▌│█║▌║▌║ TKb0iZ's Writing Thread! ║▌║▌║█│▌
Today is the day I have my very own writing thread! This writing thread will be dedicated to Scratch Writing Camp and other stuff. If you don't know what that is here is the link: https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/29714639/
When commenting on this thread you must follow the Scratch Guidelines and keep it on topic of this thread.
Word count: 5,000 words
I will be in the jul ‘24 SWC.
I am in the Folklore cabin!

♥╣╠♥ ĐłⱤɆ₵₮ØⱤɎ ♥╣╠♥

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MISCELLANEOUS:
short poem ive been working on

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(¯`·.¸¸.->ꜱᴄʀᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴀᴍᴘ ᴊᴜʟʏ 2024<-.¸¸.·´¯)

• swc main cabin ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ July 2024
♥♥♥Dailies:
Day ❶ (208 words)
Day ❷ (200 words)
Day ❸ (500 words)
Day ❹ (466 words)
Day ❺ WORD WAR #1 (245 words), lost
Day ❻ (485 words)
Day ❼ (543 words)
Day ❽ (1,058 words)
Day ❾ (416 words)
Day １Ѳ (779 words)
Day ❶❶ (514 words)
Day ❶❷ critiquitaire (313 words)
Day ❶❸ CABIN WARS #1 first contribution (1,718 words)
☞︎☞︎☞︎CABIN WARS #1 second contribution (724 words)
Day ❶❹ (400 words)
Day ❶❺ (185 words)
Day ❶❻ (502 words)
Day ❶❼ (508 words)
Day ❶❽ (around 50 words?)
Day ❶❾ (three hundred and four words)
Day ２０ (50 characters)
Day ❷❶ (none, voting)
Day ❷❷ (648 words)
Day ❷❸ (315 words)
Day ❷❹ (320 words)
Day ❷❺ (449 words)
Day ❷❻ (502 words)
Day ❷❼ CABIN WARS #2 first contribution (381 words)
Day ❷❽ (532 words)
Day ❷❾ (230 words)
Day ３０ (382 words)
Day ❸❶ (317 words)
♥♥♥Weeklies:
Week ❶
Week ❷
Week ❸
Week ❹ FINISHED

• Folklore Fan Fest ✜ SWC July '24
♥♥♥Dailies:
Day ❶ (53 words)
Day ❷ (752 words)
Day ❸ (679 words)
Day ❹ (190 words)
Day ❺ (75 words)
Day ❻ (145 words)
Day ❼ (1,206 words)
Day ❽ (460 words)
Day ❾ (214 words)
Day １Ѳ (469 words)
Day ❶❶ (298 words)
Day ❶❷ (346 words)
Day ❶❸/❶❹ (both sat and sun due to cabin wars?) (122 words)
Day ❶❺ (123 words)
Day ❶❻ (201 words)
Day ❶❼ (43 words)
Day ❶❽ (none. “Sorry, this post appears to include unsuitable language and will not be updated.” SCRATCH, WHERE IN THE WORLD ARE YOU SEEING UNSUITABLE LANGUAGE? THE POST NUMBER IS 8054071)
Day ❶❾ (97 words)
Day ２０ (22 words)
Day ❷❶ (110 words)
Day ❷❷ - none because it's national mango day!
Day ❷❸ (81 words)
Day ❷❹ (217 words)
Day ❷❺/❷❻ (38 words)
Day ❷❼ (24 words)
Day ❷❽/❷❾ (33 words)
Day ３０(?)/❸❶ (73 words)
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From swc main cabin ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ July 2024:
“Daily: Welcome, shoppers, to the July 2024 session of Scratch Writing Camp! We are beyond excited to have you all here with us as we explore IKEA. To get this session started, introduce yourself to your fellow customers in the Main Cabin comments! Make sure to include some form of joke, whether it be your favorite riddle or a silly pun, in your introduction to celebrate international joke day on July 1st. See you in the showroom!”
My entry: (approx. 208 words)
Hello guys! @TKb0iZ here. And I'm from the Folklore cabin. I got tons of personality (which means that the specifics of my personality do not really matter) and I pretty much like everything except the things that don't interest me. For example, I like literally every single genre of music in the world. But right now, I'm in love with Taylor Swift and Olivia Rodrigo and that's it. There is nobody else to love!! Also for games I tend to have a limited range of games I like but I mostly dabble with Friday Night Funkin and some Nintendo games (although I haven't played any in a while). I mostly make Scratch projects revolving around music, like mashing up the vocals and instrumentals of different songs and doing some remixes. Some might argue that it's not creative enough, but I always prioritize distinctively modifying the original music to avoid merely replicating others' creations. Sometimes I do FNF AYS (add yourself singing) stuff too. By the way, I was born and raised in Romania and sometimes I stay up late a bit too much. Alright, so here's a joke about IKEA. Why did the furniture go to IKEA? It wanted to get some assembly language! (yeah, not my best)

For Folklore Fan Fest ✜ SWC July '24:
“ǫᴏᴛᴅ: ɪᴛ's ᴄᴀɴᴀᴅᴀ ᴅᴀʏ, ᴀɴᴅ sɪɴᴄᴇ sᴜɴ ɪs ᴄᴀɴᴀᴅɪᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀʟʟᴇɴɢɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ʟɪᴛᴇʀᴀʟʟʏ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴄᴀɴᴀᴅᴀ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀssᴏᴄɪᴀᴛᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ ɴᴏʀᴛʜ?”
My entry: (approx. 53 words)
Well, aside from the usual “canada eh” stereotype I always see on TV, I do know that Canada has an extensive coastline spanning approximately 202,080 kilometers (that's about 125,570 miles), encompassing not only the mainland coastline but also the shores of its many islands. And it's literally freezing there in the far North!

For Folklore Fan Fest ✜ SWC July '24:
“ǫᴏᴛᴅ: ɪᴛ's ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴜꜰᴏ ᴅᴀʏ! ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ's ʟɪꜰᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ? ᴡʜʏ ᴏʀ ᴡʜʏ ɴᴏᴛ?”
My response: (approx. 752 words)
As we ponder the expanses of space beyond our planet, one can't help but wonder: Is there life beyond Earth? This question, driven by our innate curiosity, spans the boundaries of science, philosophy, and dreams. Thinking about the possibility of life beyond Earth is akin to embarking on a journey beyond what we can see. This speculation is governed by logic. For instance, scientists study the environments of outer space to understand what makes a place suitable for life. They look for conditions such as water, specific atmospheric conditions, and energy sources. By examining these factors in various celestial settings, they can make educated guesses about where life might exist beyond Earth and gain a better understanding of the possibilities for life in the universe. New discoveries, such as exoplanets around other stars and organic compounds in space, spark our curiosity and give us hope that life may exist elsewhere in the universe.
The enormous size of the universe suggests that extraterrestrial life is likely. With countless galaxies containing billions of stars, there are vast numbers of potential places for life to exist. Despite our limited knowledge, conditions suitable for life could be common on planets far beyond our solar system. Building on this idea, the Copernican principle proposes that Earth and its features are not unique within the universe. It implies that the processes and environments shaping Earth are probably common or have potential elsewhere in the cosmos. This would mean that signs of life, at least according to science, could exist on other celestial bodies in the universe. Furthermore, the presence of organisms that can survive in extreme conditions on Earth, suggests that life may exist in environments that were previously considered impossible. These organisms have been found in places like deep-sea volcanic vents and icy polar regions, showing that life can adapt to a wide range of challenges. If life can exist in such extreme conditions on Earth, it's possible that similar life forms could exist on other planets under different environmental conditions.
The idea of life beyond our planet challenges us to ponder our place in the universe and how we would navigate encounters with such intelligent extraterrestrial beings. The potential for communication with alien life would stir both fascination and prudence among scientists and normal people alike. In addition, this discovery forces us to reconsider our cosmic relevance and delve deeper into the mysteries of the universe's origin and purpose. Although scientific research provides logical explanations, the world of art has also grappled with the possibility of extraterrestrial life. Writers, artists, and visionaries have imagined how these beings might look and act, conceptualizing interpretations ranging from idyllic societies to terrifying invaders. Also, popular culture plays a similar and more significant role in shaping our collective imagination about life beyond Earth, with iconic movies such as Star Wars and classic novels like Dune. These creations not only captivate but also stimulate scientific curiosity and encourage the pursuit of space exploration.
Despite the possibility of extraterrestrial life based on statistical calculations, there remains doubt due to the absence of proven evidence. Conclusive evidence has not been found as of now. Yet, the Fermi paradox highlights a puzzling contrast: the high probability, based on astronomical observations, of other intelligent civilizations in the universe versus the absence of concrete proof or contact with them. If there is an abundance of stars resembling our Sun in the galaxy, with many of these stars being significantly older, why have we yet to observe any evidence of advanced civilizations beyond our own solar system? Different theories aim to understand why we haven't found any evidence of advanced alien civilizations despite the vastness of space. Some propose that these civilizations face hurdles in reaching interstellar travel and may destroy themselves before achieving it. Others claim they use technologies that make them hard for us to detect. Or they may consciously choose to remain isolated and avoid interacting with other civilizations.
To conclude, it is clear that the enigmatic question of life beyond Earth continues to captivate humanity. Science, philosophy, and imaginative thought hint at the potential for life elsewhere in the universe. The sheer size of space, the tenacity of life on Earth, and the creative visions of artists and thinkers fuel our relentless search for answers. Whether the discovery of extraterrestrial life is imminent or remains an elusive aspiration, the quest for knowledge and the exploration of the cosmos deepen our comprehension of who we are and our place within the vastness of existence.

From swc main cabin ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ July 2024:
“Dear future self… Have you ever wondered what your future self will think of current you? Do you have any pressing questions for your future self? Now's your chance to find out - write a letter to your end-of-the-month self! Try to include some goals you have for this month, SWC or personal, and any questions you have for yourself in 200 words for 200 points.”
Here's my response: (approx. 200 words)
Hey girl, it's your past self from July 2, 2024! I'm curious about your life as the month ends. Have you moved to a one-story house in the solitary meadows yet? If so, how did it go? Hopefully you are surrounded by nature and grassy fields instead of the isolating city and suburban atmosphere. If not, I understand the financial challenges that can come with moving. How's our art project fundraising going? Have our marketing strategies shown any notable results? Has our unique social media approach generated positive feedback? Did you make enough money to earn a living yet? What about yoga? I've been putting it off for such a long time. If you've started, how's it going? Are you still as flexible as a rigid plank, or have you become a flexible yoga genius? Regarding relationships, are you still alone or have you made efforts to forge new connections? I hope you are, so that you may encounter more diverse and wonderful perspectives. Are you taking care of yourself with enough sleep and exercise? Lastly, are you doing more of that Scratch Writing Camp thing and completing your word counts more often? Good luck! Love, Your July 2nd Self.

From swc main cabin ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ July 2024:
“Close your eyes and picture a kingdom- it can look like anything you'd like! Write a paragraph about it… now stop! Fast-forward ten years. What changed in the kingdom? What new developments are there? Continue to fast forward ten years after each paragraph until you have 500 words for 400 points (and a bonus 100 for sharing proof!)”
My response (95 words for the 1st paragraph plus 88 words for the 2nd paragraph plus 85 words for the 3rd paragraph plus 80 words for the 4th paragraph plus 67 words for the 5th paragraph plus 85 words for the 6th paragraph totaling 500 words overall):

With my own eyes closed, I construct in my mind a kingdom cradled among hills, encircled by only the biggest mountains crowned with snow. At its core lies a radiant citadel, its white stone walls and crystalline towers shimmering in the sunlight and casting rainbows upon the roads beneath. Graced by the enchanting melodies of birds, the citizens, adorned in silk robes and intricate decorations, go about their daily lives with a sense of purpose. At the kingdom's heart lies an emerging tree, its branches soaring towards the heavens and just beginning to bear fruit.

A decade later, the tree now towers over the citadel with larger branches. Its fruits have evolved and are now glowing with bioluminescent energy. It's said that these fruits, upon consumption, bestow extraordinary powers on people, allowing them to do things like soar through the sky or breathe underwater. This advancement has made it easier for everyone to travel where they previously could not due to obstacles. The kingdom now boasts breathtaking structures, with ethereal gardens growing in size and walkways connecting treetops to the citadel's highest heights.

In its twentieth year, the kingdom has become deeply intertwined with the mighty tree. Its roots now form a complex network that provides the entire realm with pure energy. This has led to a unique communication method in which citizens can connect to the root system and exchange thoughts instantly. As a result, collaboration and innovation have flourished. Furthermore, the kingdom has physically expanded both upwards and downwards, with settlements established on mountaintops and in underground caverns, all linked by the tree's extensive root structure.

In the kingdom's thirtieth year, the kingdom has transformed into a model of harmony between species. The tree roots now allow seamless communication between humans and animals, deepening their connection. Once believed to be mere legends, towering, intelligent creatures have materialized from the nearby wilderness, living alongside the kingdom's people. These beings share ancient knowledge previously unknown to all. As a result, the citadel has been modified to accommodate its new residents, with dedicated areas tailored to their colossal size.

It has now been forty years, and the kingdom has already evolved beyond reality. People now possess the collective power to shape their environment using their thoughts and emotions. This has created an expansive realm where the possibilities are endless. Physical surroundings constantly adapt and evolve, reflecting the collective desires of the kingdom's inhabitants, resulting in a living, breathing world that embodies their shared dreams and creativity.

Fifty years since its inception, the kingdom has become a cosmic powerhouse, extending its reach beyond Earth. Harnessing energy from a colossal tree, ethereal bridges have been created, connecting the kingdom to other worlds. They facilitate peaceful exploration and cultural interactions with diverse civilizations. The kingdom has evolved into a diplomatic hub, hosting ambassadors from across the galaxy within its boundless citadel. Time and space are malleable within it, and its inhabitants experience multiple realities concurrently, constantly expanding their understanding and the limits of existence.

For Folklore Fan Fest ✜ SWC July '24:
“ǫᴏᴛᴅ: ᴏʜ ɴᴏ, ɪᴛ's ᴅɪsᴏʙᴇᴅɪᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ! ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀɪʟʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴀʙɪɴᴍᴀᴛᴇs ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇs ʏᴏᴜ ᴍɪsʙᴇʜᴀᴠᴇᴅ, ᴘᴇʀʜᴀᴘs ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ?”
My response (about 679 words):
My recent lapse in behavior still haunts me like an open wound. Unlike past mistakes, this one feels fresh and raw. I've always been quick to anger, but this outburst surpassed my usual reactions. It occurred during a family event that was meant to be joyful, but underlying tensions set the stage for conflict. And, to my shame, I became the catalyst for its eruption.

The conversation began harmlessly with a comment from my aunt regarding my career. It had good intentions. However, her words unexpectedly triggered a deep-seated sensitivity within me. Instead of responding calmly or dismissing it, I reacted with anger. My tone became elevated, and my words became harsh and critical. I accused those around me of failing to comprehend my perspectives and provide the support I desired, directing my frustration not only toward my aunt but toward everyone present.

In that instant, I experienced a sense of vindication. I had finally taken a stand, declaring my independence and autonomy. However, the words I had uttered immediately filled me with remorse. The anguish and bewilderment reflected on my aunt's face mirrored my own turmoil. I realized I had breached a boundary, causing pain to someone I cared for, out of uncontrolled anger. The moment of heated words was followed by an oppressive silence, laden with tension and regret. I yearned to retract my outburst and alter my response, but it was futile. The harm had been inflicted, and I was confronted with the repercussions of my actions.

So, the last time I acted poorly was a stark awakening, showing me the severe impact of my uncontrolled temper. It instilled in me humility and the significance of empathy, urging me to be mindful of how my behavior affects others. While I continue to grow and improve, I am resolved to use my passion and drive in more positive and productive ways.
…
…
…
You know what? I admit it. In the many times I have misbehaved, I learned nothing. At all. Seriously, I learned nothing from my misbehavior. It's not that I don't know what's right or wrong; I just don't always do what I know I should. I know I'm responsible for my actions and that I'll face consequences if I don't follow the rules. But I find it hard to stick to my good intentions and change my behavior for the long term. This is because there is nothing in it for me. If it's something like the possibility that I might lose my computer privileges because I need to use the computer for something, sure. I just do not have the motivation to change at all. Almost all opportunities to change do not serve me in any meaningful way.
I can't explain it, but my difficulties with adapting my behavior in advance are caused by ongoing challenges with executive functioning. This includes skills like being able to switch between different ideas, control impulses, and store information in the long term. Despite efforts to treat these issues, they have not improved because the schools treat them superficially. And the doctors that claim to treat them charge higher prices. But guess what? I don't think they'll ever even have a universally effective treatment for executive dysfunction. I don't think that want to help anyone with executive dysfunction. I'm being cynical here, but doctors are more interested in treating children and the elderly rather than teenagers and young adults. They focus on the science but they also focus on themselves and the bottom line. Everyone focuses on themselves. No one, not even psychologists, want to help people with deficits in executive functioning. You might think I'm being cynical and stubborn and maybe even bratty, but I really do think that. Based on my observations, I have decided to hold back from seeking treatment until I see that there are significant improvements in the field. While this choice may seem stubborn or childish, it reflects my belief that current interventions are inadequate. I would rather figure it out myself than receive sub-optimal help. Thank you for coming to my rant.

For SWC July 2024 Weekly #1 - Timing (ALL PARTS)

Part 1,
Section 1 (161 words):

In the heart of an ancient town stood a tall, timeworn clock tower, faithfully marking the passage of time. Over the years, its hands witnessed life's milestones: new beginnings, wedding vows, and bittersweet farewells. Under its shadow, a boy and girl once played, their laughter echoing innocence. Time swept by like fallen autumn leaves, transforming the town with new faces and changes. Yet the clock tower remained steadfast, its chimes a constant reminder of the passing years. The boy and girl eventually grew into adults, their paths quietly diverging. Years later, the man stood before the tower, lost in awe. A woman emerged, turning out to be his childhood playmate. “Time transforms everything,” she remarked softly. Memories mingled with the present in silence. The tower's chime echoed, connecting their pasts. They walked away together, footsteps blending into a rhythm of shared history and future possibilities, leaving behind the enduring sentinel of time and change in the heart of their ancient town.

Section 2 (150 words, totalling 311 words):
(based on @–Artsy_Girl–'s part https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1044918972 (go inside the project and click on where it says stage))

In the span of a decade, the young witch blossomed into a confident woman, mirroring the vibrant transformation of her once-sleepy town. The broad river continued its steady flow under a now sturdier and wider bridge, while the neighboring forest had grown thicker with towering trees. Standing atop her favorite hill, memories of her youthful escapades flooded back. What once felt forbidden now felt like second nature as she walked the familiar cobblestone streets with auburn hair gleaming in the sunlight. She cherished memories of her mother’s calls, now echoing through her own acts of kindness and guidance in the community. Grateful for the passage of time and all it had brought her, she smiled as she turned towards her cottage in the forest. With confidence and purpose, she had found her place in the once forbidden village, continuing the tradition of warmth and magic that had shaped her journey.

Part 2 (406 words):

In that same town, the clock tower had always been a fixture in the lives of people like Zeph and Thalassa. As young children, they would play beneath its shadow, their laughter echoing through the streets paved with cobblestones. Over time, they grew from playmates to friends, but as their paths quietly diverged, they drifted apart. Zeph departed to work as a laborer in a construction company, only to later follow his true passion and become an architect, designing buildings that would shape the skyline. Yet, amidst his success, he often longed for the simplicity of his childhood home. Meanwhile, Thalassa remained in their hometown, gaining renown as a novelist. During breaks from her writing, she would often gaze at the old clock, reminiscing about carefree days before life became weighed down with responsibilities.

Around the same time, a young witch named Hazel had discovered her magical abilities in the same area. Embracing her powers, she became a beacon of warmth and leadership amidst the town's transformation from a sleepy village to a bustling hub. Her cottage in the woods became a sanctuary for those seeking guidance and healing, where she tended her herb garden and brewed potions to aid her fellow townspeople. Years later, on a crisp autumn day, Zeph returned to the town of his youth. Standing before the familiar clock tower, memories flooded back as its chimes rang out just as they had in his childhood. At that moment, Thalassa, with her golden hair, emerged from a nearby school building. Their eyes met, instantly recognizing each other. Years of separation melted away as they walked arm in arm through the town square, sharing stories and reigniting their bond.

Meanwhile, Hazel observed their reunion, later realizing Zeph was her childhood friend, now rediscovered. She recalled the young man who had sought her healing for a sprained ankle, unaware of her magical identity. Seeing them together again, Hazel felt a sense of completion, as if a long-awaited chapter of the town's story had finally closed. As the sun set, casting long shadows on the cobblestone streets, Zeph and Thalassa found themselves once again beneath the clock tower. Looking up at its weathered face, they reflected on how time had aged them both yet also brought them back together. They understood then that their lives, like the town itself, were part of a larger narrative, where every story was intertwined and every life was woven together.

Part 3 (801+1+1,419 = 2,221 words):

The two looked at each other while under the shadow of the clock; they stood there in the years of separation, silently fading like mist in the warmth of their shared memories. As twilight settled over the cobblestone streets, Zeph traced the lines of Thalassa's face with eyes that mirrored the flickering light of the gas lamps. 
“Thalassa,” he murmured, “how did we let so much time slip away?”
There was a wistful smile emerging from Thalassa's face; her voice was a mere whisper across the evening breeze. “Time,” she said softly, “never runs straight; it weaves twists and turns that seem unexpected to all.”
Their reunion was interrupted by a sudden commotion at the far end of the square. A messenger, breathless and urgent, bore news that set their hearts racing. “The old bridge!” he gasped. “It's collapsing! They need every able hand!”
Without hesitation, Zeph and Thalassa sprang into action, their childhood bond becoming stronger in the face of a crisis. They took each other's hands and began to run.
The scene on the riverbank was one of chaos—a tangle of ropes and shouts, the bridge creaking under the weight of years. Zeph's knowledge as an architect melded with Thalassa's swift intuition, their minds synchronizing in a dance of expertise and determination. The old wooden structure, once a testament to the town's ingenuity, now threatens to succumb to the relentless flow of the swollen river. 
Zeph's trained eye scanned the bridge's weathered planks and stressed joints, his mind racing through calculations and structural assessments. Modern marvels of steel and concrete sprung forth from his own design, but there was something about these rustic bridges that brought a unique challenge that stirred his professional passion. 
“Brace that beam!” Thalassa commanded, her voice cutting through the chaos. The same imagination that usually enabled her to work on highly complex plots and vibrant characters sketched a grim picture of what would happen if they failed. Already she could see the opening lines to a gripping tale—if only they could live to tell the story. Zeph nodded, his muscles straining as he harnessed the work of the townsfolk. His architectural jargon translated into simple, urgent instructions. “Reinforce the western support! We need more tension on the eastern cable.” Time blurred as they worked as Thalassa's quick thinking complemented Zeph's technical expertise, her ability to rally the volunteers proving as crucial as his understanding of load-bearing structures.
The air was filled with the sharp scent of timber and the metallic tang of straining cables. There was sweat intermingled with spray from the churning river; it had the effect of mist clinging to the people involved. The townsfolk moved with desperate energy, their faces etched with determination and fear. As the sun dipped low and long shadows crossed over the turbulent water, Zeph and Thalassa exchanged a glance. Only then did they finally recognize each other, not as friends pushed to crisis but as kindred spirits united for what lay ahead. The bridge held groaning and swaying but held firm—a testament to the power of knowledge, creativity, and human will combined.
Later, when the first light of day broke on the horizon over the town, the consequences of the night started revealing themselves. The bridge, though scarred, stood as a testament to their resilience. Among all the debris, Zeph turned to Thalassa, his eyes seeking the unspoken words between them.
“We did it,” Thalassa said with thick emotion. “Together.”
Zeph nodded, realizing what they had really done. “Together,” he echoed with a loose smile pulling at the corners of his lips.
Over the next couple of days, the town was alive with a newfound energy. Zeph and Thalassa were heroes now, and their whispers were the news of the market square. Amid all the exhilaration, however, a silence hung between them, and a question was left unasked.
One evening, as the shadow of the clock tower cast on the land, Zeph finally broke the silence. “Thalassa,” he had started, his voice steady with more than a bit of doubt. “What now?”
She turned to him, her eyes shimmering with tears. “Now,” she said softly, “we embrace the future. Together.”
And with that, the pace picked up once more, their bond growing stronger and stronger with each passing day that they spent overcoming new challenges with a shared purpose: to beat as one within their hearts, woven like the ticks and tocks of the clock tower above.
From season to season, from year to year, that love of theirs kept growing—a perennial constant in life's waxing and waning tide. Under the timeworn tower, they made a heritage for themselves, a story entwined with the heartbeat of the ancient town. Intertwined with the heartbeat of the ancient town, underneath the timeworn tower, they chiseled out a tale.

Meanwhile…

Hazel, the little witch, persisted in weaving her very own story of magic and life purpose. She worked in her herb garden, atop a small rise that led into the deepening woods surrounding the village. She had more confidence in herself now than ever before. Her reputation as a guide and healer became known far and wide in the regions beyond, and people arrived from the neighboring villages to get some of her potions and wise counsels. The woods around her cottage, once silent and sleepy, were vibrant and alive with the energies of the people who came seeking solace in her presence.
The next day, quite brisk and cool, there came a stranger, a tired traveler needing rest and relief from a persistent malady. Hazel's keen senses immediately recognized that there was a deeper need than superficial wounds revealed. The man introduced himself as Elias, this human sojourner, who spoke of a hard journey: torn clothes, weathered skin, and a slight limp. But it was the unseen wounds that captured Hazel's attention—the kind that ran deeper than any physical ailment. She ushered Elias into her cottage with gentle hands and a knowing smile. The atmosphere of the cottage seemed to enfold the weary wanderer, redolent with hanging herbs and bubbling potions.
As she ministered to Elias's visible hurts, Hazel quietly worked her magic—not just of the usual variety of healing and cures that emanated from her herbs and poultices but of compassion and understanding. A sympathetic touch was invested in all that might dispense not only physical medicine but also spiritual medicine, infused with a hint of her good witch's power. In essence, it soothed both body and soul, seeming to reach the core of his being with warmth.
The days blended into the next, then reached out into weeks. Sudden autumn finally chilled to the bone, yet another kind of warmth lived within Hazel's cottage. Every single day, toward its close, they could be found nestled beside the fire, in the throbbing shadows that flared like dinner companions dancing on her walls. It was in such quiet moments—shared conversations unwound, like unfolding petals of a flower in spring (even though it was autumn in reality).
Elias slowly regained his strength. A few days after he began to take meals rationed and in small portions, he narrated to her about his nomadic life. One evening, as they sat by the fire, he leaned closer, his eyes distant with memories.
“You know, Hazel,” he began, his voice soft. “I've seen things that would take your breath away. Sunsets that paint the sky in colors you couldn't imagine, mountains that touch the clouds…”
Hazel leaned in closer, entranced. “Tell me more,” she pressed softly.
Elias smiled at this point, warming to his subject. “There was this village in the far east where the cherry blossoms bloomed year-round. The air's always sweet there, and the people have a custom of hanging wind chimes to ward off evil spirits. The music they make. It's like nothing you've ever heard.”
“It sounds magical,” breathed Hazel, the green in her eyes shining as embers in the light of the fire, so alike and so confusing—something even more, based on the growing interest in this dark wanderer.
The days went on, as did their talks. The other evening, Elias turned to her and said, “Have you ever thought of leaving this place, Hazel? Seeing the world?”
Hazel hesitated. “I… I have dreamed of it,” she admitted. “But… my duties here…”
“I get it,” Elias concurred as he nodded. “I've always dreamed about a place where I belong, a place where I could make a difference.”
“That's a pretty noble dream,” Hazel replied, smiling himself. “That's what I've sometimes wished I could do, that I could use my powers to, um, do something different.”
Elias stared at him, his smile someplace very distant. “Hazel, can I tell you something? I… I'm kind of afraid to have a place to settle down. Or maybe to lose the freedom of the open road. But I've been so very attached to it.”
Hazel reached out and laid her hand over his. “We all have our fears, Elias. Would you like to know mine?”
He nodded, still looking at her.
“I fear the loneliness,” she whispered. “This solitary life. As a witch… you can get kind of lonely. And the responsibility that comes with my powers… sometimes it feels overwhelming.”
Elias squeezed her hand gently. “You don't have to bear it alone, you know.”
Hazel's heart started to race a bit. “What do you mean?” 
“I mean,” Elias said, lowering his voice, “that maybe… maybe we can belong together or find a way to be of service to each other, to belong together, side by side.”
The silence that followed was filled with unspoken possibilities, yet punctuated by the crackling of flames in the fireplace. At that very moment, they both looked at each other as if to say, through their eyes, that perhaps in finding the other, they would each find what they were looking for after all these years.
Slowly but surely, she felt this inexplicable attraction to Elias. It was not merely charisma or the excitement held within the stories, but there was a softness in his eyes and a tenderness in his touch that contrasted with his rough skin. She felt a sense of bonding, that bridge between her world of magic and his world with endless horizons.
In a few days, Hazel could no longer ignore the emotions that had begun to bud inside her. The cottage that had seemed so spacious now crackled with electric tension whenever Elias came near. She found herself watching him as he did the easiest tasks around the house, noting the strength in his hands and quiet determination in his movements.
Yet, as much as her heart was craving closeness, part of Hazel held back. For she, too, was a witch—with her obligations and her craft. And Elias was a wanderer, most likely not built for long-term commitment. Now, with the first winter snowflakes hitting against the panes outside her window, Hazel stood at a crossroads, pulled between the safety of her solitary life and the promise of something more.
Amid these gentle moments of their whispered confessions in the dark, a nagging restlessness began to build up within Hazel, a call to her destiny, perhaps whispering in the rustling leaves and in the distant chime of the clock tower, balancing her growing love with the duties placed upon her that kept her tied to this town.
One starlit night, she caught herself standing in front of the old clock tower. The chimes went off in the night air—a haunting tune, reminiscent of her own—a discovery of self. She thought of Zeph and Thalassa and how their reunion proved the irrevocable power of connection.
Lost in contemplation, Hazel was startled by a gentle touch on her shoulder—the traveler, their eyes mirroring the twinkling stars above. “Hazel, you are the heart of this place, just as you have become the heart of mine,” he gently whispered. And she was silent.
Suddenly, she felt understanding wash over her like a purifying, cleansing rain. She knew her path belonged to the town's story—one of growth, one of endurance, and one of love. With determination born of fresh insight, Hazel looked into the traveler's face, her heart open and unafraid.
“I have to follow my path,” she whispered, her voice heavy with certainty. “But you'll always have a place in my heart.”
He nodded, the flicker of a smile touching his lips. “And you in mine,” he murmured, his voice gentle yet filled with understanding.
It was only at daybreak that Hazel finally decided. With eagerness and yet melancholy, she bid farewell to the cottage that had been her refuge. She realized only too well that her journey was far from over and that beyond the woods awaited even more new adventures and challenges.
Once more, she took a step with the traveler, walking away from the comforting hold of her forest home, taking a step that was in rhythm with a heart beating as though in time with time's pulse. From there, they went into the unknown, welcoming the fate that had to come—welcoming it because they marched forth.
And thus, amidst the timeless harmony of the clock tower, went on the story of Hazel—and Elias—a story with elements of courage, of love, and of magic ever after, which joins us all.

Part 4 (238+239+227+304 = 1,008 words):

20 years later…

The town square was alive with laughter and music, and the air was thick with the scent of autumn leaves and anticipation. Children played games beneath towering trees. Their voices echoed off the cobblestone streets. Townsfolk bustled about. They exchanged greetings and reminisced about the night the bridge had been saved.
Zeph and Thalassa moved through the crowd, hand in hand. Their presence elicited smiles and warm greetings from friends and neighbors. They stopped by the newly restored bridge. A plaque commemorating their heroic act glistened in the sunlight.
“It feels like yesterday,” Thalassa mused. Her voice was tinged with nostalgia as she traced her fingers over the engraved words. “The night that brought us together.”
Zeph nodded. His eyes traced the arches of the bridge. “I never imagined, then, that it would lead to all of this,” he replied. His voice was filled with gratitude.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across cobblestones, Zeph and Thalassa found themselves once again beneath the clock tower. Its chimes rang out, marking the end of another day and the beginning of an evening filled with promise.
They stood there in companionable silence. Their thoughts drifted back to the journey they had traveled together. The highs and lows. The challenges overcome. The love that had only grown stronger with time. They knew that their story was intertwined with the heartbeat of their town—a legacy they had built together.

Meanwhile, Hazel stood before her herb garden back at the cottage. The moon cast a silvery glow over lush greenery. The air was cool and crisp. It carried the scent of earth and magic. She paused in her work. A small smile played on her lips as she reflected on the years that had passed. Elias, her steadfast companion and love, had been her anchor through it all. Together, they had weathered storms. Celebrated victories. Embraced quiet moments that filled their days.
Hazel looked up at the stars. Their twinkling lights communicate a familiar comfort in the velvety night sky. She knew her path had led her exactly where she was meant to be—here, in this enchanted forest surrounded by wonders of nature and the warmth of her community. Later, Elias joined her, his presence by her side reassuring. He reached out and took her hand. His touch was gentle yet firm. “Do you ever miss the days of wandering?” he asked softly. His eyes searched hers.
Hazel shook her head, a smile playing on her lips. “Not anymore,” she replied honestly. “I've found everything I've ever needed right here.”
They stood together in the quiet of their garden. The rustling leaves and distant hoot of an owl were the only sounds breaking the stillness of night. Hazel knew that her life had once been filled with uncertainty and adventure. Yet it was now brimming with purpose and love.

The town square celebrations were in full swing. Music filled the air, a lively melody that drew people from all corners of the town. Hazel and Elias joined their friends and neighbors, their laughter blending with the joyful chorus of voices.
Zeph and Thalassa spotted them from across the square and waved them over. Hazel's eyes sparkled with warmth as they approached. Her embrace enveloped them both in a shared moment of reunion. “We were just reminiscing about that night!” Zeph said, his voice filled with fondness as he gestured toward the bridge.
“It feels like a lifetime ago,” Thalassa added. Her gaze softened as she looked at her friends. Hazel nodded, her expression thoughtful. “It's amazing how one moment can change everything,” she mused. Her eyes flickered at Elias.
Elias smiled, his hand finding hers once more. “Indeed,” he agreed. His voice was filled with quiet pride.
As the evening wore on, the town square transformed into a dance floor. Couples swirled under twinkling lights strung between trees. Zeph and Thalassa led the way, their steps fluid and graceful, a testament to the love that had endured through time. Hazel and Elias joined them, and their movements synchronized with the rhythm of the music. They danced beneath the old clock tower, its chimes ringing out in harmony with the laughter and joy that filled the air.

As midnight approached, signaling the end of the anniversary celebrations, Hazel made eye contact with Elias under the clock tower. The town square had quieted, with the last revelers dispersing to their homes. Hazel sighed and leaned against Elias, her head on his shoulder, as they looked up at the tower's weathered face. The moon was shining an almost ghostly white, making it more vivid in the foreground.
“Do you ever wonder what the future holds?” Elias said quietly.
Hazel lifted her head and looked up into his face. She whispered, “Sometimes… but we'll stick together, and everything will be alright.”
Elias beamed, feeling his heart smile towards this woman who had changed everything about him. “Ditto,” came his steady voice in response.
In the stillness of dusk, their hearts beat in sync with the timeless rhythm of the clock tower above. Their paths had twisted and turned amongst all the other randomness in their lives, but Hazel knew that love was not a random variable. It brought them here unerringly, as if fate had brought them together for a reason. They strolled down the quiet streets hand in hand, leaving behind the reverberations of night, and Hazel felt a calm settle into her soul. She knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together, their hearts intertwined like the threads of a tapestry woven with love, magic, and the enduring spirit of their town. And beneath the aging tower, in the relentless union of timekeeping and ingrained bellsong, Hazel walked with Elias, their love story intertwined with the heartbeat of their ancient town.
And so the story of Hazel and Elias, Zeph and Thalassa pressed on—a tale to be read courageously ever after in whatever magic weave defied rhyme woven through town history by those who called it home.

(TOTAL: 3,946 WORDS)

From swc main cabin ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ July 2024:
“For today's daily, search up and listen to an instrumental song – maybe it's a classical song, or perhaps it's a more modern song. Think about the mood and atmosphere the song is trying to portray. After you listen to a portion of or the entire song, write a story of 300 words inspired by the mood of the song for 200 points! An additional 100 points if you share the song-inspired story you wrote!”
My response (312 words for the story, 154 words explaining the song behind it):
As dawn broke, Lily awoke with a smile. The anticipation of the town fair filled her like the bubbling of a newly opened soda can. Leaping out of bed, Lily, adorned in her yellow polka-dotted dress, skipped merrily down the stairs, her lively curls bobbing in rhythm. Her parents welcomed her with radiant smiles and pancakes. Breakfast was a whirlwind of sweet syrup and cheerful laughter as Lily's excitement bubbled over. The family got into their van, music blasting from the radio. As the car drove, Lily danced to the rhythm in her car seat, her mind filled with visions of sweet cotton candy and spinning carousel rides. As they arrived at the fairground, they could see it was a vibrant explosion of hues and melodies. Balloons danced gracefully in the wind as their colors painted the sky. The fragrant aroma of popcorn and caramel apples permeated the air. The mesmerizing spectacle of the rides captivated Lily, especially the merry-go-round, with its enchanting glow and lively tunes inviting her for a ride. Accompanied by her parents, Lily ventured through the fair. She reveled in the entertainment, squealing with joy as she rode in a bumper car, cheered her father on during his strength-testing hammer swings, and marveled at the acrobats' aerial artistry. The next thing she knew, she was in a Ferris wheel carriage with her parents as the sun began to set and the sky blushed a delicate shade of rose. As they ascended in their carriage, Lily was filled with a sense of awe and wonder. The stars seemed within reach, and the fairground below was a dazzling spectacle of twinkling lights and captivating melodies. The warmth in her heart overflowed as she realized that this enchanting day would forever hold a special place in her memories, its sweetness echoing the joyous tune that had been accompanying her thoughts throughout.
The following story you just read was inspired by the instrumental song “Popcorn” by Gershon Kingsley, created in 1969 and later covered by the American pop group Hot Butter. I chose this song because it conveys a lighthearted, playful, and upbeat mood that people instantly recognize when they hear it. The song has a synthesizer that plays a bouncy, staccato melody that evokes a sense of bubbling excitement, like the freshly poured soda in a can or the popping of popcorn kernels. It's the kind of tune that might be fitting for a sunny day at an amusement park. “Popcorn” is proof you don't need lyrics to give off the vibe of timeless happiness and energy. So, it inspired me to write this story about a girl named Lily and her day at the amusement park with her parents. My choice of words, tone, and style communicate the exact same themes as the song.

For Folklore Fan Fest ✜ SWC July '24:
“ǫᴏᴛᴅ: ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ɪɴᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ! ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ʙᴀʀʙᴇǫᴜᴇ? ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀᴠᴏᴜʀɪᴛᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛs?”
My response (190 words)
Actually, I have never been to a barbecue before. I don't know much about what people prefer or the social customs surrounding them, but I can offer some general observations based on some stuff I read about them.
The star attraction at any barbecue is, obviously, the culinary delights. The tantalizing scent of grilled meats and the vibrant colors of charred veggies create an irresistible symphony that whets the appetite. Whether it's tender ribs glazed with luscious barbecue sauce or savory burgers adorned with gooey cheese and sweet onions, each dish seamlessly combines the harmonious balance of heat and taste. They also offer a unique way to bond and build community, regardless of age, differences, or background. Friends, family, and even neighbors come together for barbecues, building bonds and making the community feel closer. The grilling sounds provide a backdrop for lively conversations and laughter, as people share stories over simple paper plates filled with food. The relaxed atmosphere fosters a sense of friendship and togetherness, offering a break from everyday demands and creating a space for people to connect and unwind.
This is all I could come up with.

swc main cabin ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ July 2024 WORD WARS #1

folklore || 50 wpm || 5 minutes || yes. prompt: “I've always thought that i'd finally be satisfied if i had this, but now that i do…” || proof optional
vs @drewsine (mystery)

ok so this time I fixed it and this time it took me exactly 4 minutes and 56 seconds exact lol. 245 words approx

“I've always thought that the moment I'm gonna have this will bring the feeling of full satisfaction, and now that I do…” Alex whispered, looking at the shining trophy on the shelf. He had been training for years—a hard piece of work, sacrificing his weekends and evenings in order to get up to the top of the sport. Now, when reaching the top, he expected to be overwhelmed with elation.

Instead, an empty ache had hollowed out his insides. The striving had been relentless—all else had taken a back seat: friends, family, and personal fulfillment had been left in the wake of his burning desire. That trophy, once gleaming with meaning, was now likened to iron chains to the master.

Standing alone in his apartment, Alex realized that he had let the definition of his worth unfold by outer-life steps. He had let the small rays of every day—an open friend's laugh, a sunrise, the warmth of human connection—go unappreciated.

Finally, Alex decided with a deep sigh. It was then that he was going to rid himself of the measure of happiness by awards or success forever. He would savor every second of his life, build strong and loving relations, and develop hobbies he had stopped pursuing.

But putting the trophy back into the shelf lightened his shoulders. But properly, he learns from triumphs such as this one about resilience and dedication; really finding contentment is finding at its core some balance and inner peace."

(spoiler: i did not win but i used a prompt gaining me about 25 points)

For Folklore Fan Fest ✜ SWC July '24:
(first QOTD was about world graham cracker day and second QOTD was about kentucky fried chicken.)
QOTD 1: I mean, I just like s'mores better. I don't really like any other snacks involving graham crackers. I don't like crunchy stuff that much. I prefer soft baked cookies better. They don't feel dry in your mouth, and you don't have to mix them with milk to soften them. Plus, graham crackers aren't popular in my country. We have a bunch of grocery stores selling crackers and cookies and such, but I prefer other snacks. (75 words)

QOTD 2: Of course, there are KFC fast food restaurants in Romania apparently. And I found out that KFC restaurants in Romania are operated as a franchise owned and managed by the US Food Network, which is part of Altrum group under Romanian businessman Gabriel Popoviciu. KFC has been in Romania since 1996, the first one of which was opened in Bucharest on April 17, 1997, right around Magheru Boulevard. I believe that so far there are approximately 101 KFC restaurants in Romania at present. As for your inquiry about Korean fried chicken, isn't there a thing called Korean BBQ chicken? I don't really like any BBQ that much because I don't like sweet and savory dishes, especially with meats, I like my meat savory or spicy. The fried chicken in Korea should be pretty much roughly the same in any other country with fried chicken restaurants. (145 words)

For Folklore Fan Fest ✜ SWC July '24:
QOTD: favorite chocolate dish?
Oh, hey, I could easily write an essay on this. If there is one chocolate dish that I actually like, it would have to be the classic chocolate lava cake. Just thinking about it makes my mouth water and my senses tingle with great anticipation. What is it, you ask? Chocolate lava cake is basically a milk chocolate cake with a gooey dark chocolate center in it. It has captivated the hearts and palates of food enthusiasts worldwide and stands as a testament to the extraordinary versatility and allure of chocolate. This culinary masterpiece, with its tantalizing combination of textures and flavors, has become an iconic symbol of indulgence and celebration in the realm of desserts. The mere thought of this delectable treat is enough to evoke a sensory experience that transcends the ordinary, igniting a symphony of anticipation and desire.

At its core, the chocolate lava cake is a study in contrasts. Picture if you will, a warm, velvety cake enveloped by a thin, crisp exterior that gives way to a molten center of pure, unadulterated chocolate bliss. This juxtaposition of textures creates a sensory experience that is nothing short of extraordinary. As one's fork breaches the delicate crust, a river of liquid chocolate cascades forth, creating a visual spectacle that is as captivating as it is mouthwatering.

The creation of the perfect chocolate lava cake is an art form that requires precision, skill, and a deep understanding of the ingredients at play. The foundation of this dessert lies in the quality of the chocolate used. Dark chocolate, with its rich, complex flavor profile, is often the preferred choice, as it provides a bittersweet intensity that harmonizes beautifully with the sweetness of the cake itself. The cake batter, a carefully crafted mixture of butter, sugar, eggs, and just enough flour to provide structure, must be handled with care to achieve the ideal consistency. Overmixing can lead to a tough, unpalatable texture, while undermixing may result in a cake that fails to hold its shape.

The baking process is where the true magic of the chocolate lava cake comes to life. Executed at a high temperature for a precisely timed duration, this step is crucial in achieving the perfect balance between a fully cooked exterior and a molten interior. The margin for error is slim; a mere minute too long in the oven can result in the loss of that coveted liquid center. It is this delicate balance that separates a truly exceptional chocolate lava cake from its mediocre counterparts.

Upon removal from the oven, the warm cakes are carefully placed on a dish and presented with a light dusting of powdered sugar, adding a touch of refinement to their appearance. The moment of truth arrives as the diner takes their first bite, releasing the warm chocolate lava that flows forth to mingle with the cool vanilla ice cream or whipped cream often served alongside. This interplay of temperatures and textures creates a sensory experience that is nothing short of divine, pleasing the palate and soothing the soul in equal measure.

What sets the chocolate lava cake apart from other chocolate desserts is not merely its flavor but the entire experience it offers. From the moment it is ordered to the last lingering taste on the tongue, this dessert engages all the senses in a way that few others can match. The anticipation builds as the aroma of chocolate wafts through the air, teasing the olfactory senses and heightening expectations. The visual appeal of the cake, with its perfect dome and the promise of hidden treasures within, creates a moment of pure pleasure before the first bite is even taken.

The versatility of the chocolate lava cake is another factor that contributes to its enduring popularity. While the classic version remains a perennial favorite, innovative chefs and home cooks have found countless ways to put their own spin on this beloved dessert. Variations abound, incorporating different types of chocolate, from white to milk to flavored varieties infused with hazelnut or orange. Some adventurous culinary artists have even ventured into savory territory, introducing elements like chili or sea salt to create a more complex flavor profile that challenges the traditional notions of a dessert.

Beyond its gustatory appeal, the chocolate lava cake possesses a remarkable ability to evoke memories and emotions. Whether enjoyed as a solitary indulgence or shared during a celebratory meal with loved ones, this dessert has a way of creating moments that linger in the mind long after the last bite has been savored. There is something inherently comforting about the warm, rich embrace of a chocolate lava cake, offering a brief respite from the chaos of everyday life and inviting us to pause and appreciate the simple pleasures that make life sweet.

The origins of the chocolate lava cake are somewhat shrouded in mystery, with various chefs laying claim to its invention. However, it is generally agreed that this dessert rose to prominence in the 1980s, quickly becoming a staple on restaurant menus around the world. Despite its relatively recent emergence in the culinary landscape, the chocolate lava cake has achieved a status that many older, more established desserts can only aspire to.

The enduring appeal of the chocolate lava cake lies not only in its taste but also in the artistry required to create it. Mastering the technique of producing a perfectly balanced lava cake is a badge of honor for pastry chefs and home bakers alike. The challenge lies in achieving that elusive equilibrium between a fully cooked exterior and a molten center that flows freely when cut. This delicate balance requires a keen understanding of timing and temperature, as well as a willingness to experiment and refine one's technique.

In many ways, the chocolate lava cake has become a symbol of indulgence and celebration. Its presence on a dessert menu signals a special occasion, whether it's a romantic dinner for two, a milestone birthday, or a business dinner meant to impress. The act of ordering and sharing a chocolate lava cake has become a ritual in itself, a way of marking important moments and creating lasting memories.

As we reflect on the impact of the chocolate lava cake on culinary culture, it becomes clear that this dessert is far more than the sum of its parts. It represents a perfect marriage of simplicity and sophistication, a testament to the transformative power of chocolate when handled with skill and creativity. Whether enjoyed in a high-end restaurant or lovingly prepared at home, the chocolate lava cake continues to captivate and delight everyone who tastes it.

In conclusion, the chocolate lava cake stands as a shining example of culinary artistry, a dessert that manages to be both comfortingly familiar and endlessly exciting. Its ability to engage all the senses, evoke emotions, and create lasting memories has secured its place in the pantheon of desserts. As we look to the future, it is clear that the chocolate lava cake will continue to evolve and inspire, remaining a beloved favorite for generations to come. So the next time you find yourself craving a truly indulgent treat, consider the chocolate lava cake—a dessert that promises not just satisfaction but a moment of pure, unadulterated joy.

(First paragraph: 141 words + Second paragraph: 78 words + Third paragraph: 116 words + Fourth paragraph: 85 words + Fifth paragraph: 91 words + Sixth paragraph: 99 words + Seventh paragraph: 93 words + Eighth paragraph: 92 words + Ninth paragraph: 71 words + Tenth paragraph: 89 words + Eleventh paragraph: 68 words + Twelfth paragraph: 76 words + Thirteenth paragraph: 107 words = 1,206 words total!)

From swc main cabin ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ July 2024:
“The Language of Flowers” (forgot the exact quote)

(56+93+202+134=485 words)

Eliza, the florist, lived in a peaceful little village woven among the rolling hills. Her garden was renowned for its vibrant blooms, each with a tale woven by nature's artistry. Among them, the Indian pink stood proud, its crimson petals a beacon of passion, yet its delicate demeanor whispered a solemn truth: “I die if neglected.”

Eliza tended to her flowers with meticulous care, except for the one patch where mustard flowers flourished. Their golden heads swayed in the breeze, but their meaning echoed a bitter truth in Eliza's heart. Amidst the beauty she nurtured, a void lingered—her daughter, Maya, who had left without a trace years ago. Each morning, Eliza would wander around her garden, but her eyes often veered away from the mustard patch. It reminded her all too well of Maya's gradual indifference towards her before she vanished, leaving only unanswered questions and heartache behind.

One day, in the late autumn, a neighbor with an air of rudeness turned up unexpectedly in the village carrying a basket of xanthium flowers that blossomed unyielding with thorny stubbornness at their sides. Samuel was his name, and beneath his wrinkled look, he kept his life's secrets hidden. He did not know her well and was known for saying a lot of rude things behind her and the other neighbors' backs. But today was completely different, as he now wanted to make a change and get to know her. He was awed by the Indian pink's unique color, so he asked what the flower meant for Eliza. Usually quiet, she managed to muster the courage to talk and explain the underlying meaning of the flower to him. All of a sudden, Samuel's rough edges softened in her company, revealing a man who had been severely neglected before running away from his home country, seeking solace from his own sad past. Eliza became saddened as it reminded her of her long-lost daughter Maya, and they both comforted each other. It was at this moment that his presence became more regular, often talking to Eliza along the path while they sipped herbal tea.

One spring morning, a letter arrived addressed to Eliza—a letter from Maya, finally breaking years of silence. Maya claimed that she was becoming depressed in the village and wanted to go explore the city, where there was more freedom. However, she was starting to regret her decision as the city was not for her, so she was planning to come back to the village as soon as possible. Tears flowed freely as Eliza read her daughter's heartfelt words, a testament to love enduring despite the years of separation. It was in the garden that Eliza found closure and experienced the rebirth of new beginnings. The flowers communicated silently in the wind and reminded her that no matter how neglected, indifferent, or rude a person may be, life's beauty still blooms despite it all.

From swc main cabin ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ July 2024:
“Write a how to guide on literally anything” (forgot the exact quote)

(543 words)

How To Make Your Own Handbag!

Creating your own handbag at home can be a really fun and rewarding experience. Whether you're young or old, you can totally make a professional-looking bag with just a few materials and some basic sewing skills. It's a great way to express your personal style and save money compared to buying a fancy purse from the store. You may need an adult's help for this.

1. First, you need to decide what kind of materials you want to use. For instance, leather is super durable, canvas is more versatile, and upholstery fabric is thicker and more decorative. You'll also need some lining fabric to protect the inside of your bag. 

2. Next, grab your sketch pad and get creative! Draw out your dream handbag design, including all the details like size, pockets, closures, and straps. Use your awesome drawing to make a paper pattern with all the right measurements. This will be your guide when cutting out the fabric pieces. Your final draft should be the one used to make your handbag.

3. Time to get cutting! Trace and cut out all the pattern pieces from your exterior and lining fabrics, plus some stiff interfacing to add structure. Make sure to cut out any smaller pieces too, like pockets or decorative elements.

4. Now the fun part—sewing it all together! Iron the interfacing onto the wrong side of your exterior fabric pieces (which will not be seen in the final product). Then use pins or clips to hold the exterior pieces in place and sew them together with your sewing machine. This is where you create the bag's shape and strength. Don't forget to sew on any metal rings and clips used for attaching straps or handles to your bag or other hardware at this stage.

5. Next, sew the lining pieces together, leaving a small opening to turn the bag right-side out later. Attach any interior pockets or compartments to the lining fabric. 

6. Ensure the exterior fabric of the handbag is facing the right way (outside facing outward). Carefully slide the lining (wrong side out) into the exterior of the bag (right side out). Match up the top edges and sew them together, leaving a small unsewn section. Reach in through the hole and gently pull the fabric through to reverse it. Sew the opening closed by hand, and press the top edge with an iron.

7. Add a final line of stitching around the top edge for a professional touch. Install your closure (like a zipper or snaps) and attach the straps using rivets or sewing. 

8. Give your creation a final inspection, trim any loose threads, and consider adding a leather conditioner or fabric protector. Now you can personalize your bag with fun embellishments or details to make it truly one-of-a-kind!

Making your own handbag is so satisfying. You get to design it exactly how you want, use high-quality materials, and save money while making something that looks store-bought. Don't be afraid to get creative and have fun with the process! Your handmade bag will be a unique accessory you can wear with pride.

P.S. For context, I have some experience in this area, so I wrote all the steps here myself.

From swc main cabin ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ July 2024:
“Time to put a twist on some old friends! Take an idiom or proverb, any one, and imagine what would happen if that were to come true. Is the grass always greener on the other side? What if the test really was a piece of cake? Write 400 words in this scenario to claim 300 points for your cabin! An additional 100 points can be earned for sharing proof!”

My response: (Number of Words per Paragraph: 89+76+102+73+87+78+100+119+72+87+89+86=1,058 words total!)

Imagine, if you will, the bizarre case of one Melissa Matthews, a soft-spoken librarian whose life was suddenly turned upside down one day when that idiom “to have a bee in one's bonnet” nearly took literal metamorphosis. This all happened on a rather sultry Tuesday afternoon when Melissa was engaged in arranging the nonfiction section—her fingers dancing across the spines of well-worn tomes. Little did she know that her world was about to be turned upside down by an innocuous insect with a penchant for flowers on headwear.

Melissa reached for the more dusty volume on apiculture when a faint buzzing suddenly polluted the air. Her neck started creaking as if she were initially feeling ambient noise from the ancient library's system. Still, the persistent drone grew louder with every second. Her eyes searched everywhere. She scowled. It was only when she felt a faint scratching at her scalp that she realized, with horror, that there was something alive inside her favorite floral bonnet.

With shaking hands, Melissa cautiously lifted the hat off and let it drop on the table, her heart rattling against her ribcage like a fast staccato beat. She was mortified when a fat honeybee popped out, its diminutive wings whirring with a violent hum as it buzzed inches from the tip of her nose. Her first impulse, and one that came rather remarkably close to what really happened, was to yell and flap her arms wildly at the flying interloper, but years of keeping stiff upper lips behind desks and in reading rooms had given the librarian nearly superhuman control over herself.

Instead, Melissa found herself wrapped in an absolutely unsolicited staring contest with the tiny creature; its compound eyes reflected her own bewildered expression. Within seconds, a bond of sorts grew to tie together a woman and her bee. Perhaps it was the fact that they both found themselves unsettled in an unfamiliar setting, or maybe it was only the absurdity of the situation, but Melissa felt a sudden obsession with her unsolicited companion.

She threw caution to the wind and decided to embrace this bizarre turn of events. Bending close under a whisper, she conspiratorially addressed the bee with, “Well, little fellow, it seems we are quite in a pickle. What say we make the best of it?” The gentle buzz from the bee was interpreted by Melissa as acquiescence, leading her to believe that either the event was a rare occurrence guided by cosmic forces or Melissa has a newfound, unexplored ability to communicate with species other than humans.

And thus commenced the most memorable chapter of Melissa Matthew's life. She named her new companion Eureka and began to don her bonnet and go to work every day with Eureka safely ensconced within its floral folds, a move that would have concerned her most conservative patrons. Soon, the team was inseparable. Melissa, who still whispered her synopses of books that she cataloged, was joined by the bee's own comment: a system complex of buzzes and wing flutters.

This news of the librarian and her bee spread rapidly and uncontrollably among people residing in the sleepy town of Xzyzz. What had been a relatively quiet library soon became a flurry of interest, with visitors coming from everywhere just to catch a glimpse of this unlikely duo. Kids who had never been inside the building before now begged their parents to take them to story time, wondering if Eureka would make an appearance. Even the most curmudgeonly of residents found themselves charmed by the sight of Melissa going about her duties with a contented bee perched atop her head.

As the days slid into weeks, Melissa slowly began to realize that being fixated on Eureka had its entirely unexpected perks. His sense of direction, in such an acute form, helped them move through the complex and intricate stacks of books or manuscripts with ease, while his ability to detect subtle changes in air currents allowed them to identify air movements that would ruin delicate manuscripts. Further, the presence of Eureka seemed to instill within Melissa a newfound confidence that was previously unknown. She began speaking up more at work, making suggestions for innovative programs that empowered more people, and standing her ground with the very intimidating head librarian about a change she didn't feel good about in policy.

Of course, not everyone was delighted by this unorthodox arrangement. Mrs. Quisenberry, the town's mayor, attempted to get Melissa and Eureka banned from the library, citing health and safety concerns. However, by now, the iconic duo had such a following that everybody noticed her. In a delightfully ironic turn of events, it was Mrs. Quisenberry's crusade that finally nailed the status of Melissa and Eureka as local celebrities once and for all.

As the months went on, more and more unexpected things happened to Melissa. She wrote a series of children's books about her adventures with Eureka; the books became an overnight success. The library threw a “Bee Kind to Your Neighbor” festival, replete with honey taste stations and an area where people could observe a live beehive in action. Even the suave beekeeper, who had initially appeared at the library to advise on Eureka's care but lingered for the snappy repartee and selected obscure literary references, courted Melissa.

Melissa only began to understand the significance of that very Tuesday afternoon, which transformed her from a shy, retiring wallflower to a blossoming social butterfly. She'd learned to roll her sleeves up, finding joy in absurdity and never discounting the power that such an unlikely obsession turned friendship might hold. Now seated at her desk with Eureka humming contentedly on top of her bonnet, Melissa couldn't help but smile at the thought that sometimes the most extraordinary adventures begin with something as simple as a bee in one's bonnet.

And thus, dear reader, the next time you are worrying over something bizarre, remember Melissa and Eureka. For in this huge and wonderful world, where reality so often outstrips the confines of our imagination, who knows what great adventures may lie in store for those bold enough to invite a little chaos into their neatly ordered lives? After all, as Melissa Matthews would no doubt attest, sometimes the key to true happiness is learning simply to roll with the punches—or, in this case, the buzzes.

From Folklore Fan Fest ✜ SWC July '24
“ǫᴏᴛᴅ: ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ, ɪᴛ's ɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴠɪᴅᴇᴏ ɢᴀᴍᴇs ᴅᴀʏ! ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴠɪᴅᴇᴏ ɢᴀᴍᴇs ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴ?”

My response:

The kind of games I like to play include .io games like slither.io because they provide excitement, involve strategic thinking, and have a touch of competitiveness that keeps me playing all the time. These games, which are very easy to play and addictive by nature, definitely have a special status in the gaming world. Slither.io remains my all-time favorite. The game's concept is rather simple: you control a bright-colored snake and navigate it through a grid-like arena populated with other players' snakes. The objective is to grow longer by consuming the glowing pellets scattered all over the area while outmaneuvering opponents to make them collide with your snake's body, which makes them turn into additional food. It's a classic case of easy-to-learn, hard-to-master gameplay that appeals to casual players just as much as to hardcore gamers. What attracts me to slither.io, and other .io games, is the dynamic nature of each session. Every match is totally different. Other snakes change size and movement patterns constantly, so you have to adapt your strategy on the fly if you are to survive. It's much better when you narrowly escape a bigger snake or tactically surround a competitor, making split-second decisions that change the outlook in your favor. Also the in-game competition against others from all over the world adds a factor of uncertainty and difficulty, and it's interesting how people play these games—some are extremely aggressive, while others are overly cautious. All of this diversity keeps the game fresh at all times; no two matches will ever be the same. As for Comic Cons, I really just have not felt the urge to go. Maybe because I wasn't exposed much to this sort of thing, as I never really got into comics or superheroes when I was younger. I watch the occasional superhero movies (and there are some that I even like), but again, I just never seem to be able to have that obsession that everyone else seems to have. And thinking about hours roaming crowded aisles with masses of merchandise or waiting in all those lines to meet somebody dressed up as your favorite character seems too overwhelming to bear (although I do like how some people expertly make their cosplays). I am more of a quiet coffee shop or perhaps a cozy bookstore kind of person. I mostly read a lot, normally some classic novels or non-fiction. I mean, everyone's got their thing. Comic Cons definitely seem to be the big thing for a lot of people. I'll be happy for my friends going and generally having a great time. For me, though, I'll stick to my little corner of the world where I can enjoy my interests in as quieter and more relaxed as much as possible. (460 words excluding the (continued) cues)

From swc main cabin ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ July 2024 and for Monomyth Bi-Daily: SWC July 24'
"The hero’s journey is a device familiar to many. For this bi-daily, head over to Rockie’s amazing workshop on this incredibly helpful tool- https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1045792857/ . From there, write an outline of a story utilizing your new knowledge of the hero’s journey and post part of the outline in the comments. Be sure to keep an eye out tomorrow for part two of this bi-daily! You can earn 150 points for sharing your outline with others!“

My outline (416 words):
1. The Ordinary World
- Introduce Isolde, a reserved but confrontational sixth grader who just entered middle school.
- She enjoys reading and drawing by herself, but one day the bullies start to harass her about always being by herself.

2. Call to Adventure
- The bullies escalate their behavior, targeting defenseless students and becoming more hurtful.
- Isolde witnesses a vulnerable person getting bullied and decides that something must be done.

3. Refusal of the Call
- Isolde is hesitant to confront the bullies directly due to a paradoxical fear of conflict and getting into trouble.
- She initially tries to ignore the situation, hoping it will resolve on its own.

4. Meeting the Mentor
- Another quiet loner like Isolde, named Aurelia, notices the situation.
- She shares her stories of bravery and justice from her experience of dealing with bullies and encourages Isolde to stand up for what is right.

5. Crossing the First Threshold
- Isolde decides to create an anonymous vigilante persona, ”The Karma," to combat the bullies.
- She starts small, leaving anonymous notes of empowerment for bullied students.

6. Tests, Allies, Enemies
- Isolde gains allies among her classmates who are also tired of the bullies’ behavior.
- She faces roadblocks as the bullies become more cunning and aggressive in their actions.
- The school administration remains oblivious to the escalating situation.

7. Approach to the Inmost Cave
- Isolde’s actions gain attention from both bullied students and the bullies themselves.
- She starts planning more elaborate schemes to expose the bullies’ wrongdoing without revealing her identity.

8. Ordeal
- Isolde’s anonymity is threatened when one of her plans goes awry and she is almost caught by the bullies.
- She must confront her fears and decide whether to continue her mission or retreat.

9. Reward (Seizing the Sword)
- Isolde’s efforts pay off when one of the bullies is caught on camera bullying a younger student.
- The evidence is irrefutable, and the school is forced to take action against the bullies.

10. The Road Back
- Despite the bullies being reprimanded, Isolde remains cautious as they plot revenge.
- She worries about the long-term consequences of her actions and whether she will be safe.

11. Resurrection
- The bullies attempt to intimidate Isolde and her friends one last time before their parents are called.
- Isolde stands her ground, supported by her friends and Aurelia, and refuses to back down.

12. Return with the Elixir
- With the bullies finally subdued and the school finally taking bullying seriously, Isolde returns to her ordinary life.
- She realizes the power of standing up for what is right and gains confidence in herself and her abilities.

From Folklore Fan Fest ✜ SWC July '24:
“ǫᴏᴛᴅ: ɪᴛ's ɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ sᴜɢᴀʀ ᴄᴏᴏᴋɪᴇ ᴅᴀʏ, ᴀɴᴅ… ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏ ǫᴜᴇsᴛɪᴏɴs ᴛᴏ ᴀsᴋ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ᴀsᴊᴅʜꜰʟᴋᴊᴀ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ's ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀᴠᴏᴜʀɪᴛᴇ ᴍᴏᴅᴇ ᴏꜰ sᴛᴏʀʏᴛᴇʟʟɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜʏ? ᴀɴʏ ᴇxᴀᴍᴘʟᴇs?”

My response (214 words):
I'm pretty flexible when it comes to storytelling modes. I don't really lean strongly towards one over another. I enjoy mixing things up with my stories, even if they come across as unconventional. Like most people, I tend to stick to the classic approach where a narrator tells a story in a linear way—beginning, middle, and end. I've thought about trying interactive storytelling, where the audience can influence the narrative through choices, almost like a video game. It sounds cool, but it's a whole different ball game compared to traditional writing. Visual storytelling, like in comics and manga, intrigues me too, but the amount of drawing involved is daunting. Then there's live performance, where I'd engage directly with the audience, though I'm not too keen on being in the spotlight. I'm also drawn to expository storytelling, focusing on explaining rather than weaving a typical plot. Another idea I like is telling stories through letters, diaries, or other forms of correspondence. Digital storytelling is fascinating as well. it uses multimedia like audio, video, and interactive features to tell a story. It's innovative, but definitely complex to pull off effectively. So yeah, I don't have a strong preference, as you can tell. I'm open to experimenting with different forms and structures to keep things interesting.