Very Serious Musings on a Very Serious Topic.

Have you ever stopped and thought about the remarkable amount of stunningly beautiful characters in books? If you had never been out in the world (highly unlikely,) but had read your classic literature faithfully, (the situation is doubly unlikely, but, hey, it's hypothetical) you would go out expecting half the world to be stunning, gorgeous, striking, and altogether beautiful. Ophelia, Hero, Anne Blythe, Cora and Alice Mundy, Rebekah, Rowena, Every Single Girl In Any Andrew Lang Tale, and-what-is-the-name-of-the-girl-in-the-Lady-in-White? They are all lovely.

After pondering the topic for quite a while, I have reached the conclusion that this is because it is a million time more jolly to write about a beautiful character. (Or one that grows to be beautiful) The ratio of gorgeous persons to ordinary persons is all the authors' doing. But lately I have noticed a rising of books with more realistic characters.
What do you think? I know that I tend to write about "just pretty" characters, and I do kind of enjoy it. Fellow writers, what do you usually do?
This isn't really a very serious post.

The Dr. #2

#1.

If you have ever attempted to open a window with someone attached to it, in order to let the someone in, you will know it is a tricky business. The Doctor managed somehow, and the someone deattached himself and tumbled safely inside He stood up wearily, leaning against the wall, panting, for some moments.
Being a scientific man, and thus always making observations, the doctor used this time to gather a first impression. Fritz was immediately struck by the guest’s appearance as a model of human perfection. Classically, strikingly, dashingly, startlingly –whatever your preferred adverb may be- it must be followed by the adjective, “handsome.” However, the author is employing a double meaning in the phrase, “model of human perfection.”
The stranger was beyond what society would term, “short” and would be more accurately described as “miniature.” According to the Dr.’s highly accurate observations, he would have stood about 3 feet 4 inches in his stocking feet.
Silence had reigned in the101st floor until the stranger spoke, having recovered his breath.
“Have you got a rope?” His voice was surprisingly deep for one so small.
“Eh?” said the doctor.
“I said, ‘have you got a rope!’”
“A what?”
“A rope, man, a ROPE! Can’t you expend a few measly moments to help a man before his resolution fails?”
As the astute reader may have gathered, Dr. Batwinkler, though highly intelligent, did not possess outstanding communication skills, except when speaking of his work.
“Ahhhhg!” the stranger’s self control seemed to have broken. “Can you not see that there is no life for a man of my… stature? Jobless, friendless, there is no place in the world for me. I have made it, well almost, to the top of this building with every intent to cast my wee physique from it, if only to send my weary soul upward to great heights?” he whispered the last two words almost reverently.
“It would have been easier to take the elevator,” said the Doctor, impassively.
The dreamy eyes took on the expression of a frightened horse.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhgggg! My woes pursue me. Please Sir, speak of mountains: I’ve climbed them. Speak of wild creatures: I have wrestled them, fought them, tamed them. Speak of caverns: I have explored the deepest of them. Speak of any fearful thing: it will not faze me, but I entreat you, sir, speak not of those mechanical tombs.”
“You mean, an elevator?”
The stranger drew in a shuddering breath.
“Yes. But you must assist me. I found, even as I mounted skyward to this grand building’s roof, that my stature failed my in yet another thing: I cannot reach the top. My arms are too short to grasp on the roof. So I have changed my means of destroying myself: I shall reach my end with a rope. Have you got one? Please?”
The doctor scanned his memory.
“Ah, yes, I do. He dances to music, as a bonus. You know, like a cobra. His name is Zither.”

Aren't they awesome?

Ashley's:

Annie's:

The General's:

Libby's: (Jare, where is yours? *Taps foot impatiently*)

Una's:

Problemactic's:

There you have it, folks. These are all the pictures I have received for the contest. And I was thinking, if you have a picture, but don't want to email it, then post it on your blog, and comment me with the link. That would work marvelously.

The Best of the Best

Just for your information, I have this entire song memorized.

Contest

I am thinking about posting the entries for the Weird is the new normal contest as they come. What say you? I have several already, so shall I post them?

Funny Advertisements

These made me chuckle. And giggle. And laugh.

That Story

The story I am writing (see post below) has been interesting because I have never written a piece involving magic. For one, I don't feel any moral obligation not to write with magic, but typically, I thought it boring to plot where my characters can achieve anything with a force. However, I am finding this to be more interesting than I previously supposed.

I started it as an assignment for a book Gail Carson Levine, the author of Ella Enchanted, wrote for aspiring authors. I am enjoying doing her assignments because they are stretching! But... I am in a lazy summer mood and I haven't finished yet. More is coming!

The Dr.

Dr. Fritz Batwinkler slumped down on the desk, his hands clutching his head. His name, the author recalls, is supposed to be followed by lots of initials that mean something, but at the present moment, she cannot remember what they are. Though his name connotes an association with the medical field, Batwinkler was not the stethoscope toting, stick-out-your-tongue-and-say-aah kind of doctor. Rather, his profession was that of the field of science: particularly the development of unique forces, specifically that force of magic. The doctor’s peculiar profession was not without its trials including, well, ridicule. Other, more conventional men of science constantly referred to him with derogatory names: “Bat’s-Wings,” owing to their traditional involvement in magic, “The Old Bat,” despite the doctor’s youth, “Alchemist,” and sometimes just “Quack.”
Yet Dr. Fritz pressed on in the face of persecution, and his perseverance was rewarded bit by bit, with discoveries which he had yet to reveal.
So why was the successful doctor slumped on his desk, cradling his hands? Only that morning, his assistant (or to put it candidly, his sort of guinea pig,) had deserted him, stating that he was finished and applying many of the aforementioned derogatory names. It seems that Batwinkler’s ability to make hair grow at the rate of ten inches an hour, and then his inability to undue the potion had perturbed the assistant. Relations between the two had never been of the Ivanhoe-Gurth kind, and it was not emotion that left Fritz distraught. It was the lack of a subject on which to test his four new magical items.
Using himself was out of the question: who would record the scientific data or run the sensory monitors? New Potential candidates were scare. No one owed him money, he had no unsuspecting relatives, and placing an ad in the paper had been fruitless.
Though the spirits of Batwinkler were low, he was physically located at a high point. To be precise, his office and laboratory were the 101st floor of the Practical Science Centennial Building. The skyscraper had been supposedly built with one hundred floors in honor of the 100 birthday of Practical Science research foundation. However, the building was put in by a man who couldn’t count, and the trustees decided the best course of action was to conceal the top floor’s existence. Being money grubbing, as fiction supposes all trustees to be, they hired it out to Batwinkler, promising him to secrecy. So he lived in seclusion, like an alchemist. Besides the office and Lab, there was a bathroom and two tiny bedrooms: one for an assistant, and one for Batwinkler. The absence of a kitchen did not bother the doctor for he cooked on a Bunsen burner and kept his food in the Lab refrigerator next to the bacteria samples. Renting the whole floor was surprisingly cheap and that negated the fact that it took seventeen minutes and forty-three seconds to reach via elevator.
What was bothering the doctor? Returning to the office, we see Fritz had shifted position and was now glumly staring out the window. To him, the panes of glass were just seeming very unsympathetic, when a very curious development took place: a small but muscled, quivering hand attached to what looked to be a large suction cup appeared. A second hand latched on to Batwinkler’s window. The owner of the hands groaned. The someone heaved himself up and wearily banged his hand against the glass presumably in some kind of polite knock.
“Eh?” said Batwinkler, and he opened the window.

Greetings!

I am back from camp! Hopefully I shall put together some of the (few) videos I took while there sometime (soon.)

Going away and not being able to access technology for a week has increased my enthusiasm for blogging. Absence makes the heart grow fonder!

And I know you've all been working on your Weird is the New Normal photos while I was gone, right? RIGHT? RIGHT???? I have Daddy's picture already, and I think I am going to post entries as they come. What say you?

One great scene:

GASP!!! A tag?

Everybody knows that tags are stratchy, and they never stay tucked in, and they are hot and uncomfortable.

Yes, this is a blog tag. Yes, Ophie is doing a tag. Yes, she now has a policy on tags. Yes, she will tell it to you.

But first, is it confusing when I talk in third person? Bracie and I do it all the time, usually unintentionally.

Alrighty, my policy on tag is that I am going to do tags, (assuming I ever get tagged,) all at once, once a month. Why? To answer that, you need to know my opinion of tags:

I think tags are neat, but in very moderate moderation. I hope that by doing tags just once a month, then I won't be drowning anybody in them.

I was tagged by Lib and Jare:

KFC, Popeyes, or Church's

Hmmmm... Hmmm... Hmmm... The only one I've ever been to is KFC, but as my dear mother would say, something about the chicken there tastes extra-dead.

Chick-fil-a or What-a-burger?

What? Never tasted either. This quiz seriously must have originated in a different region. But I'll say Chick-fil-a, because it sounds much more ridiculous.

Starbucks of McCafe?

No comment. Ophelia finds she is rather sick of anything with a Mc in front of it. This is a result of the disaster of the last Reluctant Dragon Fan Club.

What's your favorite time of year?

I think we have four wonderful seasons for a reason. How could I ever decide?

Do you ever talk to yourself?

Of course, for occasionally I have a need to talk to someone at my intelligence level: Me! However, I don't think I could tell you if that is a good thing (since I am so superior in brains) or a bad thing (since I am a couple watts short of a lightbulb.)

Do you have a favorite treat you like to buy on occasion?

Always remember this: everything in moderation except for ice cream

.Do you believe the Bible is the literal word of God and is infallible?

Yes! Let's start a discussion on the Verbal Plenary Inspiration of Scripture!

What's your favorite sport?
I really don't care for watching any professional sports, but as for playing: football or soccer.

What color is your iPod?

I don't own one. My Mp3 player is one of those ten dollar ones you can buy at drugstores. I really do love music, I simply like listening to it as an activity that draws people together even more than I do just listening to it by myself.

Thank you! Thank you! Ophelia accepts the applause gratefully, glad to know that everyone really wants to know about her ipod.

I tag:

Kei of Looking through the lense

Moriah of Growing in his amazing grace

As for the other tag, I was tagged by Kei, at looking through the lense. In this tag, one must go to their photos and pick the sixth file, and then find the sixth photo. I actually prefer the number seven, so I (ahead of looking) chose to do sevens. Here we have it:

If you'll notice, Ava, Bracie, Gabby, Aubrey and I all have smudges of charcoal on our noses. I can't exactly recall why we do, and I thus conclude that it was one of those ridiculous, fun, spur of the moment impulses. Impusivity is not always a good quality, but it sure makes for fun photos!

Because this is such a fun tag, I shall tag seven people!

Toni

Sarabeth

Ashley

Bekah

Amy

Will

Moonshaw

Quizzes:

Inspired by Lib and Jare from Random Jotdowns, I took these quizzes:

Which Lord of the Rings race are you?

Which Star Wars race are you?

My results? I am a Hobbit and an Ewok.

A HOBBIT or an EWOK?

I am Five-foot-eight-and-three-quarters for Pete's sake. Not that I have anything against Hobbits (they're awesome, and they have the best sense of humor) or Ewoks, (They're awesome) it is simply that I am feeling very undersized.