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Re: Blog Thread IIIb : Look Who's Blogging Now

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Inlander:
Yeah but when you're writing a novel you get to just make shit up, see. Makes the writing so much easier.

Johnny C:
here are a couple of snippets i'm pretty proud of right now, that don't spoil anything major, since now i want the opening of the novel to be as much a surprise as i can muster


--- Quote ---Brad pauses, then brings his right hand off the keyboard, holds it in the air, and slowly but firmly brings it down on ., making this the most deliberate endstop he’s ever put in a piece of writing, to date. Midway through he almost changes his mind, then thinks better of it.
   One down, four to go. Drink. He’ll never get used to the flavour of energy drinks, he thinks. Other guys in his grade are constantly ducking out to the gas station across the street at lunch and during the morning break between classes, usually crossing mid-street and messing up traffic something fierce, for a can of the stuff. He doesn’t get it. He can barely drink anything that isn’t orange juice before eleven. Usually he just buys some from the student-run, staff-supervised canteen. If it’s a good week and he’s feeling loose with his money he’ll buy one of the retarded kids whatever it is they’re getting, usually a cookie or something. He got in shit from Ms. Bhabi one time for buying Nicks, the big one with the wheedly voice and the squinty eyes, a pack of candy, so whenever Nicks wants candy Brad usually gently suggests that maybe Nicks would like a banana or an orange and Nicks usually says “Okay” and after Nicks goes over to where all Ms. Bhabi’s kids sit Brad watches as Ms. Bhabi doesn’t smile but as she peels the fruit she usually gives Brad the little half-smirk with the cocked eyebrow that passes for a look of approval from her. She never really looks actually happy about something, mostly just sarcastic. That’s not the right word and if Brad asked Jamie he’s sure she’d be able to give him a word that sounded nicer but anyways Brad doesn’t think she (Ms. Bhabi) likes anything very much although she seems to appreciate the fact that Brad doesn’t screw with Nicks. Not that a lot of kids do, or screw around with anyone in Ms. Bhabi’s class to begin with, since it’s pretty low to screw with someone who’s retarded and a lot of them learned that in grade school at the very least, but Brad especially basically just tries to treat them decently. He knows sometimes he pours it on a little thick and so he catches himself and tries not to speak overly slowly since like that’s not even a thing you do with handicapped people, it’s a thing you do with foreign people and even then you only do it if you’re a racist idiot so Brad tries not to do it with them either, with the point being that a guy like Nicks is neither overtly foreign nor deaf so Brad doesn’t do the slow-talking thing, at least not consciously. He does do it with the one kid with palsy, Travis, who can’t really do anything except open his mouth and slowly wave his arms in a way that makes Brad’s gut cringe but that’s just because like Brad’s not really sure how much Travis can hear or understand to even begin with so he makes sure he also makes his sentences pretty simple. Not that that’s tough for Brad to do that, either, especially considering how shitty this essay is going, but point is that he thinks it’s decent to at least try to accommodate Travis too.
   Ms. Bhabi, by the way, is hot. Like, completely attractive, a darker brown lady from India with the kind of curved face you want to put both hands on before you try and grab her lips with your own, the kind of attractive person who also, probably, knows exactly how attractive she is. The kind of attractive that they should vet for before hiring a teacher, because it’s honestly not fair to any of the guys in the school, having a teacher who looks like Ms. Bhabi. The kind of attractive that a couple of kids Brad knows have actually honestly tried, through what he understood to be really shady methods, to get her phone number. Brad has no idea what they’d do with it. His favourite shirt she wears is probably the one with the ruffled neck where the ruffles form a V and go over top of her breasts, which the rest of the shirt is tight and smooth and light-blue and basically clings to them so that your eyes have no choice but to wait until she’s not looking and then try to guess their weight. Brad thinks they’d be pretty heavy but he’s not sure, since the only breasts he’s touched so far are of the developing variety. The ruffles kind of look like maybe waves breaking against a pair of rocks. That sounds stupid every time Brad thinks it, though. She also has a shapely and proud-looking ass which Brad and also pretty much as far as he can tell every other straight guy in his grade has noticed since she spends a lot of time leaning over to the kids in her class. Which like okay is a bit weird to think about, granted, cause it’s hard to picture her leaning over for a perfectly acceptable mental image like Whoops I Dropped A Pencil, I’d Better Pick It Up or Let’s Do Some Warm-Up Stretches or I’m Bracing Myself Here On Your Work Desk Because I Want You To Have Sex With Me From Behind While We Stand Up without one of those kids pushing that little joystick on the armrest of his or her chair and puttering slowly out of Brad’s (and, seriously, just about every other straight guy in his grade’s) liminal fog into the frame of said mental image to wave their arms and drool a little bit and then it’s really, really hard to think about gently sinking one’s fingers into the curved flesh of Ms. Bhabi's cherrylike buttocks. With Herculean effort Brad manages to picture that kid turning around and rolling back off into God-knows-where and so Ms. Bhabi is able to turn around and look at him and make that little eyebrow-raised-half-smile at him again.
   There is absolutely no way Brad will ever have sex with Ms. Bhabi and he knows this so he only entertains the thought at times like now, when he’s realizing that there’s no way he is possibly going to be able to focus with this erection, so he discreetly unzips and pops his erect dick out over top of the waistband of his boxer-briefs and spits into his hand and quickly rubs one out, thinking this time that after doing the thing he was thinking she was doing at the start they’d move around and so Ms. Bhabi would probably be lying on the bed while he stands up and sticks it into her. He’s kind of unclear on a few of the details of how that last part works but he’s got the gist well enough that he grunts a bit as he finishes and grabs a Kleenex to quietly and gently wipe away the mess.

   “The first point of evidence is that the Twin Towers didn’t look like they fell down because of a plane crash. As Loose Change points out the steel girders in the tower could not melt the way that official reports said they could. It was because jet fuel can’t burn at the girders melting point. So something else must have brought them down. Loose Change says that the girders were melted by a controlled explosion that caused the building to collapse. This is also why the building doesn’t look like a normal collapsing building.”
--- End quote ---


--- Quote ---It takes what feels awfully close to the last reserves in his already-limited strength to not turn right at the stairs and just collapse in front of the TV while he waits for Skate 3 to load, but Brad manages. He shuts the door behind him very gently. This is about the time he realizes he can see the horizon outside his window.
   “Fuck, shit,” he says. “Oh no no no no no no.”
   He gets stuck on “no” and keeps repeating it as he crosses his room in a single stride and pulls his chair underneath him. His resolve to finish the assignment begins a total and en masse retreat. He sees his hands start running slapdash through all of his papers, independently of his brain, which desperately wishes they would calm down long enough for him to give them some instructions. Unfortunately, his hands have absolutely no interest in taking orders and in about five seconds work themselves up into such a frenzy that they’ve literally cleared off Brad’s desk. All his papers are on the floor. His last three remaining nerves will get heroes’ funerals. Brad looks at the mess he suddenly and for what he can tell was basically no reason just created around his workspace and in a moment of panic so intense it’s almost Zen-like he wonders if it’s possible to wish you were dead so hard that it would actually happen. He closes his eyes and tries it. What keeps it from happening isn’t so much his will to live, which is by now non-existent enough to give this a shot, but in fact that he doesn’t have the energy to do it. He sticks his arms out in front of him like a caricature of a blind person and moves his fingers around ineffectually. Alright, you asshole hands, if you want to do things your way rather than Brad’s, then this is the time to get started.
--- End quote ---

and this is from the description of the kids' high school


--- Quote ---The catch, they soon found out, was that Tomson wasn’t fucking around when he’d told interviewers across several mediums that he was now only doing architecture to push his own boundaries. He also hadn’t been fucking around when he told said interviewers, “I’m not fucking around.” Soft-spoken but assertive, he always caught interviewers off-guard with the sudden and seemingly uncharacteristic use of the word “fucking”. He hadn’t used it in the interview with the school board and maybe that was the problem. It’s tough to know in retrospect.
   Tomson was on a roll. He’d recently completed a Washington state library by designing it first, inverting the entire building design, then redesigning it based on the inverted design. He’d designed a Bank of Hong Kong office tower in Los Angeles by blindfolding himself and spinning a wheel marked with various design elements. He’d drawn up the entire plans for a new Universal Studios ride – a rollercoaster based on Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot! – left-handed, and managed to complete the added challenge of incorporating subtle references to Henry & June that, due to the ride’s repurposing as a Nutty Professor tie-in, would be a secret he would get to take to his grave. He’d designed, gratis, one the first perfectly self-sustainable, environmentally-neutral outright thirty-bedroom mansions in Laguna Beach for his sixth wife’s ex-husband – and again completed the bonus challenge, this time conducting clandestine detective work into the man’s private background and unearthing his deepest phobia, the scorpion, which of course was what the house wound up looking like from the air, a fact the owner didn’t discover until taking a helicopter flight across the area several months later and subsequently refused to return to the helipad. “Coincidence,” Tomson had told the sixth wife's ex-husband over the phone, before suggesting that the sixth wife's ex-husband simply sell the house (which he later did, for $85 million, a price that more than recouped costs). It was likely a coincidence of a similar order that this was about the time Tomson’s hometown started to call to him. But, again, it just meant a new city and new challenges, and Tomson could at this point do no wrong.
   Well, kind of. In Tomson’s eyes, the resulting high school was perfect – it accomplished exactly what he wanted it to accomplish. That his goals wound up at odds with the school board’s, in his defense, was hard to foresee. A perfect cube, the rooms and static elements therein themselves all cubes, constructed in immaculate correspondence with the Golden Ratio, is not an environment conducive to learning. It is an environment conducive to mild, creeping unease, however, which is why ninth-graders develop nauseous flu-like symptoms at Tomson more than they do any other school in the city, although they usually develop enough of a resistance by the tenth grade that the worst of the effects can often be mitigated by just grabbing onto the rail on your way up the stairs.
--- End quote ---

David_Dovey:

--- Quote from: Lunchbox on 11 Apr 2011, 20:21 ---PS Original  thread whut: http://forums.questionablecontent.net/index.php/topic,24785

--- End quote ---

Sighhhhh, still not the nightmare horse from Denver Intl. Airport, and even less naked than I used to be. Life is hell.

Johnny C:
tania while i was writing that i was supposed to be working on stuff that i got an extension on and have betrayed my professors' trust. you, on the other hand, have presented a bunch of real life actual stuff to people in the last week and also you've got enough stuff that you can put this paper together if you just apply yourself. in writing like 8000 words in the last week i've actually failed. you, on the other hand, have got this far, and you've almost certainly got what it takes to actually live up to the potential that people expect of you, here. get fucking working

David_Dovey:
Seriously though guys remember this

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