Write about anything you’d like, but make sure that all seven colors of the rainbow — red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet — make an appearance in the post, either through word or image.
Note: I started with the first image that popped in my head and went with it until I ran out of steam. I have no idea where this came from. I’ve never been in such a situation before.
My vision was red when I woke. I was so enraged. I thought that a quick nap would shake off the anger but instead it slept along with me, patiently waiting to resurface, and now it was ready. Ready for me to take action. I jumped out of bed, grabbed my jacket, and left the house in search of him. I drove my blue buggy right up to his house and banged on the door until he opened it. He refused to meet my eyes knowing that he had done wrong, that he had pushed me too far. I shoved him into the house and entered after, intent on putting a hurting on him that he’d soon not forget. No one messes with me.
As I drew back my fist to deliver a punch, a flash of pink caught my eye and I looked around to see little Sara staring at me. The sun caught the flecks of green in her big hazel eyes as she stared up at us, opened mouthed, probably wondering what I’m doing to her daddy. But my anger refused to relent even for this little girl and I tried to sweeten my voice as I coaxed her to return to the living room and her cartoons, but she continued to stare. Dammit!
What was the last picture you took? Tell us the story behind it. (No story behind the photo? Make one up, or choose the last picture you took that had one.)
I hate winter. I abhor the cold, the sniffles, and that tingly feeling I get in my fingers and toes when they’re numb. I loathe the fall in temperature and the rise in wind. And the burning sensation I get in my nose whenever I step outside that makes me want to sneeze. I dislike the ice, that slippery ice that I slide on, glide, as I fall while running for the bus. I hate winter.
The last pictures I took were three quick snapshots of snowy branches. I was waiting for the bus and was bored and agitated. Bored because I wanted to get back to reading The Fires of Heaven and agitated because a girl was smoking and spitting all over the sidewalk where I would have to walk when the bus arrives.
I was also upset with the weather—snow. Snow means ice and I hate both. I was huffing and puffing to myself as I tried to think of warmer moments in my life when I saw a man and his wife taking photos of the trees with their phones. It was then that I noticed the beauty around me. The trees were all spectacular with their bare branches, some dripping with icicles while others were simply decorated with snow. It wasn’t heavy snow but just enough to give the impression that the trees had somehow sprouted snowy leaves. With the light of the lamp posts shining behind a few, the branches would glitter as if decorated with crystals.
When was the last time you wrote something substantive — a letter, a story, a journal entry, etc. — by hand? Could you ever imagine returning to a pre-keyboard era?
I fantasize about writing with a pen—never a pencil. Always I would imagine myself sitting by an open window in the summer, inhaling the brine of the ocean down the road from my house (my fantasy house by sea) while writing a short story or a letter to some loved one. It’s a huge window and every now and then a blue jay or sparrow would perch upon its sill and chirrup at me as I write, encouraging me to continue with my thoughts. Whenever I fantasize about writing, it’s always handwriting, not typing.
The physical exertion involved in handwriting makes the act more personal, especially if it’s a letter or a journal entry being written. When I do write with a pen, it’s as if I’m leaving a part of myself on the page along with my thoughts. I think more exertion is required of us when handwriting, which makes the act all the more satisfying when completed. However, since handwriting is more physical, my hands are now out of shape since I do not handwrite often. Now whenever I write with a pen, I can only do so for a few minutes before I have to stop to rest my hand. These days I find it hard to imagine how writers managed to write hundreds of pages for hours by hand back in the day.
Christian Rudder, a Harvard grad and co-founder and president of the dating site OkCupid, has written an engaging book in which he uses data to analyze human behavior. Most of the data is taken from OkCupid’s user base, and is presented as an aggregate so no one is singled out. According to Rudder, he is telling the story of the masses.
Dataclysm is a wonderful read. It’s funny, light, and relatable with a few narratives thrown in. The book looks thick but it can be a quick read if you have the time for it. It also helps that the text and graphs are visually appealing. If you’re interested in graphic design, I suggest taking a look at Rudder’s graphs and tables. He presents a variety of them in a clean manner that makes them easy to understand.
Rudder draws surprising conclusions from his data though some were more of a confirmation for what I already know. A few points Rudder uncovers include: older men are more attracted to younger women (a glance at the TV show Millionaire Matchmaker proves this); using Twitter may actually improve one’s writing than hurt it; the more followers a person has on Twitter, the more that person sounds like a corporation. He also includes his opinions on his findings, some of which I disagree with, but I like reading them. He doesn’t try to ignore the subjectivity of his research.
One problem I have with his data, though, is that he takes it for granted that people on OkCupid are being entirely honest on their profiles. People do lie on the internet and often try to present themselves in a favorable light. I think Rudder should have taken that into consideration even if OkCupid does ask a bunch of questions to weed out the fakes. It makes me question the stats in his data even though his conclusions ring true.
Today you can write about anything, in whatever genre or form, but your post must mention a dark night, your fridge, and tears (of joy or sadness; your call). Feel free to switch one ingredient if you have to (or revisit one from previous trio prompts).
It’s 3 a.m. and I’m the only one up. I’m glued to my laptop, tapping away at the keyboard as I write about the previous day when I hear a disturbance downstairs. It’s a scraping, tumbling sound, as if someone had broken in through the back door and knocked down the alphabet blocks that my niece had left in front of it. We had stacked them before retiring to bed.
I’m tense as I listen, wondering if someone is breaking in. But all is silent now. I begin to relax and then—there’s the noise again! Immediately I’m on edge. I consider waking my parents but that will take too long plus this is an old house and the floors creak. The robber will hear me. Why didn’t we activate the stupid house alarm? Did we activate the alarm? I can’t remember. My mind is racing and my adrenaline is pumping, rendering me immobile. I don’t know what to do. Now it sounds as if someone is creeping around downstairs, trying to slide their boots along the wooden floors to avoid the creaks. Maybe if I move around a bit it will scare him off or maybe he will come up here and kill me. Ah, what to do?
So I am behind on just about everything these days due to being sick. Actually, this is the second time I’ve caught a cold since fall has begun. I hope it doesn’t turn into a monthly occurrence. Along with the changing colors of the leaves, the nominations I’ve received for two blogger awards have helped to perk me up.
I was nominated for the One Lovely Blogger Award by Rhoda over at Rhoda in Manila. She has a wonderful blog that I find inspiring. Thanks Rhoda :D.
What’s messier right now — your bedroom or you computer’s desktop (or your favorite device’s home screen)? Tell us how and why it got to that state.
It used to be my bedroom. Papers and books scattered across the floor like a second layer of carpeting with art supplies lining the walls but all that has been picked up and cleared away because of the attack of the silverfish. Now the messy place is my nightstand, where bills are thrown and forgotten.
Actually, it’s not a nightstand but a small office bookcase (too broke to buy a nightstand). The spillover from my bookcase is stocked on it as well as art supplies and a few electronics. On top, I have a lamp, alarm radio, batteries, medicine, Bible (of course), an exiled Nook Color, a few articles I’ve printed, an old purse, Our Daily Bread (a daily devotional), Christian Rudder’s Dataclysm (which I just completed), pens and highlighter, a bottled water, booklight, and a stack of bills I try hard to make invisible by the force of my mind.
I’ve tried tidying it but every time I succeed in doing so, it refills within a few days. Sometimes I wonder if my family contributes to the mess. It simple cannot be just me. The thing is my nightstand has become an easy place to throw things I’d rather not think about—bills—or to place things that I can quickly access from my bed—currently-reading books, medicine, Bible, and water, a bit in that order.
I hardly post videos so I decided to do one for this assignment. Plus I have a review of Divergent coming soon. The following video is from CinemaSins, a YouTube channel that posts critiques of movies. Their most popular videos are the “Everything Wrong With…” series.
I highly suggest you visit their channel to watch the other videos in the series. They’re totally hilarious!