Pencil sketch of a Saroyan merchant’s wastrel son for you to enjoy. My excitement is about some long-awaited developments in my personal life that are sort of thrilling. Have you ever worked on a relationship for ages and then finally turned the corner and reaped the rewards? That’s what I’m excited about right now. Boo-yah!
Good/Bad Writing Example
Good Writing About A Fantasy Murder Mystery:
My dad was scheduled for his renewal shot last week, but he didn’t take it. His housekeeper went in early in the morning and he’d taken the charm off and was lying like a piece of waxwork in his bed. She said it looked like he’d pretty much killed himself the night before, sometime in the evening, and had been gradually sinking back towards his start-age since then. I say ‘killed himself’ because it was very clear from the way the room was set up, according to the municipal investigation, that no one had taken his Lyfe4Ever charm off, and that he’d pulled it away and set it aside himself. Which sucks.
I mean, not only is my dad—was—not only was my dad my daycare replacement—and thanks for leaving me in the lurch without any warning like that, dad—but the Lyfekeepers instigated an evaluation on our entire family, to see if anyone else was in danger of—in their words—”Wasting our investment.”
So, thanks to my dad, I not only now have to pay triple rates to a last-minute nanny for two weeks until the nearest daycare slot opens up, but I have a really obnoxious gnome following me around at work, taking my emotional temperature and applying mood-evaluations every three hours. This sucks.
And—and, he didn’t even leave a note. I haven’t started crying or exhibiting grief yet, which is making my Lyfe gnome really suspicious. I’m too angry to feel sad. Maybe after things calm down, I guess, but—yeah. Right now I’m just really, really angry.
TERRIBLE, Bad Writing (Don’t read this; it’s sooo bad!)
Seriously, this is awful.
My poor, dear, wandering-minded father, in his absence of acuity, laid aside the magical charm keeping him alive past his natural due-date with the Grim reaper. I’m, like, upset about it. It’s only really a bad thing, since I assume he’s in a better place now, because, well, my kids miss dear old grandpa. It is really inconvenient that my father didn’t let me know he was likely to get absent-minded and die of lack of magic last week, because he was scheduled to babysit my little boys for two different double-shifts, but I just can’t get over how sad the whole thing is.
I had a mom, too, but she’s across the world having an adventure and she will certainly come home in time for the funeral, poor guy, there isn’t much to bury.
The guys at the Lyfe plant say his original death day was scheduled, before intervention, sometime about a couple hundred years ago, and he shouldn’t have expired for another three thousand. They’re pretty mad about the way the magic dissipated, since he left the charm unfastened after he had taken it off and let the magic dribble out on his bedstand, which also made the housekeeper really angry, too. She was mad, too, and the furniture dealer who said he’d auction the house contents for us this month, because they were all mad that the magic basically melted a big yellow hole in the bedstand, which would have been worth some money otherwise.
It was a good funeral. Everyone said nice things about him, and several among the viewing party cried tears down their faces and wore black, but not everybody because Cousin Tammy is really tacky and wore a loud sundress.
(Blerg, that was the worst bit of writing I’ve done for months or years and now I feel like I need to wash my hands or something. Yech.)
Not That You Want My Excuses, But I’ve Had Poor-to-no Internet The Last Four Days
Ergo, the temporary lack of posting.
You’re reading Victor Poole, and in my current novel, the banker is set to meet a very old friend from high school. He feels about ready to throw up with nerves.