Um, h-hi…
So obviously I did not keep that fucking promise… (Please refer to “writing” tag to learn more of my shame)… However, I have been getting itches to write again. So funny how that seems to happen around the same time every year i.e. July – September! It’s almost like I cycle through creative moods that dictate my actions far beyond my actual logical desires.
For instance, I started making a text adventure game about 2 months ago? I am, of course, flubbing a bit atm, but I chock it up partially to having moved within the past 2 weeks.
Point is, I’m trying to get my grip on the massive steering wheel of my creativity and actually steer this massive fucking cruise ship back on track before I get caught up doing anything else. I’m trying to learn to channel myself into “the zone” which is a new term I learned just tonight for the state of mind I get into when I focus on communicating an idea efficiently instead of making something super “good.”
Thus, I have randomly assigned myself an idea to communicate, using a writing prompt. Instead of writing a “compelling story” with an “arc” or “characters” I literally just tried to communicate a thought about how humanity will never let things die. I have to tell you that here, because I doubt you’d get the point if you read it since it isn’t very good! It is short though. Like, super short.
#836 — what are your wildest dreams for your great grandchildren?
Kim’s parents couldn’t afford an elementary school transport tube. All of Kim’s friends could, and they told her so excitedly, but Kim didn’t care. They described to her the convenience of having one’s bed tipped into a plastic slide, with vacuum suction to carry them to the school locker room, where they would change out of their pajamas into a stout uniform. However, Kim came back at them with descriptions of the wind in her hair and the sun streaming though the trees. It was hard-earned wind, but Kim had no trouble justifying the extra effort.
Kim rode a bike to school. Her parents had gifted it her on her 11th birthday, as compensation for an unpleasant and unwanted move; for Kim, it was more than enough. She knew vaguely of the trouble it must have offset her parents to acquire it these days. In fact, her parents had payed for it with the entire inheritance of Kim’s great grandfather, an unsurprisingly meager amount given the man’s familially infamous career in the dying live theatre. The parents would rather have trashed the cash than honor the man’s legacy of hipsterdom, but it was worth it to see how happy the bike made Kim.
Kim, in fact, was much like her great grandfather. Such was it that she took pride in her bike. While the other kids allowed themselves to be caught up in the convenience of the moderne, it was exactly the bike’s inconvenience that made it attractive, worth it, even, to Kim.