LJCC

It's supercalifragilisticexpial-ecstatic Even though the sound of it Is something quite ecstatic. If you say it loud enough You'll always sound ecstatic. Supercalifragilisticexpial-ecstatic. I imagined my uncle singing the ecstatic parts. It's deftly atrocious.

"Late one evening toward the end of March, a teenager picked-up a double-barreled shotgun, walked into the forest, put the gun into someone else's forehead, and pulled the trigger. This is the story of how we got there." - Beartown by Frederik Backman. That's his prologue. It was short and interesting; it got me hooked to be honest. I always imagined prologues are like the 5 second start to a movie or a minute intro of the story to an investigative crime-drama series. Not every film has it, but most likely if the plot involves some mystery, it will have one. Just like the first episode of House where the teacher was scrambling on her way to school. And then, she has this brief interaction with a co-teacher about her tryst with a guy the previous night (yes--horny faculty exemplified). And seconds after starting her lecture, she falls down and undergoes an anaphylactic shock and starts seizing. Then insert house opening soundtrack plug-in credits blah blah...then the screen pans to Dr. House. I've always felt that if that first episode was written as a novel, that intro would be the prologue. It's related, but not the meat of the story. It's like the hook to the main plot or to a bigger plot.

The English Patient by Michael Ondaajatje was written in both Present and Past tense. Live events in the Italian villa were written in the present tense; and when one of the characters was having a flashback to a previous memory or event, it was written in the past tense. When I read the book for the second time, I was too young to understand how complex the story and narration is. I read it when I was 14 and reread it out of boredom while waiting for a friend at a coffee shop. My second read-through required slow and careful attention to rhythm. I got a sense that every word was straining and bursting with every meaning. The physical descriptions were sensuous and very intimate, and Ondaajatje's gift for using well-timed silences and ellipses to speak volumes was in candour to his tense structure that everything, in short, works. I have no qualms with books or stories written in the present tense. There just has to be a sense of reason and rhyme to the way it was written. 

There's this story set in Australia about this guy named Matthew Kingston, this surfer bloke named Brad. It's probably one of the most thoroughly articulated stories here with excellent writing. But I can't seem to find it anymore from this site. And I can't find the author either. I read it back in 2017. i want to recommend it but I can't find it unless someone has the link.

50 shades of Gurrey would like to know your address. Hahaha.

I abandoned this 1st person narration of two best friends living in New York who had slept together after their ten years of friendship. Basically, the entire running plot runs on that one night they've slept together, while the one who was having second doubts was the one telling the bulk of the story through flashbacks regarding their history. It was bittersweet because I was planning on killing the best friend who had fallen in love with the other best friend, and the reveal at the end that the best friend who had survived was the one reminiscing everything on the day of his wedding. Already wrote 40k words...until my laptop died. I forgot to back up everything. Yes...probably one of the stupidest thing I've done so far.

That's why telling is an integral skill that most writers gain from experience, I guess. Gabriel Garcia Marquez utilises telling so well that the first few pages of his Love At The Time of Cholera shift from telling and showing without you realising which is which. You'd know it's a good story if it switches from Telling into Showing without sounding jarring...and I guess that breaks the monotony of reading: "He went to the store and grabbed a ladle and decided to get a bigger ladle once he got to the checkout." x100 similar outlines spread across the story. As for story length, the chapter format isn't necessarily realistic if you're planning on having your work published, unless of course it's already segmented into parts as you're writing it. Or you've already outlined everything even before writing the story. I really have no complaints if the author posts a 15k chapter, as long as it's INTEGRAL to the storyline. I honestly forgot about this novel I read in college. The first part was like 20k words of mundane repetitive actions that drove the character to do the same chores over and over again. And then it slowly informed the reader that the character was living in a loophole with his OCD. The story then suddenly morphs into a full-blown sci-fi novel with talking ducks and whatnots. I had to reread the first part because as I got to the middle part; I realised that the coffee jar was the only thing in the kitchen where the character had to go to the supermarket because it kept on running lower than usual. It felt as if someone in the real dimension was drinking coffee at the same time as the same character in the same house...which turned out to be the character's doppelganger in the loophole universe who got switched to be him in the real world. And I'd imagine if the author of that novel posts it here as the first chapter, where the context of the reason why it was written that way would be explained in, let's say, 3rd chapter, I wonder how many readers would be turned off'd by how it was written. I just think the chapter format doesn't necessarily apply to some genre's. And it really is the writer's prerogrative to stick to his/her guns on how he/she would like his story to progress in the manner of how he/she'd imagine it. Of course, I'm referring to stories that are written well. No shade. Hahaha.

To be honest, it does take time to get things rolling, especially if you're so focused on writing a story. I've been writing this story for two years, and it's gone through a couple of revisions over the years. For me, the harder part of writing is the voice and the quality of writing I'm aiming for which sometimes doesn't translate especially if you're trying to rush into things. I believe in giving the mind space to rethink and usher in creativity, which takes time and patience. I remember writing this chapter, where it took me an entire day just to google the necessary details before starting on it. Just for that one paragraph that summarises what the character was going through. There was one chapter where it took me three months to write again, all because it was mentally exhausting just to go through the motions of writing it. It honestly just takes time... What I do to get inspired is read snippets from famous novels, which triggers something in my brain that tells me to write something like it, quality wise and to try to aspire to what I felt when I read it and have it translated into my writing. Or I'd give myself a week to take a break and read a book... You really can't force your brain to think if it doesn't want to. But you also need to find ways to find some oil to gear the wheels to get yourself going. Doing nothing is the same as giving up.

Most of my straight friends have that Jason Mamoa personality--the laid back adventure seeking dude who's fun to be around. I have too much in common with dearest Jason, hence my imagination tends to steer away from fantasizing about our future wedding. I like them geeky and nerdy. As for Idris...he's scrumptrilescent indeed. I imagine him sitting downstairs, drinking coffee and reading the paper, with nothing but his trousers on, telling me to remind him to drop by the shop to pick-up some milk before going to work. While outside, our gardener, dearest Jason, is tending to my bushes. And...this is why I'm single. *faint laughter* I'll be heading out to the nearest newsagency now to get a copy of people magazine thank you very much.

I think that's the problem I have, since I'm a visual learner and certain facial ticks or identifiers whenever I envision a character are either a hit or miss, especially nuances. For example, how does the character A express anger compared to character B, or is character A reliant to facial expressions as opposed to character B who prefers with body movements. I think personality-wise, it's easier to create distinctive traits than reanimate what a character expresses in your own head. My friend who I'm basing one of the protagonists in my story is very outgoing, whereas the character I've depicted is an ambivert, somewhat recluse. And those differentiation creates interesting facial expressions, to the extent of how much the said character is willing to convey their emotions through their face. I guess there's a said psychology attached to it, that even as a writer, I'm assuming most of us takes into consideration given that these characters exists in the realm of one's imagination. "For a man of handsome features, he sure seemed grumpy. Erect and poised of elegant stature; his sober coloured custom-tailored suit showed a supercilious distinction of class amongst his colleagues. His aquiline nose and chiselled jaws amplified a pragmatic effect to his slicked back golden mane impregnable of young adulthood. And his beard perfectly groomed of austerity mirrored the stout figure underneath the layers of clothing: a musculature of a Roman statue and height, bulging at the seams, intimidating even the most important figurehead in the country, while soliciting the attention of men who envied his surname, and grown women who lusted over those otherworldly eyes like hordes of teenagers raving at the sight of the most popular quarterback." I wrote the description as part of my story. But I tried so hard in remembering that chance encounter on this really gorgeous looking man who was in the train. Everybody was staring at him. I mean, come on, he looked like he was going to a parliament assembly while arguing on the phone and his booming voice sounded like he was whispering sweet nothings. As soon as I got home, I coerced my bestfriend (who's also my neighbour) to google and find someone online who closely resembled him. And viola, a bit of grey hair here and there, adjust the eyes apart, narrow down the nose...and thanks to her photoshop skills, she somehow created a similar facial structure of what the man in the subway looked like. His photo now serves as *coughs* inspiration.

This pending story I've been writing for almost a year and a half now--yes, it's that long...I'm a lazy writer--well, I was inspired to base the physical attributes of one of the main characters to that of my friend who has Waardenburg Syndrome. There are types of symptoms, but mostly the one he has is basically...the lucky bastard's been blessed with the most lightest shade of blue eyes. It's lighter than that of Paris Jackson (she has Waardenburg as well). So I somewhat associated it as a physical trait to a main character in my story. I have this problem that I need to base what my characters look like from real life. And since they're living inside my head, might as well put a face to it. So I need to imagine their facial expressions when I'm writing. I feel like sometimes I'm a producer scouting for an actor playing the role to a character I'm writing about when I'm googling for references. I'm like, "Hmmm...this German actor looks good but there's something missing. Let's go other countries. How about Switzerland. Yes, let's photoshop his eyes to dark brown and adjust his jawline." So have you ever based any characters attributes or physical traits in your stories from real life?

I'm having an existentialist crisis with this song right now. Like an 80's disco track played at prom in the late 90's. I heard this song playing at Jamba Juice and I'm like, "This is depressing. But I can't help but bop my head."

Them natural greys...Ooh, you touch my tralala.

To be fair, this has got to be one of the better conceptualized titles around here. I'm so tired of seeing story titles that looked like it was imagined by a ten year old, who's writing an English paper about how their summer vacation went about. And I don't mean the stories with mediocre titles have crap stories...some of them are extremely good, but was packaged in the wrong gift-wrapping paper. Plus, your story is amusing and lighthearted as well, which thoroughly fits the title.

I identify as a fire hydrant. I'm kidding. I don't neccesarily consider myself a part of the community but I have been to gay pride, mardi gras, and gay clubs, often cruising the bar for...their buy one take one margarita since I'm a cheapskate. But yeah, I was a former editor of a gay mag and I think I've done my part segregating quality *ehem* (insert shirtless photo of John Hamm) content for the betterment of our gay community.

You guys should watch what would you do. There were some interesting feedback and public responses from passersby--mixed even. There was even a woman who called the cops regarding the gay couple who was canoodling on the bench. I mean it's disgusting how any form of affection should meet anyone's standards. But I guess, you can't please everybody. It's a cultural thing. Some countries are more conservative and some are more passive, while others don't care. But I do remember when I was dating this guy and after dinner, he walked me to my apartment and was expecting a kiss. I kinda said to myself, "Hmm...Why not. He looks like Jim Morrison without the drug abuse." Until I realized he was licking my face, after which I made an excuse that I have an early non-existent meeting the following morning. The only judicious stares I got was from my neighbour who commented, "God, that guy must think your face is a furball." And to my defense, I was sporting a 3-week beard but I wasn't expecting to have a tongue-facial that evening. And by the way, that was the only time my neighbour ever spoke to me before he left the unit. It was surprising cause I thought he was one of those prude christians selling you bible and a box of baby Jesus. But...he was alright.

Some writers miss the mark when turning prologues into descriptive linear summaries of their characters or specific scenes. Not those scenes relating to their story, but scenarios of how they'd envisioned their story to be. And i'm like...hold up, is this an autobiography, cause I'm sure I saw this in the fiction aisle. So yeah, I tend to drop it cause I usually have a bad feeling where it's mostly going.

It was clear that day when he took it upon himself to close the door and never return. It wasn't the isolation that left his breathing staggered with all the burdens he'd chosen to carry onto his shoulders; but he'd never thought that life would strike him in the severest manner of his own discontent—to this life he'd lead that was thrust upon him by the decisions he'd made in the past. In the delicate fabric of dealing with choices: Do you succumb to the easier route or take on the ar

This is a collection of short stories I've written throughout the years.

I now regret posting this.

1st POV for me is easier on the basis that I'm a sucker for details--too much details. I try to steer away from 1st POV because it is my comfort zone. So most of my writing is based on 3rd POV which I think I'm okay now (It's readable). The thing about 1st POV is the amount of personalization you can create with your narrator. "His nose crooked, withered in langour. His face, refracted, half-poignant, half-piqued, half-mettled, half-filled as he sprinkled the denouement with the cold Evian spritz. Just like a novel, his face is an exposition. We're now at the climax. He looked at me with eyes beetled with frustration; just as he was, he was over it. He was over the fact that getting his 4th Surgery after his dream of looking like his idol, James Dean, is long but over. I wonder if I should get a butt surgery. No! Stop it Daniel. Ryan likes the way you are. Or does he really? Is my second husband still sleeping with that gold digging assistant of his, I wonder. Even in my 3rd marriage with Ryan as a power couple in Manhattan, my face looked like it's been power drilled with exhaustion. Sure, I'm getting old. But at 50, no amount of money can ever replace the fact that I am loved by my employees and friends. Henny...no shade. But who cares about Ryan, he's just my 28 year old accessory. I wonder how much the bastard loves me. Off to getting a butt implant then." And if I were to translate that to a 3rd POV...it's gonna sound like shite. Lmfao.

I noticed that I've recently steered away from extreme architectural landscaping that novelists tend to do when they're really engrossed with the world they've created. It's like reading an article of better homes and garden. Especially if you're in peak of an action paced part of the novel, then suddenly the story turns in a vivid description of where it suddenly becomes a Charlottee Bronte novel, it's sometimes hilarious. But I've read stories where extreme landscape description works, like The English Patient.

I'm heaps loving this story so far. We need good oz stories here. I'm very intrigued.

This is what I'd imagine what most people would say when asked: What is love? Love is when you see someone pick their nose and say 'Aww...How cute.'--Amy, 28 Love is when you hear your boyfriend fart and fart along with them. --Jacob, 24 My husband loves me because when I text him to buy milk, he says, 'I forgot the milk. But I'll give you my milk instead' and then he winks. --Gary, 32 Love is when my parner pays the bill on time before I freak out. She knows I tend to get overcompulsive. --Noemi, 29 Love is when my husband comes home from work, and he picks up chick flick movies because he knows he's not getting any. --Melissa, 42 Love is when my husband talks and his breath smells like a wet fart, but it's the kind of fart I'd gladly smell all day. --Andy, 36 Love is when he leaves you one cookie, despite telling him not to eat any of the cookies you bought. --Sam, 35 Love is when my husband pretends to have sleepovers to our friend's house whenever I'm on a business trip, because he can't sleep alone in our bed without me. --Mark, 45 Love is when my husband bakes me a cake that says 'I tolerate you.' --Andrew, 27 Love is when I hold his hand, and he pulls it back cause he's shy from the callouses in his hand from working two jobs just to keep us afloat...but I hold it anyway because his hands make me warm. --Tom, 38 Love is when you lie to yourself that he doesn't matter. And yet everything you've done in your life is for you to matter to him. And when you finally become a part of his life, it's like everything that doesn't make sense, starts to have a new meaning. --Ryan, 25 Love is when you start hating people doing PDA. But deep inside you wish them all the love in the world, that you don't have in the meantime. Doesn't mean you're hatin...you just see yourself havin' it someday.--Markeesha, 22 Love is when we argue and he gets me so mad that we're not on the same page. Cause when we say sorry to each other, we really do mean it.--Markus, 31 Love is when everyone says you're not compatible with each other...but you're the only two people in the world who knows they're wrong. --Gary, 26 Love is when you can tell him that you're lonely without him. Without him getting it over his head. Because he feels the same when you're not around. --Adrian, 21 Love is when you see your partner in his deathbed, and you tell him he forgot to put the cups in the sink. Because you know that it's the last thing he wants to hear, for him to be reminded that he's not dying. --Michael, 65 The last one was from my gay uncle. Kinda teared up a bit seeing how they were when his partner died.

I guess if I am being honest, the topic of unrequited love shook the very fabric of my being to new heights that as a person with full logic, is dumbfounded when all reasons were thrown at the window when the crutches of something unrequited clung to my heart. When I was writing my story when a supporting character had asked my main character while they were at the gym previously laughing and joshing around, "But Henry, how about him? What are you to him?" To which my writing indicated: Henry paused... And paused. And smiled. 'I can't do this here' he thought. 'It's starting' he begged. 'Don't. Please' and begged... The truth stings. He knows. It hurts. It really hurts. For he knows he is nothing. He is nothing to him. He was winded. And so it fell. Sarah quickly hugged his friend while Henry's tears flowed onto her cheeks. He was silently crying; like how he had silenced his heart to endure. The irony was, the exact thing happened to me while I was blisfully chatting to a friend while shopping at a mall when he had asked me the same question out of nowhere, then bam...waterworks for nearly 3 years of having a 'thang' for some guy while my tears just fell cause it did. Some emotions doesn't care if you're passing by an H&M store in front of a fountain in the middle of a mall where people usually gather. And most emotions are not considerate even if you're a grown ass man with a beard. And yes it was cathartic...but it had been 2 years since the whole stupid unrequited thingie happened, so when I wrote that section, it made me bawl like a baby not expecting some things to resurface like an old friend saying: hello, it's me...I was wondering if after all these years you'd like to meet. Because when it happens, it happens. Just like stories, it's written to tell. I wanted to stop writing it, but...it has to be told, because...why not.