Wednesday, November 25, 2009

hmmn.. nothing to post about have i

Thanksgiving just happens to be tommarrow.

I think that out of all the holidays, Thanksgiving is the one that you can really see how disfunctional this family really is. >.<
I occasionally feel as though I am the *sane* one here. And if you know me, that is truly saying something. o_o
Sooo anywhoo!
Does anyone out there know how to take care of 2 boys ages 3 and 5?? cus im meeting my two *charming* little cousins for the first time in like... 30 minutes.. The wee charubs are sleeping over for the night *joy* And I dont know what to do with 3 and 5 year olds. They dont even really do anything tho, right? Besides of course the usual. Breaking stuff. Fighting. Destruction. Crying. Wrecking Havock.
You know.
The usual.
I mean, it isnt like u can play a board game. Or read a book. [well u could read a book. but this is like a 3 year old boy we are talking about...] *AND* it is raining outside, and it is night time. So it isnt like you can say, "Heyy.. go play on the swing set or run a round!" Because it is dark out, and rather wet.
Ohoo!! And they dont go to bed until 9-10pm! And they wake up at like 7!! ISNT THAT FRICKIN FANTASTIC????!! :D

..please note the heavy sarcasim..

So anyways. :]
My Thanksgiving is going to be something special.
[The boys arent even staying for the entire meal, they have to go vist other parts of the family. Treking across Rhode Island. What a fun thing to do on Thanksgiving.]
And my cousins [who i actually like] arent even going to be here. :(
That is a depressing thought....

On a much lighter note! :D
Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Eat lotsah Turkey and pie! Nom. nom. nom.
And remember what you are thankful for!
[For me it is going to be:
-Amazing Authors
-Harry Potter! <3
-Lotsah Books
-Doctor Who
-Snazzy British people
-The voices in my head .. hehe jkkk!
-The fact that I get to sleep in my own bed tonight
-No school
-Good food
-Swankified friends, who I would never live without
-And the warming thought that my little cousins live in Texas]

Happy Turkey Day!

Saturday, November 21, 2009

All you crazy people... please read this..

Heyloooo everybody..

wow feels like i havent posted in a rather long time it does...
moving on!

i know one of my recent posts mentioned the blog Lost In Ink, created by Staysi.
well there is another fantastic contest again! !
i believe that you should go and enter right away!She is giving away (i believe 5) copies of the Night World no.1 AND the night world ultimate fan guide! see.. now i know u are dying to enter now! SOOO stop reading this and go over to check out Lost in Ink and enter the contest! The deadline is November 30th at midnight (because everything ends at midnight! hah if i evr have a contest [which i probably wont..] then i would make the deadline 11:56pm. just because i could...)So go enter!

Monday, November 16, 2009

A bit more..

here is a little more of the short story.. which actually isnt very short.. oh well..

“Tell me this,” whispered Max through clenched teeth. “Where. Am. I.”
“It depends.”
“Depends?!” echoed Max furiously. “What do you mean by that?!”
“Hmmn… well basically you are neither here…” began Hescireh.
“Or there…” finished Maryndock.
“That’s stupid,” commented Max.
“That’s logic,” answered both voices at once.
“What insane logic is that?!” barked Maxwell.
“Perhaps it would be best young Master Max,” started Maryndock. “for you to see for yourself?”
“Oho! Agreed! Agreed!” chirped in Hescireh.
Max stood up, planting his feet firmly on the ground. “Listen, I don’t know what you are, or where on Earth I am, but I need to get home now. My family is in danger. I saw them hanging from the tree tops! I need to get help now. They are dead. ”
Max’s face turned a deep shade of red. And out of the corner of his eye, a tear slipped out, and softly trickled down his long nose.
“It would be best for him to learn on his own I would think,” suggested Maryndock.
“Change of perspective? An unexpected-“
“Party?” questioned Maryndock.
“Ugh, no you fool,” scowled Hescireh. “An adventure, a journey… a tale of brave knight hood and loyalty and danger...”
“Are you listening to me at all?!” screamed Max. “I don’t know what is going on! But I need to get home now! Right now, I mean! Get me out of here! I need to leave, my family-“
“But of course old Hescireh!” Maryndock beamed. “Yes, yes, yes, I know precisely what needs to be done…”
“Shut up!” bellowed Max. “I hate you! I need to return home! What don’t you understand? Why won’t you listen to me? Hello?! Oho what in the name of Beelzebub is happening? I need answers immediately!”
Hescireh paused. “Oh never use the word immediately dear boy. It has far too many letters, you see. And more letters means more weight. How will poor Lardner carry it all?”
“You are mad!” shouted Max, right in Hescireh’s face. “I need to go home now!”
“Are you ready Maryndock?” asked Hescireh, completely ignoring the boy. “I believe tis time, tis time.”
“Oh alright then,” replied Maryndock woefully. “Actually, I was beginning to grow fond of the boy. In more of a love-hate type of way of course, for it grows often boring here only having you of all things to argue with…”
“Indeed, indeed. Alas, I myself was growing fond of him too. Although he makes me feel terribly cross, I will also be sad to see him go.”
“Well, let’s not waste any more time, shall we? Let us begin?”
“Agreed old chap,” said Hescireh. “Let’s begin…”
“No!” exclaimed Max. “You need to tell me what is going on, where I am, who or what in dear God’s name you are-“
“Sorry boy,” stated Hescireh. “But we can’t presently say much more then we have.”
“Indeed Master Maxwell,” noted Maryndock. “We hope you’ll understand all in good time.”
The Cat-Man smiled calmly at Max, who was feeling anything but calm.
“Best of luck dear boy,” said Hescireh. Then, he clapped his giant hands together once, and Max felt himself drift off into a deep, long expected sleep.

-is listening to Hey Jude-

Ok, so i clicked "New Post" with the intention of possibly posting something. What that something is, well... To be honest it didn't matter to me. Just something was better than anything, I guess... Please don't mind me. :P

Hmmn.. yeah so I don't think I'll really end up posting much of anything, cause you see at the moment I'm listening to Hey Jude, so I'm rather distracted... Well not really. Just too distracted by the amazing music to post much of anything that makes logical sense to the average person? .. umm .. never mind i guess.. haha

Ohoo.. just got to my fav part of Hey Jude.. (:

Does anyone else completely love the song All My Loving? And not just the Beatles versoin (although nothing tops that!) but the version from the movie Across the Universe? Cus I love that song, so much. It is brilliant :)

ALRIGHT! ENOUGH! Enough I say! Actual post shall begin in.. 5..4..3..2..

Hey anyone who actually is reading this!
Staysi (booklover37) over at Lost in Ink** is having a beyond amazing contest!
You definatly need to check it out.
Tis a mystery indeed!
For you see, she has not told us what the book is she is gonna give away!
*dramatic cord*
I know! Aha! a mystery!
So yeah. You need to enter this contest! Go! Now! Enter!

**Lost In Ink is also a pretty incredible blog. you should read it! :D

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Short Story!

For any editor out there:

I'm working on writing a short story for my English class. At the moment, I have an idea but for me it is just translating thoughts to paper. Here is what I have so far, and if anyone actually reads this, then help and advice is greatly appreciated! (: ohh and i apposligize in advance for the length.. seeing as it is like 13 pages on Word double spaced 12 font..

Well read men of literature and philosophy can ponder for weeks and years in front of an old glass window, watching the rain drops slip down the surface then falling gracefully off the weather-beaten sill, lost as if they were broken dreams and shattered wishes. As these great philosophers and poets watch the wind and rain, they sit inside stuffy old rooms with tapestries hanging on the walls, casually sipping a demitasse, they think long and hard about the ways of the world, and important occurrences in society, the rain falls down the window and gently off the sill to the ground below. And the philosophers and great men of the time, never once look outside that window.
But, if you were to ask a child any of these trying questions that men of knowledge are befuddled with daily, they would simply pause, think for a brief amount of time, look up at you, then blurt out the clear and simple truth. There was no need for long days wasted in front of rain splattered window frames, tiresome jaunts in the forests, or even hours lost by just sitting down and getting confused in your own thought.
A child is just never seen as one with a logical mind, or really any ability at all to possess any great amount of intelligence at all. Just take a look at any book shelf, and you would notice many, many novels all about misunderstood children, and the result of that constant neglect. It is exactly like the feeling that even though you are talking, and the adult is nodding their head in agreement, they really aren’t paying any attention at all.

No matter how long Maxwell stared at the blank canvas, it was practically impossible for him to think of any thing to draw that old Mr. Bolinde would deem “merely acceptable.”
He had been sitting in the empty drawing room for nearly the entire morning, watching the sun rise from behind the tree tops, and slowly making it’s way into the bright blue morning sky, and yet not one scratch had been made on the vast canvas. The room was dusty, with large Bay Windows on one wall over looking the pond in the back yard, and the small summer cottage by the edge of the forest, where guest occasionally lodged during the warmer weather. On the other side of the room on a moth eaten sofa, sat Mr. Bolinde. He was a fat old man, with a stringy gray beard, and no hair at all on the top of his head. Mr. Bolinde had been hired by Maxwell’s parents to act as a tutor for Max, and his older brother Samuel. Although, because Sam was the eldest, he hardly ever had to attend these lessons with Bolinde, leaving Max to spend his days alone in a stuffy drawing room with his tutor, who could never stay awake for the entire lesson, and was also highly judgmental. On the worn wooden table behind Max, was an elaborate display of rich paints, fine chalks, pastels, and even expensive drawing pencils that would have made even Reighley Helena Cubbins go green with envy.
Reighley was the young girl, who lived a few towns over in an incredible mansion with her weary grandmother. Her real name was actually Rose, but she explained to Max the first time she met him that ever since she came to live in Hertheria Place with her grandmother, she immediately became sick of the old woman screeching every morning; “Rose Helena! Wake up right now!”
“It was so awful, Max,” she explained. “You could not even begin to imagine! And her voice is so old and cranky too. And when she screeched my name that very first morning I was there, it hurt my head so much I decided then and there I would never ask anyone again to call me Rose again. But I didn’t want them to call me Helena either, you see, for it is also irritatingly dull, like the name Rose. No, Max, I needed a better name. One that better fit my personality I think…”
That entire time Max said nothing, just nodded his head in agreement. He didn’t speak, not because he wasn’t paying attention, but because he knew that Rose needed to express herself with as few interruptions as possible. After being cooped up in such a large house with her grandmother for half the summer, she probably was very happy indeed to be able to talk with someone her own age. So he sat on the tree stump, and watched the peculiar girl ramble about how she found her perfect name.
“…Then I opened the last book on the shelf, and at the top of the page was the name ‘Reighley’. And then I knew that was it! I knew then and there that name just suit me perfectly. Don’t you think, Max?” She didn’t wait for a reply, but she continued to ramble on. However, Max did think that the name suited her, perfectly in fact. Just by looking at the girl, he could see that the name “Rose” didn’t fit her at all. She was tall for her age, and slim, but she had an athletic look that most girls Max knew did not normally have. Reighley had long blonde hair, which fell just short of her waist, and a warm smile that made you feel comfortable around her. But the name Rose seemed fit for a rich and stuffy girl who had obviously grown accustomed to the life style she had grown up in, and had a clear, straight forward goal in life. Reighley was not like that at all. She even described herself as a “free bird”.

But rolling her eyes she commented, “But Mother has other plans. She sent me to live with Grandmother so I could learn how to be and act like a little lady. Mother evidently expects me to attend Grandmother’s snotty parties, and go to those boring morning teas!” Reighley scowled. “But I won’t,” she added confidently. “I’m never ever going to act like that, ever. It sounds so dreadfully dull. What a boring life that is, don’t you think Max? The only remotely fun bit of it just may as well be eating the food in the Grand Hall! Yet even then the lady can only eat a tad bit of food, otherwise, Grandmother warned me that I might not be able to fit into my next gown! Oh did you hear that Max? Not being able to fit into a dress! Oho the horror!” She had then flopped back onto the grass, and placed her hand to her forehead, pretending to be practically sick at the thought. “Ugh. What miserable people, they can even suck the fun out of eating! Imagine!”
Later on, Max learned that not only did Reighley talk more then another person he knew, (except perhaps his older brother and sisters) but she turned out to be much more fun then most of the other children he spent his spare time with. After complaining for several minutes about how tight her new boots were, she untied the knots, and simply kicked the shoes off her feet, and left them lying under a shady tree, with no obvious intention of ever taking them back. She also could skip a stone across the pond, further then any of Maxwell’s friends could, and Reighley ended the afternoon by beating Max in a foot race across the property from the tallest Hickory Tree, all the way to the horse stables.
After that one morning spent with Reighley Rose Helena Cubbins, Max had a feeling that they would be friends for a rather long time.
Reighley had also explained to him though, that her Grandmother and Mother were not fond at all of her constant doodling and sketches.
“You never once finish your sewing, yet all I ever see you doing during your study hours is draw,” scolded her Mother.
“She said that like it is a bad thing too,” noted Reighley.
“What is it you draw?” asked Max.
Reighley gave a simple shrug.
“Anything I want,” she replied. “That’s why I always draw. I don’t have to listen to Grandmother’s stupid rules, or Mother always moaning about how she wished she got a real daughter! As if I’m not real! No, she just wants someone who she can sculpt into her own mini robot that bends to her every whim.”
So Maxwell sat in the old stuffy drawing room that morning thinking about the odd girl who turned disobeying her family into an extreme sport, along with her strange doodles, and wishing somehow he could think of what to paint on the blank canvas. He sat there lost in thought until he heard Mr. Bolinde stir on the couch, and he immediately scolded the poor boy for not telling him sooner that he had fallen asleep.

The Barnum Estate was once considered one of the most beautiful properties in the county. It was extremely well known for their large apple orchards, and also for the stunning interior of the mansion itself. The property was once owned by the governor Richard Barnum and his wife Elian Paige Barnum, where they lived at the estate for many long years. But now, the home belonged to a different family.
Broderick Hesterfield was the second cousin of Richard Barnum, and after many papers were signed, and forms filled, he bought the land from the Barnum’s under the condition that the estate kept its original name, and the house was to be kept in its normal pristine condition.

However, after the death of Richard, and then a few years later, the sudden death of Elian, the Barnum Estate Manor grew in desperate need of repair. And what once was a breath taking mansion soon became a broken down fortress.
Now, any one looking at the family that lived in the Barnum Estate would think that these people were a respectable sort, prim and proper, a good family. But it really was not that way at all.
Josephine Hesterfield was a drunk. She had been that way her entire life, or so it seemed. She had only been married into a rich family, because her family had wealth, and Broderick Hesterfield needed the money.
Brought up in a plain farm house, with nine other brothers and sisters, no one in their right mind would think that Broderick Hesterfield had anything remotely close to a future. His parents, Markus and Anastasia Hesterfield, were poor and had too many children and therefore, far too many mouths to feed. So on his thirteenth birthday, Broderick was sent away from his home, and went to live with his mother’s wealthy cousins, Richard and Elian Paige Barnum. It was then that he developed a passionate love affair with the Barnum Estate.
When he turned nineteen, and time for him to leave his family and seek his fortune in the world, Broderick went to Richard, and asked him if he could possibly stay at Barnum Estate.
“Forever, do you mean?” inquired Richard. Broderick felt his face go red with shame. He had been embarrassed to say so his self. Richard chuckled. “Dear boy, what good would it be if I allowed you to stay here? Hmn. What honest good would come out of an arrangement like that? I know you, boy. I know that you love this old place. Believe me; if you could stay I would let you! Don’t you for one moment think that I won’t allow you to remain here because we don’t like you. That isn’t the case at all! The fact of the matter simply is you can’t stay. But, you may return here any time you need to.”
Several years later, Broderick was a full grown man, and Richard was terribly sick. He could no longer afford to keep the manor or the estate, and made arrangements to have the property auctioned off within the next few months. Outraged, Broderick attempted to talk Richard out of the decision, or to at least simply turn the property deed over to Broderick without the hassle of money. But Richard refused. He and Elian needed the money. The property was to go to the highest bidder. End of discussion.
Josephine’s mother Louisa was a worried sort of woman, she would constantly fret over the simplest matter of business. But what always worried her most was her youngest daughter’s future. Josephine was not beautiful. She was not intelligent. She could not perform simple tasks without blunder. Josephine was completely lazy compared to her other, older sisters, and it was her mother’s worst fear that she would never be married off. So when a young Master Hesterfield approached Josephine’s father, inquiring about a money loan, it was practically a blessing to the family when they learned of his condition; how he needed money to buy a home, and he had no wife to share it with. Josephine’s father immediately struck up a deal with the young boy, and told him that he would receive all the money he needed to buy the Barnum Estate, as long as he promised to come back and marry his daughter in return.
So Broderick and Josephine were married, and they lived quite peacefully for several years in the old manor, until they had their first two children, twins, Samuel and Tessa. And a few years later they had another girl, Bridget. And finally, they had the youngest son, Maxwell. Broderick and Josephine tried to live with each other as happily as possible, but after the birth of their last child, Josephine slowly began to slip back into her old drinking habits, and eventually she sold most of her jewels and rich silk dresses, all for drink.
Broderick too began to slip away from his normal cheery personality. He began to spend much more time alone in his study, and hardly ever talked to his friends or family. On the rare occasion that anyone actually caught a glimpse of Broderick Hesterfield, they would see that his eyes had grown dark and sunken in, his skin was waxy and pale, and he carried a sour expression, which gave him the appearance of one who had just swallowed an entire lemon whole.
This was the Hesterfield family.

“Pahh-haps,” slurred Josephine. “Tw’ood do you bett-ah if yous, maybe uzz… pay… more ‘tention in you less… onz…uhmnn…” her empty wine cup slipped from her loose fingertips, and shattered on the dinning room floor.
Marmar, the kitchen servant, rushed over to clean up the mess.
All four of the Hesterfield children were sitting down at the Dinning Room table, patiently awaiting there dinner. Although Mr. Thatcher was the head chef in the kitchens, as he had been for the past 42 years, and he tended to fall into a deep sleep right around 6 o’clock, which was also unfortunately the time that the Hesterfield family had their dinner. So the children would sit there every evening, watching Josephine drink herself to sleep, while they would wait for Mr. Thatcher to wake, and make them their meal.
“Why don’t we just go and wake him ourselves? For God’s sake, this is completely absurd!” hollered Bridget. “He’s so fat and lazy. Why on Earth does he still stay here?”
None of her siblings answered her, for it was perfectly clear why Mr. Thatcher was still here; their parents did not care enough to fire him. They never ate dinner anyways, why would they care at all that the chef never made dinner on time, and he was constantly sleeping? It was not their concern. So the Hesterfield children sat around the dinner table, their stomachs quietly grumbling, while Josephine snored loudly at the head of the table, slumped over in her chair, with a stain down the front of her dress due a spill with her wine.

The following morning, Max awoke early. He pulled back the covers, careful not to wake Sam, who was sleeping in the bed next to his, then found a fresh shirt and he buttoned up a clean pair of pants. Then he slipped out of the room, and down the hall…
…and out the back door.

“Morning is perhaps the quietest part of the day. Dawn is even quieter.” mused Max, as he meandered down the front steps and through the garden. The rocks that had once made a beautiful walk way, had now been overturned with roots, making it seem as though the weeds were spindled fingers, stretching towards the light of the new morning. Cautiously,
Max leaped over the weeds, and broken paths. He landed sharply against the ground, and losing his balance, he slipped, and tumbled head first down the small hill, and into a briar patch that lay by the edge of the woods.
One of the first rules that Max ever learned was this: Keep clear of the forest.
But why he needed to stay away, he never knew.
Not until the morning that he fell into the briar bushes, did he ever know why he needed to keep clear of the wood.
As Max turned to get himself back on his feet, he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. He felt his entire body run cold, and his heart dropped right into his stomach.
Max couldn’t run, he could not even draw a single breath.
Before him swaying gently in the cool morning breeze, were five bodies. Five bodies that just happened to resemble the other five family members of the Hesterfield family.

Sam could not be dead… There is no way Sam can be dead. And Bridget, or Tessa… I had just seen them last night? Didn’t I?
There were far too many thoughts, too many fears, flooding Max’s mind. It was almost as if life had been paused. And Max alone was left to view where it stopped.
Tessa’s toes were not long enough to reach the forest floor, so they swayed softly above the ground. Sam’s face was a mixed expression of mangled horror, and fear. And Bridget, sweet Bridget, with her loud mouth, and snarky attitude, was hanging from a long thin cord, which was wrapped carefully around her pale neck.
Pain blasted through Max. He couldn’t think. He could just feel his overwhelming emotions, crashing down on him. Pain, fresh and sharp, struck through his entire body.
“No…no… no…”
Suddenly, almost instantly, Max was filled with a new emotion, anger. It ripped through his body, flaming like wild fire. And all Max wanted to do was hurt. He leaped up, and turned to run out of the forest, to run far away. But as he got up, his foot got caught on something sharp, and he crumpled down to the cold floor and his whole world turned black.

“He’s dead isn’t he? Isn’t he?” muttered a shrill voice. “He died? Ohoo…” the voice murmured something faintly that Max couldn’t decipher, and then another voice groaned.
“Well it wasn’t like it was my fault that he died, now is it?” said the second voice, this one low, and deep. “I mean, honestly! It isn’t my fault.”
“Oh please!” commented the first voice gruffly. “It isn’t my fault either! But then here you are, always ready to point the blame on someone else. Never take responsibility for your actions, do you?” The second voice chortled.
“As if you are any better?” Laughed voice number two. “Don’t you remember that time when that old man came and asked for directions to Spare Oom, and you pointed him towards an old closet? Or maybe that other time when the badgers wanted the recipe for muffins, and you told them to add four cups of hard metals? They are just badgers for God’s Sake! Why take advantage of an innocent badger? What is wrong with you?!”
Max’s head was throbbing. He could barely think, never mind keeping up with the bizarre conversation he was hearing. Where was he? Max let out a slight moan, and the two voices stopped arguing immediately.
“Did you here that? Did you here that?!” shrieked the first voice. “He can’t be dead! No, no, no! I heard him! I heard him!”
“Oh do us all a favor and shut up, will you?” replied the second voice. Max felt someone lean in very close to him, and gently prod his side. A sharp pain split down his leg.
“Oy! Wha’ ‘id you do that for…” Max grumbled.
“He speaks! He speaks!”
Max slowly opened his heavy eye lids, and cautiously turned over on his burning side. His arms and legs were weak, and his entire body felt bruised. Gently, he lifted himself up off the ground.
With one look he could instantly tell that he was no longer on the property of the Barnum Estate.
“Don’t go hurtin’ yourself now, would you? You’ve gotten us into loads of trouble already…”
Max propped himself against the wall of a small and cramped room. It was painted a royal blue, but the paint was cracked and flaking. There were shelves all around, packed with books and loose pieces of parchment. There were no windows, no doors, and just a small little bed pushed up against a wall across from Max. And sitting in the center of the room was a very little man, with a large top hat, and the face of a blue, long haired cat.
Max immediately felt his knees begin to shake, he felt light in the head, and he was very relieved that at least he was sitting down.
“My name is Hescireh, little boy.” Stated the Cat-Man, and Max noticed that it was voice number one that heard earlier. But if I heard two voices, why is it that I only see one?
“And I, brave and noble Master Maxwell, am Maryndock!”
Max was stunned. The voice had come from Hescireh, but it was a completely different voice all together. It was the second voice from before!
But how can that be? Max wondered. Two voices and two separate beings…. Yet they share one body? Max squeezed his eyes shut; praying with all his might that this madness was all just some terrible dream. Any moment now, he would be woken up by Sam shouting, and everything would be back to normal…
Max opened his eyes, and let out a loud yelp.
Not even ten centimeters from his face were the two golden, round eyes of Hescireh or Maryndock, or whatever it was.
“Argh!” Max leapt up from the ground, but accidentally ended up knocking his head onto the ceiling of the small room. A large welt slowly formed on the top of his head, and Max rubbed it furiously. “Don’t do that!”
“Pardon?” replied the two voices in unison. “Have we done something wrong?”
“I do not mean to offend you young Sir,” said Hescireh. “However, that Maryndock over there, I wouldn’t trust him one bit!”
“Oho do shut up!” barked Maryndock, fiercely.
“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!” bellowed Max. He rolled himself into a ball on the floor, smacking his head, trying desperately to somehow escape. “Wake up!”
“Ehh… if you would excuse me for just one small moment Sir Maxwell,” began Hescireh. “But it seems to me that you are already fully awake.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” added Maryndock. “I certainly do not mean to appear rude! Although, I’m not to sure about that Hescireh, he isn’t the polite type you see-“
“Oy!” yelped the accused.
“Well it’s true!” snapped Maryndock. “You see young Master Max, you really are awake.”
“No, no,” moaned Max. “I’m not… I can’t be… this is impossible... please… no…”
“But what makes this impossible, young Max?” asked Hescireh. “This doesn’t seem impossible at all. Not to me atleast…”
“Well that is your first mistake isn’t it?” said Maryndock. “Who cares what you think? What are you playing at, with that whole ‘Not to me at least.’ Yeah, that will assure the boy he is sane won’t it?” Maryndock rolled his large eyes.
Shaking his busy head, Hescireh turned to the boy. “Ignore him please.”

For the sake of writing, and for the love of procrastination...

Okeydokey then....

*four hours later*

I will find something to post about! I swear!













Alright, when all else fails-

talk about a book.

Fahrenheit 451.
The temperature at which books self cum bust.

Right now I'm on like page ..ermm.. 23?

I love older books. But some are rather hard to really sink your teeth into I think. So when I started 451 (at midnight last night) I wasn't sure if this would be one of those classics that I would read the first two pages, then relize that I had no clue what was going on. (ex. when I attempted to read Beowulf.) But I think that 451 isnt that way at all. It is captivating. And I love it.

Altough perhaps one could argue that my instant love of this book simply comes from the fact that it is sci-fi, and the author wrote several scripts for The Twilight Zone along with the screen play for Moby Dick .......................................... (:

Friday, November 13, 2009

Third time is the charm

i have offically created four blogs over the past several months.
except, one didnt really count.
so technically, i have only made three.

so this is my blog.


thank you
thank you all...

not really.

ok soo.. this is me
i am i
i yam who i yam..........

no that was a poorly ripped offed reference
scatch that last bit would u?

umm ok. this is fer real now..


uhh.. line?


yeah ok so i give up
blogging fails
and that is all.