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Posts Tagged ‘Writing’

And here is where I continue telling you about my life and what has been happening lately in some type of witty but meaningful manner, all of which should lead to some life lesson.  Except that I’m not really the type to have it all mean something except for a rant that could be finished within a single sentence.  Maybe a sentence with semi-colon in the middle, but you get the picture.  But the reason that I’m writing all of this is to say that, for today (and maybe only today), I have the confidence to write as though I do not have an audience.

It’s a tricky thing, writing for an audience.  It’s something that I originally didn’t think that I would encounter since the internet is sometimes a massive wasteland of unread rantings, and yet people did start reading this.  And, somehow, that made my writing become a bit more artificial.  For the first time, I had to start worrying about who would read and what they’d think and whether I would upset them.  And it was important to keep in mind, because I did hurt some people, especially around a year ago.  Anger is a strange motivator that can cause you to have better work-outs or more motivation toward an exam or the ability to change the world you live in, but it’s also a force that can come across in waves.  You may think the first wave is brilliant, but the second comes back with the hurt feelings of others.  And, for that, I am held fully accountable and sorry.

But I do want to be more honest with you, and I do want to be able to tell you how I really think and feel without worrying about condemnation or assault.  While this may never be as fully ‘me’ as, say, my diary, I still want this to be a fully honest public forum that expands from my thoughts.  So I leave you for only this moment.  This tiny little moment.  And I want you to know that I will be back and I will be writing more and it will be of a level of honesty that really hasn’t occurred on here since my blog was first activated (minus the two years that it sat in cyber-space).  I hope that I can speak with all of you on a better level, regardless of what anyone may think.

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For my history final, I have to write a paper about globalisation, and it ended up being an incredibly enjoyable experience to write it out tonight.  I just hope that I’ll be able to remember all of it for this morning’s final (it is 2.30 in the morning, after all) since it has to be hand-written in class.  Anyway, enjoy.

(more…)

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Catherine and Wendy are gallivanting around the room, forgetting that Catherine has a room-mate.  They fix each other’s hair, play unpleasant music, and spread the smell of burning chemicals in the room with each passing of the curling iron over oiled locks.  Loraine sits in her bed, high above them, waiting for the time to herself.  But this time will not come for a while, so she drowns out the noise and smell the best she can.  A book lies on her lap along with a list of things to be fixed.  This is where she stays, this is what she does.  In time, she will be given the room in order to sit and think through the things that are bothering her.  In time, she may even get a room to herself for the entire year, with the women of the society pushed to the back of her mind while out of sight.  But these are muses of hers, used to keep her mind off of Catherine and Wendy’s laughing and the smells of burning locks being curled into unnatural ringlets.

Loraine doesn’t know how Mary and Wendy can live together.  They are so different from one another.  But, ironically, Wendy joins Loraine’s room-mate, Catherine, as friends while Loraine and Mary seek each other out.

“How interesting that we should be changing room-mates like this.  Almost like a swap,” Loraine mentions to Mary at breakfast.

“Yes, well,” Mary responds, “Those of similar personalities will often join one another.”

And they continue on, eating their boiled eggs and toast in comfortable silence.

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The two inches of snow lied on the ground pathetically as small drops of freezing rain crystallised over it, creating a glistening shell.  Each drop left another icicle on the metal railings leading from the dorms and yet another slick spot on the concrete leading to OP.  We checked the weather forcast once again: thirty degrees but with freezing rain.

“If it were a few degrees cooler, we could be getting six inches of snow right now,” we complained.  But the snow would come, along with the scheduled blizzard.

That evening, the rain began to turn into sleet and then into small snow flakes in the windless night.  Our house ran outside, bundled up for the cold temperature, and headed out to the quad for a snowball fight.  But, instead of a fight, we began to build snow men, run around, greet others who would join us.  The night time centre of the university became alive with laughing, flying snow, and the soft swirl of flakes passing by lamplight.

We travelled past the snowman that we had built and went to the trees near the edge of the quad.  Slowly, we managed to climb the ice and snow covered trees to get a better view of the falling snow.  And, after resting, I wandered to the bushes, all the while following rabbit tracks left in the snow.  At the edge of the bushes, I found a tree, a tree with a tiny crack that had filled itself in, like a miniature door.

And, with a few steps further to investigate, I had fallen down the rabbit’s hole.

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Here’s a little story:

There was a society of women that decided to live together for one year.  Each had a room in the house, lived together, ate together, and made friends.  Everything was smooth sailing until one of the women, Catherine, noticed something one day.

“It seems like Mary is mad with me,” Catherine said, and she swiftly worked on a letter to send to Mary to ask if she was down or mad with her.

Mary received the letter later in the day and was surprised.  She took it as an act of aggression towards her and was puzzled by what could have caused Catherine to write the letter.  Mary had never felt down or angry, so why would Catherine think such a thing?

Mary didn’t respond to the letter, but tried to ignore it.  But, later in the day, when Catherine was joking about a guest in the house, Mary took it with the anger that she already felt toward Catherine and decided to tell the guest exactly what Catherine had said–even though the hurtful things had been in jest.  Mary soon found out and was outraged that Catherine would do such a thing.

That’s when Mary went to Loraine to tell her what was going on.  Loraine, being friends with both Catherine and Mary, was not eager to choose a side.  She told Catherine to “be the bigger person”.

“But I’ve been the bigger person for far too long.  She’s angry with me, and now she’s treating me horribly!” Catherine cried.

Loraine shook her head, hoping that things would die down as Catherine left the room to write another letter to Mary.

Mary received the second later and became even angrier than she had before.  Why had this girl thought she was mad in the first place?  Well, yes, Mary was now angry, and she had told the guest Catherine’s words because of the anger, but she did not feel at fault.  Reading the letter, Catherine explained that she was now angry with Mary rather than just concerned, and Mary didn’t know what to do.

She, too, searched after Loraine for guidance and advice.  Loraine could offer none, not knowing that the second letter had been sent and received.

And that’s where we leave off for tonight.

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I was bored on Tuesday, waiting for my despised art class, when I came upon an interesting idea for a story.  I’d been thinking over the weekend how I’d like to write something futuristic, maybe about robotics and humanity.  Unfortunately, the same lame ass idea popped into my head.  Scientist builds perfect human-android-thing.  Human-android-thing escapes.  Human-android-thing kicks ass.

Sorry, but that idea is not only over-used, but also just ridiculous.  Give me something with more depth.  I begged my head to just give me something that actually made sense, some idea that I could add social contexts into, when I stumbled upon it.  An intriguing idea that was more political than robotic, but still satisfying.

What if, in the future, economic turmoil of our time is still having adverse affects?  What if it caused massive crime, a full depression, etc?  What if a president got into power during this time of turmoil by promising a decrease in crime using a new bill that would supplement the police force with robotic counterparts?  What if this bill changed quickly after this president assumed office and actually destroyed modern police forces to replace them with robotic enforcers?  Crime drops dramatically, but what happens to those cops?

My question with writing this short story is this: How will what we do today to protect ourselves later harm our rights and livelihood?  It asks if humanity matters.  With robotics to do our jobs, what does that leave for us to do?

I hope to finish the short story over Thanksgiving break so that I can post it.  I’m excited about the political contexts that are hidden in the story thus far, along with how it’s told.  There is no chosen one.  No saviour.  It’s told around one man because this is his story of how the world is at the time.  But, in the greater scheme of things, he is completely insignificant.  And that’s what I find so intriguing, aside from everything else.  I enjoy that a story can be told so strongly about someone, but then you find out that this person doesn’t matter at all.  He’s just a speck out there.  Nobody cares in his world, but by damned, I’ll try to make you care.

Really, I’m excited to finish this story.  And when it’s all edited, I’ll post it.

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