In Uncategorized on August 31, 2012 at 4:27 PM
Type: ENFP, The Advocate
Attributes: cooperative, energetic, bright
Typical Careers: consultants, reporters, politicians
In literature: ENFPs are likely to dabble in a ton of activities, excelling in many of them. They thrive on thrilling experiences and relationships, and their optimism makes them susceptible to deceit, like the romantic and skillful Edmond Dantès from “The Count of Monte Cristo.” Another perfect example is Brett Ashley from “The Sun Also Rises.”
Check the Huffington Post’s list of the fiction book characters associated with each personality type
In Non-Fiction on August 29, 2012 at 2:43 AM
Here I am sitting in a 24-hour coffee shop across from campus after my first day back in class.
The guy who just sat down at the table in front of me, facing me, used to be that annoying guy who professors began not calling on in class because he’d take the conversation off topic, then hold us hostage with his point-of-view. They’d actually make an exaggerated and clear arch with their heads and line-of-sight (if the class was large enough to get away with that) and he would lean to the right or left with his hand raised from the front row as if he believed the professor just hadn’t seen his hand raised. Each new semester, an ignorant professor would unwittingly green-light his aggressively argumentative self on us, unsuccessfully interrupting him while he shut people down before they could finish articulating their point.
He was an awkward blob of a guy with spray out of his mouth while yacking too and I probably only remember that because of his demeanor in classes.
But, clearly, dude met the gym because he’s completely UMPH now.
And who knew that this chiseled face was under that face that I remember?
Maybe he’s gay because he smiled at me (where was THAT smile?) when he looked my way and, also, because I remember this one time at a party when he really wanted to discuss a point I’d made in class. I walked away eventually from him, though, because he really just wanted to dominate the conversation.
But now he could totally domin—
Oh, two girls just walked up, one introducing him to the other as her boyfriend before kissing him and now he’s leaving, her hand in his.
He’s probably still a jerk.
In Fiction on August 23, 2012 at 6:21 AM
(19th in this challenge)
IT WAS A STARK AND DORMY NIGHT*.
Eleka thought she was alone. Bruce Hall had closed for the slushy Winter/Xmas hiatus. No vehicles existed in the ashy lot but hers. The hallway had traded in its Mary Jane abrasive sass for a mellow, generic, aired-out hallway smell. But if she was alone, who was manhandling her knocker?
And how did they have knowledge of her?
Her Santa nightlight wasn’t that bright. And it wasn’t that big.
“Let me in!” a male who was probably nerdy and skinny fat by the crack in his shrill. To my peep hole, she declared internally, so that I might investigate. When she put her eye to the hole, his pound felt like a pound in her face and she thought he was such a jerk she almost wanted the awful thing that was surely about to happen happen to him. Would serve him—
“Please!” Read the rest of this entry »
In Uncategorized on August 22, 2012 at 8:15 AM
I’m so grateful for stumbling upon this because I didn’t know what to write for today’s drabble.
Over at ComicBookResources.com, there’s a series called “Comic Legends Revealed”. The second legend revealed in their 273rd post is:`
COMIC LEGEND: Len Wein came up with an amusing tribute to Snoopy’s Great American Novel in a Batman short story he did with Walt Simonson.
“It was a dark and stormy night” first appeared at the beginning of novelist Edward Bulwer-Lytton’s 1830 novel, Paul Clifford. It has become one of the most famous example of “purple prose” ever.
In July of 1965, Charlie Brown’s dog, Snoopy, first began working on his novel, and sure enough, the phrase opened his work.
Check out the rest of the post, complete with both Snoopy’s Great American Novel and the Batman short it inspired.
In Fiction on August 22, 2012 at 6:36 AM
(18th in this challenge)
(inspired by the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest and my scriptophobia)
It was a dark and stormy night. I retrieved a defrosting fish stick from its box, used it to snoop the richness of the black pit of cocoa I’d made to submissify my nerves as dry wall sections of rain slammed into the windows. The glass trembled like an innocent girl being slapped around by her tyrannical, widowed farmer father who didn’t have a cow or horse or sheep to ride into town on (or sleigh, which is more suitable for winter in the geography of this story) so that he could buy himself some more Coca-Cola Zero (though he owned a viciously purple bicycle that was like a brother to him even though he’d been paraplegic since birth so it was more like a taunting brother, as useful as three strips of thin-ply toilet paper in a roofless outhouse in the middle of a high, naked meadow on this dark and stormy night at the penultimate instance of flood). Read the rest of this entry »
In Uncategorized on August 21, 2012 at 2:06 PM
Going to my monthly New Yorker Magazine meetup.com group tonight.
A bunch of middle-aged ladies who want to gossip about politics and me in the Central Market cafe. Too bad Dart (our tram system) rarely has two tracks passing each other or I could maybe live this, my favorite cover moment (by Adrian Tomine), on the way.
I haven’t finished any of the stories in the past month’s additions. Ever interrupt your reading to start writing whateversomething the reading has suddenly inspired?
In Fiction on August 21, 2012 at 6:50 AM
(17th in this challenge)
Alanna woke to Panda having finally ripped his sock monkey in half. She hadn’t heard the ripping but as she leaned up from her bunk, she discovered all of the evidence: cotton yanks strewn across the RV kitchenette floor, torso drool-coated, gleaming in her Lhasa Apso’s under-bite. Was it triumph or warning in Panda’s eyes? She didn’t care; she was just disappointed that she hadn’t witnessed the action. She could watch him kill a doll for hours. Read the rest of this entry »
In Fiction on August 19, 2012 at 11:29 PM
(16th in this challenge)
I needed a story idea for this drabble so at breakfast I asked my mom, “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve seen?”
We were in a local diner named Something Something Pigs. There were portraits of pigs and life-like figurines on shelves decorating the place. Our server’s name tag was a pig with an expression on its face as if to say it couldn’t care less that almost everything on the menu had pork in it.
Couldn’t care less.
Eat that pork.
“There was this person at the gas station who couldn’t park,” she said. “He tried five different times. I thought he was going to hit someone.”
“And then what?” I asked. Read the rest of this entry »
In Non-Fiction on August 19, 2012 at 3:05 PM
(Here I go upcycling.)
A few Fridays ago, I randomly caught a wedding.
I was hanging out with some cousins who were staying at The Gaylord Texan for a business conference. Afterward, when they had to go to an awards ceremony, I wandered around inside. For those who haven’t been to a Gaylord, they’re centers, are a mix of indoor mall and huge, open courtyard with restaurants, gardens, a man-made river, statues, lots of people, a sky of, well, skylights.
That courtyard-like space is air-conditioned like the rest of the hotel. So I stayed. It was so hot outside, so cool inside; dead grass outside, lush gardens inside. It didn’t matter that I stayed long enough for parking to cost $20. I turned a corner from some gift shops and found a coffee shop*. Through it, I saw an inviting balcony that overlooked the courtyard-like space. From the counter while paying, I saw a seated wedding party beyond the balcony, waiting on a lower level across the river for a ceremony to begin. I wandered with my coffee out to the balcony. Read the rest of this entry »
In Uncategorized on August 19, 2012 at 10:53 AM
You must check out Craig Thompson’s Blankets (and ALL of his other work). GO!
I’d love to collaborate on a graphic novel someday.
In Fiction on August 19, 2012 at 12:53 AM
(15th in this challenge)
Janet, late as always, was driving through the deepest night on her way to Gwynn’s new home in a tiny middle-of-nowhere town near the gulf. She’d left Austin at sunset shouting, “Free. Free.”.
In the year since graduation, Janet had gone back to live with her parents and begun working in a library uncertain of her future while Gwynn had moved to Nowhere into a home of her own, hired by Child Protective Services to begin a career that would at some point hopefully catapult her into the FBI . Every day, Janet pushed the same squeaky book cart and hushed the same teenagers full of attitude, envious of Gwynn. Every moment, she anticipated her friend’s weekly call. Though Gwynn only wanted to hear about Janet’s day and Janet’s quirky musings and Janet’s delightful memories of their times as roommates in college (“It helps me unwind,” she would say, exhaustion in her tone), Janet only wanted to hear about Nowhere. Read the rest of this entry »