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June, otter


Write the Thing

I need to write more...

June, otter

So, my comm professor decided to assign us a major project just about two week and a half ago, and we only really got to do anything with it last week, because we had to create a survey and then let him look at last week. So we had a bunch of good sports who filled out our surveys and now we had to compile all of the information and start a five to six page paper today and we're going to have to finish it tomorrow. We are actual one of the most proactive groups, but we have to turn all of this in by this coming Tuesday night. I'm debating my comm major because of this project. People are physcially straining themselves because of this project. I don't think I'm going to, but I'm definately going make sure that I get the details of all of my projects next semester so I can start them way early next semester, because getting all this together a couple of weeks before the end of semester when I have to finish up all of my other final projects for the end of the semester.

Most of them are fairly complete, but my creative writing teacher, whom I love and is going to be very flexable because she does not want to cause us any pain, but we still have to make a portfolio for our class as well as our anthology. Then I have to learn a scene, which admitadly, I haven't really been working on and that my partner and I are going to hash out on Friday night and gah...I'm just so sleepy and I feel like I'm not getting enough done. I also have a project I'm starting in math, but my math teacher is being really good about it and my art teacher really wants to help us out there too and try and do our final projects in parts (which means no three hour test on Saturday morning! more time to pack!).

Once again, not to mention, I still have to do a lot of scholarships if I want to come back next year, and I just feel like I don't have enough time if I want to sleep and get things done and just live and do everything. And I still have to do this critique and abstract for Comm. Goesh I really hate the end of the year and there are so many events to go to, and I feel like I gave to go to some of them to support some of them (and I couldn't go to one tonight which I feel terrible about). Grr. Grrrrr!!!

And I can't write. I didn't have writer's block this morning, i was writing just fine, so this project is giving me writer's block. I hate this. I really do, because I'm up late writing because I know I have to do this for myself, just like I had to write that terrible part of Atalanta I'm going to show you have this. At least I got some kind of word count out of that and I feel bad for thinking about it like that, but it's true, I'm writing to write at this point and I am hungry because I staid up this late.

I don't really even have enough creative energy to write this journey. So I think I'm going to do something that you shouldn't kind of do as a writer. I think I'm going to write summaries.

So...I have this list of fanfictions I wanted to write after NaNoWriMo last year and I have cross a few of them off of the list, but there's one I kind of want to write about Power Rangers: RPM. It's about Ziggy Grover because he's my favorite character and because he became the series's butt monkey. I have this kind of idea that Ziggy is probably good at some things, just not fighting. He's probably a closet academic in like Enligh or something. Or at least that's one of my theories.

The other involves magic.

Yes, magic, because I think if machines were going to take over the world (which they did in RPM), magical people would be some of the first people to notice, because I think magicals, especially speculative magicals, could feel the sort of energy change that would happen when something like machine's taking over the world. But see there's another thing about being responsible magicals, because if I were a magical and if I knew that a machine could take over my body just by adding some metal to my bones and injecting some virus into me (which the machines can do in Power Rangers RPM), I would not want them to target me, especially if I could manipulate energy in such away that might give the machine's a huge advantage. So I would stop using magic and go under ground.

This would of course cause many problems for the magicals, such as not being able to defend themselves, and weakening their bodies, which were always strengthened by magic before. So, if Ziggy were a magical he would be kind of weak and unable to do much while he was not allowed to do magic. I'm not sure how Ziggy get's involved with the Cartels (which he gets involved with them), but i think he's going to be spying on them, for even the government, or the magicals.

But I take it one step forward. In Corinth City, there is the largest magic district in the world (well, when there was a world), and Ziggy's family was actually very prominate in the magical community and he was one of the voices leading proceedures for what should happen when and if the machines took over the world. So, he was actually elected the king of the Magical distric of Corinth

I'm not sure who to pair him with in this. Because he goes out side of Corinth almost on purpose in this, and I almost want him with Scott or Dillon...maybe both, but he deffinately sneaks back into Corinth with out anyone really noticing that he does and with Dillon too. There are also watches involved because Ziggy makes watches to identify his friends and people.

Meh, I still don't have enough to turn this into you. I'm tired and hungry and I just want to go to bed, but I still have to read some mostly fifty pages after this. i guess I'm also glad that it isn't cold outside, becaue I'm up in the common room, and the door to the patio leaks air something aweful. And I am glad I have room in my schedule to sleep in tomorrow, though I really don't like to use it. Now I'm wondering what sort of tricks I could pull off to increase my word count. Because i have just about two hundred words left to write and I just want to go to sleep.

I'm watching Mythbusters, and it's cool, but I just can't think of much more to say and I still need probably about one hundred more words to even think about stopping for tonight. I just don't want to write right now, and I just don't know waht to say...God, even if I couldn't write fiction, I can usually talk about me for two thousand words. And gah! Gah! Well, I do have some stuff to look forward to this weekend, but I'm just worried that I can't do enough to get done with anything this week or weekend.

Okay, I'm almost done, i just need eigthy more words and then I can be done and almost go to sleep and they're blowing up a pine tree on Mythbusters. That's a little interesting. Okay, they didn't split the pine tree. Done for now I think. Sleep soon. Night.


Thank you...

Atalanta part 12
June, otter
 Atalanta and Strike watched from a nearby roof top as the ambulances and squad cars poured around the building.

“You know I never would have thought of this,” Strike said.

“Yeah well, I figured we couldn’t take her to the hospital ourselves,” Atalanta replied. “We need to get back though, they be calling me soon about how she was rescued.” She turned and lifted the computer modem over her head and walked toward the fire escape.

“You know, we make a pretty good team,” Strike told her, following after.

“Yeah I suppose you could control me if I ever fly into a violent rage again.” Strike scoffed, and Atalanta turned and flashed a smile at him. “But seriously, you do good work. And thank you for the help…you know all around.” For a little while, the only sound Atalanta heard were their boots clanking against the slotted metal of the fire escape.

“I guess, I wouldn’t want those murderous rages to hurt the ones you love,” Strike replied, as they made it to the bottom. “And I don’t think I could have done this without you. Well, maybe I could have…” At Atalanta’s look, he added, “I probably would not have gotten out without a few gunshot wounds though, so thank you.”

“You’re welcome, now where’s your car?” she asked.

“Right, Natalie,” he said, leading the way toward the car. As Atalanta loaded the modem into the back seat, Strike collected a strange piece of pink paper which had been attached to his wind-shield wipers. “Shit, you gotta be kidding me.”

“What?” she asked, climbing into the front seat.

“I got a parking ticket,” he said handing her the pink slip. Atalanta chuckled a little and said,

“Maybe when we go out on heroic ventures next time, we’ll remember to pay the meter.” Strike snorted as he turned the key in the ignition and put the car in gear.

“You are ridicules,” he told her.

“Yeah so is getting a parking ticket while you’re out saving the day,” she said as they drove out onto the streets.

The two reached Greer’s apartment, changed and made it to the hospital in what Greer swore must have been a record. Natalie was asleep, but the doctor informed them she was dehydrated and, of course, frozen, but she would make a good recovery over the next few days. He told them both to go home and that they could come back tomorrow. A week later when Natalie was finally ready to be brought home, it was finally time to crack at the computer.

“Explain to me why we waited this long?” Greer asked as he followed behind Charlotte as she wheeled Natalie into the apartment.

“Because you admitted that you aren’t that great of a hacker,” Charlotte said.

“Though I think you might have to wait a little longer though,” Natalie said. “I think I need some soup and a bed. We can do some hacking tomorrow though. Sorry Greer.”

“Yeah, yeah, I guess,” Greer retorted. “I’m pretty good at soup, if you want to get Natalie into bed.”

“Ah, you don’t want to take me to bed, Gre?” Natalie asked. Greer wiggled his eye browns, but Charlotte rolled her eyes as she wheeled Natalie into her room.

“Let’s not talk about taking anyone to bed, all right?” she said.

“Sure,” Greer replied, “I’ll just get started on that soup then.” As soon as the girls had disappeared into the back rooms though, Greer retrieved the modem from where they had stashed it earlier that week in Charlotte’s living room.

“Greer, that doesn’t look like soup,” Charlotte called from Natalie’s room.

“How do you know what I’m doing looks like?” he asked.

“You’re not that subtle,” Natalie added. “And I’m still waiting on that soup!”