I want to be a successful writer, which is why about 3 or 4 weeks ago I said I would post a story every day. I have been writing stories consistently, but am realizing that this is not meeting my goal of becoming a great writer. I was hoping that doing this would increase my ability to tell stories, but I am finding that it is doing the opposite, as I am trying to rush to finish them quickly, instead of working on one for a few days. I will continue to write every day, but will not be posting as often. Probably once a week. I feel that the quality of my work has gone down and that I will truly meet my goal by writing stories for myself and posting the best ones. Last night, instead of writing a story on my blog as usual, I started writing in a composition notebook for myself. The words flew more smoothly and I think the prep work in my notebook will make for better quality on my blog.
Grandpa Wilson’s dad was the kind of person who scared everyone around. He liked to scare people. He used to snuff out his cigarettes in gasoline and always said that if you did it quick enough nothing would happen. My grandpa always wondered what exactly was past quick enough. My great grandpa didn’t care. Like I said he enjoyed scaring people. He also used to pick up scorpions by the tail, claiming that as long as you didn’t have hair on your arms or hands they couldn’t sting you.
Tonight my brother sister and I went to see a movie with friends. Mom had taken our cute little car somewhere which left me driving the van, which is as big, quirky, and homeschoolish as you can imagine. My siblings and I had a hilarious idea to fully embrace the quirkiness of three teens driving a huge white van alone. We decided that at stop lights, we would roll down the windows, crank up the Mexican radio music, and shake the van back and forth. My brother and sister shook it by each getting on one side of the van and jumping up and down. It worked like a charm and the van wobbled back and forth like a dancing blob of jello.
At the first stop light we rolled down the windows, cranked up the tunes, and they started jumping. The van was jumping with them. I awkwardly stared straight ahead avoiding eye contact with the person next to me, who my siblings told me, was staring at us. My brother and sister were laughing till the tears came and so was I. The person next to us began revving their engine and I laughed even harder. When after an eternity of twenty seconds the light turned green, I finally whacked up the ginger to take a look at the person next to us. He was an aged man gazing intently at us, and driving an old Tahoe full of people, who were also staring at us. He revved his Tahoe and then drove away. At the second light, nothing so glorious happened this time, but the person next to us did laugh so hared he was shaking. It’s fun to be Quirky and embarrass yourself.
My dad used to tell me and my brother stories before bed. If he was really tired he would say that he didn’t want to tell us any story that night. We would beg him to tell a story until he would say, “Alright. Once upon a time there was a girl, and she went to sleep. The End.” We would say that wasn’t fair, and ask him to tell another. He would say “Okay. Once upon a time, there was a boy, and he went to sleep. The End.” Then our dad would go to sleep.