“The Grapes of Wrath” by John Steinback
This week from November 11, to November 17, 2007, I wrote 1,352 words on Magic Pens and 3,020 words off to make a total of 4,372 words.
I read the last 65 pages of The Grapes of Wrath written by John Steinbeck, but then re-read 206 pages again making a total of 271 pages.
I’m sorry that I didn’t do more than that, but I was really busy and was once again bombarded with a lot of homework.
Should I go? The question drifted within my mind, invading all of my other thoughts. I couldn’t stop thinking about it each moment of my day, and it had been keeping me awake at night. I yawned and stretched out my arms, leaning my back over the worn cushioning of the backrest of my quaint computer chair. I had already been tired, yet homework insisted that it take more from me.
“The Grapes of Wrath” by John Steinback
This week from November 4, 2007 to November 10, 2007, I wrote a total of 2,122 words.
I also read 148 pages of The Grapes of Wrath written by John Steinbeck.
“Finally, I’m almost home…” I thought to myself as I glanced out the window to my left on the school bus, brushing my long brown hair out of my face. I saw the base’s surrounding chain link fence passing by bit by bit as the bus continued down the highway slowing to turn left onto the air base. Squeezed against the window in the seat with the wheel, my knees were raised with my backpack resting in my lap taking over my face. The person next to me was turned into the alley of the bus, paying no attention to me, as usual. It was another usual and boring day. I gave a heavy sigh before returning my glance to the window next to my face on my right and crossing my arms over the top of my backpack to rest my head on the warm black fabric of my hoodie’s sleeves with a frown and a yawn. With the bus turning off the highway, I was given a clear view to the highway stretching on, the same question entering my mind. I’d never been past this turn…what was out there?
“The Grapes of Wrath” by John Steinback
This week from October 28 to November 3, 2007, I wrote a total of 3,040 words.
I read 251 pages of The Grapes of Wrath written by John Steinbeck.
Blink…blink…blink…
The words would just not come…My hands rested over the flat keyboard of my laptop before me, the fingers slightly curled over the home row key. A single lamp sat upon my spacious black desk beside me and shed a faint yellow glow across my features along with the bright gleam of the monitor screen. I slid the mouse down to pull up the time and found 11:42 PM staring back at me. Unfocused and frustrated, I turned in my chair to glance out the large window behind me although I was unable to see anything through the thick veil of darkness. I brought both of my hands to my tired face and held my head there for a moment. “I need to write…” I whispered to myself with a heavy sigh, my voice amplified in my cupped hands. “I need to write…” With a frown, I returned my hands to their designated letters, turning back in my seat and forcing my eyes to once again stare at the flashing line on the blank screen.
Blink…blink…blink…
There in the darkness of night in my lone room before my computer screen, I sat and waited. I waited for the ideas to come, the words to flow, the letters to start appearing on the screen. I waited for the cursor to stop flashing.
I shuffled my fingers a bit to hear the clack of keys without actually pressing them, telling myself that it was a weak attempt to revive some inspiration, although I knew that it was really just to pass the time. I was bored, and the words just weren’t coming; yet I was too ashamed to admit it. My mind was empty; I was finished…
Swishing a strand of my blonde hair over my shoulder, I gave my head a slight shake and glanced to the books resting on my desk in front of the lamp. “From Bestselling Author Karen Hall,” The Fall of Castle Tironia, The Firedance of the Dragon, Mysteries of the Fawn’s Glen. Why weren’t the ideas coming? Why wasn’t I able to write? Deep inside I knew that I didn’t really want to write. I had no desire to at the moment, but I knew that I had to and found myself sitting there. There, wrapped in my crimson robe, I slouched over my used keys and waited…
Finally giving up like so many nights before, I pushed myself from the desk and picked myself up from the chair, immediately sliding one hand up to cover my face and stretching my back of the other hand pressed against my hip. Tiredness was bearing down on me and caused me to give a great yawn and rub my strained eyes.
After a moment of standing there, recollecting my thoughts, I took my first step away from my unfinished work, the cold wooden floor meeting with the bottom of my bare foot. I continued on, leaving the room and entering the great hall. I turned and entered my open living room, feeling a release of stress as the ceiling raised above me, opening up to the floor above. Coming close to the lit stone fireplace that rested between two large, cream sofas in the open room, I rested myself upon one, tucking my feet under myself and covering my bare legs with my robe.
I let the warm heat of the fire sweep over me, stinging my eyes and cheeks, but not caring about the slight pain. I didn’t care about anything at the moment and was deep in thought. I could not write. I needed to write. I didn’t want to write. With the crackling tucked into the back of my mind, I closed my eyes and tried to let the tension within my mind go, however it would not. Yawning once more, I reached up to my stretched mouth with my hand and gave my eyes another rub reddening the blue of my eyes even more. Sleep would not come and I knew it. I had spent many shameful and sleepless nights, knowing what I must do, but not being able to do it.
I was pulled from my thoughts when I felt the cushioning beside me press down. “Hey, Misty,” I said plainly, rubbing my hand down the gray cat’s back without any enthusiasm. The feline walked across my lap and quickly became comfortable, curling into a small, furry ball on my robe, allowing me to stroke her short fur as she rested. It soothed me to feel her light breathing raising and falling beneath my hand. “What am I going to do?” I asked to myself and to my cat. “What am I going to do?”
In my mind, all I saw was a blank screen with a single flashing cursor.
Blink…blink…blink…
All right, I have been sitting here at my computer for about 3 hours, just thinking. I think that I might have come up with a great new story combining some of the ideas that I have had for a while, including the ones shared in my It all Started with the Bushes… post. I am still working out some of the kinks and such, but I will hopefully get the first chapter of it posted soon. That would be so awesome!
I do not feel like writing…The words will just not come. I sit here typing under the veil of darkness, not knowing what will come of it. My hands clack on, my mind rambling on…nothing coming…nothing at all. Why am I in this slump? Why is my mind so blank. I stare at the white before me that corrupts into my thoughts. The ideas and creativity leaves, abandoning the nothing left behind. Why is this? Why do I sit and let the ideas slip away? Where do they go? Why don’t they come back? Why do they return to me once I leave this place? I float through the world, observing, and thinking. My mind can never be shut off, even under the covers late at night, but why is it that I come here, to this blank screen, and all of that leaves me? With a piano ringing through my ears, and the darkness soothing my eyes, the gleam of the screen is like a barrier to my words. I can not form them, cannot plot, no story will come. My thoughts flow through my hands and across the keyboard jaggedly as I type. The messages are unclear. The ideas are unfinished. The creation in whole is incomplete with gashes and holes, waiting to be filled. My words come quickly as a poem flows along with the waters of a river, although they may not make much sense. The words are jumbled, with the thoughts behind them not very supportive. I am weak. I am unstable. I am empty. My mind…is…
I have thought of this many times before, but when I played dodgeball in gym today, I actually felt like writing about it. Let’s see if I can do it!
I believe that any randomized gym class could easily win a match of dodgeball if they broke each person into “jobs,” each with a special ability with only one thing to worry about. I will create a fake gym class based off of my own to demonstrate.
Okay, so this is my science homework for tonight. Write an ending to this story in three paragraphs, one explaining why Katrina thinks it’s alive, another why she thinks it’s dead, and the last her final decision and the conclusion. The first block-quoted part is the part that was not written by me, but by my science book.
Katrina peered at the…thing…in front of her. Definitely unusual. Peculiar even. She has walked this path a thousand times in the three months she’s lived here and had never seen anything like this before.
Just to let you know, this is from my science book. I didn’t write this, but it makes for a great story idea. Try to write your version or ending to this story.
“Timeline” by Michael Crichton
“The Grapes of Wrath” by John Steinback
This week from October 21 to October 27, 2007, I wrote a total of about 2,132 words.
I also read the last 198 pages of Timeline written by Michael Crichton and the first 156 pages of The Grapes of Wrath written by John Steinbeck.