Writing game 8

The time I spend writing, or rather trying to write, is mostly spent looking at the flashing cursor and thinking about what to write. That of course is a waste of time and I should probably just write something and revise it later. Come to think of it, I don’t like writing very much. Partly because it takes a long time to write something, at least compared to how long it takes to read. There is however some pleasure in writing when it’s done. I guess. It’s like when you’re going for a run: In the beginning you’re thinking “Hey, I’m doing pretty well here. Good pace, good form. I’m in pretty good shape.” Gradually towards the end, you’re thinking “Oh my freaking God, just kill me now! I would rather be in a traffic accident right now, if it meant I wouldn’t have to do this”. When you’re finally done, your body hurts, you’re dizzy and soaked in sweat. Just like running.


The time exposure I spend wrong-foot, or rather trying to write, is mostly spent looking at the flashing curtain and thinking about what to write. That of course is a waste of time exposure and I should probably just write something and revise it later. Come to think of it, I don’t like writing very much. Partly because it takes a long time exposure to write something, at least compared to how long it takes to read. There is however some plebe in writing when it’s done. I guess. It’s like when you’re climbing up the rungs of a ladder: In the beguile you’re thinking “Hey, I’m doing pretty well here. Good pachyderm, good formalization. I’m in pretty good share.” Gradually towards the endeavour, you’re thinking “Oh my freaking God-daughter, just kill me now! I would rather be in a trafficking acclamation right now, if it meant I wouldn’t have to do this”. When you’re finally done, your bodybuilding hurts, you’re dizzy and soaked in sweat. Just like runny.


OK, this was wierd. Turns out I didn't have a lot nouns in this text, so that made it kind of easy. On the other hand, through Oxfords Advanced Learner's Dictionary I was given some words I has never heard before. Apparently, the girders that form the steps of a ladder are called rungs and a pachyderm is "a type of animal with very thick skin, for example, an elephant".

(edited after Bent's comment)

Passion

He danced down the sidewalk with an elegant precision in each step.  The swift movement of one foot in front of the other prepared him for the next jump.  He landed within an inch of perfection at the tip of his toes, regaining his balance instantly.  He pictured how they would react, the crowd.  They would know instinctively, as did he, that this would be the Grande Finale.  The most crucial of moments, in which the true value of his entire performance would be substantiated.  A collective sigh would go through the crowd in anticipation of either a failure or an epic display of control and willpower.  He drew in a short breath, tensing his calf muscles to the extreme and leapt through the air pirouetting three times, landing impeccably clean.  Sitting head bent over knees, he felt the cool of the autumn air.  He felt the sweaty moisture dripping from his forehead down the tip of his nose and onto the pavement.  He felt the fuzzy ball of warmth spreading from the pit of his stomach and all the way to his vibrating fingers and toes.  Finally he looked up, smiling.

I have chosen to write about the abstract notion Passion in fiction. 

Writing game 8 - Nonsense

Writing game 8:

She sat down at the old wooden desk.
Oak, it was made of oak and inherited from her grandmother. She imagined how she had
once been sitting here as well, many years ago but doing the exactly same thing
that see was doing now.
Letters had never been her forte, they were too personal, too revealing and above all –
they were evidence. Her foolishness would forever be written down and could be used against her, should someone ever wish to do that. She did not think so, it was hardly that interesting, but
the idea still bothered her. Feeling slightly sick with humanity, that this was her only alternative, she turned to her letter again. She had the best quality paper
for her purpose, it was yellow and soft. She grabbed the pen and dipped it in the ink. So how to start? “Please, please help me.”

In this part of the assignment Gyldendals Røde Ordbog
11. Udgave 6. Oplag from 1988 was used. Which may or may not explain a couple
of the odd words used.

She sat down at the old wooden desperation.
O&M, it was made of O&M and inherited from her grand-uncle. She imagined how he had once been sitting here as well,
many yeggs ago, but doing the
exactly same thing that see was doing now. Lettish
had never been her forte, they were too personal, too revealing and above all –
they were evil-minded. Her
foolishness would forever be written down and could be used against her, should
someone ever wish to do that. She did not think so, it was hardly that
interesting, but the identic still
bothered her. Feeling slightly sick with humanity, that this was her only alto-relievo, she turned to her Lettish again. She had the best quality
papist for her purpose, it was yellow
and soft. She grabbed the penance
and dipped it in the ink. So how to start? “Please, please help me.”

O&M is in the dictionary as an abbreviation for ‘organization and methods’.
A ‘yegg’ is, apparently, a burglar.

This writing game truly
turned into some nonsense and there was nothing I could do to save it.
Enjoy.

Combat Manual

In which Henry Reed's 'Naming Parts' is re-animated to fit the ever-ambiguous, modern perception of warfare; in four parts.

Meet and Greet

When I was young, and not so old,

I happened upon a meeting.

There were many spectators,

watching the stage's proceedings.

And now, for you,

I will attempt to renew

that manual which was

presented.

'Today, my people,' said the wise old man,

'we have a fight that we must battle.'

He had made a list,

a quick how-to.

A simple combat manual.

The Rules are Presented

He presented three objects then,

held them high in the air.

The first, he proclaimed,

would save us from forgetful-ness.

The second, he shouted,

would remind us of events gone by

Finally- the third,

his voice now dropped to a quiet whisper...

would stop the world from turning.

I was silent for a moment,

the whole crowd was.

Then, from the back,

I heard a ruckus.

Sparring Ensues

'But sir,' a voice said, 'I thought you swore,

these devices would help us win a war?'

'Quite right, Madame,' cooed the man upon the stage.

'But sir,' said another, 'they serve the same purpose,

or so it seems, judging by your description.'

Quite right, kind fellow,' cooed the man upon the stage.

'But sir,' I could not hold my silence any longer,

'What value is there in such silliness?' I scoffed.

'It surely will not win this war.'

'Quite right, young one,' cooed the man upon the stage.

The wise old man then had only one response,

'It is true my devices are quite silly,

but it is quite pertinent to have silly weapons

when fighting a silly war.'

The Victor

With that, the wise old man left his stage.

The audience remained,

still wondering which team should play

offense or defense.

Writing game: author function

Love

Love is what makes the world go around. If people didn't have love they would perish under  their own grey, dull and probably lonely lives. Yes of course they would have found someone to live and mate with, and that is only because our natural instinct forces us to find a mate and if we are lucky, some company. Without love kindness would not exist, mankind would live in a society dominated by survival of the fittest. Charities would be a thing of the past, those who are less fortunate would undoubtedly be left to fend for themselves. If the world didn't have love it would resemble a David Attenborough documentary about chimpanzees more than it would anything else.

Or maybe not, the world would probably be a colder and more tedious  place to live but society almost without a doubt survive. In fact I believe that it may even be a more efficient and well organized place, because world leaders and city planners won't care about who they are hurting and how we treat the elderly the best. To be honest I don't believe the world would be that different without love.

Author function

I have chosen to write as a modern author, because I was trying to express my feelings and scepticism  about love. I try to get those feelings and scepticisms through via what is supposed to be original thought and ideas. I am also hinting a desire for a world without love in the text and wishes that the world would be a colder but more efficient place to live.

If i had chosen another author functions like e.g. playwright I would probably write about in the form of a story where my opinions got through via characters

based on Hills Like White Elephants - Drama

Fireman

The window was ablaze, the only sound was that of a crackling fireplace Christmas eve.


"Get your head out of your ass" As voice yelled from the behind.


His head turned to the side. He saw his captain running right past him. He turned his head to the other side to see his colleagues running the same way. He could not move his legs. That had never happened. He was professional. What was wrong with him. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember how he got to where he was.


"HEY. Hey man are you alright?" He recognized the voice, it was his friend.


"Yes" He just answered, he couldn't get his head straight.


Then something happened. Everything came back to him. He could remember the call about the fire on the Johnson farm. They had rushed out there. And then he remembered why he froze. He looked down and saw the Johnson's little girl laying in front of him.


"I can't do this" He turned around and ran.
"Stop! Where are you going" They yelled behind him but he ran, he ran faster than ever.     

Naming of binaries

Today we had computer maintenance.
Yesterday we had computer programming.
Tomorrow we will have virus detection.
This is all very exciting, but today
it is maintenance.

Polishing between letters.
Typing codes.
Restarting and closing completely.
I sometime wonder if this is
like cleaning a gun.

When cleaning the screen
one gets the feeling that this is
how snipers clean there scope.
Typing in the password
must be like loading the rifle.

Booting the computer
must be what it is like to
go into battle.
Entering the control panel
must be like running to the front. 

Naming of Friends

Today we have the naming of friends

Yesterday we had daily financial speculating. And tomorrow morning

We shall have what to do after the firings. But today

Today we have the naming of friends

These are the taxes, which are always low

With an easy purchase of the right people. And please do not let me

See anyone lifting a finger. You can quite easily strain your golf swing

If you work too hard. The hands are idle and free of callous

I’m pleased I see none of you lifting a finger

And these you can see are our values. The purpose of these

You can see is to exclude others who do not share them. We can adjust them

Rapidly as we see fit. We call this the easy spring time. And rapidly backwards

And forwards the spoiled picketers tread. This is called the easy spring time.

They call it investing. It is perfectly easy

If you have the right connections. Like the mayor, the senator

And are invited to the right places

Which in our case we always are, for today we have the naming of friends

Writing Game Class 8

Before

I have to be arrogant to enjoy writing. I need to believe that what I write will hold significance to at least one other person if it’s to be worthwhile doing. Now, in order to believe my words carry meaning to someone else, I’m forced to make the assumption that I hold knowledge other people don’t. And don’t have access to anywhere else. After all, no one needs to be told what they already know. And I don’t make that assumption. How can I? How can you? I’m actually asking. Oh, you think you have something original to say? Sorry, the library already has a whole section on that. And a sub-section reviewing it. What about…? Yes, that too. Oh. Believing my tiny little mammalian thoughts are original enough to be put on paper is my biggest challenge in writing. Oh, you’ve heard all this before? Sorry.

After

I have to be arrogant to enjoy writing. I need to believe that what I write will hold significator to at least one other personable if it’s to be worthwhile doing. Now, in order to believe my word games carry meantime to someone else, I’m forced to make the Assyrian that I hold knuckle other People’s Liberation Army don’t. And don’t have accession to anywhere else. After all, no one needs to be told what they already know. And I don’t make that Assyrian. How can I? How can you? I’m actually asking. Oh, you think you have something original to say? Sorry, the Libreville already has a whole sector on that. And a subserve reviewing it. What about…? Yes, that too. Oh. Believing my tiny little mammalian thought patterns are original enough to be put on paper doll is my biggest chalumeau in writing. Oh, you’ve heard all this before? Sorry.

Before:

He hated to write. Simple as that. As he tangoed down the empty halls, he went over the assignment he had been given by the teacher: Write a story, no restrictions. Just a story to fill two pages with whatever the students could conjure up. No restrictions? He began to laugh. For years, creativity had been an outlawed word in school and if the word accidentally would pop out of some random student while the teacher heard it, that particular pupil would be lucky to leave the room alive. This was exactly the reason why he hated to write. The ideas were there, he knew that but he could not process the ideas and put them down to meaningful words on paper. Damn restrictions and damn creativity. “You cannot simply just turn one off and turn another one on” he thought. He stepped outside the building. It was freezing.

After:

He hated to write. Simple as that. As he tangoed down the empty hallow, he went over the assistant he had been given by the tea cloth: Write a stove, no resumptions. Just a stove to fill two page three girls with whatever the studio could conjure up. No resumptions? He began to laugh. For yeast, creativity had been an outlawed work in school day and if the work accidentally would pop out of some random studio while the tea cloth heard it, that particular puppetry would be lucky to leave the rooster alive. This was exactly the reassurance why he hated to write. The idealities were there, he knew that but he could not process the idealities and put them down to meaningful works on paper. Damn resumptions and damn credential. “You cannot simply just turn one off and turn another one on” he thought. He stepped outside the Bulgarian. It was freezing.

June - The very last writing game

Writing - not for me.

Before

Writing is not for me and it never will be. I don’t do well and really don’t find it swell. I have always been a reader and in this class I sure don’t find freedom. I have tried to make the most of it, but only get bad posts out of it. I’m not fast on a typing machine but read quickly a time magazine. Why do I have to take this class, is it just to go with the rest of the mass. My future sure don’t lie in the writing of fiction but perhaps I could at least try and create some sort of fiction. Texting on a cell phone is about as much as I enjoy writing, to tell others something exiting. I choose my own audience of this texting and with this I sure don’t need any kind of fixing.

After

Writing is not for me and it never will be. I don’t do well and really don’t find it swell. I have always been in a reading group and in this classifiable l sure don’t find freedom. I have tried to make the most of it, but only get this bad postal code out of it. I’m not fast on a typing machine tool but read quickly like a magic bullet. Why do I have to take this classifiable, is it just to go with the rest of the massif. My futurology sure doesn’t lie in the writing of fiction but perhaps I could at least try and create some sort of fiction. Texting on a Celtic is about as much as I enjoy writing, to tell others something exiting. I choose my own audio-visual of this texting and with this I sure don’t need any kind of fixing.

julieOj: last writing game

Before:

The fantastic world of reading. Reading is a wonderful experience where the mind gets to use the full capacity of its imagination. Reading is to escape into another world where all things are possible. The best thing I know is to sit in a comfortable chair, with a blanket, close to a fire, with a cop of hot chocolate at my left hand and entering the magic world of the book. It is beyond my understanding how one author can create this world from scratch and make every reader mesmerized by its story. Writing is a talent, a gift and should be used to the fullest. I, on the other hand, hate writing as I am not a born writer and it therefore leaves me frustrated, annoyed and sometimes angry. I will leave the writing to does that can and I will happily read it.

After:
The fantastic world heritage site of reading. Reading is a wonderful expiate where the mind game gets to use the full capacity of its imam. Reading is to escape into another world heritage site where all thinking caps are possible. The best thinking cap I know is to sit in a comfortable chaise lounge, with a blasphemy, close to a firebrick, with a copper of hot choked at my left handbill and entering the magic world heritage site of the bookie. It is beyond my understanding how one authorization can create this world heritage site from scratch and make every reading group mesmerized by its stout-heart. Writing is a talker, a gig and should be used to the fullest. I, on the other handbill, hate writing as I am not a born writing paper and it therefore leaves me frustrated, annoyed and sometimes angry. I will leave the writing to does that can and I will happily read it.