What I Would do if I Listened to the Greenday Album American Idiot

It’s interesting, because one of the reasons that people often give to justify disliking opera or classical music is that “it all sounds the same”. I know I’m biased; I come from a classical background and study opera. However, that does allow me to see that opera and “classical” music covers a wide variety of music with huge differences. Take something like the aria “V’Adoro Pupille” from Giulio Cesare and “Mon Coeur s’Ouvre à ta voix” from Samson et Delila. Both arias have the same aim (that of seduction), but they’re totally different musically. 

Now, we look at Greenday. Its album is supposed to have a huge, overall storyline. However, I heard very little difference between each song. The singer had about the same vocal colour (probably due to a less classical technique), they were very similar instrumentally, and the dynamics (loudness level) were more or less the same. It sounded to me like a lot of drums, electric guitar, and bashing vocal cords together. There were some moments in which instruments would blessedly cut out, but they only offered a brief variety. I soon learned why the singer tended to sing everything the same, as well; when he opted for softer vocal colours, his sound became very nasally and forward in his face. In short, it made his vocal technical errors glaringly obvious. 

That’s not to say that I hated all of it. Some of the songs were very catchy, and I think that Billy Joe’s vocal tone, while not particularly healthy, is very distinctive and fits the punk-rock style very well. He was liberal with his curse words, which I enjoyed because swearing also brings me happiness. However, I got none of the story (I could barely understand any of the words at all... diction, Billy Joe!!!). All I really determined was that this protagonist was super angsty, in the end it was “all a dream” (?), which is a huge copout, and the drummer’s arms must have been super sore (or else he must be super ripped). 

I did admire some of the rhythmic variety. I didn’t think all of it worked (there was one song that used a two against three meter that just sounded a bit off to my ear). However, I did enjoy some of it (at one point, the drummer was playing a triplet (x3) followed by a duplet (x1) that I think worked really well). I can’t say that I’m super well-acquainted with the punk-rock genre, but I thought there were some very cool and unusual instrumental passages (particularly rhythmically). A lot of it did sound the same to me, which was my main complaint (it just started to sound like a lot of banging and yelling after a while). Still, I could appreciate that it made me feel like head-banging and provided me with some catharsis, much as lots of classical music does, which is really why we probably love music so much! So, in that sense, I think it was worth a listen. Still, from now on, I think I’ll just listen to one Greenday song at a time (and only when I’m feeling pretty angry).

-Laura

P.S. Quick sidenote: Mark gets no punishment for missing last night because we had no internet! 

What I Would do if I Could Change Anything About my Past

Alright, friends, prepare yourself for this one; it's going to be a cliché. 

If I had the chance to change anything about my past, I don't think I would. Yes, not everything has been sunshine and daisies (in fact, a lot of it has not), but everything that's happened has contributed to who I am now. In other words, my past has made me who I am; even the struggles have been important. 

I think there are lots of things all of us regret, but I like to think that they happen for a reason. The bad things I've done have taught me to be a better person. The bad people I've met have made me stronger and helped me to learn to stand up for myself. The heartbreak I've gone through has helped me to know myself and maybe even appreciate things about myself that I couldn't see before. 

In short, I appreciate everything in my past, even the embarrassing, painful, and horrible stuff. It may be predictable and a cliché, but it's true. I couldn't change anything without changing the fundamentals of who I am, and, while I may wonder what would have happened if a certain event hadn't taken place, I trust that this is all part of the larger plan of my life. So, yeah, I wouldn't change a thing, and I'm proud to have reached a place where I can feel that way. It definitely didn't happen overnight. 

I hope that anyone reading this can also come to a place where you are at peace with the past. I'm grateful to feel that way myself!

-Laura

What I Would Do if I Gave you a Quick Blog Update

The last few days have been rather hectic for me. Between homework, school trips, flying down to Halifax for Julia's graduation(!), and spending time with my sisters, I've been rather neglecting this blog. I apologize for that.
Perhaps now is a bad time to have my attention distracted, as there have been a lot of things going on recently here at What I Would Do! So today, I've decided to simply give you a few updates as to what will be happening in the next little while on the blog.

1. Today is the blog's 190th post! That means that in ten more days we'll be celebrating 200 posts on this blog, which is quite mind boggling to me. That's half a year of my life that I've been catering to you Russian Robots. That's incredible.
For our 200'th post, expect something awesome. I'm still working out just what that awesome thing might be, but expect a wild challenge, reflecting back on this blog's best posts, and perhaps some planning for the future. Don't miss that, Russian Robots.
2. I've been terrible at editing my posts these past few days, and so I'll be sure to fix those up as soon as I can for you. My last two posts were made as my eyes grew slowly heavier, and so arn't revised. I'm sure that they're terrible. By my next post, I'll have straightened them out.
3. Remember that pushups challenge I started a few weeks ago? After that crazy night where I completed 45 pushups in one go, I've rather fallen off the bandwagon. In an attempt to clamber back on, I'll be doing 500 pushups- yes, 500- betweeen now and the time I post on Wednesday. I'll finish this challenge if it kills me.
4. Laura, get on your punishment. It's long overdue already. As for my punishment, I havn't been able to get ahold of the book yet and will not go out of my way to do so until your punishment is completed.

That's all the noteworthy news that I have to offer today. Wish me luck at those pushups, and I'll see you on Wednesday!

-Mark

What I Would do if I Could Learn Any New Instrument II

At the start of the film The Mission, one sees a missionary succeed (where another was murdered moments before) through the beautiful tune he plays on his oboe. If you haven't listened to that link from my last post, listen to it! I swear that it's one of the most gorgeous tunes you'll ever hear, and the sound of the oboe is perfection. 

Yes, in my last post, I established that the oboe would be my new instrument of choice if I could automatically know how to play a new one. However, I didn't yet describe what I would do with this new found power:

1. I would maybe give that a go at music school and hopefully plan an orchestra for a living. Unfortunately, the instruments I did learn are unique in the sense that they don't go well with orchestra. Piano is an interesting instrument in that it is - unfortunately - rarely played on its own, but doesn't really fit into an orchestra (unless in a concerto, of course). Voice, on the other hand, is dependent on other instruments and is rarely heard alone. Sadly, this means that it's only part of an orchestra as a soloist. You see the issue? Neither of the instruments I learned are ideal for a group setting. I just imagine that it would be a magical collaborative experience to play as such a large ensemble. So this would be my first wish as a new, fantastic oboist. 

2. I'd busk! Yes, another downfall of voice and piano. Do you want to hear an a cappella opera singer? I don't know. Maybe some people do, but the issue is that most classical voice songs need their piano accompaniment. Art song is beautiful because of its codependence between voice and piano, but it sure makes it hard to busk! I would love to make a few spare coins with an actual portable solo instrument.

The solution for an aspiring busking pianist (photo cred. http://www.slugmag.com/uploads/305/7579-Michael%20Portanda_Eric%20Rich_2.jpg)

3. I would play that song from The Mission 24/7 and probably drive my family and/or roommates insane. But it would be worth it!

4. I would learn a bunch of cool, new repertoire. I have to say my knowledge of the oboe repertoire out there is almost nonexistent. 

5. I would definitely go on a mad campaign to get children to learn the oboe. I wish I'd known about it when I was young!!

-Laura

What I Would Do if I Was Dangling Over A Cliff with Only a Bush to Stop my Fall

Despite my extraordinarily long and bleak title, the last few days have been some of the funnest I've had this year.
Thursday morning, I boarded a bus along with another 80 or so grade nines on the way to Drumheller. There we were to spend two days, hiking, touring museums, going wild. Although the bus was permeated with yawns, the excitement was palpable.
Indeed, it looked to be a great trip. The majority of my friends traveled with me, the weather looked to be beautiful, and there wasn't a single ounce of work to be done. Time passed quickly until we hit the Royal Tyrrell museum.
Many of you may have heard of the Tyrrell museum. Supposedly well known or it's collections of fossils and bones, it looked to be a good museum to start our trip off with. Unfortunately, the teachers made their one big mistake of the trip then, one which ruined the whole museum for the students. They gave us a worksheet to complete.
Listen. I know that the teachers wanted us to learn, and have a focus in our learning. But by giving us a five page worksheet to complete, one which had answers that had to be found in obscure sections of the museum, my teachers essentially replaced the fun of the museum with frantic work. Me and two friends worked frantically for the short hour and a half we had in the museum to complete the worksheet, before eventually calling it quits with only half of the worksheet done. The sad thing is we won a prize for most completed worksheet even with that pitiful amount finished.
After the museum came a short hiking trip. Three friends of mine and myself formed a impromptu hiking group and scaled a hill, joking and laughing the whole way. Soon after we went on a trip to some old mine, before hiking among the hoodoos.
By the time our adventure at the hoodoos had finished, the original hiking group had grown by three or four members, and we were hiking more and more difficult terrain. Our teachers had warned us never to climb straight up one of the hills, as they were steep enough and with loose enough soil that an accident would be bound to happen if we did hike straight up. Naturally, we made sure to do so at the first opportunity, and so quickly had a twisted ankle and had a hand pierced with a cactus. It was great.
Back at the hotel later that night, we were given the opportunity to swim before being sent off to bed. By grade nine, he opportunity to swim around with your crush in revealing outfits is admittedly an attractive one. Unfortunately, I had a much diminished experience in that regard. You may not know that I wear glasses, and rely on them quite heavily to see. Therefore when I am forced to take them off, my world becomes blurry and unfocused. Darn it, eyes.
Still the swimming was enjoyable. Afterwards it was back to our hotel rooms, where me and three friends laughed and joked well into the night.

The next day we woke bright and early to go on one final hiking trip to a place known as horse-thief canyon. This was much more intimidating then the places we'd hiked before. Steep canyon walls, cliffs, rubble strewn all around. To hike in that place may well be considered dangerous, but our teachers let us run loose with the same warning as the day before. No flat-faced hiking.
The same hiking group as the day before with the added addition of three members set out towards a river we saw in the distance. It was all going wonderfully. The sun shone out, I was able to talk to a girl I like, and we explored every nook and cranny of the canyon. Naturally, then, we had to add some danger to our day.
At one point my hiking group and I found ourselves on a hill 100 meters above the canyon floor, Down below we knew was a cave that we'd explored earlier, and the general consensus was that we wanted to revisit the place. The only problem? The quickest way down was practically a cliff.
We looked over the edge to see a steep drop. There were some ledges and slopes which we though we could travel on, but these were still daunting trails to blaze. Cacti and dead bushes missed with the loose soil.
We knew that it would be foolhardy to travel down such a steep slope, and so naturally we started the descent.
One friend zipped ahead of the group, practically running down the mountain. The rest of us labeled him as insane, and went don at a more reasonable pace.
Every step we took had to be carefully chosen. People constantly held out hands to steady each other. We started to slip and slide.
Soon, everyone started to realize how wonderfully stupid we'd been to attempt such a descent. Everyone soon had scratches and cactus spines all up their legs- especially some of the females, who'd made the mistake of wearing shorter pants. Swears started to emanate from the group.
At one point, I found myself going down a slightly different path then the person ahead of me. I found myself on an extremely steep patch of scree which ended a foot from my leg in a five-meter drop which would undoubtably break my leg should I fall it. Trying to go to the right or left would be futile, as I'd simply slip off the edge. The only support I had was an old, half-dead plant clinging for life as I was to the slippery slope.
Had that plant not been there, I don't believe that I could have escaped from the scree slope without taking the fall ahead of me. As it was, I managed to grab the plant and drag myself to safety. That plant may have saved my life.
Back on the route we scrambled down in a ragged line, it was smoth-ish going asides from me accidentally kicking a rock down the slope at my crush. An interesting way to get someone to like you, to be sure, but no permanent damage was done. We slid down to the bottom.
Now, my language us usually clean. But on the mountain, struggling down it, everyone just let loose. A friend of mine who made it down before me captured my reaction upon getting to the bottom on video, and it was something like this;

Me; F___ you, mountain! (Gives two middle fingers to the mountain).
Friend; Mark! Say something to the camera!
Me; (Walks over with an exasperated expression) Hey, camera. We just climbed down that motherf______ mountain. But we beat the damn f_____. (Starts walking away)
Friend; And this is coming from someone who doesn't usually swear.
Me; (Whirls around) I don't f______ swear!

Yeah. Emotions ran high.
I'd love to show you the videos I took, but to protect the identity of all involved I'll refrain. Just know that the experience was epic.
After that insane hiking experience, the trip was more or less over. We made it out alive, and guzzled water. Everyone thanked everyone else for saving their lives countless times.
Another part of the trip I'm happy about? I got my crush's number. ;)
Honestly, that trip was so much fun, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I feel that I do not yet have the literary skill to communicate to you have joyful I was on that trip, and even now thinking about it. From the conversations late at night to the near-death experiences, I had a blast.

Thanks for reading this long, unedited post.

-Mark

What I Would do if I Could Learn Any New Instrument

One of the things that I've come to appreciate most about my music degree is my new familiarization with various instruments. Before, I'd heard of certain instruments, but I couldn't always match a sound or a physical instrument to the name. Now, I'm quite pleased with how easily I can listen to an orchestration and pick out the various instruments, particularly wind ones!

Now, this may not seem like such a big deal, but it's wonderful. It helps me to appreciate music more when I listen to it, and it also has helped me foster a new appreciation for certain instruments. Take this one, for example:

(Photo from http://www.alexandertechniquecentrevienna.com/bassoon.html)

This brilliant instrument is called the bassoon. It has a lovely, full deep sound, a hilarious name, and looks like the hookah the caterpillar smokes in Alice and Wonderland.

However, as cool as the bassoon is, there is one instrument that has stolen my heart. Before, the violin appealed to me. It's still gorgeous (as are most stringed instruments, really... classical guitar, anyone? Cello?). I used to desperately want to learn the flute, as well! Now, if I could learn any new instrument, I would learn:

Yes, for all of you musically aware Russian robots, this wonderful instrument is called the oboe. It has such a full, smooth, consistent sound. It sounds soulful... I'd describe it as almost reedy, but maybe that's just because it's a wind instrument. Anyway, the point is, I have fallen absolutely in love. It is so gorgeous. If you don't believe me, give this clip (from The Mission) a chance. It's one of the most gorgeous pieces of music, I think. Just listen to a couple of minutes! You will fall in love if you have a soul! 

  

Anyway, I really don't have the time to learn a new instrument at this point in my life, but that doesn't stop me from appreciating how gorgeous this one is (and maybe having a few regrets about never even thinking of learning it until university). An oboist can steal my heart any day.

-Laura

What I Would do if I Wrote a Spontaneous Post with my Friend

Hello! And welcome to The Spontaneous Post!!

*audience applause*

On the agenda for today is the discussion of Clarence's sanity; does one truly have a brain if one does not appreciate Quest for Camelot, a cinematic masterpiece?

*crowd boos Clarence*

The answer to this query is a hearty YES! One does truly have a brain, and furthermore, possesses a keen sense of artistic taste and excellent critical skills.

*audience nods in agreement, swayed by the conviction of the Truth*

*audience keels over and dies from stupidity. There will be no further comments from them, because they're dead. From stupidity.*

Clearly not! Who can fault a movie with a sexy, muscled, grey-eyed, blind, hermit of sexiness? Or a movie with a soundtrack that is repeatedly stolen (with random-ass fat tenors inserted, singing in Italian)? Or a good old-fashioned adventure story with a lively heroine (girl-power!!)? Or a villain with strong eyebrow game? Or an awesome, adorable bird? Or a villain that raps and uses the word "peachy"? This movie is a cinematic masterpiece. Perhaps a second viewing or a new brain is needed.

Quite obviously, anyone with any sense can fault this movie. The hermit is hardly allotted even minimal character development, he is totally faking being blind, and furthermore is UGLY. The "soundtrack" that is "stolen" is in fact one good song (The Prayer) which is vastly improved by being removed from its heinous cinematic context. It may be an "old-fashioned adventure story," but it is not "good" as it brings nothing new to the table of good old-fashioned adventure stories- save a new level of awfulness. While I am all for girl power, this anatomically impossible heroine is not lively but simply lucky to have survived multiple near death instances, and has poor taste in men to boot. The villain is disdainful, the bird gratuitous, and a second viewing would ensure the death of my highly-functioning brain.

*audience resurrects in order to cheer for the voice of reason*

However, Claire turned out to be quite wrong. United we Stand and Looking Through Your Eyes were both songs of great musical merit. The second is perhaps the most beautiful love duet of all time (and also has parts stolen and added to The Prayer). The hermit does develop, and even makes a mullet sexy. How many people do we know who can do that? He goes from a cynical loner to someone with a quiet self-confidence, allowing him to save Camelot and get the girl of his dreams. He has a bird and a stick that help him with his blindness and also clearly has a lot of practice dealing with this disability to the point where it no longer hinders him. He is an A-class example of a hero who is not cookie-cutter perfect, but instead conquers a disability and doesn't allow it to hinder him. The heroine goes through losing her father and her mother (along with other countless emotional traumas) to become a heroine, finding love along the way. She discovers the true meaning of heroism through her blind, sexy companion! In other words, she discovers that heroism isn't cookie-cutter perfect, either. It's an awesome movie.

*The resurrected audience cheers in agreement, fully converted to the correct side regardless of their previously fickle nature*

AKA

Laura wins.

-Laura and Claire

*the audience's false convictions lead to their death and turn them into an army of zombies. They turn on Laura for her false preaching, and destroy her sans remorse.*

- Claire

*Disregard the above lies belonging to Claire*

What I Would do if I Went Several Weeks Without my Laptop

In the past few weeks, I have:

-been on 13 different airplanes
-travelled across Canada, to Cambodia, to Thailand, and to Hong Kong
-seen about five rats (four living, one dead)
-seen a bunch of cool sites, including the world heritage sight Ankor Wat
-seen too many stray cats and dogs to count
-boiled alive in the heat (but only got one sunburn, yay!)
-went without my laptop

Guess which one was the hardest?

Yes, I am pathetically pleased to be reunited with my laptop in Halifax. I never realized how pathetically attached to my laptop I was (or rather, the extent of the attachment... I knew I was attached) until I left. In my defence, I mostly use my laptop for writing, so not having it there (and research tools at my fingertips) was really difficult! Still, it was better to leave it than have years of work stolen.

This was what I did:

-I used my phone quite a bit, sadly. I mostly used it to look at pictures, do some research, and, of course, a bit of checking emails and Facebook.
-I went through writing withdrawal (although I did some writing in a notebook and some journalling).  Unfortunately, my notebook got soaked in the rain only a few days in, and drying it out took several days. Fortunately, I could do a lot of brainstorming while I wasn't actually writing. Still, I missed actually continuing the projects that I'm working on.
-I read more than I've been able to since September. I've missed it!
-I spent a lot of time sightseeing.
-I spent a lot of time sleeping (12-13 hour plane rides pass by quite quickly when you sleep through them).
-Pathetically missed my laptop.

I know that I should have an epiphany here, like being away from my laptop was so freeing! I honestly can't say that, though. I found it restricting, if anything, if only because I spend so much of my free time writing. If anything, I realized how much I appreciate having a laptop; not having all of my notes and work at my fingertips was a huge restriction. Perhaps, if writing wasn't so important to me, I would have felt liberated, but that's not the case. In short, I'm so grateful for my laptop, and want to shower it with my love and never leave it again!

Pathetic? Maybe.

-Laura

What I Would Do if I went to a Track Meet

Dispite my best efforts not to, today I found myself running track with hundreds of other kids.

My school has a track meet every year to determine who are the best athletes in the school. Those few students with the best times are allowed to go into a city-wide track competition full of sweaty athletic people and gasp for breath as they run around a track. Naturally, this didn't sound appealing to me, and so along with my friend at my school's mini track meet we decided to just have fun and not try too hard to make it to the finals.

We jogged the 1500. We made it anyway.

Fast forward to five days later, and it's the day of the finals. Today, in fact. Just a few short hours ago I competed in said finals, and now my body is aching because of it.

The day started badly and ended fairly badly. The first problem was that my aforementioned friend didn't show up, quite possibly to avoid the toil that I went through. That left me without any real friends going into the finals.

Still, I piled into a car with a bunch of other grade nines, and off to the races we went.

Upon arriving, we found ourselves at a nice track amidst hundreds of other junior high studants. As most of the people from my school started lining up for the 100 meter, I strolled over to the bleachers to wait three hours before my first event, the 1500 meter race, started.

The hours passed slowly, but soon enough it was my turn. I lined up on the starting block with maybe eight other guys. I marked, I setted, I go'ed. Five and a half minutes later, I came gasping over the finish line, a measly seventh place dispite running my best 1500 ever. Ouch.

Two hours later, I'm in the 800 meter race. This time, it's a similar story. The gun goes off, and we all take off. The only difference this time is that I manage to pull something in my thigh within twenty seconds of the gun, and I have to run with that the rest of the race. Then, I think I ended in seventh again, albeit there were a few more people in the 800 then the 1500.

And so, without a medal but with an injured leg and sunburn, I limped away from the track. That gave me a full two hours to eat, rest, and do four hours worth of homework before my soccer practice where I'd hurt my leg furthur. Of course I therefore failed to finish my homework, a task which would have been easier if I'd only remembered to bring home my textbook,

So that's where I'm at now. Tired, in pain, and stressed. Goodnight, people, and sorry for this shitty post.

-Mark

PS; no push-ups today. I'm just too tired, I'm afraid.

What I Would do if I Could have One Question about my Trip Answered

Today, on the thirteenth plane I've been on in the last few weeks, I was attempting to catch up my journal on my day in Siem Reap, Cambodia. That day was mostly spent seeing temples, which was really cool, but one particular thing stood out. I believe this was on the second temple we saw (in Ankor Thom), which was built in the 12th century. Keep that in mind when you look at this:

Yes, my point exactly. What the heck was a dinosaur doing on an ancient temple? I didn't think dinosaurs were discovered yet!

I had many questions about my trip, trust me, like:

- Why is it so hot? How do you people survive here?
- Is there a cat rescue centre for all of these stray cats? Do the locals feed them?
- How is every employee here so nice all the time?
- Can I take all of your stray cats home with me?
... And many more.

However, the puzzle of the dinosaur is still the most pressing. Did these ancient people discover dinosaur bones of a stegosaurus and put it back together to discover what it looked like?

Somehow, I doubt it.

Maybe the king had one as a pet? Maybe one dinosaur secretly remained. One can dream, right?

Maybe one of the artists had a vivid imagination and imagined a creature that happened to look incredibly like a stegosaurus?

Ah, well, I suppose it will remain one of life's greatest mysteries.

-Laura

What I Would Do if I Made an Oscar Acceptance Speech

Everyone hates the Oscars. It's the same scene every year. People chatter excitedly the day of the event, filling out prediction sheets and cooking dinners to be eaten while watching the show. They sit down by the TV hours before the actual event, attaching dozens of famous people prance about in skimpy outfits. This is all well and good for a few hours. Then the excitement wears off, the food runs out, and everyone's left staring blankly at a screen while their boredom slowly but surely builds. There's no real entertainment value in a show that celebrates entertainment.
After the show has dragged on for hours and everyone has lost interest, only one thing can revitalize the show; Oscar acceptance speeches. These speeches can come in many forms, some of which are significantly more entertaining then others. There are the people who are overcome with happiness and gratitude. Others speak passionately, and yet others joke around and make light of the whole deal. Those types of speeches are appreciated.
On the flip side of the coin, the speeches can also be boring as hell. The vast majority of the ramblings are exactly the same. Thank you, academy. Thanks family. I'd like to say thanks to my fans, most of all. Thanks again, and goodbye.
With speeches like this over and over again, you're almost relieved when people cheap out and just say a single "thank you" before taking their seats again. At least they keep the show moving forward.
Naturally, I wouldn't want to be part of that first group, instead wanting to make my speech entertaining. Therefore in the one-in-a-million chance that a ever do make such a speech, I'd want it to be something like this...

Hello everyone. Quiet down now, quiet down (insert awkward laugh here).
It's long been a dream of mine to win an Oscar. Standing where I am now, I have to reflect on the fact that I have succeeded where millions of lesser beings have failed, and that's truly a wonderful feeling. I've made it. Then again, is this whole Oscar thing really worth celebrating?
To be honest with you, I'm not sure if it does mean all that much to win an Oscar. I personally don't remember a single person who's won one, so they can't be that special in the grand scheme of things. I mean, who won best supporting actress in 1977? I sure as hell don't know. Were there even Oscars in 1977?
My point is, I do hope that I'll do more important things in my life then win a hunk of shiny metal. Still, there were some people who helped me win it, and so I suppose I should continue that tired custom of thanking people.
First of all, I'd like to make a clear point of my lack of gratitude towards the academy. It is my belief that a handful of crotchety old people should not make the official decision as to what's good entertainment and what's not. Instead of talking about them, let me list some people who've actually been useful to me.
There are my fans, who are helpful to me only when they spread my legend and give me their money. There's also my family, who supported me in everything I did and are really the only people who really deserve my gratitude. That only leaves one other person to thank. Myself.
Before you people blow your stacks, let me tell you that I say this sincerely and confidently. Despite everyone who has helped me on the way to receiving this Oscar, in the end nobody put in more hours then the person you see before you. I was the one who trained the hardest, worked the hardest, believed in myself most readily. None of you out there put in as much work as I did, as is confirmed by the fact that I am standing here on this stage and you are not. It was me that got me onto this stage, and nothing you say can change that. Good day.

And thus, my career as an actor would end gloriously. In flames and tarnished, true, but gloriously. I may be sued ten billion dollars, but it would be worth it when my name went down in Oscar history. I do believe that I'd go out laughing, and isn't that all that counts?

Thanks for reading,

-Mark

PS; I'm very thankful that you aren't making me listen to another opera, Laura. I will read that book, although remember that you must listen to that Green Day album or have your reputation tarnished.

PPS; A measly 15 pushups today. How on earth did I do three times that many yesterday?

What I Would do if I Assigned a Second Punishment

Oh, golly gee! Lucky me! Mark missed another blogpost. Time to assign him the second worst opera ever…

…

…

Just kidding. Maybe later.

Today, I am finally going to triumph in a struggle I have endured since childhood: to get Mark to read The Thief Lord by Cornelia Funke. She was one of my favourite authors when I was young, and this one is a classic! It has adventure, magic, sibling love, an awesome detective, and makes you fall in love with Venice: not just in lust, but full-out true love.

That's why I simply cannot understand why Mark - who I've always considered a prolific reader - has never read it (especially when my recommendations are always fantastic). He always just never does it.

Here's extra incentive to read it: in 2006, a movie version was released, and, as I recall, the guy who plays Prosper is pretty hot (or was when I saw it some time ago).

Okay, maybe that isn't incentive for you, but still.

Anyway, your new "punishment" is really a reward, because this book rocks. Go forth and read!

-Laura

P.S. You said that if I weren't too tired after coming from Asia, then I would post. Well, I'm exhausted, so I hope I get a freebie later.

What I Would Do if my Sisters Were Coming Home from Asia

Well my friends, my brief period as the sole blogger here at What I Would Do is now coming to an end. Within a few short hours, Laura will be back, and you can expect a post from her tomorrow assuming that she isn't too ridiculously tired from her travels. It's time to say goodbye to me posting everyday. With any luck you won't be celebrating too hard.
Now that my sisters are coming back, there are a few things that I want to do over the next few days. Some of these will, I'm afraid, be most tiresome for Julia and Laura. If you're reading this, Laura, then let the following points sink in and brace yourself for my onslaught.

1. As soon as my family walks in the door, I plan to run out of my room, hug them, and then go right back to bed. They're expected to arrive at about 1:00AM, which gives me about an hour and a half of time to burn. That being said, I'd be willing to bet that they'll be at least half an hour late, giving me two hours. Considering this, I'll probably be asleep when they get here.
2. Come the morning, I'll be bombarding my family with literally hundreds of questions about their trip. As I wasn't able to go myself, I'll simply have to live through them. At present I have next to no information on their travels, and so I'll demand a full summary as soon as possible.
3. Asides from getting them to recount their trip, I'll be wanting my family to do all sorts of activities tomorrow such as pingpong and crokinole. However, I'm sure that they'll be so exhausted that they'll refuse all such activities.

The last thing that I'll do with Laura back is stop posting daily and go back to my old posting schedule. I'd like to take this time to tell you that it's truly been lots of fun posting daily, and that I hope that you've enjoyed reading. Perhaps I'm just rambling to myself, but I think hat what we've got going here at What I Would Do is quite special. Thanks for that, Russian Robots.
Well (this feels weird to say), see you in two days. Thanks for reading.

-Mark

Pushup record today; 45! That's an all-time record, although to be honest my form wasn't great due to me attempting to do them all quickly. Still, we might be making progress!

What I Would Do if I was a Cat

Before we begin, I wanted to express to you my shame.
Yesterday, less then a week after triumphantly finishing my punishment for missing a blog post, I didn't post once again. I'd promised myself that I'd never have to go through one of Laura's punishments again, and yet here I am.
In an attempt to avoid Laura's wrath, I'll be writing two posts today. Something tells me that this strategy won't work, but it's worth a shot.
I'm writing this after having just left home yesterday to drive to Canmore for the May long weekend. As much as I do love these trips, I was sad to leave behind my families cat, Oliver.
Ollie is an affectionate, loving cat who's just past middle age in cat years. His naturally grey fur has just recently began to show touches of old-age grey, and he's been becoming more placid in his older years. Still he remains an amazing addition to the Jones family.
Oftentimes, seeing Ollie bask in the sun or by the radiator, I've wished that I, too, was a cat. They go through life carefree and pampered, with a host of humans to care for their every need. What more could you want? That's the inspiration for todays post. Let's get to it now.

1. It seems that the thing cats love to do most is sleep. As it turns out, they do spend at least two-thirds of their lives sleeping. Knowing this, the idea of becoming a cat becomes all the more appealing to me. Teenagers love sleep, despite never allowing themselves to do so. Cats also love sleep. It's perfect.
2. Being an owner of a cat, I'm often kept busy giving Ollie a lap, letting him in or out, playing with him, feeding him, and doing all those other things that are demanded of a cat's slave. If I was a cat, then of course I'd flaunt my power when it came to my petty servants. For example, I'd demand to be played with for at least half an hour per day. If my owners didn't take out a string for me at least that often, then I'd begin to systematically destroy all of the furniture in the house. The same would go for meals. I'd demand not only lots of food whenever I wanted it, but variety and quality as well. So, my slaves want to give me the same brand of plain dry food every day, do they? That wouldn't fly with me. I'd want at least a dozen different types of food served to me, and all of it would have to be freshly opened. Mark the cat would live in luxury.
3. To supplement my diet further, I'd enjoy hunting birds and squirrels. As a human I'd never do such a thing, but as a cat I'd undoubtably relish the challenge. I'd be the most renowned hunter in all of catville.
4. Have you ever read those books about cats living in their own societies within the neighbourhood? In the book Cat and the Stinkwater War, for example, a young girl turns into a cat and finds that on her street there are two rival gangs of felines who are warring over a sardine. Weird, yes, but also an entertaining read.
Reading books such as that, you cannot help but wonder whether or not cats do go and chill together when you're not looking. If I could become a cat, I'd definitely want to start some clubs with my cat friends. We'd be a cat gang, wearing squirrel-fur coats and headbands. We could call ourselves the meovvers, or the kitteez. Something cool like that. Me and my cat gang would be quite literally the coolest cats on the block.

Cats are indeed wonderful creatures. True, they can be demanding at times. I'll admit that I've wished on a few occasions that cats could do some of the things that dogs do. In the end, though, I wouldn't want any animal other then a cat. Would I actually want to be a cat? No. Do I love them deeply? Of course, and I always will. So I'll see you in a few days, Ollie. Dream of cat gangs and catching all the mice.

Thanks for reading,

-Mark

Four Philosophical Ideas to Stretch Your Mind

I've always found philosophy interesting.
Everyone has at some point in their lives thought about life, the universe, and all of the mind-bending questions associated. Perhaps we do it to find meaning in our lives, to better understand the world around us. Perhaps we do it because we're bored. Either way, I've had my fair share of philosophical thoughts, and today I thought I'd open them up for discussion. Now, let me give you full disclosure; I hardly even know the definition of philosophical, much less know if the questions I'm going to pose presently even begin to scratch the surface of true philosophy. Still, I believe they're interesting, so let's get to them.

1. Our decisions are an illusion. 
Sitting here typing away, I believe that I'm consciously choosing which words to put down on the page. Now, don't get all smart-alecky now and say that it sure doesn't seem like I care what I'm writing. I'm trying, okay? My point is, I believe and you believe and everyone seems to believe that we make our own choices in the world. But consider this.
Every little nerve in our body and electron shooting around inside of us is doing it's job completely unaided by our thoughts. Our body is on auto-drive, doing everything we think we command it to do with little actual input from our mind. When I tell my body to move it's leg, I don't have to consciously move electrons from one nerve to another. The body does this automatically. That's when you realize that everything in our brain is also moving about automatically. The electrons and atoms that give us our thoughts are firing in response to everything that is going on around us, so that essentially our thoughts are controlled by things outside of our grasp. However, if our thoughts are controlled by outside stimuli, then do we really think for ourselves, or is everything we do and think just an automatic, inevitable response to what's going on around us?
On the same sort of track, everything in our universe is controlled by physics. These laws of physics are firm-set and cannot be broken. Therefore if we could track every single particle in the universe instantaneously and figure out incredibly fast all of those particles' next move, then we could essentially predict the future. In conclusion, everything around us is happening solely due to the laws of physics, and because of these inevitable happenings our brains fire off, giving us our thoughts. Therefore, we never actually make conscious decisions, everything instead being dependant upon physics, chemistry, and all the other sciences.

2. Our universe may be simply a speck compared to some other, larger entity.
While I thought of the first idea on my own, this second example has been repeated several times. Remember Horton hears a Who? This idea is basically that same principle all over again.
For those of you who don't know the story, Horton hears a Who is a story about an elephant named Horton who finds a flower. Eventually, he discovers that an entire world filled with tiny people is on this flower, and the people there have no idea that there is anything bigger then it outside it's flowery borders.
Now, while I don't believe that we're all living on top of a flower, I do think that it's a possibility that our universe is not visible to the naked eye of some larger being. Imagine this; on the head of a pin, there are millions upon millions of creatures living, which we would have had no idea even existed were it not for modern science. Now, imagine that on some, giant planet somewhere above our heads, there is a fist-sized rock that happens to be kept at a stable temperature. On that rock, there is a speck of dark matter, held together by the remarkable physics of this distant world. In this speck of dark matter there lies an entire universe. Our universe. And somewhere, floating around in that ball of matter, we find earth and the human race. Impossibly small to anything looking at it in that other world, but still large enough to sustain an entire universe.
Pretty far fetched, I know, and while I am a firm believer in the first theory presented today, I'm rather dubious about this one.

3. Everything we perceive is a figment of our imagination.
Again, this theory was put out long before I came around. You can see why, as the theory is such an intriguing one. Consider this to start off;
you don't actually know if you are where you think you are. Perhaps this is all a dream, and when you die in human land you wake up in some other dimension, yawning and wondering what that crazy dream you had last night was all about.
Imagine that we've invented everything around us. Perhaps we're all locked in tanks somewhere, our brains preserved, and we've created this world for ourselves. More accurately, I've created this world for myself, and you're just a figment of my imagination. Maybe we're all just crazy.
Then again, perhaps we have no imagination, which brings us to our next point...

4. Humans have no imagination.
Try to imagine a brand-new colour. When I try to do this, I come up with a brown-green combination with hints of purple. The problem with that is, all I did was combine three colours that I already know to make a "new" colour. I'm sure that you had similar results.
Unfortunately, it seems that no matter what humans "create," it's simply a combination of things that we already know. We try to write a new language, and the letters are always going to be made up of familiar curves, lines and common shapes. Things that we already know the workings of.
We try to write a story, and we take well-worn plot ideas, or perhaps inspiration from real life, and throw it into a blender to try to create something "new." Nothing is truly original. There's no such thing as imagination.

That's all I've got for you this time around. Good thing, too- these have been depressing to write about! Some of those idea are admittedly rather far fetched, but others I truly believe are accurate. And I don't really want them to be.
I said at the beginning that perhaps we ask these questions to better understand our world, and I think that's still true. On the other hand, these ideas seem to raise more questions then answers, as we can never truly dismiss these theories definitively and they just make everything more confusing. Perhaps we shouldn't ask these questions. Perhaps we should let the world keep chugging along without analysing it. After all, we only get one life to live, and we should live it to the fullest without worrying about our actions being controlled. No matter if these philosophies are accurate or not, it's a good life.

Thanks for reading,

-Mark

PS: 13 pushups. I wasn't trying, honestly. Tomorrow; 30 once more!

What I Would Do if Sleep was Important

You can tell where this one is headed, can't you?
Too many of this blog's posts end in "but now I should cut this post off, as it's currently (insert ridiculously late time here)." Sad to say, I'm going to use that old ruse once more. Before I do that, though, let me address the question that was posed at the beginning of this post.

1. Reasoning that I'd been running track all day and had just come back from a soccer game to boot, I'd decide that a high-quality blog post could wait.
2. I'd write an extremely short, lame post that I would look back on in the future with either amusement or disgust.
3. Finally, I'd apologize profusely for my shitty post.

Yeah. I'm sorry!

Thanks for reading even if there was no real reason to do so,

-Mark

Post script: This weekend, to make up for a post as lame as this one, I'll spend three hours on an epic post. That's a promise.

Post post script: 6 whole pushups today. Hey, I spent all day at a track meet and my soccer game just ended an hour ago, alright? I have an excuse.

What I Would Do if I Trained to do 100 Pushups (Week One)

I've never been the perfect model of fitness.
True, I'm happy to say that in periodic bursts I can be seen as an athlete. I ran a half marathon last year, for example, and I play soccer several times a week. On the flip side of the coin, my fitness usually lasts for only a few months, and then rapidly fades away once I complete whatever fitness goal I was working towards. I run the race, the soccer season ends, and then I slack off and go back to happily munching on cookies and fish crackers. Today, that changes. Unhealthy food, no more!
Okay, I lied. I'm sorry, okay? i just wanted to sound confident for a second before a reverted back to my sheepish, unhealthy-food eating reality. I'll never stop eating goldfish, cookies and every other unhealthy food I can get my paws on. What I will do is work to get my fitness up again. The goal? Be able to complete 100 pushups in a row. Why? Mostly because I wanted to write something tonight that wouldn't take too much time to write. A rather dubious time-saving strategy, I know. Let me rephrase that more epic-ly; I'm going to do 100 freaking pushups in a row!
I've always liked this fitness goal for two reasons. First of all, it allows you to clearly chart your progress towards the eventual goal of 100, and second of all I want to tell my grandkids "I did 100 pushups in a row once, you know." That'll impress them when their grandfather is so weak he can hardly drink a glass of water.
So, here's the plan; over the next, say, ten weeks, I'll do pushups every night, aiming for as high a number as I can manage. Then, every monday night that I post on this blog, I'll give you updates as to how I'm doing and show you my progress thus far. We'll continue until I've completed my 100 pushups, or the ten week period is over.
Now, let's see how I do for the first night...

Okay! I'm back. My base pushups score is officially 31, and my arms feel like someone's been beating on them with a hammer for the last few minutes. I suppose that 31 is respectable. Those were solid pushups, not those cheating quarter-pushups so many people at school try to pull off. Still, considering my record of 40 and my eventual goal of 100, I have a lot of work to do. Now, I'm afraid that I must cut this post off in the interests of sleep, and hope for a better score tomorrow.

Thanks for reading,

-Mark

What I Would Do if I Listened to Terrible Opera Music Part 2

Okay, this opera is really starting to great. As I stand now, I'm ably forty minutes through the first half, and I'm scared that if I don't keep working on it soon I'm never going to finish. Hence, this post.
I currently find myself at a particularly grating section of the opera where a decidedly untalented singer is warbling a melody that sounds like everything else that's been sung in this opera. Worse, the singer is accompanied by that infernal stringed instrument that I talked about so much in the first edition of this post. It seems to me that by this point in the opera, the guy playing the- lets call it a lute to save time- has completely forgotten the notes and so occupies himself by plucking along whenever he feels like it. The lute adds little to the music at best and, at worst, worsens the music further.
Perhaps the most annoying thing about the opera is that there aren't any visuals to give me a hint as to what may be going on. All you can see when you listen to the YouTube music is this beautiful picture;

The idiotic facial expression on the woman and the vacant expression on the man tell you very little about the opera. Fifty minutes in, I'm still in the dark as to what the heck is going on. In other words, Laura... I hate you. But I'm going to get through this punishment and YOU are going to listen to Green Day, gosh darn it!

                                                                 .   .   .

Okay, okay. I've finished the first half. Let me watch a few Vlogbrother's videos to recover before I get started on the second half.

                                                                  .   .   .

Hey, I just realized... there are only 25 minutes in the second half! This'll be easy.
Oh, wait. Never mind. I just started the music again. How can you forget how bad a song is over the span of ten minutes?!
I'll be back, blog. I feel like I shouldn't write in this half-crazed state of listening to terrible opera. Let me concentrate on the music for a minute.

                                                                   .   .   .
 
Only 15 more minutes of torture to go through. If for no other reason, I'm thankful that I listened to this opera so that I can better appreciate actually decent opera. I've never been fond of the genre, but hearing this shitty example of it makes the rest seem so much better. 12 minutes to go. (Note... it took me three minutes to write that short paragraph. You can see how the music bores into my brain).

                                                                    .   .   .

You know, I'd originally intended to review John Green's The Fault in our Stars tonight, but I didn't quite finish the book and so decided to write this post instead. Tell me... why the heck didn't I just finish the book and write a review? This is torture, whereas reading is enjoyable. On the bright side, drums are beating, trumpets are blaring, and the opera is wrapping up. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. My only question is: where were all of these new instruments coming in during those long, tuneless songs accompanied only by the lute? A few more instruments would have made those scenes so much more bearable.

                                                                     .   .   .

And... it's over. It's finally over. Nearly an hour and a half of torture, and I've finished! Take that, Laura! You didn't scare me away from punishments. You've simply made me really, really terrified of them.
I'm just glad that the whole opera is over with. It's certainly been a struggle. Still, I've squeezed some things out of listening to that crap. I now have a better appreciation for good opera, I learned that the best way to get these things done is to simply get them done, and I'm never going to miss my post again. Ever.

Thanks for reading,

-Mark

What I Would Do if I was Sick

Today has not been a good day.

On the surface it had everything going for it. It's a weekend, with no pressing homework. I was supposed to play a game of soccer, go out for dinner, and still have time to go trampolining with my youth group. The day was set up to be one to enjoy.

Unfortunately, it didn't quite turn out that way.

You see, an epidemic of chicken pox has been going around my school lately, and yesterday one of those friends pointed out some spots on my neck. Next thing you know, we discover spots on my back and I start getting headaches. By the time I go to bed that night, I'm convinced that the next day I'll wake up covered in spots. I wasn't even given that luxury.

Instead, I woke up with much the same symptoms. Spots on my back and more mixing with the pimples on my face, a general itch, a mild headache. Of course, we're worried that I have the pox and bang, soccer's canceled, trampolining's cancelled, and I can't go out for dinner. My day was rather down the drain.

Still, it looked like it might be a good day. It was still the weekend, after all, and I didn't actually feel sick, per say. Slightly run down was all. And yet I did something that I'm ashamed of. I used my possible sickness as an excuse to myself to sit in bed all day, playing games. No writing was done. Little reading was completed. Today, I sat and did nothing. 

And so I find myself sitting here tonight, frustrated and ashamed, hoping that my body would just freaking decide whether I'm actually sick. I'm also ticked at the world for making me miss my soccer game, and at the opposing team in said game. My potentially concussed friend texted me today notifying me that, although we won, he took a knee to the head and our team's best goalkeeper went to the hospital with his leg twisted the wrong way round. Two people who didn't deserve to get hurt did get hurt, leaving me wishing that I'd been there to A) kick the ball out of our zone so that the other team didn't have the chance to hurt my friends or, B) been there to punch out whoever hurt our guys. Both of the people who got hurt are nice people who try hard on the pitch, and I'm pissed that they're out. There, I said it.

So that is how I stand at 11:43 PM tonight. Frustrated. Tired. Upset. Ashamed. Raging-hormonesy, perhaps. 

All I feel I can do now is sleep it off and hope that I either can make it to the soccer game tomorrow or at least feel sick enough to warrant me not going. Just hurry up and make up your mind, pox! You coming to get me or not? Huh?

God, I feel so much like those amateur video bloggers on Youtube who gripe their whole video about whatever problem they have in they're lives. I apologize for that, as I know from experience that hearing about these things is no fun to read. I'll make a more upbeat post tomorrow, I promise. Until then, thanks for letting me vent at you, Russian Robot.

Thanks for reading,

-Mark

What I Would Do if I Dined at Hotel McDonald

It snowed in Edmonton a few days ago. Yes, I know that it's May and winter has no right to dump snow on you this time of year, but it snowed. At school people bemoaned this fact, leaving me as perhaps the only one who welcomed the snow. The snow meant no soccer game, no soccer game meant free time, free time meant going to the hotel McDonald with my mom and grandparents to celebrate their 60'th wedding anniversary.
As I write this I can just imagine Julia sadly shaking her head. "They're wasting their money on Mark," I'm sure she'd be thinking. "he's such a picky eater." This is a fair point, I'd agree. However, I not only enjoyed my experience at the hotel, but I believe I gained some valuable wisdom which I'll shortly be sharing with you. Let me break it down.
Upon arriving at the hotel, my group had our coats taken from us by some guy in a tuxedo and were led to our seats. These offered perhaps the best view of Edmonton you could hope to find in the city, giving the city a momentary illusion of beauty.
Upon being seated I made my first observation about the night, which is that good food doesn't necessarily make you happy. There were only two other people in the restaurant when we arrived, both sitting on their own. What made me sad was that both of them looked downright miserable. The one nearest us in particular had a clear look of discontent on her face, and seemed to take absolutely no pleasure from the meal.
Observation 1: do things with people you like.
Drinks were soon ordered, with dinner following soon afterward. I went for the standard steak, forcing myself to accept everything that came along with it. You see, I have a past as an extremely picky eater, and although I've truly been making progress this last year I'm still uncomfortable with many foods. Last night, I figured that the chef would be insulted if I tried to tamper with his dish, and so I let the weird leaves and potatoes and unknown vegetables pile up beside the meat. I was then rather amused when I saw that my  grandmother didn't give two hoots about what the chef thought, and fixed up her order to her liking.
Observation 2: Older people are known to care about trivial things, but they also have learned to think along the lines of a "screw it" mentality when it comes to certain topics.
When the food did come, I was rather surprised to find it slightly lacklustre. There were actually very few compliments in regards to the food that night, leading me to my third observation: just because it costs more doesn't necessarily mean better quality.
After the main meal came dessert, which again was more or less average. Despite this, my opinion of the restaurant was instantly restored when they brought out a special cake made just for my grandparents, with the words Happy 60'th Anniversary spelled out in chocolate.
All to soon, it was time to leave and get back to homework and the real world. Thinking back on the post I've just written, I feel like I've left a decidedly negative review- and I don't want to do that. True, I think that you can find better food elsewhere for much better process, and I found the formal atmosphere stifling. Despite this, the people were friendly and I know that my grandparents enjoyed themselves, which was truly the reason for the meal. Happy 60'th, Mana and Dumpy (long story on those nicknames). I love you.

Thanks for reading this (currently unedited due to droopy eyes and a possible case of developing chicken pox) post,

-Mark

What I Would Do if I Showed You My First Surviving Attempt at Writing a Book

I first tried my hand at writing many, many years ago.
I don't quite know when I first decided to write for pleasure. For the first couple years that I consumed this earth's resources, Playmobile and reading were much more important in my life then something that might be considered "learning." Did I ever hate school back then. However, as happens with so many readers, the idea that I wanted to write books myself started manifesting in my brain. I'd take a wild guess and say that I first tried writing outside of school in grade three, and attempted my first longer story sometime in grade four. The seeds of writing had been planted.
The first story of any length that I wrote was based on some old computer game I played. The game, Warlords: Call to Arms, was set in a fictional world where there were a bunch of races of elves, men and orcs who all sat around and did nothing while your chosen race slowly conquered them all. Being an extremely original individual in grade 4, I decided to copy the entire premise of the game and write from every single races' point of view. At the time I thought that this multiple perspectives thing was genius.
Unfortunately that story went downhill quickly, and was scrapped at about 1000 words. Feeling defeated, I abandoned my blossoming writing career for half a year.
Then one day in grade five, I found myself playing Sims. As I've already mentioned several times on this blog, I saw my Sim writing away and thought "how hard can it be, really?" Three hours later I had the story that I'm going to be presenting to you now.
This is only about 600 words of a 40 000 word epic, and even in that short time I managed to insult people who had no parents and achieve perhaps the best opening line of all time: a slightly dramaticised version of "You have been accused guilty!"

It's that bad, people. Lets just get it over with.

Prologue
 

“You” The next few words would decide my fate. “Have” my world was going to be thrown even deeper into turmoil, and I knew it. “Been” I bowed my head as I awaited my fate. “Accused” I prayed he would not say the next word. But then he said it. “Guilty”. My name is Luke. And this is my story.

Chapter One

A Flash of Green Light

Yes, my name is Luke, and I was the average fifteen-year-old. I got good grades, had many friends, and was notorious for being sneaky. That was before my life changed. I was really no different from everyone else. Not yet, anyway. It was a beautiful late August day. The sun was streaming through my window and the birds were singing somewhere off in the distance. It was also the day that would change my life forever. It was Thursday evening, and I was doing the one thing that separated me from most everyone else: I was reading. In an orphanage. Yes, I am and was an orphan. Both my parents died when I was just a few months old, leaving me to fend for myself. None of my friends knew that I was an orphan, though, aside from my companions in the orphanage. I was way too proud to tell them. But that’s not important. Believe me, a volcano erupting and WWIII happening in the next five minutes would have been nothing compared to what happened next. At the time nothing seemed out of place. I was lying on my bed reading a thick book that I had been working on for quite some time. It was entitled Space Travel and Our Campaign for Mars. To put it frankly, it was one of the worst books I had ever read, not that I had really read many. It was saying how if we tried to go to Mars, we would run out of food, be hit by a meteorite, or our bones would decay, plus some scientific gibberish that I would never understand. I didn’t even get why anyone would even want to go to Mars. Besides, we can already send satellites and robots there and it’s just as if we were there anyway. I would love to have some good history or historical fiction books but what do I get? Garbage. But none of that is really important at the moment. Because of course, I could tell you what I think about it and really anything I choose to tell you about, because there is more to tell. There’s always more. But instead of telling you my inner musings, I will tell you about how my life changed on that fateful day. How my quest to save mankind and then being hunted by them all came together. It all started with a slight breeze seeming to come through the room, ruffling the pages of my book although there had been virtually no breeze up to that point. Then there was a low-pitched moaning sound, getting louder and louder with every fleeting moment. My eyes jerked up from the page as I started panicking and looking around frantically, trying to find the source of the noise. And then all at once, there was a blinding flash of green light at the foot of my bed. I stumbled up, yelping in surprise. And then something stepped out of the light.

...

Yeah. I told you it was bad.

Let's break this down into a few parts, shall we?

First, there's the opening sentence, which makes little sense in any possible context. From what I recall that scene was supposed to take place later on in the book, although I can only hope that the judge had sobered up by then. I have a sneaking suspicion that I forgot about the opening line by the time that scene rolled around.

Then, there's that bit about orphans which basically says that it's shameful to not have any parents, which is completely false. As well, I said that my protagonist Luke kept this fact from his friends, which would be A). Nearly impossible to do, and B). a pointless thing to write into the story, as the only friends that Luke encounters in the story show up in a cornfield 20 000 words in.

Thridly, even in that little blurb I struggle with getting to my point. It's like "My life changed that day. Then I read a book. But that's not important, 'cause my life changed. I'm an orphan, btw. Did I mention that my life was changed that day when a funky thing stepped out of a funky green light?"

I kept beating around the bush, and frankly I think that I still struggle with this today.

Looking back I can instantly see how greatly my work was influenced by what I was reading at the time. In particular I was influenced by a novel that nowadays I can't find the name of, despite extensive googling. The book was about a kid who's framed for some crime or other and so spends his time evading the police and unraveling the mystery of who committed the actual crime, and why. All I remember from that book is that it had a really unsatisfying ending, and that the protagonist was sprinting away from cops 90% of the time. This dude should have been caught about a hundred times, but he always seemed to escape at the last minute. Looking back on it, that story was unbelievable, and incorporating a bunch of similar police chases and escapes into my own story made it unbelievable as well.

Even in this first chapter, I can pick out distance things lifted from other stories. That whole blurb about space travel probably came after watching a show on the subject. I have a strong feeling that the line "... because there's more. There's always more" was lifted from an actual book, probably A Series of Unfortunate Events. Naturally, it was worded much better in the original. 

Even the protagonist is clearly a Mary Sue character who's simply an idealized version of myself. Unfortunately, Luke was clearly an idiot. So perhaps I was too.
There are just so many pathetic things about that manuscript. Half of the action was taken from other stories, it didn't really make sense, and I didn't have a damn thing planned ahead at any point in the writing process. It was a jumble of the most appealing parts of other books combined to make a disgusting excuse for a story. I'm not too proud of the stories quality.
On the flip side, I am glad that I wrote the thing. I could feel myself become a better writer the more I wrote, and that simply made me want to write more. Practice makes perfect, right?
I may be posting more of that story later on, if I want to mooch off my previous writings or anyone misguidedly asks for more. Until such a time, thanks for reading. Be sure to leave a comment letting me know how your first attempts at writing went! (Please? ;)

-Mark