You know those stories with description that seems to prolong forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and–you get the point.
Anyways, they prolong endlessly, to the point where you're like: is there no end to this novel? Admittedly, I adore pounds and pounds of description as much as the next crazy Hybrid (aka Panda aka ANOTHER INSIDE JOKE). But guess what? The next crazy Hybrid really doesn't want to be bored to her fucking demise. Put me to sleep like me whenever my 6th-Grade Science Teacher opened his mouth. Boring!
MOVING ON.
So yeah. I love description. But there's a thing called too much of it. To the point where you forgot what the everlasting was going on, to the point where you found yourself snoring away like an old person, to the point where you're all like where's the beef? Because you're that fucking loss.
Example time! Yay, story time! Gather around, kids!
"What are you doing this Friday night, Becky?" Jake asks as he swipes his hair out of his face and flashes me a sexy smile. I pause as my thoughts fill with decent responses. Well, what am I doing this Friday? There was waking up, bathing, eating, school (blech), going home, hanging out with Jessie, going to the mall–OMG WAIT! WILL THEY HAVE THOSE NEW SHOES THERE?!?! CUZ LIKE MEGAN HAD THEM AND I WAS SOOO JELLY! I CAN ONLY WONDER!
Then I have to go to the beach with the boys . . . but will the weather be okay? Well, the weatherman said it would stay 70 degrees, but he's an asshole, so why believe him?! Liar! I hate liars! Why must people lie? It's unholy! Holy water! Ooh, water! Where?! I'm so thristy!
And hungry!
What should I eat? Pizza or chicken or salad? Ew, I can't get fat, so salad it is. But I am pretty fit so a slice of pizza wouldn't hurt– my dog bit me and it hurt! Wah! Ooh, I sound like a baby! I love babies! I'm going to have ten children! Dongs!
Don't ask because I don't know. Really, I don't. I think I fell asleep and my fingers started magically working the keyboard once 'Becky' paused and began to bore me to fucking death. You get me, right? Like, stop. Just stop. I'm too young to die.
Then there's this thing called too little description.
Example time – part two! Gather around, kids . . . again!
"I just had sex with the whole football team," I bragged.
Amy smirked. "No way!" she exclaimed.
"Yes way!"
"OMG!"
"OMG!"
"LOL!"
"LMAO!"
"TMI BITCH!"
". . . Don't be jelly, Jason because I get more dick than you."
"Shut the fuck up, Leah. Boys love me."
"Whateveeeeeeeeeeer, TTYL Amy!"
Notice how there was little description as well as little dialogue tags? Yeah, I despise stories like that. I'm pretty picky with the description. It has to be the right amount. Not to mention it cannot be emotionless. You know . . . like this . . .
ROLL THE FILM!
[insert countdown here]
"I'm breaking up with you," he declared.
I began to cry. "W-W-Why?" I sobbed.
"Well . . . because. . ." he trailed off, turned and walked away.
I dropped to my knees and wept like a baby.
Oh nice. You wept like a baby. Was I supposed to feel sympathy for you? Because I don't. Sigh. Description is a vital fact in a story. Think about it, people. Think.
Dedicated to: WiseWackyRiver because she commented on everything and gave me love. I'd also like to dedicate to 0oShakeItUp0o because she told me I was hilarious and said other things that made me smile. :D
this rant was weak. but i wasn't too into it and angry. i just got really good news, so it was hard for me to be angry but i just had to finish this rant since i was in the middle of it when i recieved the good news. umm, bai.
ALL FLAMES WILL BE USED TO MAKE MY S'MORES THAT I WON'T SHARE! ALL PISSY COMMENTS WILL BE USED TO DUNK IN MY TOILET! ANY QUESTIONS THAT DON'T INVOLVE THE TWO?
YOU ARE READING
raucous rants
Humordisclaimer: i wrote in this when i was 13 years old, so it will be unfunny, cringy, and outlandish. that's just who i am baby. you have been warned.
