Tags: writing

three words.

Because everyone is a fucking Napoleon.

Nothing particularly important has happened today and not much of any urgency (despite the fact that I am writing Connie's paper on her brother, 'cause... she's lazy? YEAH CONNIE!) The only thing that has happened today has been Chinese New Year (including greasy Chinese food), and getting the song, Gaudete in choir. I hate choir, but I love, "Rejoice, rejoice! Christ is born of Mary the Virgin! Rejoice!" in Latin. Surprisingly, I could spell it but there are a couple of things which I do not know the alt codes for, so therefore I will not type them. (Gaudete, Gaudete Christus est natus ex Marie-virginae. Gaudete. Sorta?) And trust me, I really am writing the thing for Connie. Really.
      I just had to write the bulk of it and now I have to hope that it is suitable. My limit was about 280 words and I wrote 329. I find that it is really difficult to reconcile articulation with wordiness. By that I mean: I write a lot and find it very hard to edit it when it is all relevant. (Note: my father was an English major, so I have had him edit my things enough so that I know how to keep everything relevant. Maybe not journal entries, however.) In lieu of the fact that I have an evening of calm, more or less, I find that I have very little to say. Things are fantastic. That's all. Be well!
three words.

Somebody else to understand.

Malediction - It was not fear which drove me last night but a real, burning anger. It was the seething anger which drove me into silence for the problem, and anger which made me loud in my dance around it. It was not the reproach, for that would have been fear, it was anger at those words. This is unfair, you have no right, how dare you, what would you have done in my place, this is not fair... I am thankful that my rationality kept my mouth shut, "FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK YOU!" Instead my anger measured my words and my actions were kept in check. It was not even fear which kept me from my aggression, what a fool I would look!, it was spite. (I am this, I am that.) You cannot pin violence on me when I have done nothing by that name, and I could have been provoked into such actions. No, it was not fear that kept me. It was how dare you come here to make a fool of me, it was how dare you come out of your malevolence, it was what is so wrong with you that I must be your personification of your anger? (Really fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck you and your insecurities. You insolent child. You malicious poltroon. How dare you sink to a level even beneath hers? What is wrong with you?)
      Translation: It went well but my intuition was correct. When I started this I had intention of adding, "Benediction," but I realized that I had nothing good to say about this subject. Either way, I love winning at scrabble and Tom was a nun. Katie got the Awesome, with a capital A, mask from Ahead of our Tyme but she still wore her choir, funerary finery. Nicki came and I was happy that she did, even if she didn't talk very much. She was some kind of fucked-up female jock with goth-imitation makeup. I wore wings and horns (Tom finally figured out that I was, literally, "Horny.") Collapse )
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three words.

Curiosity kills the cat. *Meow, meow.*

What do you think of writing? Any of these questions: what style of writing do you prefer, what do you think poetry is, what has influenced your writing, what do you think a good novel consists of, why do/don't you write, what is the important thing to think when you write, what do you look for when you read, etc., etc.?