Jouirnal entries transcribed from a writing excercise I was forced to participate in.
So I was looking for something to draw clothing upon, and I came across a notebook from some English class or another in which I was coerced into free-writing and journal entries from several years ago. What follows is a transcript of said journal entries, which I found surprisingly witty given my unrefined state of youth:
One: Free-write on selected words:
Bruno Glening. Shmaaa. Casron.
Hmm, Bruno. Bruno is an evil doctor. You can tell because his glasses are shiny. Hmmm, what else about Bruno... He's pretty. They're all pretty in that game, even king Hardland and he's what, 80? Heh, "Hardland". That's the silliest name for a country ever. Ze other countries mock it on ze playground. Enough about that. Shma. Shma is something I say. A lot. I got the habit from a talking bird in some book I read ages ago. Moving right along. Casron be my main TRPG character. He is also me. There's two versions of him, the former, the character one is a relatively crusty barbarian. The second, the me-one, is a rather effeminate bloke who likes dressing up in women's clothing and talking strangely. (see above.)
Two: Journal entry nattering on about costumery:
Wow. I thought I wouldn't be able to finish my Bruno suit in the two weeks I had to finish it, and it's been two days and I already have the labe coat done. The shirt-thing will be harder, but I'm feeling pretty confident I can get it done. What is it they say on Project Runway? "Make it work." And I'm doing just that, all right. After all, on the above mentioned show, the contestants make outfits from scratch in under a day. So I can manage.
Three: Nattering on about costumery part zwei:
The wig I got for the Bruno suit is long enough to make a pretty good wig for a Mr. Chamomile* outfit. I really should make one of those. Imagine a book signing or something and the author is sitting there dressed up just like one of the characters in the bloody book. I for one would like that. I think there should be author conventions or something where authors can come dressed up like their favvourite characters from the books they write. I know there are probably author conventions already, but they are probably dull affairs that are nothing like the sci-fi or anime conventions I wish they were like.
*Mr. Chamomile is a man from a book idea I had at the time.
Four: Losing interest:
What's the point of writing if you're not inspired? I could sit here and write "I don't feel like writing at the moment" over and over, but what would be the point of that, honestly? So this will be all I write today, for if I attempt any more, it will only result in making my hand sore.
Five: Further loss of interest:
It comes time, once again, to write something meaningless. Once more, I have nothing of note to write about, yet once again here I am. Inspiration does not strike on an orderly basis, you know.
Six: Interest lost entirely:
Journal entries are dull, free writing has too many rules, I'm going to write about something I care about.
The rest of my journal entries were comprised of a tale I made up about vampires, as I was still at the sort of age at which they were fascinating creatures and not tired husks of notions for whom the best chance at a spark of new life was a deconstruction or a parody. I hope you have enjoyed the silliness my youthful brain has coughed up for your reading pleasure.
One: Free-write on selected words:
Bruno Glening. Shmaaa. Casron.
Hmm, Bruno. Bruno is an evil doctor. You can tell because his glasses are shiny. Hmmm, what else about Bruno... He's pretty. They're all pretty in that game, even king Hardland and he's what, 80? Heh, "Hardland". That's the silliest name for a country ever. Ze other countries mock it on ze playground. Enough about that. Shma. Shma is something I say. A lot. I got the habit from a talking bird in some book I read ages ago. Moving right along. Casron be my main TRPG character. He is also me. There's two versions of him, the former, the character one is a relatively crusty barbarian. The second, the me-one, is a rather effeminate bloke who likes dressing up in women's clothing and talking strangely. (see above.)
Two: Journal entry nattering on about costumery:
Wow. I thought I wouldn't be able to finish my Bruno suit in the two weeks I had to finish it, and it's been two days and I already have the labe coat done. The shirt-thing will be harder, but I'm feeling pretty confident I can get it done. What is it they say on Project Runway? "Make it work." And I'm doing just that, all right. After all, on the above mentioned show, the contestants make outfits from scratch in under a day. So I can manage.
Three: Nattering on about costumery part zwei:
The wig I got for the Bruno suit is long enough to make a pretty good wig for a Mr. Chamomile* outfit. I really should make one of those. Imagine a book signing or something and the author is sitting there dressed up just like one of the characters in the bloody book. I for one would like that. I think there should be author conventions or something where authors can come dressed up like their favvourite characters from the books they write. I know there are probably author conventions already, but they are probably dull affairs that are nothing like the sci-fi or anime conventions I wish they were like.
*Mr. Chamomile is a man from a book idea I had at the time.
Four: Losing interest:
What's the point of writing if you're not inspired? I could sit here and write "I don't feel like writing at the moment" over and over, but what would be the point of that, honestly? So this will be all I write today, for if I attempt any more, it will only result in making my hand sore.
Five: Further loss of interest:
It comes time, once again, to write something meaningless. Once more, I have nothing of note to write about, yet once again here I am. Inspiration does not strike on an orderly basis, you know.
Six: Interest lost entirely:
Journal entries are dull, free writing has too many rules, I'm going to write about something I care about.
The rest of my journal entries were comprised of a tale I made up about vampires, as I was still at the sort of age at which they were fascinating creatures and not tired husks of notions for whom the best chance at a spark of new life was a deconstruction or a parody. I hope you have enjoyed the silliness my youthful brain has coughed up for your reading pleasure.