This is me trying to do the whole writing thing. I know it'll suck. Hafta start somewhere though. :I
I constantly try to organize my ideas but nothing really FLOWS. At school, I'm constantly ridiculed as "illogical" when all I'm trying to do is create a long lasting story. Or, you know, a story that makes sense.
The date is November 21, 2034; the time as of now is 9:43 PM. Our birthdays were today! This story starts about two years ago and flows into last year, though. Not ALL of it is made up - we really did visit Britain - but I tried to add some "flavor" like you said. I also tried to expand my usage of other punctuational terms and made personal comments using parentheses like you said. Nothing in the parentheses are written from my current point of view! Anyway, Ms.Cynthia, here you go. Here's the rough draft of my story. :/
dlLD be fitting to tell WHY we're on a plane, what the context is...and here it is: prior to the plane ride, we had been visiting Britain - Daddy said he never got to travel much whether because he was stubborn or Gramma and Grandpa didn't have enough money to take him. He told me that I wouldn't have too much of a share his childhood, so instead of "sitting at home all day" like he said he did (honestly, I doubt that he really did just sit around), he graciously took me on a trip there. It was alot of fun; I got my first taste of the chavs who, in all actuality, resemble the gangsters directly across the pond, and I also got to try some German chocolate!
Well, there's the context. We were headed back to the glorious land of North America. It took me me at least two hours to think of what to write, and writing really isn't my forté. Daddy told me to start writing, though, because it would do some kind of "aiding my personality" or whatever it is that kabaroo tend to say. O-oops, I just used some Arabia there, didn't I? Well, what I said means "grown-up", and is written كبروا (see there, that is Kaf, Ba, Ra, Waw, and Alif). Yes, I lived in Saudi Arabia on a "visa" or something like that for the first five years of my life. I don't remember much except that there was constant cooling, almost as if the heat did not exist at all! That's a beautiful place if there ever was one.
Err, back on track. We were headed back to North America - back to home. Some time had passed then we finally got off the jetbridge, went through customs, and were well on our way back home in a rental car. Well...I would say we were headed back home, except that I had no idea where we were. I didn't pay attention to the drive to the airport, having fell asleep, so I could not discern our placement by surroundings. Daddy knew - he knows pretty much everything, or so I like to say.
"Father, where are we?" I asked, trying not to disturb him from the road.
He quickly replied, "Dear, we are located 33°45′27.49″N 98°19′60.45″W."
I had absolutely no idea what that meant (except for "Dear" which he always calls me ^_^), so I was silent for some time, content with enjoying the quick glances of trees and vehicles. My original question still overhung in my mind, so I asked him again. He replied once more with the same answer. I have to admit, I was pretty frustrated that he couldn't tell me where we were, but I stood silent because I've also been advised that "patience is a virtue."
After a looooong while had passed, we finally ended up in an extremely recognizable location: Fort Worth, Texas. What's more important is that we were finally at our bayt--er, home. We slid into the driveway and immediately took our belogings (missed an "n") inside, just quick enough before the chill could grab at us. Walking through the cherry floored entryway never felt as good as that time, I think, because we'd done a lot of running around over in Britain and running around really does suck when you're light-skinned and incredibly lanky. Of course, Daddy had no trouble at all, but he's way past fourteen years old so what is there to expect from him except excellence? Hah.
Anyway, Daddy and I put our collections by the cracked mortar fireplace (the thing must've been over 50 years old by the looks of it) on the southern end of the family room; our clothes in our room; and my pendant on the desk in the entryway. I trudged to the kitchen and peered at the clock, then heaved a depressed "four oh clock." As one might expect, I really wanted to do nothing more than fall asleep. That didn't happen, though, because I accidentally flipped the spatula off the counter and it smacked me in the eye. After that, I just started crying.
I wasn't crying because of the pain. Through my years growing up, I was taught to tolerate physical pain. No, I was crying because it reminded me of a secret, a dark secret.
I constantly try to organize my ideas but nothing really FLOWS. At school, I'm constantly ridiculed as "illogical" when all I'm trying to do is create a long lasting story. Or, you know, a story that makes sense.
The date is November 21, 2034; the time as of now is 9:43 PM. Our birthdays were today! This story starts about two years ago and flows into last year, though. Not ALL of it is made up - we really did visit Britain - but I tried to add some "flavor" like you said. I also tried to expand my usage of other punctuational terms and made personal comments using parentheses like you said. Nothing in the parentheses are written from my current point of view! Anyway, Ms.Cynthia, here you go. Here's the rough draft of my story. :/
Chapter One: Introduction
Daddy and I were on a plane. ...It wouWell, there's the context. We were headed back to the glorious land of North America. It took me me at least two hours to think of what to write, and writing really isn't my forté. Daddy told me to start writing, though, because it would do some kind of "aiding my personality" or whatever it is that kabaroo tend to say. O-oops, I just used some Arabia there, didn't I? Well, what I said means "grown-up", and is written كبروا (see there, that is Kaf, Ba, Ra, Waw, and Alif). Yes, I lived in Saudi Arabia on a "visa" or something like that for the first five years of my life. I don't remember much except that there was constant cooling, almost as if the heat did not exist at all! That's a beautiful place if there ever was one.
Err, back on track. We were headed back to North America - back to home. Some time had passed then we finally got off the jetbridge, went through customs, and were well on our way back home in a rental car. Well...I would say we were headed back home, except that I had no idea where we were. I didn't pay attention to the drive to the airport, having fell asleep, so I could not discern our placement by surroundings. Daddy knew - he knows pretty much everything, or so I like to say.
"Father, where are we?" I asked, trying not to disturb him from the road.
He quickly replied, "Dear, we are located 33°45′27.49″N 98°19′60.45″W."
I had absolutely no idea what that meant (except for "Dear" which he always calls me ^_^), so I was silent for some time, content with enjoying the quick glances of trees and vehicles. My original question still overhung in my mind, so I asked him again. He replied once more with the same answer. I have to admit, I was pretty frustrated that he couldn't tell me where we were, but I stood silent because I've also been advised that "patience is a virtue."
After a looooong while had passed, we finally ended up in an extremely recognizable location: Fort Worth, Texas. What's more important is that we were finally at our bayt--er, home. We slid into the driveway and immediately took our belogings (missed an "n") inside, just quick enough before the chill could grab at us. Walking through the cherry floored entryway never felt as good as that time, I think, because we'd done a lot of running around over in Britain and running around really does suck when you're light-skinned and incredibly lanky. Of course, Daddy had no trouble at all, but he's way past fourteen years old so what is there to expect from him except excellence? Hah.
Anyway, Daddy and I put our collections by the cracked mortar fireplace (the thing must've been over 50 years old by the looks of it) on the southern end of the family room; our clothes in our room; and my pendant on the desk in the entryway. I trudged to the kitchen and peered at the clock, then heaved a depressed "four oh clock." As one might expect, I really wanted to do nothing more than fall asleep. That didn't happen, though, because I accidentally flipped the spatula off the counter and it smacked me in the eye. After that, I just started crying.
I wasn't crying because of the pain. Through my years growing up, I was taught to tolerate physical pain. No, I was crying because it reminded me of a secret, a dark secret.
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