This post is going to be a first draft. This is a side blog of @aroacephotographer. And it's where I primarily share my first drafts of flash fiction.
I'm a queer writer that is planning out an insufferable amount of Queer Urban Fiction. And a lot of it starts here. I'll probs start some sort of list of different posts and stuff. I have a goal of starting a Patreon and YouTube channel that will fuel my artistic endeavors. More on that in later chapters.
You can find updates on all of my projects on my website.
Artsy queers please interact! Cool, decent people interact! No terfs, 18+ only, no homophobia.
This is my submission for @flashfictionfridayofficial.
Word count: 796
Synopsis:
Monica hasn’t heard from Sam in over a week, and her anxiety over what this could mean is through the roof. She comes up with a complicated spell that goes awry.
Notes:
Hello! It's been a few weeks. I got caught up in school work and had to recover from that. Happy Pride in the meantime!
This is set before Monica and Sam start dating.
I know that when I'm stuck inside my head, there have been times when I desperately want to get out. It feels crowded and claustrophobic. While I don't emulate that feeling, I wanted to mess around with how spells can help with mental help... or detract from it and make things even more complicated.
Dresden Files, Thomas Sanders, and Spider-Gwen are all mentioned and are kind of short hand for the ambiance I'm trying to accomplish. Let me know if I've gotten there or if I could use some work.
As always, I hope you enjoy! Constructive general feedback on this first draft is not necessary but appreciated.
Sam hadn't responded in a week. This distressed Monica to no end. It had been a while since she liked someone like this. But she knew that this kind of intensity caused problems with magical practitioners. So it was vitally important she stay grounded. Although reality had a nasty habit of reminding her that she was not, in fact, grounded.
Especially since her exorcise didn't go according to plan. She flipped through both her spell book and a manual for mental health for magic users.
"So you're telling me that intrusive thoughts aren't actually demons?!" she yelled at the mental health tome on the counter of the magic shop.
It was after closing hours. Her magical security trapped sound in. Which was great, because Monica was losing her mind.
"Then what the hell am I supposed to DO?" she paced, breathing increasing much too fast to remain calm.
Her spell book flipped pages, as if a wind heard her and wanted to give her an answer. She spied one and began setting up without thinking.
In the back of the shop was a magic circle. Her mom told her she read too many of those Harry Dresden books since these things simply made no sense in the storage area of a little shop. But Monica had insisted. And here she was, using it for the first time a year after creating it.
But the book simply showed her a summoning spell. But she had another idea. It was more abstract, so it would be far more complicated. It took an hour to set up, but she was satisfied that this would work. And she'd gotten the idea from Thomas Sanders and his Sanders Sides skits.
She worked with magic that needed ingredients for the five most common senses: taste, sound, touch, sight, and smell. But with more complicated spells, you needed to add more senses in alongside the right diagram. And that gets hella complicated, fast.
Sweating, she initiated the spell by reciting words from her spell book. Several versions of her slowly came into being. First out of focus, then clearer as they became more chromatic. They appeared as still as pictures, but eventually were able to move their limbs around. One of them was a baby version of her and appeared a bit more yellow (she wasn't very happy lately); another had a red-orange tinge and crossed her arms and looked around impatiently (her anger, she guessed). She took stock of her whole rainbow of emotions and got to know them.
There was a drop in her anxiety just then. The kind that allowed her to think through what might be going on with Sam. And she realized that Sam might be going through something terrible or important. That Monica needed to text again only to show that she supported her but will also give her space if that’s what she needed. But to also feel free to reach out if she needed a shoulder to lean on. Or something like that.
Breathing in her first sigh of relief in at least a week, she was able to take stock of all of them… except for her anxiety.
"I tink she went dat way," a two-year-old version of her calm pointed toward the door. The front door. The door that she constantly forgot to lock because of the security spell.
Then she realized that there was some sort of invisible line pulling at her. She hadn't entirely taken out her emotions. There was still a connection there. Funny, since she had felt less anxious but a minute ago. But now she knew why. Looking at the front door, she saw an older version of herself. And taller, too. She was the embodiment of her stress and anxiety, and flashed blue and green and several others too fast for her to really figure out this complicated emotion. They had a moment where they locked eyes before Anxiety backed out the front door.
"Ladies… Self? We gotta do something about this," her Determination spoke up. "This is turning into one of those Spider-Gwen comics where her personality gets split up. We gotta help Monica set things right! Who's with me?" she put her arm down to the middle of the circle. Several of Monica's arms put their hands on top of Determination. A baby arm slapped the top and giggled.
Only when Monica looked over, she was suddenly more like seven.
"Ok, I'm starting to get a handle of this. I started it, and I guess it's up to me - all of… me - to set this right."
"I think she's heading toward Sam's apartment."
"Fuck, let's stop giving my selves a pep talk and go!" the original Monica said and fled the store with her differently colored selves.
I've seen two tables with D.A.R.E on the linen at two different locations recently. And I recalled how divisive that program was.
The program is resurfacing in the Bay Area and likely other parts of the country. I was walking home when I saw one of them stare directly at me. So I did the only thing I knew what to do to get them to leave me alone: I laughed as he started his spiel and very loudly said "DARE is back?! What a fuckin' joke!"
And it is a joke. Well, not the haha kind, unfortunately. From what I remember growing up in the 90s, this was the group that parroted Nancy Reagan's "just say no" philosophy, and according to Teen Vogue, they just made shit up. This program was another version of Richard Nixon's War on Drugs, which was incredibly misguided and did much more harm than good.
I remember a cop coming to one of my Boy Scout Troop meetings when I was around 12 (about 2001) and did a docile version of the Scared Straight Method. He talked about how marijuana is a gateway drug (it's not) and how it WILL in fact get you hooked on harder drugs (again, it won't).
This is also the same group that would have young adults in their 20s and 30s singing rap songs about why drugs are bad. White young adults. South Park made fun of them pretty hard for a while.
This new version will get no sympathy from me at all. I believe this is just a rebrand, and I don't know if they're basing what they say off of science this time. Because they sure didn't last time!
But if you're reading this and wondering if it was REALLY that bad, and what the harm could be, please dig a bit more. Don't just take my word for it. I'm one voice shouting "this is copaganda!" and you should put on your critical thinking hat. There's one other article I found that covers some of the origins of D.A.R.E., though as I type this I've only skimmed it. It's this Filter article and it is essentially an interview about a book on the War on Drugs.
I want to end on a silly note (and there will be). I just wanted to get some of my thoughts out while it's all fresh in my head. In conclusion: there ARE harmful drugs. But DARE made it seem like ALL drugs are bad in all cases. And it was a way to force police officers into schools. This was an awful idea back in the 80s, and is not helpful now. This whole program is connected to Richard Nixon, Nancy Reagan, and a police chief from Los Angeles. This is a perfect storm of propaganda.
I had a weird thing happen. Talking to a couple of people and writing it out always helps. So why not put it on the Site of All Time?
I was walking back home with a back full of groceries. I just had a couple of good conversations with folks as I moved about the world, so I was in a good mood.
Then I ran into this older lady; let's call her Barbara. I'd met her on campus before. And every time she wanted to talk it was while I was trying to study or complete homework. It was always something.
Today I saw her off-campus and had my headphones in. I could've pretended not to notice her but I'm too nice.
Barbara: *smiling, like there's nothing going on* Hey there.
(When I don't immediately say anything she repeats herself.)
Barbara: Hey there! How are you?
(I feel like I have to talk now. I take an earbud out.)
Me: Oh hey there. Good and you?
(Her smile drops.)
Barbara: Well, I'm actually going through a tough time.
Me: Oh no. I'm sorry to hear that. *expecting to hear an explanation*
Barbara: Well sorry isn't going to pay this bill. Have a good day.
Barbara starts walking off. I decide not to say anything else to her. And that's where the story ends. But I was left extremely confused. I wondered if I'd said anything wrong or missed some social cue. After all, I'm autistic and do miss cues often. But this felt different. It felt like she was fishing for something. Almost like it was the "right time, right moment" kind of thing.
I've been meditating more. That's kept me more present in the moment. It's also been helping me from overthinking a ton. And I think it's helping me from allowing someone else to impose their negative attitude and ruining my day.
unfortunately very true. Doing Better does not always mean never being upset or never being triggered or never having trouble. often Doing Better means experiencing those things and being able to keep going/cope healthily/move on. if you’re in a bubble with no sensation, if you’re numbing yourself out, that’s not what recovering really is. it won’t help you have a happier life it’ll just make your world smaller and smaller until you can’t fit anywhere anymore. gotta learn to make peace with the hard stuff too, that’s the only way to keep going
I just went back to college after 15 years. And one of the big things I did was start therapy (again) and yoga (for the first time).
And it's been turbulent. I've made connections and started confronting traumas and just... I've been talking to certain friends and journaling and paying attention to things.
I don't always like it. Some days I have several big cries. Others I can only write down what's happening. But I'm at the beginning stages of change.
This story has popped into my head a few times in the past year, so I figure I'd just write it here and hopefully be done with it.
I grew up in the South - a.k.a. extreme religious territory. I also was in Boy Scouts. This story takes place at a scout camp with a group within the scouts called the Order of the Arrow. Did I mention this was an especially religious part of the country? Because it was and may still be.
I had recently seen a History Channel show (no, not the aliens one) around 2009 that had an episode centered around Noah's Ark. The episode talked about the origin of the story of Noah's Ark. Like, how it happened and how it could've spread.
The host(s) or scientists or whatever stated that it could've been a regional flood, but one that was a once-in-a-century flood in an area that really didn't see this kind of flooding. And maybe it was a flash flood, and there really wasn't a lot of time to think. This proto-Noah figure saved as many animals as he could while on a raft or something.
I told this to a couple of folks that were a little bit younger than me on the first night of the event. They were silent. One looked at me in interest, the other had a grimace that could mean he was paying attention. This was wrong.
The person who scowled at me let me finish (how kind) my description and how I thought that was neat and interesting. He then let me know he believed it was neither neat nor interesting. And then told me he wanted to punch me in the face for even suggesting such a thing.
So, great. I was an adult (by scout standards) being physically threatened by a youth (by like 2 years). I don't remember what I said, but I panicked and said something to make him feel better.
And then people in 2026 wonder why I have absolutely no respect for the entire religion. I was constantly being evangelized (even though I grew up a Christian) and in some cases nearly being physically assaulted. Yeah, fuck that noise. I will never put up with that shit again. I left the South in part to get away from those psychos.
This is one of those "life" things that I'll be talking about for a little while.
I'm in a creative writing class. The semester is nearly done. And one of the last assignments is to go to a literary event and review it.
Reviewing the chosen event is going to be very interesting.
I went to a poetry slam. Tonight happened to be the last night in a months-long competition. Twas a poetry competition. And the hostess needed some volunteer judges. After the first round of asking, they said " I WILL peer pressure you" in that jokey way that many a host does to create energy for the evening. And it was repeated naught 5 minutes later. There were only two volunteers thus far.
I found myself saying "fuck it" and raising my hand. What the hell am I doing, I asked my Self. Truly, I think this was a people-pleaser move going on. (Side note: I've been working to NOT be a people-pleaser, and then THIS shit happens...)
I become the third judge. Then two more people swiftly volunteer afterward.
The rest of the night is a blur of rules and numbers and yelling and screaming for the crowd's favorite poet on stage. It's three rounds, eight poets, and a singular Final round. No pressure. Also (ALSO!) there are some of the best outfits rocked by fellow non-binary people I've seen in a minute.
When I come home, I start a voice memo and do my best to recount certain details. I'll need that for my review. Hell, I'll need this post for my review. It's after midnight, and I have to get ready for class tomorrow.
I hope to go back at least one more time before summer classes start. Because I need to read some poetry on that stage.
This is my submission for @flashfictionfridayofficial.
Word count: 585
Synopsis:
Sam comes to visit Monica at her magic shop, but they also get an unexpected visitor. Monica quickly deduces it’s a sign of an up-coming and unwanted prank war.
Notes:
While not a precise metaphor for “wolf in sheep’s clothing,” it’s a looming sign of future pranks. At least, that’s how I’m twisting it this time. Haha
This is my attempt at a slice-of-life story while I work on a greater Monica & Sam story. And also me figuring out how Monica could impress Sam in this one.
As always, I hope you enjoy! Constructive general feedback on this first draft is not necessary but appreciated.
When Sam entered the magic shop, Monica felt that something was off. Her brows knitted together in a face of concentration.
"Shit, did I interrupt something important?" Sam stopped mid-stride, her right foot hovering just above the floor. She'd knocked over some bottles of things before. It wasn't a big deal, but she still felt terrible every time she entered.
"No, it's not that," Monica looked around. There were a couple of witches perusing the store, but not much else had changed. "My intuition was set off, is all."
"The last time that happened, we ended up in the Fay Area."
"Not that big."
"Thank the gods," Sam sighed and put her foot down. Monica had noticed she used 'gods' more frequently and thought that was interesting.
A bottle on the counter started moving on its own, toward the floor. Monica swiftly grabbed it. She felt fur.
"Damnit," she whispered. She grabbed a bag from her utility belt and fumbled for a bag of purple dust as she put the errant bottle back in its place.
"Sam, this is going to sound crazy--"
"Nothing sounds crazy to me anymore."
"But if you feel wind, grab after it."
"Except for that."
But she did! Sam felt wind blow by her left, then right leg. She sank down, feeling fur flee from her grip.
"Not so crazy anymore. What the fuck is it?"
"Old Man Jenken's animalus."
"Come again?"
"Spirit animal," Monica had joined Sam in the front of the shop. She looked toward the back, where the couple started staring. "Wind spirit. It'll be dealt with." They looked relieved and went back to browsing.
But a minute later, one of them yelped. Monica waved for Sam to follow her. They stayed crouched, as if it were a mission in a video game level.
Sam had an idea. This sounded a lot like a cat. So she took out a couple of her cat snacks and tossed a couple of them onto the floor. She started feeling some wind.
Monica blew the powder into the air. A cat-like wind spirit took on a lavender hue. Sam leapt for the animal, barely missing it. But she was quick the next time.
"Like a wolf in sheep's clothing,"Monica mumbled as she sought something else out of her utility belt. "Glad I keep my visibility potion on me." She dumped the round glass vial onto the lump of cat, making a wispy-gray Maine coon appear within Sam's grasp. It had appeared she was pantomiming holding a cat the moment before.
"Holy shit!"
"Not again," Monica put her hands to her eyes. She looked toward the perplexed customers, then Sam.
"Sorry, everybody. There's another magic shop that's older than ours. He's known as Old Man Jenkens for some reason. And he thinks THIS," she pointed at the distressed and mewing cat. "Is a prank. It's a sign the prank wars are starting up again. Damnit…"
"Ok. I was worried something bad was gonna happen," Sam said as she stood and carefully picked up the cat.
Monica looked up at her to see if she was serious or not. When she saw Sam smiling, she chuckled. "It gets annoying. But not overly serious. Here's a crate for Gale." She produced a miniature crate from her belt and pointed it towards the cat. It was immediately drawn in, like a Pokemon trainer catching a monster.
"Shit! You're Batman. You know that?!"
"Nah. Just a girl scout," she smiled back at her girlfriend.
Veronica is showing Judith the ropes on monster hunting. But Judith has been protected (a little too much) from the world. They are both preparing for a masquerade while Veronica tries to test Judith, though she's grasping at straws every time.
They make it to a masquerade ball, expecting to find only one vampire. Only to be suddenly surrounded by dozens.
Notes:
This is flash fiction that I've turned in for a creative writing class.
I recently gave a presentation on flash fiction to this class and brought up Tumblr - since this is where I've primarily written it. I've already written one for this piece, but I chose this prompt for the piece for creative writing.
As always, I hope you enjoy! Constructive critique is welcome but not required.
We were in the middle of preparing for my first monster hunt. A few weeks ago, my best friend came out to me. No, not like that, though I do still have my suspicions. She’s actually a monster hunter. She goes around, almost like a sheriff, and makes sure that the edges of humanity and supernatural forces don’t interfere with each other. And I, a severely sheltered homeschooled kid that really didn’t learn all that much until college, demanded I tag along. I knew how to dress up, and she knew how to slay monsters. A match made in heaven.
"What era are we dressing up as? Edwardian? Victorian? I get them confused all the time.” We helped each other tie up our bodices.
Veronica held off on taking me on a monster hunt for months. And suddenly she decided that this one would be safe. Something tame. But she wouldn't tell me what kind of monster we were looking for.
"Judith, you're going to have to be able to identify things like that if you're going to deal with the supernatural," she turned and faced me.
"I'm trying to leave clues, ok?"
"So do we each get a book like in that show with the Winchester brothers?" I asked. Veronica kept giving me super subtle hints, and I kept going past them as if I was on a bullet train. I couldn't help that I have ADHD! This whole thing started a few weeks ago.
“Monster hunters usually don’t buy them. They’re handmade.”
"Why isn’t this on some kind of monster wiki?"
"Back to the subject at hand. Let's go over the information we have while we finish the make up."
"It's a masquerade," I said blankly. "Couldn't I just skip makeup and wear my mask the whole time?"
Veronica pointed to her makeup chair and frowned. "You first. I still have other things to put on first."
I tried to piece together the clues as we both finished getting ready. We had these big poofy skirts with lots of pinks and gold (this was low key according to Veronica) and these funky bird-beaked masks with feathers on top. They were attached to sticks.
We got a cab and headed for downtown. We had fitted little things like knives at the bottom of our boots, the only things from the modern era. There were these wooden dowels with pointy ends that I just couldn't quite place. And some plastic vials with clear liquid. The entire afternoon was exhausting with this primping and suiting up, but we looked amazing as we piled into the cab.
The cabbie barely said a word, but I could see he was staring at us a little too long. I mean, we both looked amazing. But it still bothered me. She warned me earlier that I needed to look out for the human kind of predator as well as the one we were intentionally seeking out tonight. I may be clueless about many things, but this armor I’d had since I was 13.
We stepped out of the cab and looked up at the bright lights welcoming guests of the masquerade ball inside. The building was the convention hall in the downtown area. This was by invite-only. Surprisingly, they were paper and had fancy lettering. Nothing electronic at all. Veronica's name was on there, and an instruction indicating she could bring a plus one. I felt special for being the plus one.
We waited a minute as someone in a suit inspected every single person before explicitly allowing the guests inside. He felt the need to grant permission in a very verbose manner.
"You may enter. I bid you good evening… Your invite?" he asked as Veronica produced the gilded page.
He looked at the invitation and nodded. But didn't say anything to us as we walked past. I noticed he had a devilish smile.
"This is worse than the clubs," I whispered to her. My arm looped around hers as we walked into the main area. There was a grand staircase that lead into an actual ball room, complete with chandeliers and orderve tables scattered about the area. There were incredibly tall windows that lead out to balconies. It looked just like the dancing scene in Beauty and the Beast.
"Would you like your names announced?" another man in a suit asked. He had a French accent and a handlebar mustache. He looked at us intently.
"Uh, no thanks," Veronica stumbled. She looked down at our dresses as she responded. She quickly made her way to the stairs and I followed.
"What was that about?" I asked as we silently made our way down. The man suddenly announced another couple that came in after us. His accent was exaggerated and haughty.
"You can't look them directly in their eyes," she said, blushing. “They can take control over you that way… I also thought he looked cute."
"Who can?!" I didn't shout this, but my frustration was starting to boil over. "Look, I’ve tried putting this together, but I simply cannot. I've told you, I'm no good at mysteries."
"We need to get you to read something by Agatha Christie, then. Maybe some Bram Stoker, too…" she looked ahead as we made our way onto the dance floor.
Many people had similar bird masks as us. Some had full blown masks that were strapped onto their faces. I got distracted by the women in the crowd. I noticed some music faintly playing in the background. I couldn’t see anyone live, so I assumed it was a CD player connected to a speaker system.
"Let me just go through the list now. If that's ok," I said flatly.
"Just refrain from saying the actual word once you figure it out."
I sighed. "You're teasing me again."
"No, it's so he or she isn't alerted to us," Veronica whispered back. She was looking around, a big smile pasted on her face. “They have really good hearing, and we can’t let them know we’re talking about them.”
Ok, let's see. They need to ask for permission. They prefer the night."
"This really doesn't ring any bells?"
"I told you, my parents protected me from like everything," I gave air quotes to the word protected. "It's one reason I was so excited when we first started hanging out. You're the least snarky person I've met when it comes to introducing me to things I didn't grow up with."
"Thank you for the compliment," she looked around. She had guided us to one of the orderve tables. There were these terrible little square sandwiches without the crust. I remembered my parents hosting dinner parties like this. I hated the cucumber ones the most. They never filled me up enough.
And then it hit me. A sick feeling. Someone was staring at me. I let my mask down and looked behind me. It was the announcer guy with the mustache. He also had a too-wide grin pasted on. Like the face itself was the mask.
"Hey, uh, Veronica. I think we've got company."
"Have you really still not figured it out?" she looked down at the finger food and picked up a sad little sandwich. "Go and make a guess." She finally looked over at me.
"I think it's that guy staring at us," I finally unhooked my gloved arm, turned around, and pointed towards the French announcer guy.
That's when I noticed that the faint music had died down. Most of the costumed people lined up to make a pathway from the smiling mustachioed man to us. Everyone else was clearing out.
"Fine. If you need it pointed out. It's a vampire," Veronica put another sandwich in her mouth. "These really aren't filling. Like, at all. And who puts cucumber in them?!”
"I think we have more than a single vampire to worry about," I whispered. When she stayed where she was to eat yet another sandwich, I tapped her shoulder.
Veronica finally looked up and saw that we were surrounded. Something told me this wasn’t going to be the tame adventure she originally promised.
She finally looked at the situation at hand. The last sandwich she’d picked up dropped to the floor, spilling a tiny amount of cucumber and mayonnaise onto the floor. ”Oh shit.”
This is my submission for @flashfictionfridayofficial.
Word count: 528
Synopsis:
What would happen if I were a Companion of the Doctor, and we were hurdling toward Earth and the TARDiS wasn’t reacting and we only had moments to spare to figure out the problem?
Notes:
This one became meta. I wrote down five ideas before scrapping them all when I suddenly thought about Doctor Who. Specifically the tenth Doctor. I've never done a self-insert fan fiction before. And this is what happened.
I'm just getting out of burnout and this one was a wild way to get back into flash fiction.
Also, I just did a presentation about flash fiction to my creative writing class and mentioned Tumblr in it and got to nerd out and was super happy that I could do this.
As always, I hope you enjoy! Constructive general feedback on this first draft is not necessary but appreciated.
“How can you make sense of this?” I ran around the console. Gallifrean is a pictographical language if I ever say one.
“You’ve been on here how long and you still don’t know what it means?” the Doctor looked up in surprise. “This isn’t the time to be joking around. We need to figure out what’s going on with the TARDiS!”
“Yes, I am fully aware that there is a problem. But I cannot diagnose it when it’s not in an Earth language, I’m afraid. That doesn’t stop the problem from persisting.”
“Ah, but running around does!”
“Seriously?!”
“A bit of a run never hurt anybody,” they said.
“It’s not the fall that’ll kill you,” I began the line and smiled madly. The Doctor came to the panel next to mine and grinned a Cheshire grin.
“It’s the sudden stop!” they grabbed the side of the their brown coat and threw it back dramatically.
We both looked down at our panels and got to work. The ship was wheezing. Well, more than usual. Lots of knobs and levers and tiny screens in that bubble language of theirs. And there was shaking. Ah, there was so much shaking. I ran to another panel. The double door at the front of the ship was hanging open, the world unhelpfully becoming larger. The same world that looked so beautiful when it was a marble that you could pinch between your fingers.
“Josie, focus now!” came the Doctor’s voice. They had gotten right next to me and I hadn’t even noticed. I always wondered how they managed to not make noise while in those Converses.
“I think you’re on the right track, but you’ve got the wrong buttons.” How did they know if this particular thingy would work? Oh, well they could read the bloody thing for one.
“What about this?” I pointed to another lever.
“That’s the chameleon circuit. That’s been stubborn for ages.”
We did this back and forth, with the pointing and scrapping of ideas, before we found something that could work. I finally pointed to the only panel we’d ignored until now. There were a series of 5 levers next to each other. On top and bottom was what looked like percentage bars. The top was green and the bottom was blue. I pointed.
“What about these?”
“That’s the gravity thingy! Ah, you’re a genius!” they grabbed my face and kissed me. I blushed. Then they grabbed the levers and mixed and matched until the green and blue were about in the middle.
Then I fell onto the floor and slid toward the guard rails.
We both stayed where we were. The TARDiS hadn’t hit the ground. Which by my count was a very good thing not to do. And a thought popped into my head that made me and my blush stand up.
“We were hurdling toward Earth, and you berated me for not knowing how to read Gallifrean… and you named those levers the Gravity Thingies?!”
The Doctor started laughing. I did not. Instead, I sighed and checked to see where (and when) we had landed.
I've been taking some tests to see if I have any learning disabilities. Better late than never.
Turns out I have a processing issue. I take that to mean I process things slower than *waves hand* other people. (I suspect that has to do with being autistic)
And it ALSO turns out that I'm an auditory learner.
Which explains why I get so talkative as an introvert. It literally helps me process and understand things to talk things through.
This good news comes in an ocean of other information. I also have a presentation to give for my creative writing class about flash fiction - and I talk about Tumblr quite a bit, too. Since this very blog gets its prompts from the Flash Fiction Fridays Official account, it's where I have the most experience. So that'll be fun.
Below is some homework I wrote for a creative writing class. It's a manifesto prose poem; meaning it's only one stanza, and I'm playing around with language a bit. All because I want to become an English teacher. I still think I'm going to add to it at some point. But for today, I really like it. Enjoy!
i will become an english teacher. out of interest in stories, yes, but also outta spite. for me, everything is about Storytelling. no matter what the medium, genre, state of being, there’s a story to be told. bc we are human beings who must express themself. i want to share this excitement with others by finding ways to teach students the art of storytelling. like dissecting stories around a campfire and telling our version instead. sometimes nothing is new except our voices and the next iteration over a crackling fire. the soot and ash gets into our words and clothes alike. they are alive; the visuals, smells, taste, even feels. unlike past teachers, who taught that there was only one way to view a story. there way. they took old books and made them boring. they sanitized’em, bleached’em, scrubbed’em of the campfire smell. being neuro-spicy didn’t help in those sanitized classrooms, not that they would have accepted that. how i looked out the window and longed to be at the campfire time and time again. english class should be an exploration of the human condition with the world in the palm of your hand on a page. i want to help students find their voices, not be stuffy and inhibiting. i want them to see themself in what they read. bc representation matters. i want to become an english teacher to hopefully be inspirational and to one-up the teachers in my past that managed to make english a boring subject. stories should be alive like a well-fed fire. and i want to create more sparks. reblog without tags, this post will find its audience.
I biked around a TON today, doing various things that brought me from one spot in East Bay to another. Then another. And I was exhausted and fell asleep. Once I woke up, I still felt awful and just watched YouTube videos, not being able to concentrate on anything for a while.
But a bit later I felt better. Still recovering from all that exercise, but better.
I ended up making some big additions to the skeleton of my visual novel tonight. And made it accessible to the person coding my game.
I described it as a "Word Spaghetti of twists and turns" to my dev team.lol
I'm in the middle of a creative writing class. And I have a fear of feedback that I've needed to work past.
Yesterday I came in with a prose manifesto poem. My subject was declaring that I want to become an English teacher. Not just because I wish to be inspiring, but also in spite of the bad English teachers of my past that made the subject a bore.
In a sense, I want to show my past self that it is a fun subject, actually.
And I felt ready for feedback. And I got it. I don't feel like I'm completely over my fear. But this semester is breaking it for sure.
Recently I decided to read more classic books. I've tried in the past, but it's been difficult for a number of reasons. Number 1 being that I have AuDHD and that alone just makes it hella difficult to read those dang books.
Well, I want to become an English teacher. And I realized I'm probs gonna have to start talking about the Greats. So I'm slowly devising a plan to work though them.
Tonight, though at a rather late time, I decided to peak at The Grapes of Wrath. And y'all, high-school-me was pretty wrong about this novel. I read the first few pages before realizing how tired I am, but I could've gone through the first chapter easily.
I used to say that I hated Steinbeck; that he was dry in his prose. Boring, even.
Maybe it's because I'm in my mid-thirties. Or some other reason. But I have to completely disagree with my self from 18 years ago. The way Steinbeck describes the harsh Oklahoma weather and how it affects the crops and the farmers is pure poetry. It's dramatic. And it is interesting. I wasn't planning on Grapes of Wrath to be my first classic. However, it might have to be.
It is (at least in part) about the rough conditions that these average Americans are going through. It's very different in 2026, but I already see some parallels with then and now.
I remember starting in Gen 1 you'd throw a PokeBall to catch a monster (as you do). But when it was unsucessful, the ball would just disappear forever.
And then I started wondering how many I've "wasted" over the years. Which is both silly and unimaginable. Because it's not like anybody's ever kept up with that sort of thing.
But my final thought was whether or not a PokeBall could be reused if it was not successful in capturing a Pokemon.
