knew of him, though no one knew of where he had gone. With him went his story, and its feasibility. There were few who believed his tale beyond his disappearance, and even they miscontrued the story even further with their own added details.
There are certain impossibilities presented with the legend as it goes now, speaking of the effects a bite from this creature had on those it was wrought upon. Tales were made up of the beast's origin, debates as to whether it became horribly dangerous, or if it was simply created that way. One such account claims that the beast (pictured in the form of a snake or reptilian creature) fell into the deep of the earth and was trapped in a cavern of liquid fire, enduring the poisonous gases and acid. Strangely enough, this snake-like creature survived, only procuring a dark reddish-brown blemish on its skin to prove its adventure. From that moment, the beast was unaffected by fire; it felt no pain, and suffered no burns.
It is said that upon striking a human and inserting its venom, that the human will not die instantly, because the venom is not, inherently, poisonous. Rather, the real struggle for survival lies in overcoming the horribly enormous amount of pain. Many people either give in to the poison's welcoming death-warning, or they are driven to find a way to enter into the grips of death in a quicker manner. However, the tale tells of a fortunate few who have survived the entire venom process, and lived to experience their precious painless existence once more. Those few, those who were so fortunate, and yet so cursed, are said to have lived longer lives after their encounter. Like the legend of the beast, they emerge with only a large blotch where the creature struck them. It is said, tentively, that those who were bitten by the creature were the recipients of the creature's gifts. They also retained the immunity to fire and the pain of its heat.
But this is certainly just a wild tale conceived by those who dreamed of the impossible. Pay no mind to its claims.
BLOGS!
Just as a reminder, I would like to point out the little sidebar on your right (no, your other right: THIS WAY-----> ), this little sidebar contains links to my other two blogs, A Writer's Song and A Writer's Journey. You should follow them. They can be interesting. I promise. One is comprised of my poetry, and one of the happenings of my life (currently the 366 day photo challenge), respectively. Look at them. Read. Be hypnotiz...- er, entertained. Either way, you can't pass them up! :)
Monday, January 2, 2012
Writing Challenge - Day One
(Since I gave myself such short notice on this challenge, I'm going to give myself an easy first prompt. :) ) ((Beware typos - unedited!))
My take on writing.
Though I've only declared my love of writing for about ten years now, I've always haboured a love for storytelling, an adoration for the crispness and endless possibilities of the unbridled imagination. I certainly didn't always feel too sympathetic about the cause of writing during my early childhood; I actually hated to submit to writing of any form from the time I learned to construct sentences until I was about eight or nine. But, I was born with an imagination that could take me anywhere. And with that imagination, I would run across valleys, free-fall through the air, build cities and lands, and bring characters to life with my spoken words and occasional melodrama. :)
My stories and imagined worlds were beginning to mesh together in my mind, and in order to recall them correctly, I was forced to write them down. Somewhere in this process, I discovered that I could add details and visualize them slightly better in the written form. Soon enough, I couldn't stop writing. More ideas poured from my mind faster than my small hands could scratch them down on a battered notebook with Cerulean blue ink. I finished a small piece that I had dreamt up called "Hayden's Committment", when I was about eleven. I gave it to my mother for her birthday, but have since stolen it back and given it a proper burial. Upon my turning thirteen, I was ashamed at my silly childish writings etched out in ink on my crumpled lined paper. To this day, I still have a scrap or two of that story, and wish I had kept it all, if nothing else, to show myself how I've improved. Many projects of mine have been ceremoniously burnt once I "discovered" the awful quality of the writing. :) It is certainly a growing process.
The way I perceive writing today, is a mixture of an art and a lifestyle. Anyone can write. But a true writer possesses the drive and passion it takes to develop an ability or talent into an authentic art. I write not only to be heard, but to express myself; sometimes I write simply for my own benefit, to release emotions in a constructive way. To me, writing is breathing.
My take on writing.
Though I've only declared my love of writing for about ten years now, I've always haboured a love for storytelling, an adoration for the crispness and endless possibilities of the unbridled imagination. I certainly didn't always feel too sympathetic about the cause of writing during my early childhood; I actually hated to submit to writing of any form from the time I learned to construct sentences until I was about eight or nine. But, I was born with an imagination that could take me anywhere. And with that imagination, I would run across valleys, free-fall through the air, build cities and lands, and bring characters to life with my spoken words and occasional melodrama. :)
My stories and imagined worlds were beginning to mesh together in my mind, and in order to recall them correctly, I was forced to write them down. Somewhere in this process, I discovered that I could add details and visualize them slightly better in the written form. Soon enough, I couldn't stop writing. More ideas poured from my mind faster than my small hands could scratch them down on a battered notebook with Cerulean blue ink. I finished a small piece that I had dreamt up called "Hayden's Committment", when I was about eleven. I gave it to my mother for her birthday, but have since stolen it back and given it a proper burial. Upon my turning thirteen, I was ashamed at my silly childish writings etched out in ink on my crumpled lined paper. To this day, I still have a scrap or two of that story, and wish I had kept it all, if nothing else, to show myself how I've improved. Many projects of mine have been ceremoniously burnt once I "discovered" the awful quality of the writing. :) It is certainly a growing process.
The way I perceive writing today, is a mixture of an art and a lifestyle. Anyone can write. But a true writer possesses the drive and passion it takes to develop an ability or talent into an authentic art. I write not only to be heard, but to express myself; sometimes I write simply for my own benefit, to release emotions in a constructive way. To me, writing is breathing.
New Year's Resolution!
So, as a person who does not usually make resolutions, I have decided that it might be necessary to give myself a little shove this year. I have not been in the habit of writing as much as I should, and as a future writer, I might say that this habit is slightly critical to my measly existence. :) Sooo, I have decided to do a daily journal prompt thingamabobber. I have a 30 day plan thus far, but have not really thought any further than that. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. As it is the second day of January, I'll just use my little "get-out-of-jail-free" card I like to call February 29th. :) There. I still have 365 days.
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