If I told you it was a dark and stormy night, well, then I’d be lying.
I have a tendency to do that sometimes. I suppose all authors do. They do it to tell a good story. If you’re introducing something as mysterious, mystic, magical and other various words starting with ‘m’ it seems more important. I’m sure these other 'm' words are wonderful and all that but alliteration doesn’t always fit the bill so more words are necessary. Words such as dark, dangerous and deadly.
Alliteration is ever so much fun. Useful as well. It adds a sense of poetry to otherwise dull, dreary and mundane reading. Sometimes after alliteration has been used and people have built up expectations using two similarly starting words and one not-so-similarly-starting word is fun.
Crushing expectations. Also fun. I hope you’re writing this down. Or at the very least saving this copy for future reference. What you read here may very well save your life someday.
Or possibly not. It’s difficult to tell. Foresight is not like hindsight: in it’s very fun and well-known use in what is my modern day colloquialism but may in fact not be yours: “hindsight is 20/20”. 20/20 being a standard of perfect eyesight in this day and age, though with some people having 30/20 vision, this means their vision is better than perfect. This is impossible you would think. Not in this day and age however. In eyesight, 20/20 is majorly the norm, therefore it’s what we consider perfect but you can be better than perfect. You can, if you’re special. Since people seldom are special however, we set our standards for normal and anyone above the majority of the population is special... Well, anyone below it is special too, though for far different reasons and meanings.
This might explain most people near-crippling sense of insignificance and their ensuing near-crippling attempts to fix this through boasting and general all-around ass-ery.
Anyways, I dither. In fact, foresight is not 20/20, if we consider foresight in normal standards, foresight would be less than 1/20. Foresight is difficult, foresight is annoying and 20/20 foresight would require an absolute perfect sense of the future that would alter accordingly to the decisions you make because of such knowledge.
So yes, foresight is a difficult thing.
I appear to have dithered in a dither. How amusing. Anyways, this information may not save your life.
I have dithered in a dither in a dither and so on and so forth. Resuming my original topic:
It was not a dark and stormy night. In fact, it was bright, sun-shiny and generally all-around chipper and cheerful. Happy birds singing and squirrels happily crunch-a-crunch-crunching on nuts and berries and whatever the hell else squirrels eat. Interesting fact, flying squirrels will eat small birds. Not so cute and adorable now are they? Also, squirrels attack chipmunks. So fuck the squirrels, love the chipmunks. They’re nicer. Not that the chipmunks don’t fight back... Whatever, in the end chipmunks are smaller so at least if the chipmunk turns on you it’ll have smaller teeth with which to try and gnaw your fingers off.
Ahem, so ignoring the squirrels vs. chipmunks conundrum, it was an absolutely gorgeous day. Just perfect. You should have been out sunbathing in it instead of doing other silly things (such as reading this blathering on of pointless randomness).
...
That’s all I really had to say. Nice day and all that.
...
There’s nothing more to this story. I wonder why you’re so surprised. After all, it’s labelled as a “short” story not a “this will make sense” story or “this has a point” story...
Were you expecting more?
Well as I mentioned earlier, crushing expectations is fun.
Enjoy.
P.S. Actually, this story does have a point. It shows how a mere mentioning of the weather can spawn a conversation. A relatively pointless and useless conversation, but a conversation all the same. So it’s really not that difficult. Set whatever you’re doing down, get up and strike up a random conversation.
After all, all conversations are generally random until you get to know a person and can have intelligent conversations. So go talk to someone, blather on about something pointless and maybe at the end, you’ll have derived some meaning from it.
Just like I did. This point I mentioned was completely unintentional at the time of writing and was only noticed afterwards.
So I suppose there still really isn’t a moral or point. With this realization however, comes another, that maybe all that analysing and work you put in to making books and poetry have a theme, a meaning, a reason, maybe it’s all nonsense. Maybe it’s just all drivel and drabbling and babbling on (not alliteration but I gave you a rhyme). Maybe it’s just like this. There was no point, until there was one. Until one was made up.
Go make up your own points. Nothing actually has to have a reason. Nothing has to have a meaning. Stop over-thinking. Just write.
Go on.
Do it.
I dare you.
P.P.S. Can also be relabelled as "What the fuck am I on, why can't I write actual stories and not blather on and make no fucking sense, what the fuck is wrong with me, I'm pretty sure this is what happens when you don't sleep enough and decide to try and write something short and pointless at stupid-o-clock in the morning when you have to be up and you're honestly bat-shit crazy, off your fucking rocker, off the deep end and this proves it you very weird, very disturbed woman (A Short Story)".
I have a tendency to do that sometimes. I suppose all authors do. They do it to tell a good story. If you’re introducing something as mysterious, mystic, magical and other various words starting with ‘m’ it seems more important. I’m sure these other 'm' words are wonderful and all that but alliteration doesn’t always fit the bill so more words are necessary. Words such as dark, dangerous and deadly.
Alliteration is ever so much fun. Useful as well. It adds a sense of poetry to otherwise dull, dreary and mundane reading. Sometimes after alliteration has been used and people have built up expectations using two similarly starting words and one not-so-similarly-starting word is fun.
Crushing expectations. Also fun. I hope you’re writing this down. Or at the very least saving this copy for future reference. What you read here may very well save your life someday.
Or possibly not. It’s difficult to tell. Foresight is not like hindsight: in it’s very fun and well-known use in what is my modern day colloquialism but may in fact not be yours: “hindsight is 20/20”. 20/20 being a standard of perfect eyesight in this day and age, though with some people having 30/20 vision, this means their vision is better than perfect. This is impossible you would think. Not in this day and age however. In eyesight, 20/20 is majorly the norm, therefore it’s what we consider perfect but you can be better than perfect. You can, if you’re special. Since people seldom are special however, we set our standards for normal and anyone above the majority of the population is special... Well, anyone below it is special too, though for far different reasons and meanings.
This might explain most people near-crippling sense of insignificance and their ensuing near-crippling attempts to fix this through boasting and general all-around ass-ery.
Anyways, I dither. In fact, foresight is not 20/20, if we consider foresight in normal standards, foresight would be less than 1/20. Foresight is difficult, foresight is annoying and 20/20 foresight would require an absolute perfect sense of the future that would alter accordingly to the decisions you make because of such knowledge.
So yes, foresight is a difficult thing.
I appear to have dithered in a dither. How amusing. Anyways, this information may not save your life.
I have dithered in a dither in a dither and so on and so forth. Resuming my original topic:
It was not a dark and stormy night. In fact, it was bright, sun-shiny and generally all-around chipper and cheerful. Happy birds singing and squirrels happily crunch-a-crunch-crunching on nuts and berries and whatever the hell else squirrels eat. Interesting fact, flying squirrels will eat small birds. Not so cute and adorable now are they? Also, squirrels attack chipmunks. So fuck the squirrels, love the chipmunks. They’re nicer. Not that the chipmunks don’t fight back... Whatever, in the end chipmunks are smaller so at least if the chipmunk turns on you it’ll have smaller teeth with which to try and gnaw your fingers off.
Ahem, so ignoring the squirrels vs. chipmunks conundrum, it was an absolutely gorgeous day. Just perfect. You should have been out sunbathing in it instead of doing other silly things (such as reading this blathering on of pointless randomness).
...
That’s all I really had to say. Nice day and all that.
...
There’s nothing more to this story. I wonder why you’re so surprised. After all, it’s labelled as a “short” story not a “this will make sense” story or “this has a point” story...
Were you expecting more?
Well as I mentioned earlier, crushing expectations is fun.
Enjoy.
P.S. Actually, this story does have a point. It shows how a mere mentioning of the weather can spawn a conversation. A relatively pointless and useless conversation, but a conversation all the same. So it’s really not that difficult. Set whatever you’re doing down, get up and strike up a random conversation.
After all, all conversations are generally random until you get to know a person and can have intelligent conversations. So go talk to someone, blather on about something pointless and maybe at the end, you’ll have derived some meaning from it.
Just like I did. This point I mentioned was completely unintentional at the time of writing and was only noticed afterwards.
So I suppose there still really isn’t a moral or point. With this realization however, comes another, that maybe all that analysing and work you put in to making books and poetry have a theme, a meaning, a reason, maybe it’s all nonsense. Maybe it’s just all drivel and drabbling and babbling on (not alliteration but I gave you a rhyme). Maybe it’s just like this. There was no point, until there was one. Until one was made up.
Go make up your own points. Nothing actually has to have a reason. Nothing has to have a meaning. Stop over-thinking. Just write.
Go on.
Do it.
I dare you.
P.P.S. Can also be relabelled as "What the fuck am I on, why can't I write actual stories and not blather on and make no fucking sense, what the fuck is wrong with me, I'm pretty sure this is what happens when you don't sleep enough and decide to try and write something short and pointless at stupid-o-clock in the morning when you have to be up and you're honestly bat-shit crazy, off your fucking rocker, off the deep end and this proves it you very weird, very disturbed woman (A Short Story)".
