In honor of finishing Pretenders by Lisi Harrison in four days during NaNoWriMo, Jill assigned me and the guys (plus Neala) journals. I know. What you're thinking is probably the exact same thing I'm thinking, Journal. What. A. Stupid. Idea. We don't need journals! We're adventurers! We're men! We can handle ourselves and we don't have to write about our feelings to do so!
But she said if we write in our journals every single day, we'll get free food.
Yes, that's right.
She starves us. Such a slave driver. It's supposedly "for a good cause," but I doubt starving us could ever save some kittens.
Anyway, Donovan (my few-minutes-younger, twin brother) doesn't mind. He still has month-old candy in his pockets, so he won't be going hungry. But he writes, anyway. He was so excited when Jill brought this idea up. He grabbed a quill and started writing immediately. I mean, what is he? A girl? No man should ever have so many feelings welling up inside that he must write them the moment the idea is suggested to him.
No.
We put a fight, we argue, we lose the argument to a girl, and then we write. :)
. . . Phew. Close one. Jill was reading over my shoulder. I had to write that.
I'm not speaking to her anymore, not after what happened this morning. We're not on the best terms and I'm making sure she knows that. She deserves more than just the silent treatment after the way she treats her characters.
(P.S. Lorcan's blog was a lie. Characters don't control the story and, even if they try to, the author still dictates it.)
You see, I started a food fight in King Morain's castle and what did I get? Almost arrested.
Donovan resists arrest and what does he get? A kiss from the princess of Spirulous. Like he's all that. I'll have you know, he's a dork. (That's another word I learned today. It means, "a stupid or foolish person.") All he used to do back in the village was cook, or help Mama in the shop, or do all his chores like a perfect kid. He was nothing like me: a bad boy with ladies chasing after me left and right. I'm the exciting one. If anyone deserves to kiss a princess, it's me.
Oh, well. She didn't like it, anyway. I could tell by the way her face got all red. She asked to come with us after that, when we were heading out of the castle (more like running from guards, but whatever). I think it was because she saw me coming. I don't blame her, really. I am devastatingly handsome. You know that. ;)
Anyway, I really don't like the way Jill has set things up. I mean, what made her think I wanted to be with a bunch of idiots on this journey? Granted, she probably didn't want (a) girls, because they'd fight over me, or (b) smart people, because then it wouldn't be as obvious that I'm the greatest of all characters. But, you know, it's a lot of pressure being this cool. Jill really likes to put all that work on my shoulders, but I take it like a man, since I am one.
Which brings me back to the first part about why I shouldn't have a diary.
She said if she had to write all November, we did, too. Gael was brave enough to challenge her, but he lost when she threatened to have Morella (his five year old sister) appear and tag along for the journey. She threatened Rylan with having Fiona show up. She threatened me with Mama. That's why I'm writing right now.
I'm not sure whether or not Mama or Fiona will show up, but I've read some of Jill's ideas. Lying to her characters . . . Tsk, tsk. Poor Gael won't even see it coming. I don't plan on telling him, not now. There's no way I'm sticking my neck out and risking my mama showing up. She's scary when she's mad.
"Just write about how you feel," Jill explained earlier, as we all stared at her like she'd grown seven heads. "Or write about your day. I don't care what you write as long as it's nonfiction and something you wrote yourself." Lorcan groaned and then she added, "Fine. Write fiction if you want, but you have to write it yourself."
IMHO (a phrase I learned, it stands for "in my humble opinion"), she didn't give us enough details. So, I don't know what to write. I think I'll just sit here and pretend I'm writing. Oh, wait. I am writing. I guess this counts, since it's taking up space. Word. Word. Word.
Elroy.
Plemmons.
Is.
Awesome.
Wow. This is nonfiction. :D
Well, I guess I'll get going for now. My author is about to start writing again and apparently I'm needed on the set. Or something.
BTW (stands for "by the way"), Jill has the key to your lock, Journal. Please don't let her open you. Resist. Be strong, even if she tries to read the true words I've written, don't let her. She will take it and turn it into something else. You're the last bit of freedom of speech I have.
Great. Now she's yelling at me. With a smirk on her face. Her blog is open. I know where this is heading.
BE STRONG,
