Write, I dare you.

Restless in my self-imposed boredom and solitude, I have decided to try a few writing exercises. It is probably a good idea for me, and is at least a semi-productive way of procrastinating work on my story. However, I cannot take to it very well. They are short-lived and I cannot allow myself too long to think of an idea for one, because I feel that would be cheating. I'm trying to give myself only ten minutes to think of and write something to prevent growing tired of it, becoming too elaborate, or straying too far from the prompt/picture.

This is my first attempt, and I fear not very good:

(Picture snatched from hanibanani on deviantART.)



Exercise: To write a story to a picture.
(I think next time I will try something dialogue oriented as I need to work on that.)

I hate the term paparazzi, it is a demeaning title to hold. Understood only as a predator and an existence without decency or feelings.

I am not a paparazzi; I am a human being. I feel as any other would. I know pain, loss, love, and hope. I will not stalk or follow you to make you my victim. I will not take pictures destined for magazines that intend to thoroughly explain why they would never dress like the person in the photo.

But if I stand behind a corner too long looking for something, already I have been branded. "Do not trust her, she has cameras." "Doesn't she look suspicious to you?" "Look at that gleam in her eye, I bet she's found another life to ruin." No one sticks around to see if his guesses were true. No one has ever followed me in curiosity.

I am not a paparazzi, though I have had many chances. I capture the moments those dear to me allow and the endless wonders of nature.

But as I stand here, there is that whisper, that snide, condescending tone. "Stay away from her."

It doesn't have much life to it, does it? I shall work on that. (And I also challenge anyone willing to write something about the picture as well. There has to be more than just my take on it. People like well-rounded things, right?)

Beyond that, I have done little as of late. I am still waiting impatiently for my schedule to arrive. My school seems to be sending them out later and later, which angers me as I like to go to the school and get a better grasp on what my daily routine will be. Being a senior really changes little. As competent as I may be with the school, I will never know where anything is unless I have first sought it out. Something to do with that myopic nature one of my former teachers accused me of.