hi little peeps feel free to add random posts like reacting to my writing and stuff so long as u don't spam

Total = 8775 words | redoing the math on the points | 24 shards |

Jas's Word Forum

daily 1

Nov 1: Welcome, leaders, campers, ghosts, and tyrants, to the November ‘23 session of SWC! We hope you're just as excited to be here as we are to have you – for today's daily, take a few minutes to introduce yourself to your fellow writers and write out your goals for this session. If you're feeling adventurous, there will be mangoes for those who describe themselves as a childhood toy – are you a teddy bear, a set of dominos, or something in between? You can earn 100 points for sharing at least three goals in the comments - have fun, and happy writing <3

104 words, 100 points, 3 shards

Hello all you wonderful peeps! I'm Jas(per), she/her (you might see some friends call me Ivy!) and I'm a co-leader for Dystopian alongside Skye and River! I'm a lover of cinnabuns, Marissa Meyer, Star Trek, the 1920s, BABYMETAL and I'm an artist (and am hopefully publishing a book this month!) My three goals this session are to 1 : to use this time to write my books seeeequeeeelll oaaa 2 : to make new frienships 3 : to try new things!

If I was a childhood toy I'd probably be my own american girl doll, or one of those monkeys with the long velcro legs

daily 2

Nov 2: 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.

371 words, 400 points, 3 shards

Dear future Jas, who has sadly probably not invented time travel yet. I’ve had a great first day of SWC and have been trying to make new friends and rekindle old ones, and I think I’ve accomplished some of that, but I’d still like to do more.

As for other goals, I hope I can get as much of my sequel’s draft done as possible. I plan to publish my debut novel this month, so long as all goes well, and I hope that works out.

I hope I make some lasting friendships through this session, complete every daily and break my word goal! Maybe even get a faster wpm 0: who knows???

I aim to be the best possible co-leader, upbeat, cheery, and making sure that everyone has a good time! Hopefully all our cabin goals are easily accomplished, too. I mostly want us to have a heck-ton of fun and a healthy, friendly spirit along with some friendly competition!

I also hope to win more than two word wars–I can’t believe I have a 120 wpm and I still always lose??? What???

Another goal of mine is to give more critiques than I’ve done over the past couple sessions, and to write a better writing comp entry, and to GET THE MBC COVER IN EARLY bc I missed the deadline my last session aahhhh.

Okay, for now that’s all, hopefully you develop time travel soon, XOXO, you.

P.S. you kind of totally missed the rules so we’re going to be adding some new stuff on here, let’s go! Okay.

Another one of my goals is to make sure that I write more things that are fantasy-related, because I tend to write on the sci-fi side a ton and only recently have gotten into fantasy at all. It’s been nice, and though it doesn’t make me as excited as sci-fi always will (I’m just a sci-fi writer at heart), fantasy is gorgeous and whimsical! I hope to continue the Cinderella retelling I was doing, and to make the romance between Sable and Evan more developed. I love them so much adsjghf but I really have to stop writing random one shots.

Now for real, see you in a month.

misc 1

pep talk for non-fi and gigi!

259 words

This November, we’re working on improving our writing skills, collaborating with others, and having fun! Some of us even have goals to rewrite past works, and a lot of us want to do the best we can in writing our dailies. But we also have to remember not to worry too much about our first attempts being perfect.

Now, I know we all have the urge to edit as we go, because we’re not satisfied with our work and we want it to be perfect the first time. But when we do that, we tend to lose motivation and our quality of work flickers out. So let me ask you something: can you edit nothing? No, but you can edit trash.

The thing about this is that, even though we may not like our first drafts, the point of them is to get the idea out there! Our idea needs a new home (that isn’t our brain, or it might run away too quickly) so that it can live there and develop! Once we have it out there, we can always revise it as we need.

First drafts can be frustrating, I know from experience. But here’s what you need to do: start writing. Just do it. Keep going, maybe set a timer for yourself. Don’t stop, just go. Even spelling mistakes don’t matter as long as your idea gets a chance to exist. Once you’ve got that, you’re basically unstoppable. Seeing our ideas on paper gets us excited about them! So go, you got this–write first, edit later!

daily 3

Nov 3: 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.

472 words, 600 points, 3 shards

With the loss of the reddening leaves came the cold of the desperate, despairing winter approaching. The colors of the fall had fallen out of view far too quickly, their early November bringing the desolate shapes of withered branches and wicked winds. The spirits of the forest were moaning, their loss devastating and cruel, as they mourned the brethren they’d come to know in the spring, only to lose them again in the winter. Only the evergreens remained, their gifts laid out in the open for all to see, leaving all others envious of their unending life. Where once they had been bequeathed with the tones of crimson and copper and gold, now their beauty had been stripped by the cruel forces of nature. Even then they knew that the children they’d borne would be reduced to nothing but effervescent envy, wretched reminiscence and forlorn consciences.
There was nothing here for them, but there was nowhere else to go. The loss was simply too much to bear, too much, yet still the sorrowful souls had to endure. Autumnal anguish offered an ache in all the affectionate souls of the forest, the harsh winter a harrowing harbinger of hopelessness.
Grief-stricken travelers haunted the forests, too, like lonely ghosts that never bothered with the trees, save for gathering the sap of a maple tree, or tying their ropes around the grey trunks. Smoke and fire drifted off into the sky in whimsical whisps, a fact of life the forest would not have minded were it not for the dry, dry air of this season, for the grey skies and the days becoming colder and colder. Their countenance was placed on the mistakes of mother nature, their maudlin melodies resonating through the melancholic mornings. When the winds whistled past, whining white pines waning their warnings through the winter.
There came time for the spring to come once again, and the melodies of the morning growing more genuine and grand by the day. Once again the leaves on the loving lofts return, the songs of sorrow become songs of silver praise. Sudden storms appear, giving well-needed nourishment to thirsting trees. Nature was merciful once again, bringing joy and brethren and caring men once again. There was naught anyone could do to bring out their despair again–that was, until the winter came again, until the hopelessness became an inevitable force. Still, for three seasons, the joy was wrought by the wonderful words of friendly, soft strangers.
For the spring, the trees brought new life, breathed their air into the world.
For the summer, their blooms brought beauty and a gift for a perfect little girl.
For the autumn, their sorrow grew, their bittersweet beauty nearly unbearable.
And for the winter, they despaired once again, even the knowledge that they would grow again nothing to stop their pain.

daily 4

Nov 4: 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.

400 words, 400 points, 3 shards

There was once a time when tall tales struck terror into the hearts of men, when the effects of effervescent ephemeral joy were nothing but the byproducts of bygone eras, burnt to bronze ashes and preserved with the pitiful auras of past anguish.
Now there came the time for the stories of sorrow and sadness to strike once again, when the cold carcass of Cassiopeia lay in the caverns of Cicendara, and the crescent-waning moon caressed the creatures of this crying earth, and the sepulchral omens were known around the land. The queen, quiet and quaint, considered the collective quantification of the questions being asked of her. Had the harrowing rumors of the handmaiden been true? Or were they naught but wrongful accusations?
The loss brought from lust and longing had begun with love and laughter, and had turned into something of a startling situation. Deranged dragon-hunters were distraught as they sought the dangerous demon beast across the dead plains of Cicendara, and the fiery flames of forlorn feathers trailed a vast vision in the violet skies. When at last the weather cleared, and the wanton wills of the wicked witches on saddles had reached their peaks, the great gargantuan beast was brought down by the drive and determination of devils.
The loss of love was too great to bear, and soon the souls of settlers rose up in screams. Their screams echoed from the eerie caverns of Cicendara, carrying to the crimson rivers and beyond, to the schadenfreude souls still mourning the meaning of men. The stars themselves stole their seemingly thaumaturgic sorrow and created a concoction and cloud of vivacious, obsessive valiant orders. The sun was still, the stars were stolen, the skies were scolding, for days this continued, farther down their countenances fell, driven through countless layers of hell.
Finally, when the fear was then found with thorough search and stopped, a star reappeared in the skies. Reopened, inviting true souls to seek their solace, was the whimsical form of the countess Cassiopeia, not called such by castle-goers, but called such by the people, those who cared for her. She watched, sleeping never, she whispered, seeking new souls with solace new. So it was that Cassiopeia saved, inevitably, worried travelers, carrying women to caverns of rest. Men saw and feared, boys stared ahead far, watched the one once whispered to be a witch carry the sorrowful souls.

daily 5

Nov 5: Today, Word Wars begin! They can be found here: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/918963105/. Word wars, much like word sprints, are an enjoyable and easy method to earn points for your cabin! They're also a great way to interact with new people while also competing with them to see who can write the most amount of words during the span of the war. Word Wars will be open for the rest of camp - more information can be found in the project itself. Have fun!

253 words, ??? points, 3 shards

Kai of Ninjago was doing exactly what all Ninjas do: eat food, train, and party. Actually, probably not everyone actually does that, but it’s funnier if you pretend they do. He was being an absolute menace to society, as usual, and hanging with his best friend (not that their character development or interpersonal relationship existed before season five but WHATEVER) anyways and he was eating cake and actually dang it I’m thinking of Cole OKAY RETCON Cole was hanging out with his best friend Jay and they were talking about Nya bc they are in a MAJOR FANGIRL CLUB and Kai walked in like “what in the world are you two saying about my sister?” BET YOU READ THAT IN HIS VOICE TOO and then they were like “NOTHING” and pretending they didn’t know how to talk anymore. Well, unfortunately, Kai did not buy it and instead decided to cry. Jay and Cole didn’t know how to react. They parkoured over the couch to comfort their friend who was only sad bc of them, which sure is mildly depressing but like, that’s fine. It’s all FINE okay anyways where was I going with this oh yes and then Kai decided to tattletale to Nya and then Nya got upset at both of them and sent them to space all on their own without anyone to help. Not Zane not anyone. Actually especially not Zane because he’s smart and iconic and the nindroid we all need in our lives, he amazing okay the end

daily 6

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

647 words, 500 points, 3 shards

Bang. The fireworks above erupted into thousands of glittering streams like fiery rain, the smoke residue a suffocating storm above Jake’s head. The festival made him want to scream, to cry, the crowds running past with no care for anyone at all, all but trampling him, though they would have fully had he not been holding tightly to James’ hand.
Here, confined in the dark, narrow alleys of the Quarax IV capitol, his fight or flight instinct had been risen to a ten. He wanted nothing but to leave here, and his confrontational side was coming out more than he’d ever let it come out before. He grit his teeth with every bang! in the skies, his veins flowing with both rage and fear. Breathe, he told himself, just breathe. But it wasn’t working. Nothing was working like he wanted to. He wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to run, to fly, to flee.
The strong hands of his brother were the only thing that gave him any comfort, James looming above him and keeping him in front of him, like he wanted to protect him. But all Jake wanted to do was curl up in the corner and die. His chest hurt, his head spun. He couldn’t think.
“Stop it.” He whispered. “Stop.” Tears welled and burnt at his eyes, his chest bursting and erupting with every beat of his heart, with every step he took. Thumpthumpthumpthump were the sounds of the fireworks, then crackcrackcrack as they dribbled down, then sssss as they faded into wisps of tantalizing, terrifying smoke.
“Please.” Jake begged, his words choked. “I can’t do this. We need to stop. James–James, stop. Stop.”
Without a word, James detoured them into another store. His hood rode down as he rushed through the door, but he didn’t care, and neither did Jake. His body shook as he backed far, far from the glass windows and into the counter. Though he knew there was someone there, he sank down against the counter, covering his ears, his tears running down his cheeks.
“Jake.” James knelt in front of him, hands on his shoulders, trying to help, trying to fix it. Nothing could fix it, nothing except getting out getting out getting OUT!
Jake whimpered and shook his head.
“Jake, tell me what’s wrong. Please.”
All Jake heard now was the muffled sounds of fireworks, and all he saw was the movement of his brother’s lips forming those words.
“Fire.” He whispered. “The fire. The banging. The smoke. I can’t–I can’t.”
“Keep going.” James whispered. “Just look at me. Just me.” His eyes were wide and caring, full of empathy. “There’s no one in the world but us right now, okay? Just us. Tell me anything.”
Jake swallowed his sobs, his head aching.
“The…the Raven. The crash. Mama, papa.”
“Oh… I'm so sorry.” James pulled him closer. “I know. I know. It’s okay.”
“It went down so hard, James. And the fire, and the smoke, and the wires–everything. I’m so stupid, I’m such a baby–but–it just–it hurts.”
“You’re none of those things.” James tilted his head and smiled. It was one of the only things that could ever console Jake. That smile. Knowing it was him, and he was here.
Nine months, Jake had been alone in that shelter. Nine months after the Raven had crashed, nine long months thinking his parents, his brother–they were all gone.
There was nothing he could do for his parents. A fiery death.
But his brother was here, and alive, just like him.
It wasn’t okay. None of it. Except James. Only James.
“I’m sorry.” Jake sobbed.
“It’s okay.” James smiled. “It’s all okay.”
He drew him into a warm embrace.
“It’ll be okay. It’s not now, I know. But it will be. And we can stay here until it’s done.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. I’m here, and I’m never leaving you.”

daily 14

Nov 14: NOTICE FROM THE DAILY TEAM: From today onwards, the daily team is going on strike! There will henceforth be no more dailies…unless, perhaps, you’re able to convince us why we should continue to supply dailies and activities.

This is your last chance to salvage activities and have the daily team return! For 200 points, write a 400 word persuasive essay to get dailies back. You can earn another 200 points by sharing your essay. The future of the daily team now rests in your hands…

If the current daily makes you uncomfortable for any reason at all, feel free to contact one of the daily team coordinators (found at the bottom of the description) on their profile for an alternative daily!

482 words, 400 points, 3 shards

DISCLAIMER: This essay does not reflect the true opinions of Jasper or any other members of the daily team, and if it does those similarities are completely coincidental. This essay was simply written for the purposes of being funny.

If this essay tells you why we should not go on strike, then you are reading this wrong. As a member of the daily team, I propose several reasons that we should go on strike.
First of all, we are very tired and we are running on caffeine alone. If we continue to live this way we will turn into sad little piles of cinnamon buns, which, albeit tasty, are not sentient. As much as some of us (being me) may yearn to become a non-sentient jellyfish, we are also needed in this community.(1) But still, we’re tired. We need help.
Second, we are gremlins. All of us. None of us are anything other than a gremlin. We are all gremlins hiding in coats stacked on top of one another in an attempt to pretend we are functioning. While we might be smart that does not mean we are also wise. We desire cinnamon buns above all else.(2) Words are too hard and do not go very fast from our brains to the pages they are meant to go onto.
Thirdly, we worship mangoes a worrying amount. If nothing else achieves that goal, this at least should. The extent to which we love these small, not-quite-round fruits has worried even my own mother.
Fourthly, I am becoming very tired and currently desire cinnamon buns. The language with which I am writing this, as well as the clear delirium which can be seen openly on this not-page, should itself hint you as to the loss of marbles the members of the daily team experience on a daily basis. Our heads sound like the scream BB-8 releases from his surprisingly hollow shell when I twist off his head. I refuse to provide context in this situation. (3)
In conclusion, I am very tired and this essay has not led anywhere, so all I can do at this point is beg for the sweet solace of chewy, frosting-covered cinnamon buns.

FOOTNOTES

(1) This appears to be me proving the opposite of my point somehow. What a poor persuasion method.

(2) Clearly, I am hungry

(3) I will, in fact, provide context, because I am worried about the misunderstandings of my intentions. BB-8, also known as my son, is not the BB-8 you know from the final Star Wars trilogy. It refers to a toy I bought which serves as a container, one which I can twist the top off of to hide my cinnamon bun stash. Unfortunately, the cinnamon bun stash is empty, and the top is also BB-8’s head. The container makes a troubling sound when you make any attempt to open it.

11.14.23 Descriptive Essay English Assignment

1,038 words

Eliza Schuyler: The Woman Who Carried On Legacies

A woman who impacted and carried the legacies of dozens of people. A woman who was resilient in the face of trials. A patient and kind woman who outlived all those she loved, and who was determined to tell their stories for them.
This woman was Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton. Though her role in the course of history has been overshadowed by those of her husband, and those of the founding fathers–and, though their contributions were the foundations for our nation–Eliza’s contributions to those around her were also such as cannot go unnoticed.
Eliza Schuyler’s effects on her husband, Alexander Hamilton, began in the winter of 1780. Eliza and her family were staying in Morristown, New Jersey at the time, which is where she met Hamilton. Historically, Eliza was described as charming, charismatic, and kind, which may be a reason Alexander was attracted to her. Portraits and paintings of her also make apparent her attractive features and her gentle demeanour, another reason that might have drawn Alexander to her. Whatever the case, it was seemingly love at first sight–regardless of how much of a flirt he may have been around Eliza’s sister.
Hamilton courted Eliza for a very short time, meeting her sometime in the winter of 1780 and marrying her on December 14 of the same year. It is needless to say that their relationship developed quite quickly, and perhaps that is thanks in part to Hamilton’s own coquettish mannerisms. The letters between them have been described by historians and authors of biographies as being quite flirtatious.
Eliza was known for being more temperate and patient. She was supportive of her husband and it is likely she had a moderating, calming influence on him. During their marriage, this may have led to a positive impact on Hamilton, who was known for his own impulsive, perhaps even hotheaded nature. Given who they were, it’s more than likely that they balanced each other.
Following the death of Hamilton’s longtime friend and colleague, John Laurens, she was there to provide much-needed support and solace. Her caring instincts never failed during times like these.
Eliza also positively impacted her eight children. Her actions have proved that she was a supportive and caring mother to her children, encouraging them in many of their endeavours, whatever they may have been. Eliza played an active role in shaping and preserving the legacies of her children and husband, even after Hamilton’s promiscuity got the best of him.
When Hamilton had his affair with Maria Reynolds, Eliza was rightfully upset. She took to burning many of the letters they’d written to one another, mostly for privacy’s sake, but quite possibly out of spite as well. However, she was also forgiving. It is understandable that she felt the way she did, yet she still forgave her husband, continuing though he had torn down all that his name stood for.
Eliza’s life changed irreparably on November 23, 1801, a date which was accompanied by the death of her eldest son, Philip. Philip died in a duel with George Eacker, one which was brought about by the disparaging comments Eacker made about Hamilton; comments which Philip absolutely refused to let stand. Some accounts report that Philip aimed his pistol at the sky, in an attempt to let the conflict die honourably. However, unfortunately for Philip, the duel ended in catastrophe. His death was untimely, and he died at the young age of 19, due to unfortunate fate.
It is impossible to say that this did not impact Eliza in some way. After his death, her efforts were aimed towards charitable causes and foundations, which, true to her nature, was a way for her to help those around her.
Her sorrow deepened not three years later on July 11, 1804, when Hamilton lost his own life in a duel against his political rival Aaron Burr. Some historical accounts indicate that Hamilton also aimed towards the sky, in a manner similar to his son, though that fact has been widely disputed. Regardless, his death caused shock to rivals and allies alike; but most of all it affected Eliza herself.
After her husband’s death, Eliza took to wearing the colour black, a traditional sign of mourning, respect, and grief after the loss of a loved one. Many historical records also indicate that she continued to avoid bright colours in her outfits until the time of her death. Historical periods of mourning would, traditionally, gradually transition from black to dull and back to the normal colours, but Eliza seemed not to follow this, rather continuing her mourning for the rest of her life–and outliving Hamilton by fifty years.
With the death of her husband came her resolve to tell the stories of the soldiers who had fought by his side, to keep up with her charitable work and continue to provide for her children. She raised funds for the Washington monument, to commemorate the death of George Washington.
In addition to these achievements, as well as preserving the legacies of others, Eliza also established the first private orphanage in New York city. Along with others of like mind, Eliza dedicated much of her life, time, and funds to the establishment and sustenance of the orphanage. She was also an advocate for the access to proper education for orphaned children, as well as the broader cause of providing support for other vulnerable children.
Eliza’s philanthropy was reflected in her actions, and her hopes to create a better, more positive environment for these children were not simply hopes, but goals that she put effort into. She dedicated the remainder of her life to improving the lives of these children, and of children all around, including her own.
Eliza’s impact on history, as well of the people around her, was not one that is as well known as her husband’s, or as George Washington’s, or perhaps any of the other founding fathers, yet she deserves her own place in the narrative of history. She was a role model, one to look up to.
Just as Eliza told the stories of others, so too should we tell her story, so the impact she made will never be lost to time.

daily 15

Nov 15:

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.

For this daily you must write at least 400 words to earn 300 points. You can earn another 200 points for sharing your story.

462 words, 500 points, 3 shards

When the rains came, they left Abelline Madrid wondering what she’d done wrong. Her coat, which had at once been useful, was now entirely soaked through, and she felt the cold liquid seeping onto her undershirt beneath. The streets of London were like that–they could go from sunny to flash flooding in only a second. It was not what Abelline was used to; she hailed from the sunny country of Nicaragua, a place where she had been used to burning her thighs on the metal slides of the school at which she had worked. Part of her missed that place, especially at times like this.
Dozens of passersby rushed past and sought shelter in storefronts, businesses, tunnels, et cetera–but Abelline couldn’t spare the time it took to hide. As of now, she had business to complete, places to be, but, unfortunately for her, she had no car of her own to travel with. Her apartment was back near the Abbey, and she’d spent quite a while walking today. Unfortunately for her, there was absolutely no way she could walk in this rain, so she’d have to take a bus. She despised the buses, unless she was able to get on a double-decker. The view from that high up, right next to the window, was a wonderful one.
Otherwise, it wasn’t worth it.
But of course, in these heels, she had no other options.
As soon as the bus she was looking for pulled up, she made her way aboard, albeit begrudgingly. Mrs. Pauline Franchesca was a decisive woman, and one of the things she was decisive about was the time at which her employees were to arrive. Working at a fashion boutique was a wonderful thing; she got all the benefits she’d have loved; but it was also nerve-wracking. Had it not been for this rain, she’d have arrived at Franchesca’s in no time simply by walking. But the traffic was backed up now, the buses were rushing, and, though the streets were clearing, flash floods were something to be taken seriously.
Abelline shook off and stuffed her umbrella into a plastic bag from her purse, then took her seat alongside a mum and her young son. He was expressing delight at a Nintendo Switch he carried, and a quick peek told her he was playing one of the new Zelda games, though from this angle she couldn’t quite tell which.
“Well, seems though this rain came quicker than the trains, huh?”
The mother gave her a fleeting smile.
It wasn’t a pleasant situation, so Abelline was more than glad when it ended. She stepped off the bus and finally found herself at her work.
Today was going to be good. Or at least she would have to keep telling herself that.

weekly 2

total wc: 1339

PART ONE
wc: 304
A storm–a witch, a pug, cowering under a rug
The storm did not clear, left the witch in fear
The pug sensed this, and gave a mighty hiss
“Do you see that cloud, for crying aloud?”
Yap yap yap, went he, and cower, cower, went she
“He is crying on us, him and his fuss.”
“Yes, I see, he stares. Yet not a one dares
to stop all these things, not he with the rings.”
“The king is much too busy, don’t get dizzy.”
“Curse the skies, too much on my eyes.”
“Ah, you complain, as every wind still wains?”
ZAP! Mighty thunder struck, said the witch, “Duck!”
The pug had enough. “It is not too rough!”
“At least one of us has her wits, you twit!”
“Call me what you like,” thunder did then strike.
“but I am humbler than ye, you old tree.”
They ran to the table, quick as able.
Hid under the wood, not one of them stood.
“You are such a sissy!” Said pug, hissy.
“I like my soul, and not it to be stole.”
“Thunder cannot steal! You silly old eel!”
Finally, storm was done, and there was sun.
“It is safe now, so come and don’t say ow.”
“I’ve got no need to go on out with speed.”
“Do as you wish,” and pug waltzed to his dish
“Why, you get food! How sad for me, how rude!”
“Witches don’t get luck. Come and don’t be stuck.”
The witch was stuck under, tush a blunder.
It was not much help, but she said a yelp.
“Help me now, silly! Don’t be a willy!”
The pug was satisfied, and the witch cried.
“Do you love me still? Help me, please, you will?”
“Then stop complaining, it’s not now raining.”
The witch gave a pout. “Just get me out!”

PART TWO
369
Is this the real storm?
Or is this just the norm?
Caught in a thundercloud
No escape from this storm loud
Opened her eyes,
Looked up to the skies
And saw
There was the lightning
There was the thunder
So she went down and
Hid herself under
The table
Did she go
Anyway the pug begged,
Didn’t really matter
To her, to her

Dear witch, come out of there
You’ll probably get stuck
But that doesn’t matter much
Dear witch, you don’t need to hide
The storm’s out there and we’re still inside
Dear witch, ooh, the skies they just cry
If you’re not out of there this time tomorrow
I’ll carry on, carry on
Cause I’m honestly impatient

Too late, the witch was stuck
Her tush was far too big, the table not too sprig
Goodbye, dear witch, pug’s leaving now
He’s gonna leave you and your behind
And find his dish
Dear witch, ooh
You’re not gonna die
Pug sometimes wishes you’d stop being scared is all

Pug sees a little storm cloud on the horizon
Come out, come out, it’s not going to hurt you
Thunderbolt and lightning very very frightening her!
Come on out (come on out) come on out (come on out) come on out, let’s go!
But she’s just a silly witch, everything scares her
She’s just a silly witch from a silly little stitch
Spare her her wits from this wicked little snitch
Thunder comes, thunder goes
Will you please go?
Bismillah (no!) She will not ever go
Bismillah (no!) She will not ever go
She will not ever go
Never never never will she ever go
Go, go, go, go, go, go

Oh dear witch dear witch
Dear witch come on let’s go
But pug, the king has set this aside for me
For me
For me!

So you think you can pound me and make me cry?
So you think you can run away and leave me to die?

Oh, dear witch, can’t do this to me, come on
Just gotta get out, just gotta get right out of there!

Ooh, ooh yeah, ooh yeah,

Anyway the pug begged,
Didn’t really matter
Didn’t really matter
Didn’t really matter, to her

PART THREE
wc: 709
The silliest, shortest witch of the west had been put to the ultimate test. Her name was Jas, and she was such a little sass. The thing about this witch was that she didn’t know the difference or which was which–thunder or lightning, they often made the switch.
The mirrorverse was shattering, but right now, that just wasn’t mattering, not when the violet fog rolled in, running like a rolling pin.
It was shocking when she saw, and it left her in awe. The mirrorverse was shattering! And yet here she was still blabbering. This and that, the cracks kept back by only the words that she spoke, her voice sounding much like a joke. “I hate this fog, and I hate all frogs! I hate this glass, and I hate this class!” What a silly little witch, her silly little pitch. Nightmares galore, she fell to the floor.
Crack!
Maybe this wasn’t the best place to hide. Maybe she should go inside.
But where, exactly, was inside?
She was oh so snide, with her pug by her side. “We’re all going to die!” She said. What a lie! Outrageous and crazy, she made friends with Stacy.
“We’ve got to escape!” And she kept talking, mouth agape. “We’re not going to have a chance!” She continued her silly dance. Stacy listened, as if in a trance. “But what about the plans?”
“The plans are nothing!” Well, poor Jas was frothing.
Like the witch she was, Jas had dedicated herself to being a chaotic little gremlin. She stormed across the mirrorverse, fed up with everything going on. Her pug was being mean to her and she was trapped inside an alternate universe that was not going very well. The shards she had found on her adventures had been stolen by a rude little bird.
Once Jasper was done being annoying, she picked up her pug and looked at him.
“You like me, don't you?”
“No, not really.”
Jasper was quite annoyed by this turn of events. She turned to Skye for help. “What do you think I should do?”
“I can't really help you there. Why don't you ask Stacy?”
Stacy was a shard. Stacy was not actually any help at all. Stacy was just fake. Just like Wilson was in that movie Castaway.
Jas turned to the (g)hosts instead.
“Moss! Please help me I beg of you I am trapped here.”
Moss was no help. Moss, like the Watcher, was told never to interfere with the timestreams.
“Moonlit? What about you?”
Moonlit was very much like the watcher as well. This was suboptimal.
Jas, being Jas, willed her stubborn little self completely out of the multiverse.
“Ahhhh, yes, I am so glad to have freedom at last!”
Then suddenly she was hit by a massive blast. It was pug, being mean to her once again. There was nothing he stood to gain. Why was he such a jerk.
Jas walked around the main cabin and said hi to everyone. She was handing out mangoes (some of which were totally, absolutely, and definitely not on fire in any way.)
At some point she became increasingly bored and chose to bring pug on her mighty spaceship. Not to be confused with the people she shipped, which was, while cute, an entirely different thing.
Pug was quite annoyed at this point, and he wanted nothing more than to simply be going home, but instead of being allowed to go home, he was forced to strap right in next to the silly Jas, who was somehow still a witch, but probably only by proxy.
Jas then proceeded to fly their ship all the way to the daily team forums. Don’t ask how but she managed to literally get inside them and stand there. Just like Blue skidoos, you can too. Jas believed in many things. Skidooing was one of them.
She swerved in and out of SWC, saying hi to Kenzie, to Stingray, to Aspen, Diana, Alex, Skye, River, Yume, Eevee, Soki, and all of her other wonderful, colourful, favourite friends. Everyone was just so amazing that Jas decided maybe she wouldn’t have to cause chaos anyway. So she loved everyone and from that day forward, pug tolerated her a little more.

8: If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you choose to be?
10: Do you prefer playgrounds or parks with walking trails?
11: Do you have a favorite flower? Which one is it?
12: If you were to open a museum, what would it focus on? Aerospace? Dinosaurs?
14: Do you prefer standalone books or series?
16: What’s your favorite warm treat on a snowy day?
18: What kind of music do you prefer?
20: Imagine your dream house. Where is it? What colour? Is there anything interesting about it?
22: What’s your favorite form of art expression? (Dance, writing, music, drawing, etc)
24: What’s one of your comfort movies or shows?
26: What’s your favorite name?
28: What’s your favorite holiday?
30: As camp draws to a close, what’s been your favorite activity?