Another Notification

From Malvoyant Berserker,

For every completed chapter of a serial novel I post, there will be a “Completed” stamped on the title, like on Guacamolia Chapter 1. If you’ve read the unfinished version of the chapter, check out what’s new and complete! 😉

Thanks people, Guacamolia Chapter 1 is complete!

Published in: on 2011/05/05 at 11:35 PM  Comments (8)  

Guacamolia Chapter 1: Complete

By Malvoyant Berserker


>mission name: operation invasion>mission date: March 3rd 2012 earth days – 2500402 cyberhour since last upgradion>mission planning began: January 1st 2012 earth days – 2500100 cyberhour since last upgradion>mission headquarters: moon of earth; far side opposite sun>mission landing location: earth; unnamed pacific continent surrounded by water (prior experiments have shown that organisms of this planet can not survive alive without the substance water; southern coast/northern coast (per infantry division)>mission time (approximate): 40 earth minutes – 0.25 cyberhour>mission objective: establish cyber-base on earth, chosen continent and eliminate any hostile or possibly hostile native species>mission head: A9borg – head commander, A45comm – director of communication, A70gen – 1st infantry division commander, A79gen – 2nd infantry division commander, A256cal – cavalry commander from space

Switch to personal recording of K9jr – junior officer 2nd infantry division>speed: 259 cybermile/cyberhour>thermal reading: -60 below 0; heat sensor on>wind speed: 132 cybermile/cyberhour>sound speed: 236 cybermile/cyberhour>position: earth; lower atmosphere>vision monitor: low resolution> > <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> >direction: 46 degrees due north>speed: 50 cybermile/cyberhour>thermal reading: 15 degrees>


I was dozing off with the movie still playing on the small screen when a huge CRASH woke me up and knocked me out again, in my unconscious state, I think I dreamed that the plane was falling at a really high-speed; people were screaming, things were being hurled about, and those oxygen thingies that you put over your mouth when the plane’s in an emergency situation dangled from the little trapdoor next to the fan, but no one was using them. As to what made the plane fall from the sky like how it did in my dream, I only saw a blurry and shiny giant egg-like thing tore through the ceiling of the plane and crashed out the other end a few rows ahead of me, the thing punctured the plane like a needle through a balloon on both sides, that’s how I pictured it. And some people were lifted out of their seats and out sucked out of that hole in the plane, screaming along the way; it was horrible, and luckily I got my seat belt on all this time. A question ran through my head; was I going to die? Oh what have this vacation turned into?


If there’s one thing you learn from watching the skies, for whatever reason, it’s that shooting stars don’t occur during daytime; and not in hundreds all at once. I happen to be searching the sky for game when I saw it, or many it; tens, perhaps hundreds of what appears to be flaming balls of fire hurling across the blue sky towards the south, to where the undead roam, and far beyond where the little people lives. I thought to myself, when did shooting stars start shooting during daytime? And usually they shoot across the sky, not down from it, that’s odd, but just then I saw a grey goose flying overhead, my thoughts were immediately divided, and I raised my bow with three arrows in the sling, and fired. Pow-Squawk! The grey goose shouted its last words of surprise, perhaps acknowledging the fact that all three of my arrows pierced its body, two on the wings and one in the rump, and crashed in the nearby bushes. What a kill! At that exact moment, a ray of sunlight shined onto my fur, I stood there bathing in the circle of sunlight; Brother Wolf was impressed by my kill, I thought to myself with beaming happiness, why wouldn’t the Wolf God be? I’m the handsomest, strongest, and fastest wolfling in the tribe, and all other tribes around, I have the perfect coat of grey fur (and head-fur) that shines in the sun, reflecting sharp white fangs, a perfectly pointed nose, fierce eyes like stars in the night, obtuse and round ears, and my name, Wolfe, is the name of the greatest wolf leaders in history! I am next in line to become a wolf legend. Savoring my glorious moment for a moment, then I ran, on my hinge legs, to the spot among the tall grass where my kill had fallen. Blood was still pouring from the wound in its rump, I decided not to waste a good drink, so I plucked the one arrow in the goose’s rump, and drank the remaining blood in its system, sucking the arrow hole dry. Animal blood is not as tasty as vampire blood, but the meat is excellent; not that vampire meat can be eaten, those suckers burst into flames and explode to pieces when they die, sunny or not. No wolf in the history of wolves liked charred meat. Securing the dead goose on my hunting strap and wiping my bloody fangs free of blood, I turned my attention back to the still shooting, still ongoing shooting stars. Odd, I thought, but even odder I thought when some of the flaming and glowing amber stars seem to change their course of direction and started heading this way, my way.


My parents…cough…guardians, are freaks. They’re overprotective, that’s all that’s freaky about them. I’m two hundred years old, not so old, but certainly no longer a toddler, do all vampires have to be thousand years old before they can stop drink blood from a bottle? No, just my guardians, mostly pa though, mum is always busy cleaning the house, like whose mum isn’t? Pa is two thousand, ten times my age, and he thinks because of that multiple of ten he can decide everything for me, I’m treated like pottery, easily breakable, but not actually, the sooner I turn one thousand, the better, and the sooner than sooner I run away, the better yet. And as if on cue, it happened, one cloudy morning…

There was an explosion. I bet the blacksmith overcooked his breakfast again, so I opened our heavy front door (that took all my strength to even lift it, yes, for security, pa made the door so you got to lift it –if you can- before opening it, or else it won’t budge) just in time to see pa fly tackle me back in, with his foot, he hooked the door and slammed it close (I can never deny his strength, even for a mid aged vampire that’s pretty impressive). I’m about to ask he to get off me when he covered my mouth with his hands.

‘Shh, we are under attack.’ He whispered.

And as if on cue, the roof of our house exploded.    

Erick and Erick’s Sister

‘Shooting stars!’ Erick shouted.

‘What are shooting stars?’ Erick’s sister asked.

‘I’m not sure, but wow, look at all those shooting stars!’

‘I am!’

‘Aren’t they cool?’

‘Yeah, but what are they?’

‘Shooting stars.’ The words found their way to Erick’s mouth before he knew, or once knew, what they are.

‘You just said you don’t know what a shooting star is! How could you know something you don’t know what it is?’

‘I-I don’t know, these words just puked out of my mouth, I can’t explain it.’

‘You can’t explain anything! Just like you can’t explain why we’re here!’

‘So can’t you!’



‘I don’t really know.’

‘Me neither.’

‘Let’s keeping going.’

‘Hey, maybe we’ll find out what those shooting stars really are.’

Of course, zombies don’t know what shooting stars are, but they once knew, and a brain is a dictionary, always the words once known are never forgotten, catalogued with permanent marker or something.


Shroons was lying on his straw mattress bed, in his dimly lit hut, eating a big bow of hyperactive pineapples (lying down-if his mother were still alive, she’d have had a fit), when several simultaneous explosions made him sit up, his two wings alert, ready to fly when necessary. His hut-mate, Weedy, came stumbling into hut through the non-existent front door; a piece of cloth hanging over the door frame. Weedy’s eyes are dancing wildly around the room, his vision distorted, and the usual green, glowing blood flowed from a gash in his head, Shroons found Weedy’s appearance peculiar, he did after a few moments of pause and while Weedy wheezed and panted notice that Weedy’s left arm was…gone, there was a bloody green stump where his slim elfin shoulder used to be, Shroons found this peculiar too; fairies, fairy magica, by law, are not allowed to harm another fairy of any kind using magic, it is a capital offense punishable by removal of the magica gland in the fairy that produces magic; the worst of the worst punishments.

If Shroons had not eaten too much hyperactive pineapples in the last ten minutes, he might have arrived at a conclusion sooner that the colony is under attack, but hyperactive pineapples, apart from giving an energy mega-boost, also dimes the user’s common sense for the first twenty minutes of intake, so Shroons was slow to piece everything together, from the ongoing explosions and blasts of magic outside, to the screams and alien noises, to Weedy collapsed on the hut floor…still with a missing left arm, but Shroons failed to do all that before his hut exploded and propelled him thirty feet into the air, upon hitting a hard metallic moving object, knocking it off its course in to a tree and exploding, Shroons reflected off the hard metal moving object at a 90 degree angle and smashed a hole and himself into the trunk of Big Hollow, the colony’s oldest and most sacred dead tree. Before Shroons got picked up by another fairy and slapped into full attention, he saw what appears to be the sky raining golem-sized fireballs upon the colony, hitting and smashing its many huts and thousand-year old trees to smithereens. Well, that didn’t clear anything up, after this particular fairy roughly picket him up and slapped his round head twice to bring him to attention; the hallucination is wearing off, and the stimulation is coming rushing like a cyclone into his joints, Shroons thought, with a foolish smile on his face, hyperactive pineapples really comes in handy at times like these…

‘Snap out of it, messenger Shroons!’ The elf slapped Shroons in the face again.

‘Hey! Aria! What’s happening?’ Shroons said casually (remember when I said a few sentences ago that the hyperactive pineapple hallucination effect wears off after half an hour, well, for sprites like Shroons, who are never much thinkers, it takes another ten to fifteen minutes for their consciousness and awareness to return to function). Aria is one of the close neighbors of Shroons’ and one of the Elf High Council members, if she’s slapping Shroons, then there’s got to be something important need delivering, because Shroons, being able to fly and therefore being a messenger elf and also being not the best messenger elf, is rarely looked upon to deliver an important message from one of the High Council members.

‘Listen!’ Aria slapped Shroons’ face again, ‘I need you to send this distress note to the nearest colony! We are under attack! You know where the nearest colony is…HEY ARE YOU LISTENING???’ Aria slapped his face once again (the author lost count). ‘This is very important Shroons! LOOK AROUND, YOU WALNUT BRAIN! Your colony is under ATTACK! GO…’ Aria didn’t finish her sentence, but that might have been it though, ‘go’ can stand alone. The reason she didn’t finish her sentence was because one of the attacking cyborgs, as Shroons see them, dipped down on the two of them (Big Hollow’s ceiling was sawed off sometime during Aria’s shouting at Shroons) and raised its left arm which split in half to reveal a high-tech laser blaster. Before his eyes, Shroons saw Aria being hit by the laser blaster, the cyborg zoomed away inches from Shroons’ head, and when his eyes turned back to Aria (Shroons followed the cyborg for a moment as it flew off amidst hundreds of clashing elves and cyborgs fighting a brutal airway battle, the background featuring the sacred Elf High Council tree on fire, tens of huts falling from the once mighty branches of thousand-year old trees, whose branches are falling with the huts, and the elves that are falling from the airway battle raging in its full height; for the moment Shroons took to observe the scenery before him, it looked as if the sky was on fire, and it sure was, the thousand-year old treetops that shielded the fairy colonies for entries with its numerous branched green leaves now burn bright and incinerating with flames), she was gone, and all that remains was a clumsily clustered pile of ashes, looks like the Elf High Council member just got incinerated by laser.

‘I will fulfill my duty and deliver this message!’ Shroons declared to the pile of ash before him, ‘and I shall not fail, or Mother Magica may take my soul eternally! Trust me, Aria of the Elf High Council!’ And Shroons flew off in the direction of the colony gates.

Despite the violence and mayhem and blood/diesel spilling happening around him, Shroons felt perfectly safe and sound, he made his way to the circular colony gates that covered the exit and opening to his colony, flying carefully to avoid traffic, the fifty meter high gates are also inflamed, and Shroons flew between the columns of the oak wooden gates. As Shroons flew on, he could hear thousand-year old trees falling behind the colony gates he passed moments ago, as well heard was a peculiar metallic sound which sound like cheers of victory, and suddenly, Shroons was wide awake. With his consciousness back, the surprise overcame him with such a powerful blow he crashed into a five meter thick oak and fell thirty meter to the rainforest floor, the thick humid moss provided a soft bed for passing out and Shroons passed out.

Published in: on 2011/04/28 at 9:42 PM  Comments (9)  



By Malvoyant Berserker


(if you’ve already read the intro, scroll to ‘Before the curtains’ for more details)


The Eighth Continent on Earth

There are eight continents on Earth, Guacamolia is one of them. Being the smallest of the eight land masses on Earth, it is located in the middle of the Pacific Ocean on the Equator, roughly half the size of Antarctica. It has three different environments; the northern areas are temperate forests of coniferous and deciduous trees, home to the werewolf tribes and vampire villages. The median grassland and mountains (and some big abandoned cities) are home to zombies (not the brainless flesh-eating idiots you expect in most books). The southern rainforests and desert is home to fairies. 

Introduction of the Species 

Werewolves, according to humans, are mutated monsters that turn into wolves when the moon is full, these ‘monsters’ feed on humans and anyone wounded by them turn into werewolves, these facts are all true, however, werewolves according to werewolves can turn into werewolves anytime they like; even during daytime, they don’t target primarily humans but they are indeed carnivores (humans deny think they eat humans only because when humans see werewolves, they are usually eating another human, and therefore causing an all-to-often misunderstanding). Anyone bitten by a werewolf will turn into a werewolf, although that is not always a bad thing, because werewolves have abilities humans would not get even if they take lots of steroids, and werewolves age twice as slow as humans do, they can live up to three centuries and still be physically fit enough to hunt and kill a panther. Being a werewolf can be quite nice, there are no wolf and wolf conflicts, only with vampires. Werewolves are nomadic creatures; they live in tribes similar to that of North American, Australian and African aboriginals, they hunt in packs and lead simple lives. Werewolves, unless provoked, are not violent. Their diet includes any kind of meat (except zombie meat).

Vampires are humanoid creatures with pale skin and an appetite for blood. According to humans, they are demons disguised as humans who creep into people’s houses at night to drink their blood to live, shoot them (in the chest) on sight. Vampires are actually non-violent social beings and are not likely to kill unless hunting or in an act to self-defense. They live in stationery communities that resemble 18th century European villages. The grudge against werewolves has been the only factor of violence in history since the first vampire. Anyone bitten by a vampire will become a vampire; they are immortal, there-fore never ages or dies unless killed using fire or extensive sunburn. Vampires determine their age according to how long they have become vampires, for example, a child who has been a vampire for two thousand years is older than an adult who’s been a vampire for three centuries. Their pale skin is sensitive to sunlight, which makes them a common sight in dark, cloudy areas, especially in forests. The macabre is an annual event in which humans and vampires dance together for one hour on midnight (without killing each other). Vampires can drink blood of any animals (including that of werewolves) except for zombie blood, which is poisonous; they can drink the blood of their own kind but vampire laws forbid that (vampires are not cannibals). Vampires don’t eat anything else.

Zombies, according to humans, are sick, disgusting corpses that can walk for supernatural reasons. A recent theory suggested a virus called solanum, which shuts down all bodily functions in a human except the brain, causes infected humans to become flesh feeding zombies. That theory and everything humans believe are true about zombies are urban legends made up to scare little kids; except for the solanum virus, that part is actually partially true. According to zombies, zombies are humans infected by the solanum virus (most of the infected are civilians, and therefore has no idea what caused them their undead-ness). The zombie brain is about as intelligent as the human brain, minus a few IQ points for every year the zombie is a ‘zombie’; the only thing different about them and humans is that they do not feel pain nor can they be killed or wounded (unless hit in the brain). Zombies, patients of the solanum virus, are not flesh-eating monsters as human describes them to be. Because zombies have a dead digestive track and a working common sense, (they have no need to eat, drink, sleep or seek shelter at all) their brain will tell them that they are not ‘humanitarians’ (if vegetarians eat vegetables, what do humanitarians eat?). The virus in their brains keeps the brain active all year round, there is no need for rest. Zombies are not violent nor are they carnivores, any records of zombies attacking humans is simply in acts of self-defense, anger or boredom, they have no basic needs, and does not often know what to do. Infected humans will first faint and their organs will stop, then after roughly five hours they reanimate and wake up with little or no memory of their previous self, like a newborn arriving to this earth. The longer zombies are zombies, the more they become idiots, unless they find a purpose in ‘life’. Zombies do not die unless killed, solanum infected flesh is harmful to decomposer bacteria, so zombies overtime do not rot away. Zombies are able to operate any physical skill their former self can operate (a learned skill does not fade away like a memory, although zombies rarely know why they possess the skills they have), if a surgeon is zombie-fied, the reanimated doctor will know how to do surgery. Zombies are not native inhabitants of Guacamolia; NATO operates a top-secret division in the national security branch whose purpose is to hunt solanum infected humans and deport them to Guacamolia. In short, Guacamolia is a continent only the government knows about.

Fairies, consisting of elves, gnomes, sprites, dwarfs, pixie, trolls and other such folks from Lord of the Rings and other fantasy movies, are southern dwelling creatures that prefer warm weather and isolation; they live in colonies numbers between 100-1000 fairies per colony, each subspecies of fairy live separately. Their bodies are designed to convert energy they take in into magic, the source of their abilities. They are herbivores. 

Cyborgs are aliens from the planet of Cyber-earth eleven light years away from earth. A technologically advanced race of species, these humanoid beings resembles Transformers, little is know about them, other than the fact that they have some kick ass weapons and choose to colonize earth, starting with Guacamolia. NATO doesn’t know this, only the inhabitants of Guacamolia are aware of the cyborgs’ existence, and they think cyborgs are from mainland Europe, sent here to exterminate the races. Cyborgs are made entirely out of mechanical ‘parts’, they are robots with brains. Each cyborg has a unique brain-chip which is their central intelligence, or brain, robots don‘t have a self functioning brain, that is the difference. Other than the need for grease electricity and diesel to power their joints and gears, cyborgs have no need to feed. Their ranks; from 1st class – 100th class, is determined by the technological advancement of their bodily weapons. As long as cyborgs keep themselves oiled, they will never expire, unless their brain chip gets damaged. 

Before the curtains

Cyborgs from the planet of Cyberearth travel through the universe in search of planets with intelligent life; their reason being to colonize the found planet to power their next upcoming technological mega-burst, or upgrading of Cyberearth; Cyberearth is a planet on the far corner of the Milky Way, every few thousand years, the planet’s metallic substance upgrades itself, to upgrade/evolve, it must absorb certain energy, energy of living things. For many thousand years, cyborgs of Cyberearth gives up a part of their own central intelligence energy as a union to upgrade Cyberearth, but in the past earth century, the population of cyborgs in Cyberearth declined at an alarming rate due to a disease called rust; through this upcoming upgrading, Cyberearth will become a stainless steel planet, to prevent the rust epidemic from occurring again. But for now, the rapidly rusting cyborgs of Cyberearth face a problem; there is not enough cyborg central intelligence to upgrade Cyberearth to stainless steel status, so they must seek an alternative; find energy source from other intelligent creatures. After a twenty earth year search across the galaxy, they found earth, and after another two earth year analysis, they found earth suitable to harvest its intelligent creatures to fuel Cyberearth’s upgrading, and since earth’s population is so great in number, the cyborgs decided to only use the energy of earth’s intelligent creatures and leave themselves out of the sacrifice, this of course is what the cyborg head-central, Borg, is thinking; however ‘inhumane’ it sounds. Noting the humans are much less technologically developed, the cyborgs, camped on the moon for a while, decided to avoid direct conflict and sneak up from within, by establishing a base on earth, they chose Guacamolia, the smallest continent on earth with little human activity; except for some ‘unknown’ creatures that inhabit the land mass, the land is mostly ‘natural undeveloped soil’. The first wave of cyborg battle-bots departed from the moon and arrived at Guacamolia’s southern rainforests…the war with fairies began and ended in a week. 

The characters

Shroons-is one of the winged fairies who survived the massacre that happened in the South during the cyborg siege of southern Guacamolia, he is a messenger fairy; one of the many sent from their colony for help right before it got mowed down by gigantic robots they’ve never seen before. Finding almost all major fairy colonies destroyed and their inhabitants missing, Shroons is at a loss as to what to do.

Erick with both a c and a k-Erick is a one year-three month-two week-five day-four hour-twenty four minute-six second old zombie and a seventeen year old ex-human; he is one of the four million zombies wandering around in the grasslands, with his companion, Erick’s sister.

Erick’s sister-Erick’s companion, one year-three month-two week-five day-four hour-twenty three minute-forty two second old zombie and eleven year old ex-human, unlike Erick, who has a name tag on his shirt he woke up in that says Erick, Erick’s sister doesn’t have a name and can’t think of one, so Erick and she assumed that she is Erick’s sister. Erick and Erick’s sister argue a lot about remembering what happened right before Erick fainted and Erick’s sister fainted right afterwards (they were both infected by the solanum virus), they never get much out of it but Erick insists the because Erick’s sister fainted before he did, she must remember more than he does.

Wolfe (pronounced ‘wolfie’)-a young, ambitious and very wolf werewolf in the wolf-pack hunters (the werewolf army), when the cyborgs simultaneously landed in the northern forests to begin their colonization/extermination here, they met much stronger resistance; in one of the resistance teams, Wolfe is the second in second-in-command.

Lezlie-a two hundred year old vampire (a toddler), previously a twelve-year-old girl, from one of the vamp-villages in the northern forests, when the cyborgs invaded, she can’t believe her overprotective guardians won’t let her participate in the action (after all those decades of not being allowed to do anything), finally she can’t take it anymore so she ran away from her home village, Shadyville, to join the jolly diesel drinkers, a band of vampires who drink cyborg diesel (diesel is not a harmful drink to all species of living things) and kill cyborgs while they are at it.

K9jr-recently promoted cyborg lieutenant, 8th rank, after excellence in battle at the fairy-week-war and the battle of Dipping Ridge with the werewolves; a major breakthrough in the guerrilla warfare with the werewolves. K9 is to be one of the leading officers in the upcoming battle of Avocado Hill, first major battle with the zombies.  

Borg-leading general of the Cyberearth military, this rank 1st cyborg is…very metallic

Mara-during the cyborg penetration of Earth’s atmosphere to Guacamolia, the passenger plane she’s in just happens to be flying above the clouds that hang overhead in the zombie grassland, and it just so happens that K9jr’s plasma shielded form slammed into the economy class, creating a big gaping hole. The Boeing 747 went down and she didn’t die. Unfortunately, she landed in the second most isolated land mass on the planet and where a war is about to go full-scale, Guacamolia. And there are no fellow humans around.

If anyone is interested, I’ll release the plot.

Published in: on 2011/04/22 at 12:35 AM  Comments (24)  


At this moment I wish I was my anti-hero character Dennis Raveley, who doesn’t care about the H word and isn’t afraid to not finish it.  

I must say, I got a lot to do for this long weekend and don’t want to start doing it, so I’m passing time on the computer here right now. I know, I know, time is precious, but it sure doesn’t feel like it when the motivation is on leave. Gosh! Finishing The One Hundred Levels of Closets, that story on my blog, is another piece of h*******, and I’m not even doing that!

Get a move on! Fred, what are you waiting for??? So during Hard Times like these, I’ll just take a long moment to listen to this AWESOME song here, check it out!

Published in: on 2011/04/21 at 6:10 PM  Comments (2)  

All Is NOT Quiet On The Blogging Front

All is no longer that quiet on the blogging front, as it is yesterday. I have written something that is related to my job of producing fiction. And will keep working on it!

Published in: on 2011/04/15 at 2:10 AM  Leave a Comment  

Do you know any jokes?

Here are some funny old jokes that aren’t as funny anymore, could reading them get the funny bone cracking again? Read them and comment on which ones made you laugh:

1. Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side.

2. Why did the chicken cross the road? If it didn’t, there’d be no joke.

3. Why did the chicken cross the road? It has nowhere else to go, after all, that’s all the joke allowed.

4. Why did the chicken cross the road? It was too chickened not to.

5.  Why did the chicken cross the road? The road was in its way.

6. Why did the chicken cross the road? To poo on my head.

7. If Chuck Norris ever got caught by the police, he’ll let them off with a warning.

8. Chuck Norris don’t read, he stares at the book until it gives him the information he needs.

9. Moses can part the red sea, Chuck Norris can part the Earth in half.

10. What does the Kraken do during its spare time? Crackin’ jokes.

11. Why does time exist? If it didn’t we would have no life.

12. What do you call a vegetarian who is allergic to vegetables? Dead.  

Leave a comment! 🙂

Published in: on 2011/03/15 at 7:49 PM  Comments (3)  

Theme or Plot?

I was wondering, when you write, do you need a central theme for the writing to be based on or do you need a plot or story? Or neither? You just write what you feel.

For me, I think all three is applicable.

How about you? (I’m not sure how to do this “survey” on a poll, so just post your comment below, thanks)


Published in: on 2011/02/21 at 10:29 PM  Comments (4)  

Darn! Can’t think of a title!

Friday, six thirty pm, more specifically six thirty-five. I currently have a science project I must start but can’t bring myself to do so, I have an unfinished story to write that I can not bring myself to do so, and I haven’t eaten lunch and can’t bring myself to the refrigerator. I’ve already saw two movies just now, back to back, and my eyes are withering away, I have a book to finish reading and another three books to complete, I gave up working on my story because apparently PA days are just bad days for me to work, I always end up going on YouTube and Google for bored reasons (and today is no exception).

Has anyone seen the movie Adaptation? Directed by Spike Jonze and starring Nicholas Cage? Cage plays a screenwriter suffering from writer’s block at the worst possible time; when a book is needed to be adapted and he’s the screenwriter. So he’s in his bed room glancing at the typewriter waiting for words to arrive at his brain so he can fill up that blank sheet poking out of the top of the paper feeder. I feel like Cage in that movie right now. I can’t imagine myself being a full-time writer and has all the time I need to work, because that’s precisely when I can’t work, I must say, shutting myself in a room in front of a computer isn’t the best writing environment. But look at Slicewrite, he’s on chapter twelve and going! 

Wow, I’ve written two paragraphs and more than two hundred and fifty words, why am I so good at whining and not good at producing quality material??? 

I’ve discovered a new catchy song, ‘Under Pressure’ by Queens. To say I am under pressure right now is an understatement, I have wasted a perfectly good day of opportunity to work on my writing and failed miserably, I think I’ll go listen to ‘Under Pressure’ and get myself something to eat.


Published in: on 2011/02/19 at 12:19 AM  Comments (2)  

An Award Ceremony, Anyone?

I think at the end of the school term (or sooner, better) we should have an award ceremony where we can vote on who’s the greatest blogger and all those stuff we can honor. We can do something like the Academy Awards.

The Hodg-a-wards sounds nice. 


Published in: on 2011/02/06 at 6:43 PM  Comments (8)  


The parts of the rather long short stories I write (I plan while I write, like Charles Dickens) will always be in chronological order. 

If I post the beginning of a story on a post, the next part of the story will be updated onto the same post in one or a few days. There will be one post and constant updating, until I’ve reached the maximum amount of words I can have on one post. There will always be a line of bolded text before each of my new updates that tell when I updated, you can look for where you left off reading using that, they’re kinda like bookmarks.

Thanks everyone!


Oh yeah! And Wilby Lake has been updated!

Published in: on 2011/02/05 at 12:15 AM  Comments (1)