First, that was found randomly on the internet by yours truly and was laughed at, then posted onto the next post for you all to see. Even if you haven’r read Harry Potter, it’s a bit of ironic humor that can be gotten by most people.
So, you may be wondering about the title of this post, and let me tell you why.
Recently, I have been thinking about TCWT a lot, probably due to the fact that the September blog chain topic was just announced. (And no, I haven’t signed up yet, I’m still thinking about it.) Anyways, I’ve been thinking about how most of these prompts are about, um, writing.
Well, that’s to be expected, but to be honest, I am not your average TCWT’er. (Sorry to stereotype, but it’s the only way I can explain this.) The average TCWT’er is actually writing a novel. I write more comics, short stories, and blog posts. Currently, I have two short stories that I’m working on, the first one is called “Brains vs. Evil Ones: Book 1. Playing Tag with Evil Ones and Other Fun Stuff. You can access the first chapter of it here.
To really understand it, you will have to click around the site a little, but hopefully you’ll get the gist of it.
The other one is a remake of The Hunger Games, which is based off of what you saw/clicked/read at the site linked above. It’s going to be interesting.
But anyways. I just don’t get it. I seem to be cursed with the ability to think of a great idea for a story, then miserably fail at actually write it.
Example-So I was thinking about something where this girl goes into a alternate world, then have to save the world or something. Of course, then I read Coraline, and dropped the idea because they were so identically close. Sigh.
Another example-When I was younger, I wrote a five-page “journal” about this girl. It was so incredibly lame and stupid. Here’s some exerpts, so we can all laugh at it.
I am so excited! My birthday is tomorrow! I must go plan the small bits that are left! I will fill you in on my party tomorrow, dear Journal. By the way, Brenda’s horrible cold has gone so we will be having my party at the park.
Tomorrow Grandpapa arrives from Mankatoe, a city not far from here. Grandpapa will be oh so proud because Brenda just lost her first tooth. Aunt Henna will be escorting Grandpapa to our home, because he is old and frail and we do not want him to die on his way here.
So, now that you know what sort of a young writer I was, we can dig on this deeper.
I just don’t get it.
My brain is creative.
My brain is working.
I like to write.
I like to write fiction/science fiction stories.
So why can’t I write a novel? I think I just don’t have enough stamina. I write for ages, and ages, then I’m on Chapter…..2. And I still have who knows how many chapters left to write?
For this reason alone, I have a lot of respect for authors whose books are really big, because, just think if what they went through for just that one book. I mean, I could never, ever, do that, never in a million years.
Also, I think another one of the reasons is that a lot of the ideas I think of are pretty much cheap copies of another book. Like, for instance, I wanted to write lots of books about wizardry after I finished the Harry Potter series. Or creepy dystopian novels after I finished the Hunger Games.
*shrugs* Oh, well. At least this blog I am able to rant to all of you about why I will never write a book over 200 pages long, why I have a creative mind, and why fate keeps getting in the way of all the other stuff.
This has been a semi-literate post about my novel-writing.
Edit: Because the picture is apparently being irritating and not showing up, click here to see it.