I've Been a Knave...(Tales of a Knave)

Oh would you lookie here...I updated! *waves* I owe you no apology. Well, actually I do, but since you've heard me apologize so often that I figured you would just roll your eyes. Like you're doing now.

Stop that!

Anyway, I know that I need to blog more, so I decided to make a pact with a good friend of mine. He has a blog too, (http://101zombiekills.blogspot.com/) so we decided that whenever one of us updates, the other person will have to update too. I wanted to have horrible bloody battles of the tongue and call our little project "Blog Wars", but nooo. So we left it at the original idea. And he updated just now, and it was a great post, and gosh darn it I have a good post too! I have so many ideas that I'm practically dripping them from my nose. I'm snotting ideas.

...

Oh what am I saying? Of course I don't have any good ideas. I spent about fifteen minutes slapping my face with a wooden spoon trying to find something that would make you guys laugh. I was going to make you people cry tears of liquefied laughter. Finally, I gave up. So I doodled. I doodled something fantastic.

I doodled a picture of a guy on a chicken.

(DISCLAIMER TO THE HATER: Now, if this man on this fine chicken resembles any man you know, you are wrong. Do not pay attention to the camo pants or the regal and handsome nose.They do not hint to this person's sense of style. Moving on. )

So, I was like, "Hmm, maybe I can do something with this guy on this chicken." Maybe tell a story about this guy on this chicken? He looks like a knave. Why is a knave riding on a chicken? Maybe he's having an adventure? Maybe even telling tales about it? Tales of a Knave? OMG.

So I doodled again. Behold.

Isn't it beautiful? Yes, I know. Obviously, the man on this chicken has a story. If only someone who was willing to spend countless hours bringing his story spontaneously to life would appear. Oh, who could this wonderful person be?

What, me?
....
No, I couldn't possibly. His story, too epic, his chicken, too resplendent!
....
I don't like drawing pictures anyway, unless you expect me to crank them out at a horribly fast rate, rendering the quality of his story incomprehensible.
...
You do? Well, that's not very kind. *cries*
...
Oh, I know! Why don't I have the man who this story is about write his story? He has no good sense of humor, his art skills are worse than mine, and he smells like fried orc! Introducing, K'nave!

K'NAVE: I do not smell like fried orc!

ME: Will you tell your story to us, K'nave?

K'NAVE: Well, I would have to wait a few years to tell you. To tell my life story I'll have to be old, drunk, and holed up in a tavern. . .But I guess I can tell you if you want.

ME: Oh yes, oh yes!

K'NAVE: Very well....

ME: Oh yes, start telling us now!

K'nave: Where to begin? Oh yes, I remember. My name is K'nave Windrider, because last names in my country must be made of a weather element and a verb, and my story started when I was sixteen....

Feeling special!

I'm feeling kind of special right now. I have been up and down with how much I've written lately-my nary updated blog is an example of that. I've been in an editing kind of mood, so I stumbled upon a fairy tale that I wrote a while back. I saw that there was a writing contest going on that had a theme "mythos", and I thought my fairy tale would be perfect for that if I edited it up a bit. The place that hosted the contest is Steward House Publishing, and they have regular contests. Anyway, I edited my story and submitted it RIGHT before the deadline. I'm serious, there were only ten minutes left before the contest was closed! The results were posted the next day (as the judging goes on throughout the week)

Annnndddd...

I got Editor's Choice! Yes! I'm so happy! When I submitted I thought I wouldn't get anything at all, but I did! They said they liked my story a lot. I'm so happy! Here is the link to the page with all the winners!

http://www.stewardhouse.com/contests/

I hate to leave this post short, but now I must proceed to dance off into the sunset. *begins to poka*

Esther "She's a winner!" P.

A Blog Post Nobody Cares About.

 In my limited life experience, I have noticed that there are three topics of conversation that the normal, caring human being tends to avoid in order to maintain a good social status with his or her friends. Often, when you go on these subjects, the person to whom you brought it up with undoubtedly will get either angry, defensive, opinionated, or bored. These topics are politics, religion, and that one dream that you had last night. However offensive the first two topics can be, there are people that simply love to talk about that stuff. But I am sure that I have never, EVER, found more than one person who was actually interested in the dream I had last night, no matter how awesome my dream was.

This makes me sad. I love sharing my dreams-if they are sharable, *cough*- with anyone who will listen. But no one really does, strangely. Even if someone agrees to listen to your dream, you are bound to get some restless foot-tapping if you don't conclude you dream in thirty seconds. This goes with most people I have met. I am sure that you don't like hearing about dreams either, do you? I bet you don't want to hear about my dream.

Well, tough kumquats.

You see, our house endured one heck of an ice storm yesterday. I am glad that no one I knew got hurt, although some of my friends lost electricity. Anyway, the branches of a tree that hangs outside my room froze over, and then proceeded to drip ice on my bedroom window all night in an erratic, very loud manner. So I slept restlessly. And when I sleep restlessly...I dream...I had three dreams. All of my dreams took place in the same city that was also being attacked by aliens, but no one noticed for some reason. And now I will share one of my dreams with you.  Now you know what I meant when I say this is a post no one will care about.

THE DREAM
(I saw this one in third person. That is, I wasn't in it)

I'm pretty sure that his name was Riley and that he wanted to be Santa Claus. Why, I have no clue. The fact that he wore a red hat constantly and said, "Ho Ho Ho!" tipped me off. One day, around Christmas, Riley wrote a note to Santa Claus asking if he could have a battery-run sleigh so he could act like Santa Claus. Santa Claus wrote him back, and he said something along these lines.

Dear Riley,

No. I will not give you a sleigh. You have been a bad boy. I only give sleighs to good boys. Be a good boy and I will give you a sleigh.

Satan Clause

Santa Claus

PS. I misspelled my name, sorry.

PPS. I think I mispelled "mispelled".

Riley was not a boy really. He was, in fact, thirty something years old. Still, this ridiculously simple note from Santa broke his little man heart, so he decided to start acting like a good boy. He walked to the nearest gas station and began to open doors for strangers. He did this for hours. I watched him do this for hours. Eventually, he felt the need to open all the doors for everyone. He was running from door to door, helping people that didn't actually need help, and actually getting in their way. I began to get tired from watching him. Eventually, he collapsed on the floor. Still, all this work pleased Santa, so Santa appeared in a flash of light.

"You are a good boy!" Santa Claus said. "You get batteries and a sleigh!"
"BATTERIES?!" Riley screamed. Riley loved batteries.

"Yes! Here are batteries!"

"BATTERIES?!"

"BATTERIES!"

"BATTERIES?!"
Santa Claus, with a dramatic wave, created a cornucopia of batteries. He also went through what each battery was in excrutiating detail. Finally, Santa disapeared, leaving Riley with his batteries. Riley never got his sleigh. Riley didn't care though, because he was still rolling around screaming, "BATTERIES!?"

---

So yeah...that was my third dream. It was also my shortest so I thought I would share it with you. My others were considerably more epic, so unless you are interested I won't share them. But what do you think about my dream? Does it make you want to cry or fall asleep? Both? Got to love the comments, yo.

Esther "BATTERIES?!" P