As I said in the last post, I've been working on my novel again, and it's really going well. In fact, today I finally finished all the plot and backstory questions I had (which takes a very long time - the answer to one question asks five more), and I created a detailed timeline of my world's history. For the first time in a while, I'm not sure what to do next.
Which is great. It means I'm back onto sorting out the main plot.
But anyway, they great thing is that even when I wasn't winning epicly on my novel, I was still getting stuff done. Bi-winning, people. I win here, I win there, I win everywhere.
On Tuesday, I did no work on my story (and I spent almost the whole day on my computer), but I accomplished the following things:
- I wrote a blog post.
- I doubled the amount of followers I have on my blog.
- I doubled the amount of blogs I follow (probably more like tripled).
- I met another teenage writer online.
- Tidied half my room.
- Did lots of uber cool things and got stuff done.
- Cut my fingernails.
And the last point makes me remember I certain story ... :
Last year I was in the cast for the school production. Actually it was between two schools, which means that I got to meet heaps of cool people. One of those people was Erin Crowther.
She introduced me to the Gender Telling Game, which tells you if you are a guy or girl depending on how you check your fingernails, and how you look at the bottom of your shoe. This was the information Erin gave me:
And I remembered it.
Last week, I went shovelling with her and some other people I didn't know. They brought up the game without naming it, and asked me to look at my foot.
They asked me to look at my nails.
They started laughing. "HE'S A CHICK! HAHAHA!"
My palms started sweating. My heart pounded furiously. The world was drowned out by the myriad of thoughts flooding my brain. Wave upon wave crashed down on me. Had I done it wrong? Had my memory failed me? No ... not as far as I knew. I had held my hand out in front of me, just as Erin had told me to do a year earlier.
I voiced my confusion, to which they replied with some startling information:
MY MIND WAS BLOWN. I had been given false information. By Erin. And now I was not know as "Nick" to these people, which is in fact my name, but as the girl. ... And so I blame you, Erin Crowther, for bad first impressions. I will never be able to make that first impression again. Never.
That is the story. I promise, it sounded a lot cooler in my head.
Anyway, in conclusion, I'd just like to fulfill my promise and say that Erin is fully awesomesauce, despite her absolute, complete and utter failure to give me correct information.
And concluding my conclusion, this story makes me think that, somehow, there must be a better way to tell the gender of a person. ... Somehow.