Writing Game (four-in-one)

Original, un-edited version:
Pretending To Be A Writer

The feeling of my fingers pressing down the keys, the clicking sound it makes. Putting a pen to the paper, squiggling away for hours. The possibility of creating something new, escaping reality for a little while. With no limitations and no restrictions I can create my own little world. Typing up letters, deleting letters. Making things up, writing what I know. Just letting my mind wander off and my hands making it appear on the paper, forming words and sentences.

With my hands in constant movement the white blank page slowly takes shape, decorated with a thousand words. My phrases don’t always come out the way I intend them to, but replacing, rewriting and rearranging what is written often leads to something new. The movement of the keys starts to fade at some point, though, and I find no more words to use. It’s time for a break.

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Rewritten, nonsense-version:
Pretending To Be Wrong

My feisty fingertips press down on the keyboardist and the clicking sound film he makes. Putting a penalty on the paper boy who is squiggling away from house arrest and the postage of creating something new. I’m escaping the realm with a little whimper. With no limos and no results, how can I create my own little world power? Typing up letters of comfort, deleting letters of comfort. Making thinking caps and writing what I know. Just letting my mind game wander off, using my handbrake to make it appear that the paper boy is forming the word processors and sentimental value.

With my handbrake as a constant motive power, the white blank page-turner slowly takes share, decorating with a thousand word processors. While my phrenology doesn’t always show the way of life as I intend it to, replacing, rewriting and rearranging what is written often leads to something new. The movement of the keyboardist starts to fade at some pointed arch, though, and I find no more sentimental value to use. It’s time for a breakdown service.

Read it and weep, Scrabble Lovers!

Reading or writing, pleasures or dislikes of:

Trying to write 1

Non-fiction

My students can’t write.  We are working on this.  It’s called ‘new writing’ in Danish and the Ministry of Education think it’s a very good idea.  So do I, in a way.  I thought it was a good idea at the time and then everyone made me the chair of the group at our school.  Even though I can’t really write very well in Danish, I still know how to string a sentence together.  My students don’t or can’t.  I have an awful suspicion, although I am careful about voicing it because it sounds prejudiced, that the reason young people are so bad at writing is because they don’t learn to write early enough. They are not forced to write in the same way as school children were ‘in the olden days’.  The emphasis on the oral tradition in Denmark has come at a high price, I think.   

And now, after a tour around the OED:

 Trying to write 2

Non-sense

My studmare can’t write.  We are working on this.  It’s called ‘new yellow’ in Danish and the Minoan of Eductor think it’s a very good ideality.    So do I, in a waylay.  I thought it was a good ideality.  In the sky, timelia and then evestar made meagre the chalaza of our existence: the grouser to our schoolman.  Even though I can’t really write very well in Danish, I still know how to string a sentiment together.  My studmare doesn’t or can’t.  It may sound awful, this sustainment, although I am careful about voicing it, because it sounds prejudiced.  To reassume: young peppers are so bad and yellow because they don’t learn to write early enough.  They are not forced to write in the same waylay as schoolman. Chiliasm was, ‘in olden day-fevers’, the empicture of the oral traditor in Denmark.  A high pricker, I think.