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We love Rock 'N Roll...
So tired. I think I'm catching a cold, 'cause my throat was pretty sore this morning. Not good. I nearly lost my voice after rehearsal this morning. Love my friends. Coodles to them. I thought the play was really cute, by the way. ^_^ Oscar did an absolutely wonderful job with his small parts, and I think he and the guy who played Orin were the two best ones. I mean... c'mon, people cracked up the moment he stepped on stage. XD
Haven't been able to focus the last couple of days to write coherent stories with actual plots in them. Last week before grades are due. Senoritis has definitely hit, but not enough that I'm not panicking about dragging my grades back up. Must get A's in all my tests this week. @_@
Here's a small snippet I did for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
flourishnblots for the 'letter to Santa Claus' exercise, which contains only one short scene.
Title: A Scene of Christmas
Rating: G
Pairing: None
Word Count: 1224
“…And don’t you even think of making a sound, you hear me, boy?!”
Harry didn’t flinch as the door to the cupboard was slammed shut by his uncle, already used to loud sounds like that and the screaming that was coming from outside the door. Scrambling around a bit to find the dingy piece of string that connected to the light switch in his ‘room’, Harry turned on the light almost reverently as he pulled out a few sheets of wrinkled papers from inside of his jacket.
The weather was certainly turning cold as December pressed on, and Harry felt grateful that the Dursleys had climate control on the entire house, so that he wouldn’t be so cold during the winters. He had seen other children from school grumble about their parents having only certain rooms in the house heated- but the Dursleys would never want their dear little ‘Duddly-kins’ to get cold, now would they?
It certainly helped that Harry was beneath their notice. The dark-haired, scruffily-dressed seven year old was certainly not worthy of a heating unit to the Dursleys, but Dudley just might get cold if he decided to go to the kitchens for a midnight snack. Thus, Harry could bask in the benefits of Dudley being spoilt so rottenly.
Outside the cupboard, Harry could hear his aunt and uncle arguing loudly about him again. Uncle Vernon was once again ranting about his ‘good-for-nothing’ parents and the horrible child that seemed to wreak havoc in their home. Aunt Petunia was agreeing with his every word, but disagreed with Uncle Vernon when he clearly stated that Harry should be put in an orphanage. She said that the ‘freaks’ would get them if they ever did that.
Pulling out old crayons from underneath the small, uncomfortable cot in the cupboard, Harry decided that he didn’t want to hear anymore. A few years ago, he would have been crying at what he heard. But now… now he wanted to ignore them. He didn’t pretend that there was nothing wrong with the family, but he didn’t want to admit to an adult about the poor treatment and get sent to an orphanage either. He had read picture books about children who had been sent away from home to an orphanage if they told on their families.
And despite how the story had ended up happily, Harry didn’t want to get sent to an orphanage.
Carefully, Harry smoothed out his papers with a dirty hand, selecting a dulled red crayon to work with. He didn’t care that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had told him repeatedly that he was a bad boy, and that he would get nothing but coal from Santa Claus. He cared nothing for the sneers that Dudley had sent his way whenever the other children had school had taunted and made fun of him- picking on him from being short… for the horrendously large clothing that he wore.(he had to bite his tongue not to state that the clothing were Dudley’s castoffs.)
The other kids had only made fun of him more when he received the pair of glasses that the school had issued him. Harry hated those glasses. They were much too big and were always falling down his nose, and the thick black frames meant that the school children could pick him out in a crowd to make fun of him. But his teacher had told him that he should be grateful the school would provide a pair, and Harry knew that he could see clearer with them on.
Didn’t mean that he liked them, though.
There was a crashing sound outside to inform Harry that he wouldn’t be receiving any dinner that night. Aunt Petunia must be really mad if she had dropped one of her plates. But it really wasn’t his fault! Honest!
Settling down on the messy floor so that he could use his cot as a table, Harry started writing as clear as he could with his crayon, trying to find a stable surface in the dips of his blanket. It took him a few seconds to adjust his force so that he would rip the paper when he wrote.
‘Dear Santa,
Mrs. Williams said that you are nice and give gifts to kids who are good. Antie says that you wudn’t give me gifts becus I’m a freak. She is reely mad about what hapened today. But it wasn’t my fult at all! Dudley and the other kids were chasing me and I just apeered on the roof! One of the other kids said it was magik. Uncle Vernen got reely mad when he heard that too.
Please, Santa, Mrs. Williams said I’ve been a good kid. She said that good kids get gifts from you at Christmas, and that I shuld write a letter to you to tell you what I want. Please, Santa- I wuld like a frend for Christmas. I want to be abel to fly. I dun’t want gifts like Dudley. Mrs. Williams said you wuld get this letter by magik, but Uncle Vernen says magik is not reel. I want magik to be reel, so that I can go away from here.
Please send me a frend for Christmas.
Love,
Harry Potter’
The small, bespectacled boy sighed. He had wanted to write more, but had run out of paper and his crayon was getting awfully small. The house was quiet now. Most likely because Dudley had finally come home from playing at Pier’s house and that meant that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had collectively forgotten about his existence. Harry couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing, considering that he was really hungry, but he didn’t want to face his family getting really mad at him for what happened today.
He folded the paper neatly into two just like his teacher had taught him, and then folded it again just to make it smaller. Mrs. Williams had told him that Santa would be able to get his letter through the fireplace if he burned it, but then- Santa was magical, after all, so he should be able to find Harry’s letter no matter what the small boy did with it, right?
Harry addressed the letter to Santa Claus before scrambling atop his small cot on his tiptoes to feel around for the tiny crevice where the walls met the underside of the stairs where he could slip his letter in just like slipping mail into a mailbox. If he pretended hard enough, he could imagine that the small crack was a mailbox to the North Pole, and that Santa would be able to get his letter and give him a friend for Christmas- and hopefully the ability to fly as well!
Now that he thought about it, he wanted to include ‘magik’ in his list of wants, just because Uncle Vernon hated it so much. But now that he was slipping the letter into the crack, he didn’t have the time or the paper to include that particular wish.
He pushed the last bit of it inside the crevice and watched his precious letter disappear, nodding with satisfaction.
Please, Santa… I want magic to be real. I want to be able to fly. I would like a friend. That’s not too much to ask for, is it?
Haven't been able to focus the last couple of days to write coherent stories with actual plots in them. Last week before grades are due. Senoritis has definitely hit, but not enough that I'm not panicking about dragging my grades back up. Must get A's in all my tests this week. @_@
Here's a small snippet I did for
flourishnblots for the 'letter to Santa Claus' exercise, which contains only one short scene. Title: A Scene of Christmas
Rating: G
Pairing: None
Word Count: 1224
“…And don’t you even think of making a sound, you hear me, boy?!”
Harry didn’t flinch as the door to the cupboard was slammed shut by his uncle, already used to loud sounds like that and the screaming that was coming from outside the door. Scrambling around a bit to find the dingy piece of string that connected to the light switch in his ‘room’, Harry turned on the light almost reverently as he pulled out a few sheets of wrinkled papers from inside of his jacket.
The weather was certainly turning cold as December pressed on, and Harry felt grateful that the Dursleys had climate control on the entire house, so that he wouldn’t be so cold during the winters. He had seen other children from school grumble about their parents having only certain rooms in the house heated- but the Dursleys would never want their dear little ‘Duddly-kins’ to get cold, now would they?
It certainly helped that Harry was beneath their notice. The dark-haired, scruffily-dressed seven year old was certainly not worthy of a heating unit to the Dursleys, but Dudley just might get cold if he decided to go to the kitchens for a midnight snack. Thus, Harry could bask in the benefits of Dudley being spoilt so rottenly.
Outside the cupboard, Harry could hear his aunt and uncle arguing loudly about him again. Uncle Vernon was once again ranting about his ‘good-for-nothing’ parents and the horrible child that seemed to wreak havoc in their home. Aunt Petunia was agreeing with his every word, but disagreed with Uncle Vernon when he clearly stated that Harry should be put in an orphanage. She said that the ‘freaks’ would get them if they ever did that.
Pulling out old crayons from underneath the small, uncomfortable cot in the cupboard, Harry decided that he didn’t want to hear anymore. A few years ago, he would have been crying at what he heard. But now… now he wanted to ignore them. He didn’t pretend that there was nothing wrong with the family, but he didn’t want to admit to an adult about the poor treatment and get sent to an orphanage either. He had read picture books about children who had been sent away from home to an orphanage if they told on their families.
And despite how the story had ended up happily, Harry didn’t want to get sent to an orphanage.
Carefully, Harry smoothed out his papers with a dirty hand, selecting a dulled red crayon to work with. He didn’t care that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had told him repeatedly that he was a bad boy, and that he would get nothing but coal from Santa Claus. He cared nothing for the sneers that Dudley had sent his way whenever the other children had school had taunted and made fun of him- picking on him from being short… for the horrendously large clothing that he wore.(he had to bite his tongue not to state that the clothing were Dudley’s castoffs.)
The other kids had only made fun of him more when he received the pair of glasses that the school had issued him. Harry hated those glasses. They were much too big and were always falling down his nose, and the thick black frames meant that the school children could pick him out in a crowd to make fun of him. But his teacher had told him that he should be grateful the school would provide a pair, and Harry knew that he could see clearer with them on.
Didn’t mean that he liked them, though.
There was a crashing sound outside to inform Harry that he wouldn’t be receiving any dinner that night. Aunt Petunia must be really mad if she had dropped one of her plates. But it really wasn’t his fault! Honest!
Settling down on the messy floor so that he could use his cot as a table, Harry started writing as clear as he could with his crayon, trying to find a stable surface in the dips of his blanket. It took him a few seconds to adjust his force so that he would rip the paper when he wrote.
‘Dear Santa,
Mrs. Williams said that you are nice and give gifts to kids who are good. Antie says that you wudn’t give me gifts becus I’m a freak. She is reely mad about what hapened today. But it wasn’t my fult at all! Dudley and the other kids were chasing me and I just apeered on the roof! One of the other kids said it was magik. Uncle Vernen got reely mad when he heard that too.
Please, Santa, Mrs. Williams said I’ve been a good kid. She said that good kids get gifts from you at Christmas, and that I shuld write a letter to you to tell you what I want. Please, Santa- I wuld like a frend for Christmas. I want to be abel to fly. I dun’t want gifts like Dudley. Mrs. Williams said you wuld get this letter by magik, but Uncle Vernen says magik is not reel. I want magik to be reel, so that I can go away from here.
Please send me a frend for Christmas.
Love,
Harry Potter’
The small, bespectacled boy sighed. He had wanted to write more, but had run out of paper and his crayon was getting awfully small. The house was quiet now. Most likely because Dudley had finally come home from playing at Pier’s house and that meant that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had collectively forgotten about his existence. Harry couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing, considering that he was really hungry, but he didn’t want to face his family getting really mad at him for what happened today.
He folded the paper neatly into two just like his teacher had taught him, and then folded it again just to make it smaller. Mrs. Williams had told him that Santa would be able to get his letter through the fireplace if he burned it, but then- Santa was magical, after all, so he should be able to find Harry’s letter no matter what the small boy did with it, right?
Harry addressed the letter to Santa Claus before scrambling atop his small cot on his tiptoes to feel around for the tiny crevice where the walls met the underside of the stairs where he could slip his letter in just like slipping mail into a mailbox. If he pretended hard enough, he could imagine that the small crack was a mailbox to the North Pole, and that Santa would be able to get his letter and give him a friend for Christmas- and hopefully the ability to fly as well!
Now that he thought about it, he wanted to include ‘magik’ in his list of wants, just because Uncle Vernon hated it so much. But now that he was slipping the letter into the crack, he didn’t have the time or the paper to include that particular wish.
He pushed the last bit of it inside the crevice and watched his precious letter disappear, nodding with satisfaction.
Please, Santa… I want magic to be real. I want to be able to fly. I would like a friend. That’s not too much to ask for, is it?