So. This is the part where I try to let go and be freer in my writing, because people are making me suggesting it. It’s the part where I acknowledge that I’m excessively enamored with semi-colons, spot-on grammar and words like “superlative” and “languish.” It’s part of me, this illness, but I’m rebelling with all my meager will. From now on, sometimes I’m gonna settle for lackluster words, write horrendous run on sentences and misspell stuff. Or skip a paragraph break where it’s needed because I’m not in the mood to click enter. You know. Things like that.
Just for the fuck of it.
Also, it occurs to me, it might be fun to be random or tangential. So here goes.
Announcement: I don’t know what a hashtag is.
Once, in high school, I cut typing class. The teacher ratted me out to my mother, in a note with a typo in the first line.
I never got any male attention until my freshman year in college — a tiny, conservative school in Ohio. My freshman year, I slept with three guys — nothing by New Jersey standards, but very much something in the heart of Ohio. I assumed they ran in different circles, til one day I saw two of them eating lunch together. My reputation was in peril; panic set in. Did they know the third guy? What if their association was based solely on carnal knowledge of me? Should I transfer immediately, or wait til the end of the year?
Ha. An extra paragraph break. Bet you didn’t see THAT coming!
I think my cat’s a weirdo. It’s reciprocal.
My second grade teacher’s name was Miss Klitz. Suddenly, I’m thinking of Googling her, just to see what comes up.
I dated a guy who preferred fishing shows to sex. Maybe I should have put salmon oil behind my ears. ***Insert salmon icon HERE***
I’m blanking on a run-on sentence. Suggestions are welcome.
I must sally forth and do some hand-wash. I’m two years behind, which makes it difficult to dress appropriately for the season. I’m not gonna obsess over a cute or suitable ending. Except maybe to mention Miss Klitz again, cause that’s the kind of gal I am.
P.S. I just hit publish. I think I’m gonna be sick.
Way to go being a rebel and all that. Oh, and I remember the days when “#” used to be a symbol for number and not a hashtag. Damn, I’m old.
I hear you, Mario. All these new tricks for. . .middle aged dogs. 🙂
Welcome to my world!
Thank you, Bill. I feel right at home. 🙂
Kathy, how funny about your professor. Whatever it was that you wrote, I bet you had fun doing it. Thanks for such a nice comment!
Donna,I’m not sure I should be encouraged….
As a former recipient of a “Dishonorable Mention” in the annual Bulwer-Lytton contest, I can attest to the fact that it’s hard to deliberately produce a piece of bad writing. I don’t even remember how many times I edited and re-wrote the entry that won me that dubious honor, but it was a lot.
And yes, my counterpoint professor thought my piece was hilarious. Maybe I missed my calling. I should have been a composer of deliberately bad music.
A dishonorable mention, Kathy? Now that’s funny.
Sometimes you just gotta be a rebel!!! 🙂
This reminds me of the time in grad school when I submitted a piece to my music counterpoint professor that broke every rule we had been taught, it made the professor laugh, which I also did when I read your beautifully badly written post above.
See? That was a run-on sentence with bad punctuation; simple, colloquial language; two adverbs stuck together and a non sequitur.
It’s hard for a good writer to deliberately write bad prose. It takes talent, work and concentration to come up with something both bad and really funny.