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Because the new pokemon games suck

Yes but so does gen 4

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who the fuck has teachers that check on them lmao my teachers been leaving me without a paddle this whole school year

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The topic of writing prompts.

Most writing prompts I see around here are fine. They’re okay, and they work for some people. However, I find myself in a constant struggle to find variety within these posts.

Rarely ever are they conceptual. Rarely do they force you to think and write a spin on something that others might not expect. They seem to not push for creativity, but rather for simple character establishing.

They’re all seemingly over-dramatic, as well, or romantic, or focus on one character caring about or for another. Again, this is all well and good, but how can a prompt inspire creativity, when it is not creative in and of itself? Or when it is so oddly specific that all you can do is turn the prompt into a basic character insert? It’s like giving you a format for a recipe, such as a sandwich, and telling you what bread to use, and which essentials and style to use, and allowing you to only pick and choose a few ingredients. Sometimes, this inspires creativity, something reminiscent of an egg sandwich I made earlier with which I surprised myself with its flavor.

However, think about how easily that sandwich could have been made boring. Think about how I could have simply seasoned the egg with salt and pepper. Think about how I could have used basic white bread instead of sourdough. Think about how I could have toasted the bread instead of frying it in the pan. Think about how I could have left out a personal touch, and how easily I could have done so.

Of course, I like to think I’m not your average author on this site (my narrow slice of experience would allow myself to think so). I don’t write fan fictions. I don’t base my stories around characters, even those I create myself. I consider myself as a concept author. I paint with words, but I do not paint characters in situations, I paint situations with characters. A difference that to anyone sounds so incredibly pretentious that it couldn’t possibly make sense, but it does to me, and I think that if one understands what I mean, then they understand my personal gripe with these writing prompts.

Again, I take no actual issue with these prompts. I have no vendetta against their creators or users, nor would I ever make any attempt to wipe any form of art off of the Internet. That will never be my place, and I respect other artists far to much to even think that it possibly could be.

However, I would like to see more variation in these prompts. Let’s mix in some more concepts, some more ideas other than scenarios.

But again, I’m one person.

One person, who writes their silly little stories on the Internet.

I know that the world doesn’t always cater to me; rarely does it ever.

I can, however, inspire hope in myself, or at the very least, vent my minor frustrations and first-world problems on this silly little website. I salute my fellow artists who can do with these prompts what I cannot, for they possess ability that I do not, and I find that extremely admirable.

#writing #author #writing prompt #rant #vent

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Reminder for those of you who don’t know Most Dollar Trees sell 3-packs of Ferrero Rochers for one dollar. If you’re in a poor mood and need something rich to cheer ya up, go treat yourself.

Self-care is important, and Ferrero Rochers are exactly the self-care you need sometimes.

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Class Of 2021.

People felt bad for the class of 2020, because they didn't get to walk across a stage. However, I would argue, and could possibly win a case, that the class of 2021 has it much worse. We did not get a final winter formal. We did not get any prospect of a prom or senior dance. Many of us did school work through fall break, because teachers wanted to assign work that was due during said break, and the same will most likely go for our spring break. We will not have any senior memories. We will not be able to perform our final performing arts shows in front of our school. We will not be able to plot with friends to sneak a senior prank into our school. This is the final year of our academic careers, that we have spent 12 years before this working toward, and we have nothing to show for it. We have no memories. We have no photos to show our future children and grandchildren how much of an idiot we got to be in our Senior year.

What we got instead was disappointment, like a big old glass of trash punch, not too dissimilar to the sad juice left at the bottom of a garbage can after a party thrown by sad alcoholics, trying to relive their glory days, only to be let down by the night being remarkably unlike any other drinking night; a mixture of various drinks full of bitterness and depression, topped with a perfect, frothy foam of never walking across that stage and shaking hands with the people who allowed us to get to that point. Instead, we attend a virtual meeting, and we receive our diplomas in the mail. We will not invite our beloved friends and family to attend as we fill a stadium court, to see us leave the long years of school and take our steps into adulthood. We are not special, nor will we ever be. We are mundane by the nature of circumstances unforeseen, and yet who will acknowledge us, like they acknowledged the more fortunate? The class of 2021 will be written in the history books as the most remarkably unremarkable graduating class in the modern world, and knowing that fact fills me with a dread so great that the anxiety that I have lived with since age 12 simply pales in comparison to the mind and body full of sorrow that this simple thought brings.

This sad drink of a Senior year experience has an upside, however. A bittersweet thought, similar to a two-week expired gingersnap cookie remembered on the counter that we have the liberty of enjoying with our garbage-can punch. A cookie that reminds us the future classes can only have it better; that our failed Senior year serves as a lesson in how not to plan, that will allow, if circumstances do not change, our teachers and school to give future classes a better learning experience.

That is how the pandemic has affected me and my loved ones.

A excerpt from a school assignment in which I was asked how the pandemic has affected me. I figured I would take this opportunity to write something which I felt hits home, and expresses the genuine sorrow I feel for my class.

Stay strong, CO21. We’re in this together.

#school #high school graduation #high school #pandemic #graduation #covid #poem #writing

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Why would you want to play Gen 4 games?

i hope nintendo realizes i would actually re-buy this game if they re-released it

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School failed me.

I could go on and on About having retained nothing About being smart enough for AP Yet far enough behind to barely pass

I could go on and on About having learned nothing In my junior and senior years But that’s been done before

I don’t know what my childhood was like. I don’t remember my friends I don’t remember my teachers I don’t remember my grades.

What I do know, is that my school Didn’t tolerate any kind of bullying. And whenever I pushed a friend I was suspended for the day after.

But it was okay when I would get bloody noses and black eyes And come home crying that day Because my bullies were violent

But when I would play pretend When I would play as a knight And accidentally hit my forgiving friend That was unacceptable

Yet I lost my memory Because of one group of kids Who were there every day Who saw me as a punching bag.

School failed me. Not because I never learned But because those kids throwing punches Never learned, either.

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This sounds like one of those oddly-quotable lines that come from weird places like that Steve Buscemi quote about God living in fear

You are literally just some rat saying your silly little things on the internet

And look at my kingdom

#he lives in fear of pukicho

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I do not want to be a good LGBT artist.

I do not want to be a good Hispanic artist. I do not want to be a good Japanese artist. I do not want to be a good disabled artist.

I just want to be a good artist.

I don’t want to be a good artist despite being mixed. I don’t want to be a good artist despite sometimes wishing I had different genitals. I don’t want to be a good artist despite loving boys and girls. I don’t want to be a good artist in spite of things I can never change.

My accomplishments are not in spite of who I am. To suggest otherwise is insulting to both my- and yourself.

I just want to be a good artist.

#lgbt #poc #author #artist #perspective #poetry #writing #ven

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I'm dead

For real, I'm a ghost, literally, dead, literally just lying there, literally, not figuratively, literally, let me reiterate, not figuratively, as in not in a manner of speaking, I am dead, lying here on the floor and no one or nobody not a soul has found me yet and all through the house the most peaceful of silences can be heard. It's so silent it's nearly a noise within itself, but one that need not intrude on the years as it engraves within you. It ruminates around you like a shower curtain of light. It's something bittersweet, like when the gas station cashier covers the 7 cents left on your 22fl OZ tall can of Arizona Tea, knowing that you've been the only one in the tiny little quaint store for the entirety of the day. You know that nobody stops there and that man would have loved that extra 7 cents. But because he knows how hard money is to come by, and how tedious it would be to pull 7 cents out of your pocket, he lets you walk, and enjoy your tea.

#source: my friend #he let me post this #writing #i'm dead #author