stingray's writing thread :)

Whirlygig

november 2, 2023
“Welcome to the second daily of this session! Hope you're enjoying discovering what your cabin and storyline look like. In this activity, you'll be writing a letter to your future self. Mention any goals you have for this month, maybe talk about a writing project of yours? Anything you want to include is great We'll be opening these letters near the end of the session.

Write 350 words to earn 200 points for your cabin, with a bonus 200 points for sharing proof.”

Dear Me,
Are you happy?
Have you accomplished your most far-fetched ambitions, achieved your wildest dreams?
Did you push yourself to the breaking point, believing that the best you could give still wasn’t enough?
And if you did (which you inevitably did), did it work?
I know you too well to believe that anything about the way you see yourself when you look in a mirror, or the way you describe yourself to others, or even the way you talk to yourself when you’re trying to sleep at night, will have changed in merely a month.
More likely, you’ll still be the same: Disillusioned, burnt-out, and unconfident.
But I’m getting off-track.
This letter isn’t to restate the things you already scream to yourself when you’re crying in the shower.
This letter is to tell you something new, maybe something you haven’t been able to understand in a long time.
You. Are. Beautiful.
You are loved, you have friends, you do your best.
You are smart and talented and kind; you’re loyal and empathetic.
People look up to you. They admire and respect you. They want to be your friend and too often when you are in the throes of self-loathing you forget that.
I don’t want you to forget.
I want you to remember that no matter how much work there is, no matter how hard it is, by pulling yourself out of bed every day in the hope that today will be better is so much just by itself.
You are enough. Never let anybody, especially yourself, say anything different.
So, instead of hiding from the things that are too hard to face, I want you to stare them dead in the eye and laugh.
I want you to run down the street in the cold december wind, fearing nobody and nothing.
I want you to laugh too hard, cry too hard, and love too hard.
Because those are the lies you’ve been telling yourself. They play on repeat like a stuck record, screaming so loudly you can barely hear anything else.
Life isn’t easy. School isn’t easy, and being a teen in this screwed-up dystopia of a world sure isn’t easy either.
But what you so often neglect to remember is that life is beautiful too.

378 words
new total 1450

Whirlygig

november 2, 2023
“From rainy days to bookstores, pumpkins to scarecrows, fall is a season of many meanings in literature. Some of the most prominent interpretations of the season's symbolism are of harvest, new beginnings and prosperity, and entirely conversely, of endings, decay, and reclusion. In today’s daily, in 450 words or more, write a scene focusing on character dynamics, and convey them through the atmosphere using fall symbolism. For example, if two characters' relationship was just beginning to grow, you could use a harvest to symbolize new beginnings.”

I should’ve known something was different when Ave didn’t want to sit next to me. We had every class together, but remarkably she managed to make it through the day without talking to me at all. I chalked it up to health issues; Ave seemed to always be having a migraine, or a cramp, or an overuse injury, or a cold. Ryna said Ave was just giving me the cold shoulder and cutting me out of her life for popularity, but I didn’t believe it - didn’t want to believe it - until this new lust to climb the social ladder hurt both Ryna and me.
Ave was born in October, and it’s obvious that the fall lives in her blood. Not just from the way she lives for Pumpkin Spice Lattes and counts down the days till Halloween, but also the way she slowly ices you out: Not quite December’s bitter hatred and definitely not June’s warm friendship, she is as Autumn as they come. She won’t tell you she doesn’t want to be your friend, but she’ll sure show it as she drifts farther and farther away like leaves in the wind.
I first really noticed this on her birthday. It was a beautiful day, and Ryna and I were walking to lunch together - we’d long since stopped expecting Ave to want to eat with us. Ryna wanted coffee and I wanted a salad; we’d agreed to compromise and get one then the other. I wish I hadn’t gotten the salad. When we walked into the store, Ave and her group of friends were there too, along with Ave’s mother, who’d invited me to the surprise party, but then led me to believe it wasn’t happening when she offered no confirmation as to where it would be or if it was even happening at all. Ryna was left off the invite list altogether, but in good spirits attended the awkward lunch we were forced into when Mrs. Armand paid for our lunches.
The sun shone bright that day, but being near Ave made the temperature drop ten degrees. Over a summer, four years worth of friendship had become more unwanted than the dead leaves in a gutter. I felt the bond between us decay as she pretended to enjoy my gift, and gushed over the ones from new friends who didn’t even know her. The leaves were fluttering down from the trees that day, and it felt like I was falling, too: Something I’d loved and treasured was coming to slow and painful end and Ave couldn’t even find it in her to say goodbye.
I was sad about Ave for a long time. But maybe, this is for the better. After all, I’ve made new friends now; ones who want me as I am and aren’t embarrassed by me. I’ve put down roots near Ryna of course, but there are new people in my life too. For once my love is being reciprocated, and it’s beautiful to behold. Among the dying leaves of autumn, I am finding those who remain evergreen.

512 words
new total 2197

Whirlygig

november 3, 2023
“Today we're bringing back a classic SWC daily - constellations! Constellations have become a huge part of our society over the centuries, from using them to track crop growth, to navigation in the night, to even retelling legends about they were created. All of these constellations, including the Ursa Major, Orion, and Pisces, carry a variety of traits that make them unique! For this daily, you will write 400 words of either a fiction or non-fiction piece based on how your favourite constellation came to be.”

The first thing Sirius remembers is the box.
When he woke up, he was alone: He and his brothers and sisters, on their own, in an old cardboard box in a Walmart parking lot. He didn’t remember who his mother was, or who their humans were, only that they “didn’t need any more dogs” and drove off, leaving Sirius and his siblings to fend for themselves.
Sirius tried to get someone to notice him, he really did. But the other pups were bigger, and stronger, and louder, and one by one they got taken home by sympathetic storegoers until Sirius was the only one left.
Those days and nights run together in Sirius’ memory, and all he can recount is the crushing, devastating feeling of being alone. It’s one too familiar for him.
But one morning, a man noticed him in the box and came over.
Everything about him was bad. He smelled bad, sounded bad, looked bad - when Sirius looked at him all he felt was fear. Sirius growled and snarled as much as he could, but the bad man picked him up anyway, put him in his jacket, and drove off in the pickup truck. (It, too, was bad. It smelled like smoke and death and made a loud grumbling noise.)
Sirius wasn’t a fighter. But he had to learn to be. The bad man took him to an even worse place that reeked of desperation and hurt, and Sirius had to fight if he wanted to stay alive. He tried his best; the scratches on his nose and nicks in his ears showed that, but still it wasn’t good enough. He lost fight after fight with the other dogs, and when he finally became too much of a burden on the bad man, the dogs watched through the fence as he left. They were sad to see him go, but relieved it wasn’t them who’d been deemed not good enough.
The bad man’s words are still burned into Sirius’ heart. He still won’t set foot in a car, not anymore. But that day, when the bad man asked, “wanna go for a car ride?” Sirius’ heart lept. It had to be a reward; a sign that someone loved him; a sign that he’d done a good job.
Until the bad man tied his leash to a speed limit sign and drove off without him.
Sirius never stood a chance: it was cold, he was starving, and there wasn’t much to live for anyway. So when he finally passed on, it was blissful. Finally he was free from pain, free from loneliness, and most of all free from bad men.
But then Orion appeared.
To Sirius, Orion looked just like all the rest, and he cowered in fear, tail between his legs. But Orion was different.
“It’s ok, buddy, I won’t hurt you,” he said, holding out his hand.
Sirius sniffed it tentatively, and saw a vision of all that would become: His scars turned into stars; the dog who’d always been left behind would become the brightest in the night sky, a guardian for the lost. At Orion’s side, he’d finally be wanted - not because of how vicious he was, or how hard he fought, but simply because he existed. This time, his dreams were true. This time, someone loved him.
As Sirius followed Orion off into the sky, Orion whispered the words Sirius had been waiting to hear his whole life:
“Good boy.”

577 words
new total 2774
dog fighting is bad <3
get your dogs fixed so there are no more puppies in walmart parking lots <3

Whirlygig

november 6, 2023 - weekly 1
“This weekly is all about Characters! Here we'll be diving deeper into how to develop motives, get inspiration for your characters, and build up a cohesive personality that has the potential to develop/grow throughout your story. In the end, we'll be tying all these aspects in - so get your thinking hats on! We can't wait to see the amazing characters you create!”

part 1: character inspiration
“For the first part of this weekly, we will be looking at inspiration and how to use it to your advantage. Before we start, just know that plagiarism is not the same as inspiration, inspiration is when you take small ideas from a certain thing, or when you are inspired by it. Plagiarism is when you take entire ideas and ‘steal’ them, which is what you do not want to do. With that in mind, for this part's activity, we will be using the lyrics of a wonderful Taylor Swift song to inspire us as we create a character. First, go to this website to get a random TS song. Once you have a song, look up the lyrics.

Choose 1-5 lines that speak to you the most. Once you have chosen your lines, examine them carefully. How could you create a character out of them, how could you design their personalities or state of mind using these lyrics?

Write 200 words, focusing on character development through description and dialogue. In this character development, you should include personality traits, character background, and the physical description of the character.”
My song: my tears ricochet

Not for the first time, Andrew tried to figure out what he’d done wrong. He’d given everything for James, but it wasn’t good enough.
He’d always been the first to apologize, the first to give in during an argument, the first to give up something of his if only it would make James happy. Andrew hadn’t realized how deep in he was until he nearly drowned, but when he realized, when he stood up for himself, somehow he was the villain?
Andrew sighed, shoved his feet into a pair of slippers, and went downstairs. He stopped at the hallway mirror and ran his hand through his mop of brown curls, something he hadn’t done in months - James once told him it looked stupid. James would almost certainly spend the next weeks demonizing Andrew, but that didn’t mean Andrew himself had to swallow James’ lies. Instead of wallowing on the couch like he’d done for the past week, Andrew took his dog for a walk, breathing in the frigid morning air. He knew that soon James would have another guy living in the palace Andrew had built, but Andrew didn’t resent it anymore. Instead, as he rounded the corner and sunlight hit his face, Andrew smiled.
205 words

part 2: character sheet
“For the second section of this weekly, we'll be taking a look at further developing your character further through the use of character sheets! Character sheets are often presented in the form of questions to be answered by the author/character creator, covering a range of categories from physical appearances to values and beliefs. Character sheets can help to flesh out a character, and ensure you're well acquainted with their qualities before you start writing.

In this section, you'll be filling out your very own character sheet - you should ensure you've written at least 100 words in total from your answers to the questions.”

Name: Andrew
Pronouns: he/him
Description: 5’11”, male, light skin with freckles, short curly brown hair (loose curls), loves hoodies and will wear shorts all the time even in winter unless forced to wear warmer pants, is farsighted and wears contacts
Interests: Listening to music, playing tennis, traveling
Strengths: Friendly, loyal, always willing to help
Weaknesses: Blames himself for everything, can put others’ needs before his own a little too much, procrastinates on things
Tendencies: He needs to feel useful but also procrastinates a lot which is… not a winning combination. Because of the need to feel useful he likes to help other people and if you are his friend he would do anything for you. Sometimes this goes a little too far and he forgets to care about himself.
130 words

part 3: character motivations
“Welcome to the third part of this weekly! Hopefully you're having fun <3 In this section, we'll be exploring character motives! Every character should have a motivation of sorts - it's the explanation behind their actions, and often contributes to the plot of their story. Before we go on, have a look at this lovely workshop written by Gigi (@Imacreamoo).

Once you're done reading, you should have a better grasp on what motives are and why they're important. This brings us to our next part: writing! Using what you've just learned, put the character you created from the last two activities into three different scenarios to develop what their motives are.

Each scene should be at least 150 words long (450+ words total). Think about what they’re trying to gain from each situation - try to keep it consistent! (ex. having a tendacy to save loved ones/things) That’s all - good luck! <3”

(these are *not* in chronological order!)

Scene 1: In Which Andrew Decides To Put Himself First For Once
Andrew slammed on the brakes just in time.
Shoot. He needed to get his head out of the clouds before somebody got killed.
He’d been dreading this day for weeks, and as much as he’d planned it out, the thought of actually saying the words made him sick.
James wouldn’t be happy. James would yell and that would make Andrew cry and oh god I can’t do this when I get to his house I won’t be able to say the words and things won’t change at all.
Andrew had never imagined he’d break up with James. James was happy when they were together, and that was all that mattered. Right?
But Andrew wasn’t happy. He’d thought that being in love was supposed to make you happy, but all he’d ever done was support James, agree with James, listen to James. Nobody had cared about him and he’d tried to pretend it was okay but it wasn’t and it needed to stop no matter how hard it would be.
The stoplight turned green and Andrew drove off. He was ready.
180 words

Scene 2: In Which Andrew Is A People Pleaser Once Again
“I’m sorry,” Andrew said for maybe the fifth time.
“You’ve already said that,” James responded from the couch, still refusing to make eye contact.
“I was wrong and you were right.”
James grunted.
But James wasn’t right.
Andrew didn’t try to correct James anymore, or even hold his own ground. All he wanted was to make James happy, and if that meant James was right all the time, so be it.
But James wasn’t happy right now, and everything Andrew did to try and ameliorate it only made him more mad and terrible terrible you’re such a bad boyfriend you just want him to be happy and you can’t even do that.
James was difficult. But he loved Andrew (…right?). And he wanted Andrew to be just as happy as Andrew wanted him to be (…right?). And despite the thunderstorm he was when angered, when he was happy James lit up Andrew’s world.
Deciding it actually was his fault, Andrew cautiously reapproached the couch.
“James, I’m so sorry.”
168 words

Scene 3: In Which James Is A Terrible Human Being
James didn’t love Andrew.
In fact, he had no interest in Andrew at all.
But James kept him around because Andrew was absolutely, positively, head-over-heels in love with him and James liked the way that felt.
Andrew would say everything James said was right, and James liked that too.
James thought it was hilarious how scared Andrew got when he got mad, and how Andrew would do anything if only it made James smile.
Sometimes James would pretend to be angry, because he found it funny. James would act impossible to please to see Andrew try to measure up.
Over the months, James had watched, amused, as Andrew had changed every facet of himself into something he thought James had liked, desperate for any sign of approval.
James would never tell anyone this; they wouldn’t take it too well.
But the only reason he liked Andrew is because he liked the feeling of power.
154 words

part 4: expanded scenario
“Welcome, brave explorer, to the final part of the first weekly! You've just created three beautiful scenarios, now it's time to pick your favorite and expand on it, writing at least 500 new words and tying in at least 3 things from your character sheet. Keep your character's motivations in mind as you write, and make sure everything is consistent with the character. Good luck, and have fun! <33”
I chose the first scene.

Andrew walked up to the doorstep, then turned around.
He didn’t want to do this.
But it was better for him this way; all his friends had said that, and even he had come to agree. As much as Andrew wanted it to be right, James was all wrong.
Andrew just wanted to make people happy, but it was time he put himself first for a change. The idea of neglecting someone else and having them be disappointed in him made Andrew sick, but this was something he had to do. He was so used to shying away from the hard things, taking the easy path, doing what pleased others. When had he last remembered to take care of himself?
This was something Andrew had to do, no matter what the consequences of it would be.
Andrew walked back up to the doorstep, up the three concrete stairs, then stood at the door.
He knocked; not their secret knock but a plain tap-tap-tap.
James came to the door quickly like he always did, and smiled. The grin was false, but Andrew had used to live for that smile, that sign that he’d succeeded. This time, Andrew took no notice, braced himself, and as hard as it was, looked James in the eye.
Andrew tried to say the words he’d been rehearsing for ages, but his throat closed up around them. His thoughts started to swirl louder through his head: You can’t do this when the time comes you can’t say the words stupid stupid stupid-
“Andrew?” James asked. “Is something wrong?”
Then, more condescendingly: “Have you left something here again? Or are you here to apologize too much like you always do?”
When Andrew still didn’t respond, James sighed. “Look, tell me what’s wrong. Come on inside.”
Andrew tried to say the words. I gave you everything I had and you took it all for granted. You’ve never loved me just used me. I can’t do this anymore.
“What’s wrong with you?” James yelled.
Finally the floodgates broke open. “We’re done,” said Andrew.
“What?” responded James, caught off guard.
“I said, we’re done,” Andrew replied, more assertively this time. He realized this was the most confrontational he’d ever been, and tried his best to stop trembling.
“I’m tired of you manipulating me. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy but you don’t care about me at all.”
“Andrew, that’s crazy; I care about you so much.” James was scrambling, trying desperately to gain control of the situation. “You at least owe me an explanation.”
Andrew spat out the words one by one. “I. Don’t. Owe. You. Anything.”
“I can’t do this anymore,” he said, defeated, and walked away.
James stood there, stunned, as Andrew got back in his car and drove off.
He hadn’t failed this time. For the first time, he’d succeeded. He was no longer scared of James’ explosions; no longer scared of not measuring up. He’d done it, he’d finally done it.
Andrew cried all the way home.
504 words

total words added: 1341

Whirlygig

November 7, 2023
First bi-daily of the session! Head on over to Gigi's workshop to learn about providing exposition through actions and dialogue - https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7630630/ Then, write a dialogue where one character reveals something about themselves to another. 550 words for 400 points, with a bonus 100 points for sharing

“You shouldn’t be up.”
“Why are you awake then?”
Sirius sighed. “I’m older than you; I don’t need as much sleep.”
His brother whined. “That’s not how it works. Anyway, I need your help.”
“This late at night?”
“Yes! It’s serious, Sirius!”
“You know I hate that joke,” Sirius said, but still beckoned his brother in. “What’s bothering you?”
“I’m nervous about tomorrow.”
“Oh, Reg,” Sirius laughed, “what’s there to be worried about?”
“Lots.”
“Like?”
“What if I’m in the wrong house? What if the train breaks down? What if my trunk gets lost?”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “You’re chasing at ghosts, Reg. Like you always do.”
Sirius did his best to be a good brother. But try as he might, he couldn’t understand the workings of Regulus’ head. Though Regulus could do near anything he set his mind to, something told him he couldn’t; he’d fail; he wasn’t enough.
“I’m sorry. I try not to…”
“Come on, sit next to me.” Sirius turned on his lamp and patted the space on the bed next to him.
“Hogwarts is going to be amazing. You’ll see.”
“Yeah, I know,” Regulus murmured, “it’s just…”
Sirius raised his eyebrows. “You’re not actually scared about losing your trunk, are you?”
Regulus stayed silent for a long time. Sirius waited patiently.
“What… if I won’t have any friends?”
“Don’t joke with me. Why would anyone not want to be your friend?”
“Because I’m not you, Sirius.”
“Of course you aren’t, but what’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re, like, confident and smart and good at sports. People love you. They won’t love me.”
Oh, Regulus, Sirius thought. It was a pity his brother didn’t see himself the way Sirius saw him. It was even more of a pity that Regulus wouldn’t be able to believe any compliments Sirius gave him.
“You wanna hear a secret?” Sirius asked.
Regulus nodded.
“I’ve never told anybody this in my life, so you better not tell.”
Regulus nodded again, more intrigued.
“I was scared before my first day too.”
Regulus shook his head indignantly. “You were not.”
“Was too!”
“You’re just saying it to make me feel better.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you. I lie to everyone else but not to you.”
“Sorry.”
Sirius continued, “I act like I’m never scared of anything - and usually I’m not - but I was so scared when I started first year.
“I thought everybody would hate me, just like you’re thinking now. I only knew Lucius.”
Regulus stuck out his tongue.
“I know, right? Not best friend material.
“But you know what? I was wrong. I found friends who love me and you will too.”
Regulus smiled weakly. “Really?”
“I already told you,” Sirius grinned, “I don’t lie to you. James, Remus, and Peter are the absolute best.”
“Will I find my own friends?”
“Absolutely.
“But,” Sirius added, “You do need to get to sleep. You have a big day tomorrow and we’ll have to leave early if we want to get to King’s Cross on time.”
“You’re right,” Regulus conceded. It didn’t look like he fully believed it, but it was better than nothing.
“I’m right most of the time, Reg. You know that. And I’m glad you’re feeling better about things.”
Regulus smiled and hopped off the bed.
“Good night, Sirius.”
Sirius turned his lamp out again. Things would turn out okay for Regulus. He knew it.

565 words
New total 5318

Whirlygig

November 7, 2023
Word War with Moonlit
prompt: “dear diary, today I finally figured it out.”

I put too much pressure on myself to do well and even though i know is houldnt i still do it. Its kind of a problem if you ask me but you didnt ask because youre a diary and you can't talk. Nobody ever asks but i overshare and overshare and overshare and im doing it right now aren’t i? I thought that the older i get the more ill figure things out: when i was lilttle i thought middle school, in middle school i thought high school, last year i thought college, now i think maybe by the time im thirty ill have made some headway. But you see the thing is if i keep waiting on the future the present will slip away like it already does and then i might curry myself to sleep again (which i havent done in a week maybe?)
Anyway the only thing ive figured out is that i have nothing figured out but maybe that’s okay for now. Thing will happen in their own time and all i can do now is enjoy the ride.
But i guess that doesnt explain why im still so anxious about everything like. Im in a first world country i am in no danger except maybe getting hit by a car or a mass shooting because after all its america and guns have more rights than i do (but it’s fine…) what im trying to say is that i have nothing to be worried about and yet im still worried all the time. I can be totally happy but then Oh no bad things will happen! You have to start worrying for everything nd planning for nuclear annihlation! Complacency is how things go wrong! And i know that none of this is true but its smeagol brain versus gollum brain and gollum brain is louder than

310 words
New total 5628

Whirlygig

November 8, 2023
Today, you’re going to do a bit of self-reflection! Remember your life when you were younger, think of your life now, and imagine where you’ll be in the future. Then, write a fictional conversation between your past, present and future self of at least 400 words! What questions would you have for yourself, in, say, 10 years? What advice would you give to your past self?

They all walk through the door, in a single file line. I invited them all, but didn’t expect them to come.

No matter how old I get, I’m constantly looking back on previous iterations of myself, picking me apart to see why I did what I did, how I could have been so wrong.
I don’t hate who I am today, but I’ve always hated who I used to be.

Me from last year sits to my left. There’s a bounce in her step that hasn’t yet been quashed by the doldrums of school. She’s wearing a Star Wars shirt and the rainbow Vans, the ones she’s had for so long there are holes in the toes but still refuses to get rid of.

I miss you, I tell her. When did you let the others change you? When did you stop being unapologetic about yourself? Now we hide behind the facade of what others will like. How long has it been since we’ve worn that shirt?
I miss you so much, because you were never afraid.

Right next to her is me from seventh grade. I remember her. There is so much she doesn’t understand. Her is was still growing back out; they told her it looked like mermaid hair the way it shone in the sun.

I wish you’d known then what I know now: Don’t believe everything they tell you. None of them thought they were lying, but they were they were they were and all it ever did was make it harder for you. You got a raw deal with online school and I know it isn’t fair and I know none of it is fair but please hold on for me.
You were figuring so much out then, and didn’t have anybody to help you.
I wish I could have been there for you when you needed someone.

My elementary-school self joins us in the next seat over. She’s so little. Her hair is chin-length - she just donated ten inches of it. She is a faded memory; nostalgia from lost time I’ll never get back.

You were hard to deal with. You were loud and cried too much. You took others for granted. You talked back and argued and you were oh so stubborn. But I’m not here to tell you to stop, like I have every other time. I want you to keep being yourself. You’re so little; you have so much time. Yell all you want. Laugh too hard, cry too often, and run too fast. Fall down and get back up and say your please-and-thank-yous and love everyone you meet.
You won’t always be able to do it and you’ll forever be happy that you did.

Future me sits in the final seat, next to me on the right. She is almost fuzzy around the edges; she is undefined. She is beautiful. Out of all the others, she was the one I thought most likely to reject the invitation. She smiles at me from behind her bangs.

There is so much I wish I could ask you. But I don’t have words and you likely don’t have answers. I’m terrified of the future, and as much as I wish you were, you’re not all-knowing and you can’t do everything. So I won’t ask you for advice or answers to life’s impossible questions.
All I ask is that maybe, when you look back on all of us, this time you see us for who we are instead of, like before, who we are not.

591 words
New total: 6219

Whirlygig

November 8, 2023 (after midnight utc )
word war with @autumn_breeze08
“Look at that pretty robin flying around!”

Its so nice to see that theres something beautiful in this dreary place. I was beginning to think that we were all there was out here. Sure its cold and dark here, sure we’re hungry, but at least we’re not alone in the world. You see its so easy to forget about all the small things and all the beauty and i for one had almost let it pass me by but its moments like this that we truly live for and its oh so important to remember they're there. Thats why im glad this robin showed up because sometimes i hate life and am very much a pessimist but theres more to life than the negative at least i hope there is. This robin was justso pretty it helped me keep things in perspective and remember that maybe well get out of these woods yet.
Yes im scared, im very scared. You'd be scared too if you were in my situation wouldn’t you? Im lost and hungry and see no hope of escaping my forest anytime soon,. Sometimes it all feels so hopeless and i want to give up and remain here until i decompose and my bones fertilize a tree. But thats not my story and thats not the end of the story, the story is mine to write.
So thank you little robin for reminding me of that once again. I truly very much from the bottom of my

242 words
New total: 6219

Last edited by Whirlygig (Nov. 9, 2023 00:36:29)

Whirlygig

November 10, 2023
For today's daily, we'll be honoring Armistice Day, which will commemorate World War I tomorrow. Poppies, as you may know, often symbolise the war. With that in mind, you'll be writing 550 words for 400 points (with a bonus of 200 for sharing proof) about a historical time period of your choice, featuring a specific flower as an important part of the tale. Ponder for a bit, then get writing!
Note: I chose to write about the WASPs from World War II but because I'm too lazy to research I made it character focused! I wanted to write an unreliable narrator main character so I did my best hehe - the flower I chose was daffodils not because of any symbolism but because I wanted a bright and recognizable flower and that was the first thing that came to mind.

I think Jeanne is crazy. Her head is as frizzy on the inside as mine is on the outside; there's no other explanation for it. Without me, she’d never be organized. I know pilots are supposed to be in the sky most of the time, but Jeanne’s head is stuck permanently in the clouds. It's funny because she says the same thing about me - she’s totally wrong. I’m perfectly fine, and sleeping in in the mornings is normal. (That’s what started all this in the first place: Jeanne thinks it’s my fault that we are late but that’s silly. If I’d been woken up earlier I would have had more time to tame my curls so we would have been early, simple as that.)

Jeanne gives me daffodils all the time. I don’t know where she gets them, and I’ve stopped asking. It’s hard to explain crazy. She says she gives me one whenever I have a bad day, because yellow is a happy color, but yellow is certainly not a happy color and I certainly do not have bad days. Last evening she slipped one on top of my bed and I bet she will tonight as well. I throw them out when she’s not looking.

If I ever get my own plane, I’ll paint a daffodil on it. Don’t get the wrong idea: I don’t like Jeanne’s daffodils and I’d be happier if she didn’t bother me with them. I’m doing it to make me laugh and make her feel like her efforts are appreciated (which they aren’t). But if I start thinking about things like getting my own plane I’ll become just as crazy as Jeanne; dreaming makes you crazy. I don’t dream, I simply wonder about what might have been. And anyways I’ll never get my own plane because us WASPs aren’t real pilots. Despite what Jeanne says they only let us in the military because they need expendable people to test the planes and transport the planes. Jeanne thinks I get mad about this but I don’t. It’s infuriating, really; I can’t even mention it without getting a daffodil.

We don’t actually do anything to help the war, I explain to Jeanne over breakfast, because nobody trusts women with anything important. Jeanne just smiles at me like I’m the crazy one and I nearly choke on my orange juice when I realize it’s the same color as those stupid flowers. The two of us do different things every day: She tests the newest fastest models while I train the new WASPs. She should be jealous of me; my job is fulfilling. I’m glad I graduated from test flights already. Jeanne asks me if I miss it sometimes, which is another item on my list of reasons for her insanity.

When I’m out teaching the new pilots, I sometimes think about Jeanne (though I’d never tell her that). She must be so miserable up there, speeding through the air in the country’s newest fastest models. It’s the closest thing you can get to actually fighting in the war and I don’t resent her one bit for it. I’m perfectly happy being with the recruits, who I am currently yelling at for their mistakes. They’ve gotten more incompetent since I joined - I was never like this.

A week later

Jeanne died today. It should have been a routine test flight but the engine blew out. I always told her she should have asked to be reassigned to my job. Her family is coming today to get her things. I wish I’d gotten to tell her that maybe she wasn’t as crazy as I’d said. I wish I’d gotten to tell her I was glad she was here. I wish I’d gotten to tell her thank you for the daffodils, and she was right, and I was wrong.
I’d give anything to find a daffodil placed on my bed tonight.

652 words
New total 7007

Whirlygig

november 10, 2023
cabin wars writing (extra challenge)

Thank god it’s summertime, Yukon thought to herself. The past year in school had been a good one, finally; but summer was freedom, salt water, and new beginnings. Yukon surveyed her room: Light blue walls plastered with photos and posters, her lifeguards’ certificate and track medals in the place of honor, her whistle hanging on the mirror above her dresser. At her new school, she didn’t have to put up the facade she’d built before, but she still felt like she had to display a presentable version of herself. But her bedroom was fully hers, and everything about it felt true and right.
Yukon flopped back onto her bed. She was an early riser, but it was vacation now, and waking up early didn’t mean she actually had to be out and about early.

Yukon ran to the beach, just for the fun of it. Most of her impressive height was legs, and she’d used them to win event after event during the track season. Her house wasn’t beachfront - that was reserved for tourists - but it was close enough that she could accelerate to full speed, sneakers slapping against the hot pavement in perfect rhythm.
She reached the public entrance to the beach and deposited her shoes, tank top, and shorts in the guard shack. She slathered herself in sunscreen (the lifeguard bikinis were far from the best sun protection) and sauntered to the chair, twirling her beloved whistle confidently around your finger.

Once in the chair, Yukon tied her hair up in a bun and put on sunglasses (five dollars from the pharmacy, but nobody really needed to know that, did they?). Watching kids run on the sand and dart through the surf, she remembered again how good it felt to be out on the beach. Here more than anywhere, Yukon felt most like herself. Here, Yukon was home.

310 words

-kreatif

I woke up, stretching. The sun was barely up, but my alarm was beeping. I shut the alarm off, how I hated that sound. I turned on a small light, and got dressed. I work at a record shop, so I think an AC/DC shirt with baggy jeans will work. I looked at my watch, not even time for a piece of toast. I took the local bus, hopping off at the stop. It was about 2 blocks walk away from the record shop. I jiggled my keys in the lock until the door opened. It smelled old, but not forgotten. I kept this place in good shape, I would like to say. I got a duster and started dusting the shelves before I noticed the windows needed cleaning. These hooligans started spray painting the window. Oh well, that is a problem for later I will keep working on dusting.
Later, around midday we had a decent amount of customers. A familiar face walks through the door. “Hi Roger!” Dave exclaims, one of my friends. “Hi Dave.” I put down the album I was sorting through. “Do you think you'll be able to make it to rehearsal tonight?” he asked. I looked to the side, I wasn't going to lie, I was quite busy. “Sorry dude, I have my online courses tonight, uh early tomorrow morning could work? I don't have to be at the record shop.” Dave pursed his lips, I knew I always pulled the work excuse out, but I genuinely wanted to meet with the band but also needed that Electrician's certification. “Okay sounds good, I'II tell the others. See you!” I waved to him as he walked out of the shop, turning my attention back on the album. It was in good quality, I probably could sell it. I put it in the stack with other albums. It was another 9 long hours, an AC/DC disc spinning on the record player constantly. I clocked out at 5pm, another guy would take my shift. I waited in line for the bus, meanwhile pulling out a pocket book on electricity, any free time I had I would use it to learn. I finally arrived home, and collapsed onto my bed. No more procrastination. It was time for my courses, I opened up my laptop and my notebook. Hunched over for hours, I finally finished today's work, falling asleep at my desk. Next morning I met with Dave, and the band. We all graduated highschool around last year, and made a band, hoping we could actually make it work. I plugged in my electric guitar warming up with a few chords. Dave played the drums, Mike played bass, and Jeremy had the lead vocals. Today we would be focusing on writing a song, not the easiest task, but with my friends I knew it was going to be possible. I wonder what the future will bring.

WORDCOUNT 489

Whirlygig

November 10, 2023 - critiquitaire for @MoonlitSeas
original piece: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/7639555/

before i start getting into specific sections of the thingy, i want to say that i really liked how you wrote the characters' relationships and how that relationship changed over the different parts. the thoughts of the characters were really clear and the dialogue was great too. you did a good job at spreading out the exposition over different parts of the segments and building up a setting even though it was character/dialogue focused.

Foxglove looks out at the world from the cathedral’s bell tower, quietly admiring the beauty of the rustic, yet subtly beautiful landscape. There’s not much here, but they think what they see is worth remembering.

im sorry this is so nitpicky but you said beauty and beautiful describing the same thing so changing one of those to a different adjective would be great!! stuff like that is redundant and you get less description in since essentially you're saying the same thing twice

Aren’t we always?

more of a stylistic thing but i like to put thoughts and stuff like this in italics to differentiate between the regular dialogue/description and set it apart. thats my personal opinion though so it's not necessary to do

But she can’t tell Foxglove that. They are too young, too naive, too willing to believe in the innocence of the world. And maybe, despite everything they’ve both seen and done, they deserve that innocence.

this paragraph is a bit unclear on whether “they” refers to foxglove or both foxglove and paris; might be a good idea to include some names in there to clear that up

Between them stood a quiet understanding, a feeling of being together. Of being not alone. Neither had need to speak to express their appreciation for the other – they simply needed to be there, with the other.

no critique i just thought this paragraph was really beautiful and yeah <33

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Foxglove asked, watching the reflection of the shimmering sunset in the sparkling waters.

the alliteration of shimmering sunset and sparkling waters kinda popped out at me - its fine to leave it in there, but since there isn't any other alliteration i've seen so far it sticks out a little?

They both knew there was a greater truth to their words

ok so i am being nitpicky again but you forgot the period here - it was probably just left off while copy and pasting but in case youre thinking of entering this in the writing competition or something similar it would be good to have the period lol

“Foxglove, I–” Paris began, unsure of the direction she saw their conversation going.

“Paris,” Foxglove, whispered, arms curled around themselves. “I–”

i really like how you have these two dialogue lines paralleling each other!!

“I’m sorry,” she interrupted. Paris couldn’t take the silence between them, the subtle ignorance of their conflicts anymore. “I– I can’t do this anymore. And I know you can’t either. This needs to stop.”

consider removing the first ‘anymore’? the sentence seems fine without it and it reads weird with the second ‘anymore’ right after it

Foxglove bit their lip, doing their best to hold back the tears they feel slipping past the corner of their eyes. “But–”

to keep the tense consistent i think “feel” should be “felt” and also it would be cornerS not corner since it's both eyes (im sorry this is nitpicky again)

“I know we’ve made promises. I know we said forever, that we’d let anyone tear us apart. But–” Paris hesitated. She knew what she needed to say. But she also knew what she was doing to them. “Foxglove, we are tearing us apart.”

tearing *ourselves* apart makes a little more sense to me but i think that's up to you

Taking a deep breathe in, she walked across.

thought i should probably point out that you'd say ‘breath’ here i'm sure this was accidental but you'd probably want to know lol

“But…” they swallow, blinking back a glistening tear. “I miss you, Paris. I wish we could rebuild the glass bridges we built to shatter. I wish we could be together, there for each other again. And I wish…

I wish we could never really be alone.”

so i really really liked this entire last segment! i thought you did an awesome job with conveying what was going through foxglove's head. i will say though that i am confused by the “rebuild the glass bridges we built to shatter” part so that could be reworded to be less confusing?
ok that's all! i hope this is somewhat helpful to you

434 words
new total 7441

Last edited by Whirlygig (Nov. 11, 2023 01:11:37)

Whirlygig

November 10, 2023
5 minute word war with @opheliio
Prompt: “this can't get worse, can it?” “sure, just give me a few minutes”

Of course i can make it worse! You see i can make anything worse its all a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time or saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. I personally am a fan of that last one because i do it a lot its quite easy really all i have to do is open my mouth and BOOM big mistakes come out giggles. Its all a matter of your outlook you know? You just have to believe it to be able to do it. Like i can think to myself “okay everything is going to turn out terrible” and then it turns out terrible. You call it pessimism i call it a superpower. The universe is listening you know they’re in our walls spying on us and don’t want us to find out about it but they are IN OUR WALLS you guys and they hear our intentions and carry it out so if you tell me it can’t possibly get worse the universe will go “hee hee lets prank this joker” and make things much much much worse! Its so funny for them you know? That's what foreshadowing is really. And authors like to do it because it gives them the feeling that theyve been communicating with the universe and have some more power than the rest of us. Those silly goofy authors they always want power dont they?
So you see when someone tells you “knock on wood” what you should really do is bang your head against a wooden wall because the universe has spies in there i tell you and if you bang your head hard enough you might punch one and that will scare it into doing what you want.
How do i know this you ask? Well as you see i am the ultimate pessimist and i simply love beating myself about the head for simple mistakes meaning that a tiny misstep is the worst thing that can happen and I think the universe feels bad about this because it told me all its secrets but that was a mistake because now i use them to be a pessimist LLL your loss heehee. So what i’m trying to say is that if you need me to make the problem worse i will! I’ll just drop kick your college fund outa window or something that would

400 words
New total 7841

Whirlygig

November 11, 2023 - weekly two
Greetings, Silly Weekly Community!

It would be my pleasure to welcome you to the second weekly of the session, a humourous parody of our beloved camp acronym. In this playful creation of ours, we’ll be taking a deep dive into humour, writing star(r)fish inspired parodies, and pirating our way to my personal favorite form of gold, SWC fanfiction! Remember to pack your matches and mangoes – we can’t wait to see what you come up with ;D

Part 1: short skits
Welcome to the first part of this weekly! To begin, you will be writing a short skit using humour. Humour can be an important tool to adding personality your characters, and it can make reading more fun as well! Follow along with either of these workshops for a brief overview on how to write humour: Starr’s Workshop or September's Workshop. After you’ve done that, write a skit involving humour of at least 350 words. Have fun, and keep on writing! <3

Roger, Maci, Raymond, Calyn, and Heidi are in the car. Roger is driving.
MACI, from the back seat: Roger, turn the radio up!
ROGER: If I turn it up any louder my head’s going to explode! (frustrated) Maybe if you’d be quieter you could hear the song!
MACI: You. Are No. Fun.
ROGER (exasperated): Look, if you want a turn driving, that is fine by me.
Maci shakes her head hastily.
MACI: Nope, I’m good! You’re doing great!
The rest of the car makes noises of agreement. None of them can drive.
HEIDI: Uh… Roger?
ROGER: What.
HEIDI: I think we missed the exit.
Roger slams his hand on the dashboard.
ROGER: You were our navigator! I can’t do everything by myself!
RAYMOND: Woah, chill. We’re all running on the same amount of sleep as you are.
CALYN (quietly): I think I’m going to throw up.
The rest of the car, arguing, doesn’t hear her.
CALYN (screaming): I SAID, I THINK I’M GOING TO THROW UP!
ROGER: * * * * *.
Roger pulls the car over on the side of the highway.
Calyn frantically pushes past the others in the backseat and exits the car, where she throws up.
ROGER: You good?
CALYN (queasily): I am now. But can I ride up front?
ROGER: Fine by me. But you’ll have to find me a new exit since (pointed glance at Heidi) we missed our old one.
HEIDI: Why is everything my fault?
CALYN: Your fault or not, move to the back.
HEIDI: ughhhhhh.
By this point Roger would very much like to drive the car off a cliff. Everyone re-enters the car.
ROGER: I am going to drive the car for another hour and then we will stop and eat dinner. You all will be quiet while I do this. We will not miss the exit this time.
MACI (sarcastically): Okay, mom.
Roger pulls back on to the highway.
The car is silent for a moment.
CALYN: Turn here.
RAYMOND: Oh yeah, I remember this from the last time. We’re going the right way.
ROGER: Would’ve been good to know a little earlier, but thanks, Raymond.
Silence resumes.
HEIDI: Roger?
ROGER (nebulously): …yes?
HEIDI: Can we turn the music back on?
372 words

Part 2: Parodies

Welcome to the second part of this weekly, where we’re going to be adapting a classic SWC daily - song parodies! A song parody is when you take a song and rewrite the lyrics around a specific theme.

For this activity, look back at your skit. Did you write a particularly ridiculous line about dancing jellyfish? Or a cackle-worthy scene about runaway homework? Then, write a song parody using a song of at least 250 words, using a humorous element from your skit. We can’t wait to see silly parodies you create - good luck! <3
I chose to parody “Shake It Off” by the queen herself, Taylor Swift. This parody is Roger's internal dialogue while driving the car full of people.

(to be sung to the tune of “shake it off” by taylor swift)
I stayed out too late
It was a big mistake
Now I can’t catch a break, oh no
Have to stay awake, oh no
I’m tired and in pain
No sleep and a big headache
But I can’t catch a break, oh no
Have to stay awake, oh no

But I keep driving
Vibing and surviving
Inside I am dying
Saying “It's too loud, so will you all please shut up now?!?”

But they keep on being loud, loud, loud, loud, loud, and I’m
Driving with a crowd, crowd, crowd, crowd, and my
Crippling self-doubt, doubt, doubt, doubt, doubt, so I’ll
Cry inside, cry inside, woo hoo!
Keep on being loud, loud, loud, loud, loud, and I’m
Driving with a crowd, crowd, crowd, crowd, and my
Crippling self-doubt, doubt, doubt, doubt, doubt, so I’ll
Cry inside, cry inside, woo hoo!

We just missed our turn
So I’m gonna crash and burn
When will I ever learn? Oh no
I’m never gonna learn, oh no
They’re no help at all (they’re no help at all)
To our eventual downfall (eventual downfall)
And every mistake is my fault, oh no
Why’s it all my fault, oh no

But I keep driving
Vibing and surviving
Inside I am dying
Saying “It's too loud, so will you all please shut up now?!?”

But they just will not shut up, up, up, up, up, and they’re
Being difficult, cult, cult, cult, cult, so I’ll
Try not to mess up, up, up, up, up, till we
Reach the end, reach the end, woo hoo!
Just will not shut up, up, up, up, up, and they’re
Being difficult, cult, cult, cult, cult, so I’ll
Try not to mess up, up, up, up, up, till we
Reach the end, reach the end, woo hoo!

Hate my life, hate my life, I I I I
Want to cry, want to cry, why why why’d I
Agree to drive, agree to drive, this this this this
Stupid car? Stupid car? Why-y?!

Hey hey hey!
Just think, while I’ve been complaining about the other people I’ve been driving around in this stupid car,
I could’ve been in my bed, getting well deserved sleep!

My shotgun nagivator missed the turn
I yelled “oh my god,” why’d you have to do that cause
Now we’re gonna be late, yeah we’re gonna get there late
The universe must hate us with this stupid twist of fate, fate, fate….

NooOoOoOooooOOoO!!!
Cause they keep on being loud, loud, loud, loud, loud, and I’m
Driving with a crowd, crowd, crowd, crowd, and my
Crippling self-doubt, doubt, doubt, doubt, doubt, so I’ll
Cry inside, cry inside, woo hoo!
Keep on being loud, loud, loud, loud, loud, and I’m
Driving with a crowd, crowd, crowd, crowd, and my
Crippling self-doubt, doubt, doubt, doubt, doubt, so I’ll
Cry inside, cry inside, woo hoo!

Cry inside, cry inside, I’ll I’ll I’ll
Enjoy the ride, enjoy the ride, ha ha ha
Try not to die, not to die, cause cause cause
We must arrive, must arrive, ive ive ive ive
Arrive on time, arrive on time, time, time, I’ll
Cry inside, cry inside, I’ll I’ll I’ll
Enjoy the ride, enjoy the ride, ha ha ha ha
Try not to die, not to die, cause cause cause
We must arrive, must arrive, ive ive ive ive
Arrive on time, arrive on time, time, time, I
Hate my life! (guitar solo)
581 words

Part 3: SWC fanfiction
Welcome to the third and final part of the Silly Community Weekly! I hope you've enjoyed your humor and parodies – it's time to bring your writing back to our beloved community with a bit of SWC fanfiction. From including SWC traditions (like cabin wars!) to including fellow SWCers in your piece, there's no shortage of ways to accomplish this!

Using your parody as inspiration, your final task will be to write a piece of SWC fanfiction of at least 700 words. Have fun, and happy writing! We're very excited to see your creations <3

Stingray showed up with a car and a Tupperware container of cookies.
“Luna,” she called.
A familiar face popped up at the apartment window. Moments later, that face was staring Stingray in the eye.
“You look shorter,” Stingray said.
Luna shrugged. “They’ve been stealing my extra inches again.”
Luna looked the same as always in her tee shirt, plaid pajama shorts, and Adidas slides. But something about her was different; more subdued.
“Have you been doing okay?” Stingray asked.
“Stingray. It’s the middle of the night. Why are you here.”
“Well… Stingray began, “the sky is crashing down on us and I don’t think anything will be okay ever again. So of course the only reasonable solution is a car trip.”
“Legally, are you even allowed to drive me around?”
“Don’t worry about it.”

Luna packed a bag and tossed it in the trunk.
“Have you been doing okay?” Stingray asked, once again.
Luna sighed, and shrugged. “It’s complex.”
“Isn’t everything?”
“I guess so. But it’s more complex when it’s you.”
Stingray pulled onto the on-ramp and accelerated. “Play some music, won’t you?”
Luna obliged, pulling out her phone.
“I hope Bastille is okay,” she said.
“It’s good doomsday music.”
Luna nodded. For a while, nobody said anything, letting the music wash over them.
“Stingray?” Luna asked.
“Yeah?”
“Where are we going?”
Stingray thought for a minute. Each word she said came out slower than normal, as if she was - for once - thinking through each one.
“You know, I don’t know. There’s one place for sure I want to visit, but I’ve forgotten how to get there.”
“We’ll just see where the wind takes us,” Luna said contentedly. Spontaneity was hard for them both, but that was a problem for the next morning.
“And maybe,” Stingray added, “we’ll discover the secrets of the universe along the way.”

Morning came, and things started to fray.
“The car needs gas.”
“My phone is almost dead.”
“I didn’t pack any real food, only these cookies.”
“I’m tired.”
“You’re tired? I drove all night!”
“And you still don’t know where we are.”
“I know exactly where we are. We’re in the state visitor center parking lot.”
“Why is this my fault?”
“I don’t know, you tell me–”
Stingray wilted.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s okay”, Luna replied.
“No, it’s not. Nothing’s okay. I thought that I could make things okay, make us okay by doing this. But everything’s worse.”
Luna looked at Stingray. “You sound like me.”
Stingray laughed weakly. “That’s ‘cause we’re not so different, cowboy.”
“We seem different.”
“But are we?”
“I don’t know. I’m tired of thinking.”
Stingray couldn’t help but grin. “Me too, cowboy.”
“Why are you calling me a cowboy?” Luna asked.
“I call it as I see it, and I’m seeing a cowboy sitting right next to me.”
Luna snorted. “I’ve never even rode a horse.”
“Still a cowboy.”
Stingray found a gas station and pulled into its parking lot. “I have an idea,” she said.
“We’re in need of those,” responded Luna.
“After I fill up this car, we’ll go to my house and get sandwiches and toothbrushes and more money and a phone charger.”
Luna didn’t look so sure. “Isn’t that cheating?”
“Luna,” Stingray said, “this is our game. We make the rules.”

They reached the observatory later than expected.
“I didn’t expect it to be closed when we got here,” Stingray said, squinting at the setting sun.
“It’ll reopen tomorrow morning,” Luna reassured.
“What should we do until then?” Stingray asked.
“We could stargaze,” Luna suggested. “I’ve never seen this many stars before.”
“I have,” Stingray said, “but it never ceases to amaze me.”
Luna pulled herself onto the roof of the car.
“That might collapse it,” Stingray warned, “it’s an old car.”
“Don’t worry so much, cowboy,” Luna laughed.
“Cowboy?”
“I call it as I see it,” Luna said, “And I see a cowboy. Now get up here.”
“Fair enough,” Stingray replied, and climbed atop the car alongside her friend.

The world didn’t end that night after all.
“What is wrong with us?” Stingray wondered aloud.
“What do you mean?” asked Luna.
“What I mean is, we’re not the two kids they’d make movies about. We’re not going to witness a murder. We’re not going to gain superpowers or go to a magic school in Europe. In fact, we’re too busy chasing at the shadows in our head to live any sort of stereotypical teen life. And I don’t think that’s normal.”
Luna raised her eyebrows. “Who’s to say we can’t make our own movie?”
“Nobody, I guess.”
“Yeah.”
“And who gets to define what okay means anyway?” Stingray asked.
“I don’t know,” said Luna. “But I wish I did. Maybe they could help us be okay.”
Stingray laughed. “That would be nice.”
“Then you wouldn’t cry yourself to sleep,” Luna said,
“And you wouldn’t feel so sick from the smallest things,” Stingray finished. “But how did you know about that?”
Luna smiled sadly. “You’re more candid than you think you are, cowboy. And I was just about to ask the same thing of you.”
“What you don’t say could write an encyclopedia, cowboy.”
Luna nodded in agreement. “Life would be so different if we didn’t hate ourselves, wouldn’t it?”
“I dunno,” Stingray said. “It might be. But then again it might be exactly the same.”
Luna mused on those words. “Now that you say that,” she said, “I don’t recall loathing myself one time this trip.”
“Me neither,” Stingray said in surprise. “And I haven’t chased after any of those ghosts I mentioned.”
“I still don’t feel okay though.”
“Oh, come on, cowboy,” Stingray smiled, “don’t you think it’s stupid that someone else gets to decide what okay means?”
“Yeah,” Luna agreed, “That is stupid. Maybe we were okay all along.”
“Or maybe, we’ll never be okay, and that’s okay too.”
“You’re breaking my brain, cowboy,” Luna cautioned.
“Your brain? I’m breaking my own brain as well.”
Luna hopped off the roof of the car, pulled two cookies out of the container in the backseat, and offered one to Stingray.
“Food for thought,” she said. Stingray gladly accepted.

Neither teen said anything for a long time. They sat and watched the stars till the sun rose. They cried for a while, then hugged each other, then ate more cookies. And for the first time in a long time, things seemed like they’d turn out okay.
1072 words

Total words added: 2025
New total 12139

Last edited by Whirlygig (Nov. 14, 2023 22:38:31)

Whirlygig

November 13, 2023
“Don't make a sound, they're watching…” Today, you'll be exploring writing off a prompt! First, take out the last sentence of your cabin's storyline/intro. Using this as a starting point, create a short story with this sentence as first line! Write at least 350 words for 100 points, and share your writing for an additional 200 points! Have fun with it! ;]

Roger’s relief after escaping the trampoline room was short-lived. He’d checked every attraction at the fun farm but one, and its entrance stared at him menacingly, as if taunting, what, you too scared?

Roger hated fun farms; hated everything about them: The noise, the kids, the garish attractions, the smell of animals, and most of all the tight spaces. Wherever he went, the walls closed in on him, small childrens’ screams of delight echoing too loudly in his ears. Roger hated fun farms, but still every fall his mother carted her three children off for the day. Sloane, now sixteen and “too old for this” but still dragged along, had parked herself at the snack bar and was refusing to move. Annabelle, only six and more mischievous than ever, had flitted through the farm, darting from haybale to haybale, Roger stumbling to keep up. And now Annabelle was lost.

She was lost and it was all his fault.

Everything in Roger screamed against entering the corn maze, but it was the only place Annabelle could be. Annabelle who drove Roger crazy; Annabelle who made him fall apart then put him back together again; Annabelle who yelled too loud and laughed too loud and ran too loud and cried too loud but none of it ever bothered Roger like other people did because she was his sister but now she was lost and probably scared because she’d forgotten her coat and Annabelle who Roger would give anything for - even if it meant entering the corn maze. Roger took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Immediately the rows of cornstalks started to close around him. The path grew narrower and narrower and the heads of corn blocked out the sky. Roger ran forward haltingly, turning left and right willy-nilly without knowing where he was headed. Now he and Annabelle would both be lost, and Sloane didn’t care enough to find them, and he’d failed he’d failed he’d failed-

“Roger?”

He’d know that voice anywhere. He opened his eyes (since when had they been closed?) and saw Annabelle standing in front of him.

“Roger! I found you!”

354 words
New total: 10114

Whirlygig

ignore ignore ignore for now

Stingray showed up with a car and a Tupperware container of cookies.
“Luna,” she called.
A familiar face popped up at the apartment window. Moments later, that face was staring Stingray in the eye.
“You look shorter,” Stingray said.
Luna shrugged. “They’ve been stealing my extra inches again.”
Luna looked the same as always in her tee shirt, plaid pajama shorts, and Adidas slides. But something about her was different; more subdued.
“Have you been doing okay?” Stingray asked.
“Stingray. It’s the middle of the night. Why are you here.”
“Well… Stingray began, “the sky is crashing down on us and I don’t think anything will be okay ever again. So of course the only reasonable solution is a car trip.”
“Legally, are you even allowed to drive me around?”
“Don’t worry about it.”

Luna packed a bag and tossed it in the trunk.
“Have you been doing okay?” Stingray asked, once again.
Luna sighed, and shrugged. “It’s complex.”
“Isn’t everything?”
“I guess so. But it’s more complex when it’s you.”
Stingray pulled onto the on-ramp and accelerated. “Play some music, won’t you?”
Luna obliged, pulling out her phone.
“I hope Bastille is okay,” she said.
“It’s good doomsday music.”
Luna nodded. For a while, nobody said anything, letting the music wash over them.
“Stingray?” Luna asked.
“Yeah?”
“Where are we going?”
Stingray thought for a minute. Each word she said came out slower than normal, as if she was - for once - thinking through each one.
“You know, I don’t know. There’s one place for sure I want to visit, but I’ve forgotten how to get there.”
“We’ll just see where the wind takes us,” Luna said contentedly. Spontaneity was hard for them both, but that was a problem for the next morning.
“And maybe,” Stingray added, “we’ll discover the secrets of the universe along the way.”

Morning came, and things started to fray.
“The car needs gas.”
“My phone is almost dead.”
“I didn’t pack any real food, only these cookies.”
“I’m tired.”
“You’re tired? I drove all night!”
“And you still don’t know where we are.”
“I know exactly where we are. We’re in the state visitor center parking lot.”
“Why is this my fault?”
“I don’t know, you tell me–”
Stingray wilted.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s okay”, Luna replied.
“No, it’s not. Nothing’s okay. I thought that I could make things okay, make us okay by doing this. But everything’s worse.”
Luna looked at Stingray. “You sound like me.”
Stingray laughed weakly. “That’s ‘cause we’re not so different, cowboy.”
“We seem different.”
“But are we?”
“I don’t know. I’m tired of thinking.”
Stingray couldn’t help but grin. “Me too, cowboy.”
“Why are you calling me a cowboy?” Luna asked.
“I call it as I see it, and I’m seeing a cowboy sitting right next to me.”
Luna snorted. “I’ve never even rode a horse.”
“Still a cowboy.”
Stingray found a gas station and pulled into its parking lot. “I have an idea,” she said.
“We’re in need of those,” responded Luna.
“After I fill up this car, we’ll go to my house and get sandwiches and toothbrushes and more money and a phone charger.”
Luna didn’t look so sure. “Isn’t that cheating?”
“Luna,” Stingray said, “this is our game. We make the rules.”

They reached the observatory later than expected.
“I didn’t expect it to be closed when we got here,” Stingray said, squinting at the setting sun.
“It’ll reopen tomorrow morning,” Luna reassured.
“What should we do until then?” Stingray asked.
“We could stargaze,” Luna suggested. “I’ve never seen this many stars before.”
“I have,” Stingray said, “but it never ceases to amaze me.”
Luna pulled herself onto the roof of the car.
“That might collapse it,” Stingray warned, “it’s an old car.”
“Don’t worry so much, cowboy,” Luna laughed.
“Cowboy?”
“I call it as I see it,” Luna said, “And I see a cowboy. Now get up here.”
“Fair enough,” Stingray replied, and climbed atop the car alongside her friend.

The world didn’t end that night after all.
“What is wrong with us?” Stingray wondered aloud.
“What do you mean?” asked Luna.
“What I mean is, we’re not the two kids they’d make movies about. We’re not going to witness a murder. We’re not going to gain superpowers or go to a magic school in Europe. In fact, we’re too busy chasing at the shadows in our head to live any sort of stereotypical teen life. And I don’t think that’s normal.”
Luna raised her eyebrows. “Who’s to say we can’t make our own movie?”
“Nobody, I guess.”
“Yeah.”
“And who gets to define what okay means anyway?” Stingray asked.
“I don’t know,” said Luna. “But I wish I did. Maybe they could help us be okay.”
Stingray laughed. “That would be nice.”
“Then you wouldn’t cry yourself to sleep,” Luna said,
“And you wouldn’t feel so sick from the smallest things,” Stingray finished. “But how did you know about that?”
Luna smiled sadly. “You’re more candid than you think you are, cowboy. And I was just about to ask the same thing of you.”
“What you don’t say could write an encyclopedia, cowboy.”
Luna nodded in agreement. “Life would be so different if we didn’t hate ourselves, wouldn’t it?”
“I dunno,” Stingray said. “It might be. But then again it might be exactly the same.”
Luna mused on those words. “Now that you say that,” she said, “I don’t recall loathing myself one time this trip.”
“Me neither,” Stingray said in surprise. “And I haven’t chased after any of those ghosts I mentioned.”
“I still don’t feel okay though.”
“Oh, come on, cowboy,” Stingray smiled, “don’t you think it’s stupid that someone else gets to decide what okay means?”
“Yeah,” Luna agreed, “That is stupid. Maybe we were okay all along.”
“Or maybe, we’ll never be okay, and that’s okay too.”
“You’re breaking my brain, cowboy,” Luna cautioned.
“Your brain? I’m breaking my own brain as well.”
Luna hopped off the roof of the car, pulled two cookies out of the container in the backseat, and offered one to Stingray.
“Food for thought,” she said. Stingray gladly accepted.

Neither teen said anything for a long time. They sat and watched the stars till the sun rose. They cried for a while, then hugged each other, then ate more cookies. And for the first time in a long time, things seemed like they’d turn out okay.

did i expect to write 1000 words about finding the answers to the universe's great questions tonight? no. did i need to write 1000 words about finding the answers to the universe's great questions tonight? yes.

Whirlygig

November 15, 2023
“One of the biggest parts of a story is the characters, and some writers meticulously plan out their traits, backstory, and all the other information they might need. But what if you didn't do that? Today's daily is all about characters - but instead of choosing what they do, what if you set them free? Start or write a story in which the characters control themselves. Imagine that you are your character, and live in the moment, don't bend what they do so that the end result is specifically something you want.”

Calyn sat on the floor. She sat there for a long time. The carpet was very nice, and very plush. And very beige. It used to be the carpet in her room but she’d finally gotten tired of its beige-ness and moved it to the basement. Many people thought her favorite color was black but actually it was pink; black was her second favorite color. That reminded Calyn - she should get dressed. She pulled on a fresh tee shirt and black jeans instead of the huge sweatshirt (it was her older sibling’s) and plaid pajama pants she’d been wearing for the past… too many hours and applied much-needed deodorant.
She opened the door and walked aimlessly through her neighborhood. One thing Calyn loved about her neighborhood was that no matter where you went on the winding and twisting roads, they’d always bring you back to the same place. Having lived in the same house since 6th grade, Calyn now knew the neighborhood like the back of her hand.
Calyn wanted to move out, and get her own apartment and house, and live alone with too many pets and lots of art on the walls. But pets and homes and art cost money, which was one thing she didn’t have. Someday the band would make it and she’d be filthy rich and rescue every animal and buy all the art she wanted. But that day was not today, and she returned home.
Calyn thought it was high time she did some laundry. Laundry was what she did when she wanted to procrastinate on something. She folded the clean clothes, moved wet clothes from the washer to the dryer, and gathered a load of dirty clothes from everyone’s rooms. She even made her bed for good measure. Finally, Calyn had no choice but to begin her college work. It wasn’t even that hard; just music theory. Calyn didn’t know why she’d been so unmotivated to do it.
In fact, she was unmotivated to do everything these days. It was because she missed the band. She missed having people to create music with; she missed her best friends. She knew it was only a few short weeks before everyone would be back together again but it felt like years to her.
Calyn turned in the assignment and put music on the speaker in her room. She turned the volume up so loud that the bass shook her bones. A bass player herself, Calyn delighted in a well-written bass line. Maybe with the music this loud she could drown out everything bothering her. Maybe.

430 words
New total 12569

Whirlygig

November 15, 2023
Critique for Cree

My shoes made a clacking noise against the marble, the hallow sound echoing through the long hallway. Each step was more determined, more aggressive.

I really like the mood you are starting out with! It feels very urgent and spooky.

A voice called out from behind me, “Kazuha! Where are you going?”
I spun around, my gaze puncturing the unknown woman. I pursed my lips and said, “Leaving.” She didn't need to know anything, no one needed to.
didn't even blink before she ran up to me, violently slamming me against a wall. Unsure if it was my back or my wings I heard a crack and grit my teeth, squirming under her grasp.

First off, I think the first sentence doesn't really match the mood? You could change the language you use to make what the voice says more sudden/startling/jarring. Also, you can cut ‘unknown’ from the next sentence, and there should be a semicolon instead of a comma after ‘she didn’t need to know anything.'
You mention that the main character has wings - this makes me curious about the main character! Who are they? Why do they have wings? Without revealing the plot, maybe earlier in the passage you could include a little information about the character. Since they're an angel, maybe mention that somehow earlier.

“What is wrong with you?” | yelled in her face, fighting her with my eyes.
Her eyebrows furrowed, the lines on her face becoming more prominent and jarring. “Why would you leave paradise?” she roared back. I felt her hot breath thrown on my face, and I inched further into the wall. And you know it's forbidden, so don't even try“ Her tone was snide, very well even challenging me.

Ooooo the fighting her with my eyes thing is such a cool idea! Love that

I'd cut that ‘becoming’ from the next sentence - I think it would help the pacing. Similarly, I think you could change the hot breath part to something more active, like “her hot breath barraged my face.”
Mentioning that leaving paradise is forbidden really piqued my interest; it made me want to see where the story is going. This is a more personal and stylistic choice so you can feel free to ignore it, but if it were me I would split that line of dialogue into two sentences, saying something like “You know it's forbidden. Don't waste your time trying.”
Oh and I think you'll get your point across better if you just say “snide, challenging me” and take out the very well even part.

I shoved this woman not caring my fingernails were digging into her dry skin,
Iwanted her to experience my pain.

You need some more punctuation here ^^ I love the descriptive writing, and it will have more of an impact if punctuation is added. Try “I shoved this woman, not caring my fingernails were digging into her dry skin. I wanted her to experience my pain.”

Her shocked eyes turned into ones of emptiness as she slowly walked towards me and whispered into my ear.
”You don't know who you're messing with."

Aaaaaa again, I love the mood here! It's so ominous and amazing. You're really skilled at using language to create moods.

Next thing you know I'm falling and I have about 30,000 feet until I hit the ground.

To keep the tense consistent, I'd change this to “Next thing I knew I was falling; 30,000 feet until I hit the ground.” You can obviously word this however you like, but the original tense you had it in did not match the rest of the piece.

Ok that's all! I hope this was helpful to you <3

319 words
New total 12888

Whirlygig

November 30, 2023
Final weekly

Part 1:
Goth-fi:
The skulls did talk. Just most of the time, nobody was there to listen.
Shelby gazed with concealed awe at the tunnel surrounding them. They’d heard stories about the Catacombs, but standing in the middle of them was a whole different ballpark. The network under Paris was macabre, eerie, and - to Shelby’s eyes - magical.
Shelby meandered forward. They had come here for a reason, but as with most things, rushing it would help nothing. They surveyed each skull, asking,
Who were you? What happened? How did you end up here?
Shelby shivered. The further they got from the entrance, the darker and colder the tunnels became. Their fumbling fingers struck a match and lit the oil lamp they carried. The flickering candlelight illuminated the faces, the dancing flames making the skulls’ jaws look as if they were moving. Talking.
Shelby continued moving down the rows. They hoped no policemen would catch them: This part of the Catacombs was most certainly off-limits. Each face they saw, Shelby implored, but to no answer.
Another light appeared in the distance. No. Shelby couldn’t get caught. They turned onto a side tunnel, and extinguished their lamp.
A sliver of moonlight shone down through a sewer grate. It shone ominously onto one face. The socketless eyes looked piercingly at Shelby. Shelby looked back. Shelby asked once more, in vain,
Who were you?
But this time, the skull answered.
233 words
Surrealism:
i was awfully tired of sitting on a shelf watching the days pass me by like cars on a freeway. i knew that death was inevitable and so was decay and so was being forgotten after a generation or two or three so i thought, why not go out with a bang? so i jumped off my bookshelf and into the shower drain along with thoughts feelings and drowned wishes, and let the flow of the river of tears envelop me until i was tossed gently to a riverbank where i was hung in the sun to dry.
no sooner had i been accustomed to my upside-down-ness than a girl peered into my face and righted me on the pillowy sand. who are you and why are you here and how do you plan to get back? she said then oh i’m sorry i’m being rude aren’t i? she said then do you want some pie? she said and i looked at her and she was beautiful so i accepted. after all the most beautiful people are often the evil ones in disguise and they will feed you poisoned pie but oh doesn’t it sound like such an adventure to be placed in a sleep for a hundred years?
i ate the pie and it was very much good and not at all poisioned so i thanked the girl and looked at her again and it was then that i saw just how beautiful she was. she had constellations on her sleeves and freckles in her hair and carried a steaming platter of library pie, now missing one piece. what’s a rabbit like you doing in a place like this? she said so not thinking i told her my story and she listened and laughed. then she said i think you need a freckle so she pulled out a strand of her lavender hair and it shone bright like a jewel so i slipped the jewel in my pocket as i thanked her profusely.
the girl flew off and i never saw her again but i still think of her sometimes. the jewel sits on the shelf and so does the fork i ate the pie with and as i sit next to them i think of the wonderful time i had and how nice it is to be back home.
391 words

Gaslamp fantasy:
The full moon shone above them in the sky, hanging overhead as a reminder of what some considered a blessing and others considered a curse. The two wolves prowled through the deserted streets, keeping out of sight as a soot-covered boy toted his ladder to each street light and set it aflame. Once the street was lit, the wolves circled each other, revolving closer and closer until they stood, snout to snout.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” the larger one snarled. He was older, and grayer, and carried with him the sort of wisdom one can only gain from many trials and many errors over many long years.
“Then what are you doing?” the other one asked. She was younger, and faster, and excitement made her nose and ears and the tip of her tail quiver.
“I have important business,” he replied. “And you will only slow me down.”
“That’s not fair,” the younger wolf whined.
The gray wolf snorted. He didn’t have time for this. He stalked off, his shadow flickering in the lamp light. The other wolf sighed. Her friend was going to get himself killed, or imprisoned, or captured. He knew full well that werewolves were illegal here, and that by coming out of hiding he’d risked his life. Soon the officers would be here with their torches and big guns and net contraptions, and nobody would be there to help him because he’d shunned anyone who offered to help.
The young wolf sighed, set her ears back against her head, and followed her friend into the darkness.
261 words

Bangsian:
“Finally, someone to talk to,” Qui-Gon said. “You have no idea how lonely it’s been all these years.”
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at his master.
“Usually, when someone dies, you apologize to them for their loss.”
“But you are a part of the living Force now! That is a reason to celebrate!”
Qui-Gon took a more somber tone.
“I’ve been watching, you know. Things are so dark.”
Obi-Wan nodded in defeated agreement. Then, he asked the question that had been bothering him for nearly twenty years.
“Master…”
“Yes?”
“When you took Anakin in, did you know what he would become?”
“The Force works in mysterious ways.” That was Qui-Gon speak for I’m not answering your question.
“I almost killed him. Three times. Maybe I should have gone through with it, but I couldn’t.”
“Loving Anakin and loving Vader are two entirely different things, Obi-Wan.”
“I know that. It took me a long time to learn. But in some ways, that makes me think I should have killed Vader.”
Qui-Gon sighed. “I thought that in death I would learn the answers to everything. But that is not how the Force works. But. I still believe Anakin is the chosen one.”
“How can you say that at a time like this?” Obi-Wan implored. “He killed me, Master.”
“But you’re here, aren’t you?”
“I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” Obi-Wan said, exasperated, “but I forgot how annoying you can be.”
“There is much I don’t understand,” Qui-Gon said again. “But I don’t believe that evil has won. Not yet.”
Obi-Wan thought of the young boy he’d watched grow up. Of his sister, the princess, who never gave up. Of the smuggler, who cared more than anyone knew.
Qui-Gon was right. There was always hope.
292 words

Paranormal:
Everyone knew not to walk through the woods at night. It was a fact that had been drilled into Austin and his siblings since they were old enough to understand sentences. But for the first time, fourteen-year-old Austin found himself disobeying the rules.
After he was sure his parents were asleep, Austin grabbed a flashlight and his brother Jacob’s baseball bat and slipped out the second floor window onto the porch roof, and jumped the eight feet into the wet grass.
The farm looked different at night. The cornstalks fluttered in the breeze, and the sliver of moon cast strange shadows across the field. The porch light buzzed and sputtered. Austin wasn’t scared - not yet. All he knew was that if he ruined Jacob’s prize baseball bat, his brother would kill him. With this thought in mind, Austin set off through the rows of corn and into the forest at the edge of the property.
The trees were old; older than anyone, even Austin’s grandmother. The small swath of land the family’s farm sat on had been undisturbed by the logging craze years ago, and now it was home to some of the only old growth in the county. During the day, Austin and his siblings practically lived among the trees. But at night, they seemed formidable. Intimidating. Austin shivered, and pressed on.
-
Austin’s watch read 1:14 am. He’d been in the woods for over an hour without a sign of his goal. But that also meant he’d been in the woods for over an hour and nothing bad had happened to him. Austin felt thrilled at his act of midnight rebellion. He’d broken the farm’s biggest rule, and so far nothing had happened to him.
He had spoken too soon. Austin’s foot suddenly snagged on a root, sending him sprawling on the ground and knocking flashlight and bat out of reach. In the silence of the forest, the clatter was deafening. Austin pushed himself up with stinging palms, only to realize he was no longer alone. Staring down at him were two large, red eyes.
Austin didn’t scream. At first, he didn’t run. He was frozen, glued to the ground, staring in terror and wonder at something he’d heard stories about but - until today - didn’t believe was real. The Mothman stared back at him. Austin finally came to his senses and ran, stumbling through the forest without thought as to direction.
-
Things were quiet back at the house. Once he caught his breath, Austin slipped back into his bedroom, but couldn’t fall back asleep. He’d left both the flashlight and Jacob’s bat lying there in the mud; he’d have to get them in the morning. If he dared to enter the woods ever again. Austin decided he’d never tell a soul about seeing the Mothman. Nobody would believe him, and they’d tell him so until he didn’t believe it either. But as he closed his eyes and tried his best to go to sleep, all he could picture was the two red eyes…
505 words
Bit-punk:
M-A-D-M-A-X.
Max pressed enter and stood back, hands on her hips with satisfaction, as she surveyed the arcade game. Max was good at video games. Sometimes, it felt like that was all she was good at. Pac-Man was only the latest entry on a long list of Max’s top scores. Max shoved a hand in her pocket, quickly counting the quarters she had left. Probably not enough to beat another game, but definitely enough for a soda.
Max sat down in a neon-colored booth, and let the sounds of 8-bit music and computerized destruction wash over her until she forgot about the outside world. She liked video games better anyway: They were simple, and full of action, and and didn’t include any of the gruelingly everyday parts of life. When nobody was looking, Max would take sheets of graph paper and draw characters for her own game. Billy, the pixelated boss villain; the boys at school, lower-level nuisances; and of course, her as the main character, with her skateboard as a trusty steed. Madmax.
Billy was still the villain, and her classmates still obstacle. The only thing different between Max’s game and the real world was Max herself. She was no hero; she was nothing special. All Max was was a redhead kid who was good at video games.
219 words

Furry Sleuth:
Nobody ever wanted to hire a penguin as their detective, and that was exactly the problem. If more people saw Alister Feathers for the genius he really was, there would be less crime, more prosperity, and one very well-fed penguin.
Alister was so used to day after day of no business that the phone’s ring startled him so much he nearly jumped out of his swivel chair. Trying to regain his composure, he answered the phone.
“Hello?”
Alister grabbed an ink pen from the mug on his desk and frantically scribbled down notes on a previously unused legal pad. Within minutes, he had a date, place, and crime. Within minutes, Alister Feathers had his first case.
There was just one teeny-tiny problem: Alister didn’t have the slightest idea what he was doing. Hoping that he’d figure it out along the way, Alister whistled to Veronica, his Great Dane sidekick, and the two went out the door into the city.
“Oh, my,” Alister said to Veronica. “I’d forgotten how busy the city is.”
Veronica seemed unbothered by the bustle and the noise; the big city was well-suited for a big dog like her. She gestured to Alister and he hopped up on her back.
“Perfect,” Alister said. “Thank you, Veronica.”
Briefcase in hand, Alister directed Veronica to the address the mysterious caller had given him. It was in one of the city’s many suburbs; a muted-green Victorian house that looked remarkably out of place next to the otherwise identical row houses.
“Well,” Alister said uncertainly, “This is it.”
He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
267 words

Part 2:
This is an epistolary/bangsian story for @bewilder_ed, about Eurydice after Orpheus fails to save her.
Dearest Orpheus,
This letter will never reach you. I wish I could say I was writing it for you to read, in the hopes it would bring you comfort in these tragic times. But really this letter is to help me. I miss you more than anything.
I would give so much to be in the mortal world once again. I’ve forgotten what the sun feels like; how the gentle afternoon breeze made my hair flutter above my head. I fear that one day, you too will be nothing more than a faded image in my mind of a love that once was.
I still love you. I always will. Nothing can change that, not even our eternal separation. All I ask is that you remember me as you live out your life.
With love,
Eurydice

Dearest Orpheus,
I’m not angry at you. The others here like to laugh at me - they jest at my unconditional love for you. They don’t understand how, after you condemned me to the underworld forever, I can still view you as the one. I don’t understand it myself. I should be sad to be trapped here. I should be despairing; I should be furious. All these emotions I should be feeling, but all I remember is the way you looked at me for the very last time. You wanted me to know you loved me. You wanted to make sure I was safe. You wanted to reassure me, and tell me that we had almost made it. That is why I don’t resent you for what you did.
With love,
Eurydice

Dearest Orpheus,
Do you miss me like I miss you? For me it is a struggle to go on each day without you. I do not know how anyone could endure this suffering hour after hour, year after year. I do not know how I endure it.
They are watching me. Waiting for me to crack under the burden of loving you. I fear that soon I will succumb to the loneliness here and become numb to it all. I relive the last moments of my time with you, wondering what could have been different. Wondering what I could have done to stay with you a little longer.
But the past is in the past. I hope that, though you remember me as long as you live, you don’t let my loss hold you back. My world is a terrible dark place, but yours is full of life and full of love. For my sake, spend every day you have left enjoying all you can. And remember that no matter what comes, I will always love you.
Yours forever,
Eurydice

447 words

Total words: 2615

Whirlygig

it's the most sensational, inspirational, celebrational, muppetational, this is what we call a leader app!

1. tell us about yourself!

Salutations! I’m the creature known as Stingray, presumably a human but possibly three well-disguised muppets in a trench coat ;D - either way, I use she/her pronouns and inhabit EST. When I’m not writing, I’m probably panicking over something inconsequential, but when I’m not doing that, I love to read, draw, and eat chocolate. I’ve played the violin for most of my life as well, and music is as important to me as breathing (my favorite classical pieces are Rhapsody in Blue and Jazz Suite No. 2, and my favorite song with lyrics is “All of my Love” by Led Zeppelin). I’m a hopeless fangirl, eternally in love with Star Wars but also enjoying Lord of the Rings, Stranger Things, and, of course, The Muppets. The books I’ve read most recently were Song of Achilles and I Fell In Love With Hope and before you ask, no I am not okay.

2. have you previously participated in swc?

Yes, I have participated in SWC before. In fact, I suspect the camp is holding me hostage, causing me to come back session after session even as my workload for school and list of other activities increases. I’ve been a camper twice, in November 2021 (Fairy Tales) and July 2023 (Script). I’ve co-led once, in November 2022 (Bizarro Fiction); and led twice, in March 2023 (Poetry) and November 2023 (Horror). I also participated in March ‘22, first as a Thriller camper then midsession a co-leader for Thriller when one of their cos had to step down unexpectedly. I’ve also campered in SRC twice, although both times I was inactive around the cabin and mainly used the session as motivation to get back into reading. Outside of Scratch, I’ve been a paid counselor at a real-life summer camp twice, as well as a junior counselor at Girl Scout camp and a regular helper with younger Girl Scout troops. I also volunteered twenty horrible hours of my life that I will never get back at a local arts festival, where I sold my soul getting people to fill out stacks upon stacks of event surveys. Rest assured I will not do that again. Oh, and I babysit a lot and was once asked to petsit/housesit (but I was out of town for the dates in question).

3. which cabins would you prefer to lead?

Honestly since I’m only applying for co-leader I would be happy with anything. I think I would be able to adapt to whatever cabin I was chosen for and help to come up with an excellent storyline. Additionally, I would be interested in potentially co-ing TCTWNW. It would be a nice change of pace from competitive cabins.

4. please provide an excerpt of your writing.

When this question came up in previous applications, I’d try to pick something deep, or something good, or something that had won something. I’m bored of that. Is this necessarily good writing? No. Is it something that made me happy? Yes. Enjoy this villain monologue. (Yes it is fanfiction; no I will not be apologizing.)

They had laughed at him.
They had doubted him.
They had spit in his face.
But they were wrong.
“Greetings, my fine colleagues,” Grand Admiral Thrawn said, “it’s good to be back.”
Thrawn wasn’t a particularly tall man, but what he lacked in height, his reputation made up for. As he gazed at the faces sitting around the black marble table, he saw a thousand emotions reflected back at him. Fear. Awe. Hatred. Admiration. Thrawn cared not what the others thought of him, for he had what they did not: Power.
“There is much I missed while exiled,” Thrawn continued, “many events most tragic, and may I say… preventable.”
If I had been there, this wouldn’t have happened. If I had been there, the Empire wouldn’t have fallen. I am smarter than you. I am more powerful than you. I am better than you. Fools.
“But there is no sense looking back at the past. No, we must prepare for what the future holds.”
Like in everything else he did, Thrawn’s words were measured, carefully thought out. There was no rush. No matter how slowly he spoke, the other officials in the room would be hanging on to his every word.
“It is… regrettable what happened to our Emperor, and to Lord Vader. But we–” Thrawn leaned closer– “are not to be stopped by this sniveling New Republic. We will rebuild. We will return. And we will restore order to the galaxy.”
The other officials were smiling cruelly. All knew who he was, but after his disappearance Thrawn had faded into near-legend. Now he was here; he would be the one to take the throne; he would be the one to usher in the glorious new age. The various projects of the remnants, once directionless, would be unified under his guidance. Thrawn surveyed the room once more, then spoke with finality.
“Long live the Empire.”

5. what amount of time to you expect to be able to dedicate to swc?

This is a loaded question because how much time I can dedicate to SWC and how much time I ultimately will end up dedicating to SWC may be two vastly different quantities. What I can say for sure is that I’ll be most busy during cabin planning (swim team season) and will always have violin-related things on Mondays and Thursdays. My weekends are wild cards; I try to be more active then but often my mom will take us on an impromptu trip conveniently located during the exact time Cabin Wars will take place. On a regular weekday, I can probably average 45 minutes to an hour of writing and managing the cabin. This would vary depending on my homework level, but regardless of the time I have I will always put cabin responsibilities (for example, adding words) in front of my own writing. I try to complete all the dailies and when I ultimately fail I try to complete all the weeklies, and if I’m lucky enough to be around for Cabin Wars I will be active for as much of that day as possible. Full disclosure: multiple times in the past, I’ve become burnt out halfway through the session and my motivation to write, and therefore activity levels, have drastically dropped. I’m trying to combat that, which is one of the reasons I’m only applying for co-leader this session. So far, other than violin (Monday and Thursday evenings), my March is pretty free, but if something comes up I will be sure to let everyone know.

6. what are your skills and shortcomings in time management?

Skill - I am good at prioritizing tasks according to importance and distributing tasks to people based on their skill sets.
Skill - if I’m motivated to do something, I will get it done. I am good at working with deadlines and will give the best quality I can within the time frame. Shortcoming - I procrastinate, although I am actively trying to work on this… sometimes if I don’t get something done right away it will just. Never get done sdlfkdf.
Shortcoming - if I am not interested in what I am doing it is extremely hard to get me to do it, although this should not be a problem considering I love SWC.
Shortcoming - my mental health has been strange lately, to say the least, and I’m looking into resources that will help with that but until then sometimes I will get moody and overwhelmed and not be able to get anything done.

7. what are your strengths and weaknesses in working with others?

Skill - I know when to pick my battles. One of the most important parts of working with a team is knowing when to stand up for what you want and when to compromise.
Skill - I am good at bringing everyone’s ideas together and coming up with a cohesive storyline from them.
Skill - I’m an endless optimist which I think helps lift everyone on the team up. Skill - I am flexible and know how to work through many problems that would come up during the month.
Shortcoming - I am a perfectionist!! This means I turn out good work product but sometimes I obsess over the little things too much

Shortcoming - I sometimes worry I am overstepping, leading to me understepping. It’s a delicate balance that I have not quite learned to walk yet.

Assets I would bring to a leadership team are my experience with leading (I know this isn’t a deciding factor in choosing applications, nor should it be. But since I have both led and campered recently, and have been participating for a long time, I could provide good perspective and be a good co-leader for a newer leader), my willingness to compromise, my ideas (which I think are pretty good), and my adaptability. I am also good at graphic design and art, meaning I could (and would like to!) help design cabin graphics and potentially matching profile pictures. I’m a good proofreader, so I would make sure that whatever storyline pieces we use are typologically and grammatically correct.

8. what one quality do you value most in a leader?

The quality I value most in a leader is accessibility. A good leader shouldn’t seem too scary to ask questions to or suggest things too. They should be part of the cabin, always lifting people up rather than putting them down, even when dealing with problem campers. They should be someone people want to be around, and should never make the rest of their team feel like they can’t contribute ideas or point out errors. I do my best to embody this whenever I’m in a leadership position, online or offline. When I have led in the past, I make sure that if my cos have ideas, they share them, and I try to incorporate what everyone wants into the storyline so it’s not my way or the highway. I distribute the work among everyone so it’s not just one person taking the load. It’s hard to be a leader, and harder to be a good one, and even if I mess up I’ll never stop trying.

9. what cabin atmosphere do you aim to create?

I think my cabin atmosphere would depend a lot on the other members of my group and what our cabin storyline ends up being. I’m pretty much up for anything; however, here’s my dream cabin atmosphere:

An easygoing atmosphere where friendly competition exists but is not overemphasized, but activities are available to keep the cabin active. Focus on mental health and growing writing skills. (191 characters)

10. checklist:

A. I am applying for co-leader only, and I am willing to make a promotional project for SWC.
B. Nope!
C. If I have to go inactive, I will let my leadership team, and then the hosts, know. If a fellow (co)leader has to go inactive, I will either help take on their responsibilities or work with my leader to find a new co.

1961 words

Last edited by Whirlygig (Jan. 19, 2024 02:33:07)

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