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June, otter

drownedinlight7


Write the Thing

I need to write more...


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Today
June, otter
drownedinlight7
 Today was exceeding difficult to write for. I dunno, maybe it was the double doctor's appointments that had me down, but I really can't say. In any case, that's why everything is so choppy, and there are only beginnings and lots of tellings. OH! And I started a new blog and was so desperate that I had to include that in my word count. 

Link to Blog: http://writersmithy.blogspot.com/ 

It's a blog about writing, as if there were not enough  of those in the world. But it's also a blog about me writing, so I guess that's okay. 

Also, Story Idea Number One, which came from watching too many episodes of criminal minds, instead of doing my writing: 

Rhea Shepard would have been the sort of girl who got made fun of that is if the popular girls in her high school had ever had a chance to make fun of her. In fact, if Rhea had gone to high school at all, she might have been fun to make fun of; she always wore miss matched clothes and always had her head in the books. But Rhea did not go to high school. In fact, she got her GED just before she turned fourteen. She was studying in a community college, then a university, by the time many of her would be peers graduated from high school.

Rhea Shepard was a young woman on a mission. She had been on this mission since she was six years old. When she had obtained the first bit of knowledge that put her on the path she chose to walk, she never stopped. She studied endlessly to get ahead inn her education. To earn money for school, she did everything she could. She mowed lawns, walked dogs and did any menial tasks that wealthier folks would pay her for. She began babysitting when she was old enough. She saved everything she ever earned, and any money she was ever given, by well-meaning relatives or her father.

Sleeping soon became a less common activity, because when she was sixteen, she began working two jobs and attending university. She worked, and she put herself through school.

When Rhea was not working, or going to classes, she would run. She ran long distances in the city, training herself to not stop running, until she felt like she had caught what she was chasing. She trained herself in marksmanship; she jumped walls, climbed trees, learned self-defense.

When she was seventeen, Rhea finally found the opportunity to put all of these skills to use. One night, while she was watching TV, she saw the case of a woman who had been murdered. And so, Rhea set to work.


The homicide was a grizzly one, but they saw grizzly every day.

As such, she trains herself to do grueling work, works hard to get into college early to get a double degree in criminal justice and psychology and wants to join the FBI (but can't until she's eighteen). So, one late while watching the news, she spots a murder that is similar to her mother's and starts really looking into the case. She get's caught looking at the murder sight by the members of the FBI and gets taken in and has to explain herself. Might just turn it into a Criminal Minds fanfic.

This next one is totally different, but since I couldn't keep focus, it's like two sentences long without the quote at the top. 

It's the repetition of affirmations that leads to belief. And once that belief becomes a deep conviction, things begin to happen. –Muhammed Ali

Ali Copper believed in magic.

She was sixteen. Far too old to believe that sort of thing that sincerely, people like the elders of her family would whisper. But she believed. She believed, and sometimes it was all she could think about. She wrote all of her thoughts down in a journal, talking about magic and those things magical.
Yeah...this one is a little more original than the last, and I think I couldn't concentrate very well on it because of the criminal minds thing. I might look into actually writing on this later. 
 
After that I took a break and got my reading for the night done, and got inspired by the book I read, so this next one
I begin this journal with two purposes: one, in hopes to better my hand writting with a quill (Aunt Georgiana says that should I make the effort she shall consider about purchasing a type writter), and two, to set down the trule strange events which have occured to me as of late. 
 
My name is Abigail Rush, i am fifteen and shall be sisxteen in June. I live, at present wiht my Aunt Georgiana and Aunt Gwendolen. But this was not always so, as once I lived in a very different circumstance... The aunts have warned me not to set too much down, just in case my written toughts should be discovered. But this is my journal, and I have marked it with secrecy. 
 
To tell the truth though, we live in what is now the nineteenth century, I was born shortly before thw e twenty-ffirst century, more than two-hundred years from where I sit and pen this now. It is why I need to practice writing with a quill. 
 
I am still uncertain of just how I came to be in what I call the past. In truth, I was running. Running from some girls at my school who were (will be?) much stronger than I am and I was afraid of what they might do to me. Suddenly, I slipped and fell off a short cliff, and then traveled through time and space and landed in nineteenth century Englahs. I can only tank God that it was the sisters who found me at their country estate. 
 
But, according to them it was no such accident that I landed there.
 
"Someone asked for you dear," said Aunt Gardenia who stays in the country to manage the estate there. Though who this person could be, they could not say. 
 
 And that was my writing for the day, very....vague and without focus and I just don't know what it was about yesterday that had me so scared off from writing. Maybe it was because with the opening of the Smithy, I committed to start writing only fiction for LJ.... Maybe it was just an off day. Ah, well, who knows. Anyway, I'm signing off, now.