Right Ear Aching

There is an

Ache

In my

Ear

And I will Google it

To see

Whether

There is something wrong

Or maybe it’s the itch

Which

I thought

Wasn’t real

Back now

For I have

Disregarded

It

It wants

Revenge

They're Lining Up at the Bus Stop

One hero said to another, “Which route are you taking?” The hero who knows his trade will know what the other is talking about.

At the bus station of all heroes, all heroes set out to trod their paths and plot their courses – in that order – though usually there was no use in watching* the maps and schedules because they’d end up one way or the other in some situation. It’s in the roads.

There used to be a time when there was just the path, that many paths that were already there and the hero/es set forth to their adventure. Those were the first heroes, the founding fathers, or maybe mothers, though maybe he or she was just one person, masquerading as many others.

Then there were more, and wider roads, and perhaps a dirt path or two winding away into the woods; a scenic route that brought you back to your tarmac and deliver you (safely) to your destination. The self-serving hero might bring the odd horse or two, but all that did was muck up the roads.

Roads were there because of cars, but sometimes the car came first.

There were too many cars to carry all of the heroes, so they had trains, taxis, busses, though it was high time they’d gotten a ferry or a jet-plane. The busloads of heroes are carted every day to their destination, taking the same road over and over again.

-------

* I know, not the right word, but it's intentional.

So, writing

So, writing. Apparently I am a good writer. I am tempted to take creative writing and see how well my 'creativity' and 'writing' holds up in an academic setting, since I've never won any story-writing competitions except the ones you have in school. For marks. In the span of one hour and a half. During exams. Hur hur.

Apparently I am not doing well in expository writing because I don't answer the question. But insert course seems to only want specific things which I cannot seem to provide, either because I gloss over them or I don't see the point. But that's the problem, isn't it? I can't see it in my own perspective. I suppose I shouldn't spend so much energy and time trying to please insert course because it's not a problem that can be solved by reviewing grammar or changing my writing style. But it's such a waste, isn't it? To do terribly because of how you think. Maybe this time I'll do something predictable, and maybe that will work.

Why does it even matter?

After a moment of thought, I found out that I place my ability to put my leg behind my head higher than my expository writing skills. And my extensive bibliography of Diana Wynne Jones books higher than those meaningful prize-winning, cathartic books that I've read. DWJ's books are brilliant, by the way, because you might end up hating everyone, for good reason.

Oh how priorities have changed.

Hello, Blog 2.0

There's something satisfying about having things real and tangible; if you can't make it to fit, you can grab it and bend it and twist it and pummel it until it's the right shape and size.