Today, I am severely upset with J.K. Rowling.
She took a perfectly decent mythical beast--the basilisk--and stigmatized the creature so that I can't use him in any of my stories without thinking "Moaning Myrtle."
Ugh. Damn woman.
I forgot to eat lunch this afternoon and now I'm having dinner a half-hour late; however, I'm stoked because I've dropped the story that required the presence of said basilisk and have moved on to writing a random story (courtesy of Zak) that has to involve, among other things, a trip on a boat.
Which, I suppose, negates my original idea of a forest adventure. Another stipulation is a character that changes ... Maybe I'll turn a dog into a man.
I giggled to myself even if none of you think it's funny.
This sure beats writing Personal Statements.
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