Konichiwa, viewers. I’m HaziWords, bring you today’s forecast, of Hazi, with a scattered chance of chaos, and a possible rant somewhere in between the breaks.
—–Anytime now, ya’ll. My YouTube acount is waiting to be locked. I’m pretty sure my parent would disown me with the introduction.—–
When I began to write-I found myself more absorbed in the various ways. The patterns each writer had. I became obsessed with crafting characters that ebbed and flowed with ease-but swam against the crowd. I devoured the challenge, becoming so intruiged, that the world around me faded. I even called my own Doctor, the name of a doctor for people with extrodinary abilities, that was from my story. Thankfully she didn’t catch on…
But I’m getting off track.
Basically, the moral for my rant, is that I rally toward the idea of challenges-and those who have Group-stories, do as well.
When you have more than yourself writing, things become chaotic. No matter how much of a plot you have cranked out-or an idea of your character; somethings going to change.
Your always working always round schedules, pushing others to write, banging your head on the wall-and loving new ideas, to the point where your head spins around in a creepy-horror movie way, or even just reinacts the scene of your dog playing wall ball with its squeker toy.
*Bangs head on wall*
SQUEK. SQUEK. SQUEK. SQUEEEKKKK. SQUEK. SQUEEKKKK.
And then for whatever reason, your sassy overly-moody dog does this weird classy walk thing over-AND JUST TEARS THE SQUEAKER RIGHT OUT OF THE TOY.
And if your like me and one of my friends-the concept of a plot line or any type of outline besides whatever crazy spur-of-the-moment ideas we have-it’s crazy.
One minute you have Jeanie trying to figure out how to crack a computer code-and next thing we know-she doesn’t know how to read (kudos to the experts who can figure out how to make that problem work).
All we know is that her parents were deranged-we want her to get severely hurt, probably make a character evil, and kill off another.
And we ship Jeanie with some random dude she originally hates at the beginning of the story.
We love conflict.
And ruining our lives.
And eating ice cream (from ruining our lives by killing off our dearly beloved characters).
And when you write without plot (or with it), you find yourself rocking back and forth muttering non-since as we wait for the übber busy friend to send their part.
It’s like when you get caught up in a series on TV, and they end a season, and you don’t know if the show will continue on.
What’s worst is if your like me, the idiot I am, becomes so obsessed I have legitimately planned their lives for these next THIRTY-FIVE YEARS.
And then, your friends get so distracted they decide to can the story.
And you don’t know what to do with your life.
Except continue eating ice cream.
Because ice cream is good food-and you need to tell someone an excuse when they make a comment on the amount you’ve been eating.
“You’re gonna get fat eating that much ice cream.”
“One, I am fat-but in a huggable over-stuffed bear way, and two, I’m mending a broken heart.”
——–If you’ve read this far, I admire you, and dealing with my distracted tangants—-
Alright, I’m back. If you actually complete a story; it’s like that feeling you get when you complete a Rubix cube…
Without pulling the stickers off and gluing them back on so all the sides match.
But it’s a funadmental part as a writer, because it shows your our willing to change, constantly morphing your writing-showing your expendable.
And I’d like to say I have advice.
The only thing I have to say is…
The thought that I referd my head to the squeaker toy my pug threw at the wall repeatedly for no reason, and the constant *squee* it made, is terrifying.
The even more terrifying part…
Is what the Puggle will do if my head decides to start making squeaking noises when I bang it against the wall.
Strawberry’s and Miso Soup,