My inspiration, that is.
I finally managed to tap into that dark part of me that is always there, yet never says anything. Kind of like the tint on a lens. Never OBVIOUS, but still tints the way you see things.
And so I started writing.
And I managed a whole short story too! But then I showed it to my mom and she said, “He’s not unlikeable enough for you to kill him. Maybe just a psychotic break?” Which is what I was thinking if the death didn’t make enough sense. So I have to rewrite the entire last half of the thing, trying to come up with a better suitable death. I will never give in! It’s absolutely imperative that he dies. It’s really a matter of sanity here.
If you’re wondering where in the world this inspiration struck, it was none other than the waiting room.
Well, it started on Thursday, with me waiting in the counselling office, with the people ahead of me taking so much time, I decided to get started on my very first piece of homework for the trimester, which was for Creative Writing. So I managed to write three whole pages that day, and I have to say, it was quite entertaining. Though it was a bit comic-bookey, having to do with the main character (based on a student in the class we had to interview and ask three arbitrary and out there questions) being a time-lord. I really couldn’t resist.
And then arrived Friday, me being taken out 6 precious minutes before my Creative Writing class ended, only to get a dumb sports physical that really only lasted about as long as an episode of Hetalia. But what really annoyed me was the fact that for those measly 10 minutes of time with the doctor, it took nearly 2 hours of waiting. And so my inspiration had struck.
Since I had nothing to write with in the waiting room, I decided to start reading The Picture of Dorian Gray. Great book, it really is. Though I have to say that the wording in itself is quite an interesting thing. It’s so… flowery. Much akin to Victorian wallpaper. But beautiful nonetheless.
I’m currently leaving the waiting room story alone, trying to give my mind some time to figure out how in the world I’m going to legitimately kill him. I mean, it’s not like I want some convenient knife to turn while he trips (which is actually what originally happened. but who brings knives to the dentist?). I want a more grounded and realistic approach to this.
I then started another story. Looks innocent enough. Until I start pouring out the whole “evil ‘inanimate’ objects” on it. But that looks like it’s going to be a problem. I’m not used to seeing clothing influence a teenage girl, much less communicate and threaten one.
Well, I’m off to go find out some info on the great gay Oscar Wilde,