[Blogging 101] Create a new posting feature + MeWorld (French & English)

MeWorlde : Motivation

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Français :

Dernier jour du Blogging 101. Il nous est demandé de créer un nouvel « événement » régulier sur le blog.
Mais pourquoi s’arrêter là ? J’ai donc décidé de créer une nouvelle série de posts pour (presque) chaque jour de la semaine, en plus du MeWorlde quotidien.

Lundi :
Mardi : Mardi Musique ; partage d’une chanson du jour
Mercredi : toutes les deux semaines à partir du 2 décembre « SPN en musique », un article consacré à un épisode ou une chanson de Supernatural et une analyse de la musique par rapport au plot de l’épisode en question.
Jeudi : Jeudi Poésie ; à partir du 3 décembre, chaque jeudi, j’écrirai un poème (ou en posterai un d’un auteur connu si manque d’inspiration).
Vendredi :
Samedi : Samedi citation ; une citation que j’aime
Dimanche : « My fandomic week » ; résumé de ce que j’ai regardé (films ou séries) ou lu (fanfics) pendant la semaine.

J’ai aussi l’intention de faire un « 365… » et un « 52… » à partir du 1er janvier, mais je ne sais pas encore quoi. J’avais pensé à un « 365 films / 1 film, 1 jour » mais je sais que je ne pourrais pas tenir sur la distance. Ça pourrait le faire pour le « 52… », par contre…
De plus, j’écrirais sans doute une nouvelle série de « Mug shots » d’ici quelques mois (peut-être courant février ?).

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English:

Last day for the Blogging 101 class. We have to create a new regular feature for our blog.
But why just one? I decided to create new features for nearly every day of the week.

Monday:
Tuesday: Mardi Musique (=Tuesday Music) ; kinda sort of « Song of the day »
Wednesday: every two weeks (starting December 2nd), « SPN en musique » (= Music in SPN), a series of articles analysing the music in Supernatural
Thursday: Jeudi Poésie (=Thursday Poem); starting December 3rd, I’ll write a poem (or post one of a famous author if I’m not inspired)
Friday:
Saturday: Samedi Citation (=Saturday Quote); a quote that I love
Sunday: « My fandomic week »; summary of all I watched (movies and/or TV shows) and read (fanfiction) during the week

I also want to do a « 365… » and a « 52… » startig January 1st but I don’t know what yet. I wanted to do a « 365 movies / 1 movie, 1 day », but I feel like I won’t be able to do it. I may be able to use it for a « 52… » though.
And I’ll probably write more of my « Mug shots » (maybe in February?).

Publicités

[Writing 101] « If we were having coffee right now… » (English only)

If we were having coffee right now I wouldn’t drink coffee at all but probably some milk or coke (withour sugar nor caffeine) or maybe green tea if I wanted some hot beverage.

If we were having coffee right now it would mean we know each other very well or that I’m « cured » of my social phobia (which would be awesome).

If we were having coffee right now I wouldn’t be very talkative. But if I were, I would be ranting against the world.

If we were having coffee right now maybe I wouldn’t feel so sad and angry.

If we were having coffee right now maybe I wouldn’t be afraid.

If we were having coffee right now…

[Writing 101] Write a list (in French and English)

Français :

Ce deuxième « devoir » pour le Writing 101 est simple : faire une liste (avec au choix les thèmes : choses que j’aime / choses que j’ai appris / choses que je souhaite). J’ai décidé de faire une liste sur les choses que j’aime et de me limiter à quinze éléments.

15 choses que j’aime :

  1. les mugs (en particulier ceux qui ont une forme « bizarre » ou qui représentent des personnages de dessins animés ; j’en ai douze des Simpsons par exemple) ;
  2. les livres que j’accumule comme d’autres stocks des boîtes de conserves ;
  3. le Coca-Cola Zéro sans caféine (parce que je peux en user et en abuser sans me sentir coupable ou risquer la crise d’angoisse)
  4. les figurines de personnages de dessins animés / films (avec une grosse préférence pour les Disney et plus particulièrement les Princesses) ;
  5. le bruit de la pluie sur mon Velux (et l’odeur – Petrichor ! – après la pluie) ;
  6. les livres de coloriage ;
  7. les jolies petites boîtes ;
  8. l’absurde ;
  9. les licornes et les dragons ;
  10. les mythes antiques (en particulier la mythologie grecque) ;
  11. les super-héros Marvel ;
  12. la poésie de Charles Baudelaire et la musique de Daniel Balavoine (quiconque dit du mal de l’un ou l’autre devant moi risque de faire connaissance avec la Pelle Itinérante de la Mort) ;
  13. la couleur rouge ;
  14. le Royaume-Uni (je rêve de retourner à Londres et d’aller en Ecosse un jour ; et même d’y vivre) ;
  15. faire des listes.

English:

Second assignment for the Writing 101 course. We have to write a list about things we like, things we’ve learned, or things we wish I choose « things I like ». And I decided to only choose 15 things.

15 things I like:

  1. mugs (I have a preference for those which have a « strange » form or those which represent animated characters ; I’ve got 12 from the Simpsons);
  2. books: I harbour them like others harbour tin cans;
  3. Coca-Cola Zero without caffeine (so I can drink it a lot without feeling guilty or risking a panic attack);
  4. animation or motion pictures characters figurines (I tend to prefer those from Disney, and more especially those of the Disney Princesses);
  5. the sound of rain on my Velux (and the smell of it when it’s gone – Petrichor !);
  6. colouring books;
  7. pretty little boxes;
  8. the Absurd / non-sense humor;
  9. unicorns and dragons;
  10. antic myths (particularly Greek ones);
  11. Charles Baudelaire’s poetry and Daniel Balavoine’s (= a French -and sadly dead- singer) songs (whoever speaks ill of any of them in my presence will meet with the Travelling Shovel of Death);
  12. Marvel super-heroes;
  13. the colour red;
  14. the United Kingdom (I dream about going back to London or travelling to Scotland – or living there);
  15. making lists.
Citation

[Daily Post Prompt] My worst fear

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: Fright Night

What am I the most scared of? There a lot of things that I fear but the one that totally paralyzed me is talking to people I don’t know (very much).
Next week I have a appointment with a shrink (first time I’ll see one). This appointment is at the old people house (is this the right term?)(anyway) and I am very anxious because I’ll have to:

  1. ask people where I have to go since I don’t know the place
  2. tell people I’m here to see a shrink (will people judge me for it? Probably since people are stupid and very judgemental in my town. And stupid. Have I mention they’re stupid?)
  3. talk to a doctor I never met before (and I go there because I’m scared of talking to people I don’t know; so doing I thing I fear to determine why I fear it *sigh*)(well, my family doctor already said I suffer from social phobia but I need to see a « specialist » now)(f*ck ’em)

I still have a week to wait till then and I’m starting to feel the panic rising.

So what would it take to make me do what I’m scared of? A lot of courage and somebody to see I don’t run away (read: lock myself in my room and never go out again).

So, that’s it: my worst fear is people.

[Daily Post Prompts] My precious

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: « Pride and Joy. »

What a difficult question to answer! There are so many things I treasure; so many things I couldn’t live properly without, so many thing I would be lost without.
It could be my old books (especially one which was printed in 1888), it could be my Baudelaire books (by and about him) collections, it could be my books in general.
It could be my DVD’s and CD’s collection.
It could be my figurines.
It could be all these little trinkets I harbour.
It could be my porcelain dolls.
It could be my photographs.

But I think the thing I treasure the most, the thing I couldn’t live without, the thing I’d be lost without is my laptop.

All my life is in it.
My movies and TV shows.
My drawings.
My writings.
My photographs.
My music.
My so-called social life (since I’ve got next to none IRL due to my social phobia).
My everything.

[Skillshare Projects] The Silent Man

Je me suis récemment inscrit·e sur Skillshare, un site d’apprentissage communautaire.

Au départ, je comptais ne poster mes « devoirs » que sur Skillshare mais finalement, je les compilerai ici aussi. Par contre, comme je suis une sale feignasse, je ne traduirai pas et tout sera en anglais.

La première classe que j’ai suivie sur ce site était une courte introduction à la « flash fiction » pour laquelle il fallait écrire trois versions d’une même histoire :

  1. Version « Un étranger arrive en ville »
  2. Version « Partir à l’aventure » (PoV de l’étranger de la version 1)
  3. Version « Twitter »

Et tout de suite, le résultat de ces exercices :

PART 1

He came one day. People asked where he came from, what his name was, what he was doing for a living, all kind of questions, but he never answered. He never spoke at all.
It was kind of strange. He was kind of strange. He never uttered a single word, not a single sound escaped his mouth, always writing on the big notepad he carried everywhere when he has something to say. Always silent.
Even his writing was strange, all gothic and regular, not a letter bigger or smaller than the other. He wrote like a machine.
He never spoke but he observed. Really, it seemed like all he was doing was observing. He watched people when they were walking down the street, he stared at the cars which passed by, he looked at the children running after a ball, he observed all day long, sometimes spending hours looking at a single flower or stone.
It was like he never saw anything before and tried to discover the meaning of all things.
He quickly became the sole subject of discussion in the little town. Everybody wanted to know more about the mysterious man who came a day. Everybody had something to say about him; how they saw him this day or how they where sure he was some kind of alien from outer space. People who believe the later were frown upon so they keep their certitude to themselves.
But yet, he was strange, that man who never spoke nor did anything other than observing. He couldn’t be normal, could he? Maybe he was a spy? Or an eccentric artist, who knew? Who was he? What did he want? Why was he here?
He came one day, stayed for a few weeks, then disappeared.
Where did he go?, people asked for days. Then, they started to find other subjects of discussion, other questions to ask, other stories to imagine.
He was forgotten, that man who came one day and left. He wasn’t important now. Not when the world was on the verge of war. Not when people were suffering all around them. That mystery of a man was of no importance now; he was just a man who came and left.
The people of the town heard rumours from the other villages. They heard rumours from the big city. All where about a strange, non-talking man who came and left.
The school teacher of the little town, who was particularly curious about that strange man, researched all the sightings of the man and discovered that people have talked about him for decades, maybe centuries.
Who was he? What was he? Was he alone or was there more like him? What was he doing?
Time passed and the war came and stopped. Then another one. People died and there was nobody who remembered the time when a strange man came to town, stayed for a few weeks, never talked, and left. Centuries passed and died. And the story of the man became a myth.
Then he came back. The strange man who observed the world without uttering a single sound.
He came, open the mouth, and the world ended.

PART 2

He was on a mission. The most terrifying and important mission of all.
But it had to be done and he never asked why this mission or why him. He was asked to do something and he did it, simple at that. He was a good employee and he just obeyed orders without a question.
So he was on this never ending mission, travelling from town to town, from country to country, from continent to continent. And back again. He travelled the world and the seven seas, observing all. Searching for something he would recognize only when he sees it.
He knew people where asking questions about him, even when they didn’t confronted him directly. But he just couldn’t answer. He just couldn’t speak or utter a single sound. Not yet.
He travelled the world and observed. He saw beauty and horror, birth and death, goodness and evilness. He saw Life.
He saw all and knew someday it would all come to an end.
He travelled for so long he started to forget when was that he started this never-ending mission. He travelled so long that he couldn’t remember the world he first walked through.
Sometimes, he wanted to abandon his travel and forget about this cruel mission. But he knew he couldn’t; he had promised he would do it.
So he continued to walk the Earth for decades, centuries, maybe a millennium, who knew?
He walked, walked, walked, never able to forget why he was doing it, what was the final goal.
He walked, observed, always silent, looking for a sign that his mission was coming to an end.
Then he saw it, the sign. At first he didn’t knew what he saw in this little girl who played in the street of a little town. And he hit him. That was it; that was the sign he spent eons to look for.
His mission was done. He open his mouth and let the word escaped. The word which would end the world.

PART 3

He came back. The silent observer from the old legends. He came back, opened his mouth and the world ended.

• • • • •

En théorie, je devrais écrire un article sur un sujet de « pop culture » pour une classe suivie ces jours, mais encore faut-il que je trouve un sujet. Du coup, je vais prier pour qu’une des séries que je suis me donne de la matière à cogiter (ou râler, hein)(râler, c’est bien aussi).