Moved

This blog is continued at a new URL:

http://eventuallypublished.wordpress.com

Introduction

EVERYTHING ON THIS SITE IS MY ORIGINAL WORK

Dear Readers,
This introduction has been revised. The original was big and annoying and highly reminiscent of an ink blot (which, incidentally, is also big and annoying). However, if you are new to this blog, I highly suggest that you read it, and it can be found here.

Enjoy the blog!

Sindummarexy: The Good Stuff

This is the answer to that classic riddle: "What do you get when you cross an Index with a Summary?"

A sindummarexy, I suppose. *groan*

In Other Words...

Story (With Explosions!)

Spider

Challenge For The Mentally Elite (a game)

Recommended (book review)

Inspiration?

Bic-ography (Editor's Choice: most creative)

By Its Cover (most controversial post)

"Titor" Prologue

Aliens (funniest post)

MPD: The Clincher

Play Taboo! Win!

A Poem

MSN Conspiracy (strangest idea)

Self Portrait

In Other Words...

So what happens when you are trying to get a point across to someone, but you find yourself in a pickle due to an inability to find the right words to say? A typical teacher response is: "Dictionary". But sometimes it is more than slightly awkward to halt your conversation and go rifling through one.

Or pretend you are perspicacious enough to have found the perfect word to describe your emotional circumstance, but the person you are talking to doesn't understand the word you have selected? Hand them the dictionary? Or stay up until dawn trying to explain it to them?

Here's a helpful hint: make it up. Does that sound heathenous to you? That worthless boy deserves to be slapped for such an obscene idea. But seriously guys! Language exists for communication, and sometimes you can communicate easier with a word that doesn't exist. So take the liberty, and make up words.

And for the record, I didn't coin this idea. Perhaps you think that making up words is something that only illiterate and unintelligent people do, but I'll bet my left elbow you're wrong. Some of the most highly esteemed and majestic writers in history made a hobby of it. Take Shakespeare for instance. Throughout his plays he coined more than 1500 words that are common today. If he needed a word to describe something obscure, he made it up!

George Bernard Shaw, another playwright, messed with English a different way. Throughout his many works, he spelled words differently in an attempt to change how the English language was written. If he didn't like the way a word looked, he changed its spelling. THIS idea, however, did NOT catch on. Don't try it. Misspelling words really is a terminatable crime.

Why do you suppose the dictionary keeps getting bigger? Words are added. About 10,000 words are added to the English language every decade. Where do they come from? People MAKE THEM UP. And why do they catch on? Because these made-up words often communicate better than the words that already exist. For instance, you know what a tide pool is, right? "A pool of salt water left (as in a rock basin) by an ebbing tide." Tide pool is a good way to describe that. Everyone knows what you mean. Do you know how long 'tide pool' has been a part of the English language? Less than two days. Just added.

The point that I am trying to make here is, even if you are not undefeatable in Scrabble, you can still communicate just as well as the rest of the scholarly world by using your own words. If we understand what you mean, it's ok.

Words in red were all introduced to the world by Shakespeare. Others include: eyeball, unreal, bump, and skim milk.
Words in blue are my own. They aren't in the dictionary, but they made sense, right?

But I Digress...

Jason yawned and stretched. The sunlight was too bright. Hadn't he closed the curtains last night? He sat up and got out of bed, squishing his toes in the thick carpet.

After getting dressed, Jason walked over to the window and squinted out into the new day. He glanced at his watch. 10:00. He yawned again. Saturday mornings are so lazy, he thought as his eyes played over the green lawn behind him and up the ivy-covered brick wall. Something bright was glinting at the top of the wall. It hurt his eyes, so he turned away groggily and walked across the room to his dresser to look in the mirror. His eyes had dark bags under them. What time did I get to bed last night? He couldn't remember. Not early enough. The glint from the wall was flashing at him in the mirror too. Ugh.

His eyes scanned the dresser in front of him. The vase that Kendra had given him was still empty. He wasn't much into flowers, but he liked the vase. Well, he liked who the vase was from at least. He leaned forward too quickly and his knee struck the dresser hard. A picture frame tottered on the edge of the dresser, and he clumsily lunged to grab it. It hit the floor.

CRASH

That's not right, he thought. That frame didn't have any glass in it. What made the shattering noise? He looked back at the vase, but it was gone. There was glass scattered all over the dresser. Jason stood still. And a bullet in the wall. He moved fast. The mirror shattered behind him as he dove towards the door and rolled out into the hallway.

Crouching, Jason moved quickly down the stairs and towards the entrance to his garage, being careful not to come in full view of any windows. As he crawled through the kitchen, some movement caught his eye. There above the sink was a tiny camera, watching him. He rolled towards it and got beneath its view. Carefully staying out of view, he reached up and opened the silverware drawer, and felt around until he found a knife. Grasping the knife so that the blunt end stuck out from his hand, he leapt up and brought it down hard on the camera. The second time he hit it, it came loose from the wall. He dropped it in the garbage bucket under the sink and slunk off towards the garage.

No windows in the garage. He stepped out and shut the door behind him. A slight tide of relief washed over him, and his mind cleared. He had been surviving on reflexes, and now he felt himself coming awake through a deep fog, as if the last two minutes had been a dream. His brain clicked into gear.

What am I doing in the garage? Take the car. The car is the fastest way to leave. What if they tampered with the car? They were able to open my curtains, weren't they? Hmmm...

He knew that whoever they were, they wouldn't be far behind. Opening the car door, he took his keys from above the windshield and inserted them into the starter. String. Jason realized that he was wearing his socks but no shoes. He grabbed a loose thread and unravelled about seven feet of string. Tying one end to the head of the key, he looped the thread around the steering wheel and pulled the other end out of the car until it was taught. If he pulled just a bit more it should turn the key and start the car... Was six feet away far enough? He grasped the thread tightly and lunged away from the car. The key turned. The thread snapped. His body hit a metal garbage can hard.

The car exploded.

Nursing a very bruised shoulder, Jason crawled to the back of the garage and found the loose boards. His attackers would be coming quickly after hearing the explosion. The garage door started to open. Prying the wood loose, he forced himself through the small opening. The wood splintered into his arm, and left a large scrape on his leg. He dove into a neatly trimmed bush, ignoring the bite of the sharp branches, and held his breath. Inside the garage he heard a man talking on a radio.

"The car bomb exploded, but he seems to have avoided it somehow. I'll search the garage, he must be in here somewhere......... Send in the cars, in case he escaped. He can't get very far on foot. If he got out, my man outside will get him."

A man outside. There's two of them. And more coming. Jason tried in vain to quiet his breathing. He peered through the leaves, hoping to find the other man before the other man found him. He did. A tall man dressed in black sprinted around the corner of the garage and began scouring the backyard. Then, he noticed the hole in the back of the garage. Jason thought quickly. A distraction. He needed a distraction. He pushed his way slowly out of the bush so that it was between the man in black and himself. His knee struck a fist-sized rock. Biting back a moan, he lay silently on the lawn, tears coming to his eyes.

The rock! Ignoring the pain, he closed his fingers around the rock and heaved it at the second story window above him. Glass rained down as the man in black jumped backwards. Jason sprang out from behind the bush and locked his arm around the man's neck, choking him. In a second, the man had reversed the hold and Jason was on his back, shards of glass from the broken window cutting into him. He cried out. The man in black pointed a gun at Jason, and spoke into his radio.

"I've got him. He's in the back. He tried to jump me."
"Very good. You know your orders. Do it."

The man's finger tensed on the trigger. The burst of speed came from years of working out, mixed with the raw terror and instinct of human survival. Jason spun to the side as the bullet came smashing down into the dirt; he launched himself upwards with his hands, spinning to face his attacker with a large piece of glass in his hand. Taken off guard, the man in black struggled to cock the gun again, and Jason lunged, driving the glass deep into the man's arm, causing him to scream and drop the gun. Jason brought his leg up, smashing his knee into the man's chest and knocking him out cold. He grabbed the gun, and saw his own blood pouring from his hand where he had grasped the glass. Tucking the gun under his belt, he sprinted around the far side of the house towards the road.

Out of sheer luck, there was an empty taxi driving by. Jason clambered into the backseat and yelled at the stunned driver to burn rubber. And two blocks ahead of them, four police cars raced around the corner and cruised straight towards them. Jason gasped and lay flat against the back seat. The taxi driver began to slow and pull over. Oh no. His mind flashed. The gun. "Keep moving!" he shouted as he pulled out the gun and held it to the driver's head. "Drive!" This did not have the effect Jason had hoped. The taxi driver froze, his hands twitching, mouth open in a silent protest.

THUMP! The back of a gun has its uses too.

Jason opened the driver's door and shoved the unconscious man out onto the road, then pushed his foot to the gas pedal. Careening past the four police cars, he caught a brief glimpse of the confusion on the faces of the cops. He had his head start. The chase had just begun.

Spider

Read slowly for full effect. Envision. Imagine.

Imagine this: a spider. You have an image in your head. But it's not the right image. No no, I'm talking about a big spider. A HUGE spider.

Now you think you know what I'm talking about. You think you understand; you've got it all straight now. You're still wrong. When I said huge, I meant huge.

You envisioned something pretty small. You know a new-born baby? That's pretty small. So when I said "huge spider", why did you envision something smaller than a newborn baby? That's just illogical. Imagine huge.

Ok, ok, NOW you understand, right? When I say huge, I mean huge. Now, I'm not sure where your imagination has gone with this yet, but I assume you're probably comparing sizes with that Lord Of The Rings spider, or maybe that Harry Potter spider. But those spiders are tiny compared to the idea that I'm trying to get across.

Try to imagine: you have never imagined a spider this large. Picture it. Now, I'm no expert, but maybe in your head right now you're looking at a spider the size of a city, or a mountain. Well, you are now. And your common sense is telling you that anything much bigger than that is just impractical to imagine, because it would upset the very foundations of our social structure and economy. Maybe even the weather.

Now I'm tangenting, forgive me... Imagine an entire civilization living on a speck of dust. Imagine them going on in their own little world, economizing economics, structuring structures, and stealing Christmases. Would they be worried about us big humans upsetting their balance? Could we upset them if we tried? They would be so small, we couldn't even affect them. Now, imagine that the earth is that speck of dust. Now imagine a spider next to it.

*pause, for dramatic effect*

No. You're still thinking too small. What you see now is a normal spider that makes the earth look like a speck of dust. Remember that spider that was the size of a mountain? Imagine THAT spider next to the speck of dust that is our earth. Think harder. Envision it: our earth, suspended in space; this spider, making us look like a speck of dust on Mount Everest. It's hard to comprehend. Just think about it again, I'm not so sure you've got it yet.

This creature would be unknown to us earthlings, because it is so large it doesn't even affect us. I'm talking about a spider the size of our galaxy, the Milky Way. A spider, yes, in the fact that it has eight legs. But any other resemblance to an earthly arachnid is only speculation. There is no knowing. How it moves, from galaxy to galaxy. How it breathes. What it eats. This cosmic spider is as mysterious as it is large. There is no knowing.
Now you see this big, huge, giant, cosmic, TITANIC spider. So, imagine with me. Imagine with me for just one second:

Spiders.

Challenge For The Mentally Elite

This requires all your deductive reasoning and mental skills. If you have none, or have not polished them in a while, you may choose to lose. By not trying. I hope this post is as vague as it is supposed to be, because it is supposed to be vague. Go figure. If you win, you'll know it. I promise. And yes, this is totally serious. So go for it, and try hard. Do your best.

Just one little push to get you going in the right direction, and I'll say it Again: #072305

Enjoy the hunt!

EDIT: We have our first winner! High score list time...

1. Dan Albright

Recommended

I'm getting one thing clear already, ok? A book list is NOT the same thing as a reading list. Reading Lists imply school, boredom, weathered books and overdue fines. Had the following post been a reading list, the title may have been "Required". However, the following is a book list. A Book List, for those of you with little or no deductive ability, is simply this: A list of books. In this case, they are books that I personally have enjoyed, and am therefore recommending to you.

Through The Looking Glass -Lewis Carroll
A sequel to the astoundingly popular children's tale "Alice's Adventures In Wonderland", this book is a complete enjoyment for anyone who agrees with the philosophy 'random is funny'. Ye Strong Bad lovers, beware. Lewis Carroll can almost touch the greatness. Around 100 pages long, this book is worth a read on a rainy day, and will keep you laughing and thinking, "They did random back then? Wow."

Tuck Everlasting -Natalie Babbit
A beautifully written story about a family that lives forever. This book amazed me, because I had seen the movie first, and when I read the book I couldn't help but think that the movie was better. Definitely worth a read, but I also recommend the movie for an emotional twist.

A Night To Remember -Walter Lord
Nonfiction, and the only nonfiction book I have ever enjoyed. This book takes the reader along on the voyage and sinking of the Titanic. For those not interested in the Titanic, read this book and I promise you will be. And I can't even explain why. Gripping.

A Wrinkle in Time -Madeleine L'Engle
I put this book on the list mainly because I want to make fun of the author's name. L'Engle? Haha! What a dumb name! Ok, I'm done now. But seriously, some parts of this book are really good, and others'll put you to sleep. The determined reader may enjoy it. I recommend it only as a last resort.

Of course, once MY book is published it'll be on the top of that list. But until such a time as that may be, you might as well read these gems. Their covers are all good, too.

Inspiration? Anyone? Please?

There are only two things in this world that can stop a good writer from writing well:
1. Lack of Inspiration
2. Death

Although "severed limbs" also comes to mind, there are ways to work around that.

I'm suffering from one of the two aforementioned problems. That's right, I am dead.

???

Bic-ography

The complete life, trials, achievements, and sorrows of the pen, as told by someone who has never been one, but considers his pen a very good friend (and therefore knows what he is talking about) :

You may think the lives of pens are simple. That is understandable; most people think of pens as objects with no relationships, no emotions... no worries whatsoever. However, most people have never put themselves in the pen's shoes. Which may be because pens don't wear shoes.

A pen has absolutely no decision making abilities, no control of its life. It is subject to the wit, will, and whim of the hand that holds it. Imagine being a pen in the hands of a toddler. Suddenly, your purpose in life has been reduced to creating random scribblings to be hung on the refrigerator door and mock admired by doting parents. None of your creations actually matter, and all will end up in the trash bin within the week. And that is if you're lucky! The truth is, you are more likely to spend your time exploring the kid's mouth than the surface of the page.

But that is, undoubtedly, a worst case scenario. Things could be better. For instance, imagine being in the hands of a terrorist leader. Used as a powerful tool for planting terror in the hearts of innocent people, you would share responsibility for ransom notes and death threats that, at the hand of another, you literally penned. So much power... so much destruction.

But if you think that's bad, you still know nothing. The majority of pens throughout the world live in hell. Welcome to high school life. Fact: 50% of all high school students don't know the color of the pen that they use.* Why do you suppose that is? It's because they don't care. The high school pen lives most of its life jostled around in a dark backpack, lost among semester-old notes and forgotten pieces of gum. Sporadically, a dirty hand reaches in and finds it, taking it out and using it with the utmost contempt to take illegible notes that will not be reviewed later, and at the first opportunity, back into the backpack the pen goes. All this pen lives for is the fleeting relief of being dropped in the hallway, to breathe fresh air as it is kicked about by hundreds of kids until some poor, head-hung-low reject notices it, picks it up, and begins the routine all over again.

But oh!, to be in the hands of a writer! The author's companion, the journalist's best friend! To go out and see the world, and be held in the utmost respect as you write beautiful descriptions of far-off lands and imaginary paradises... until you run out of ink and are tossed into the recycling bin. Pens don't believe in reincarnation: it's too depressing.

So now I have related to you the genuine feelings of our greatest overlooked accessory: the pen. If you really care, treat your pen with more respect from now on. Wait, actually, if you really care... you're a moron.

*Don't tell anyone, but this is actually a result of the fact that half of all high schoolers use pencil.