A new professor came into my Creative Writing classroom today and gave the following prompt:

“Combine a profession and quirk, build off of it!”

This was a silly little exercise to practice quirky characters and development, I have no plans on expanding this in the future.


Vigilante + Pours coffee on flowers.

Monday… if ever there was a day to hate more, there wasn’t. In the bustling city of Chicago, there was no doubt that the collective mood of the citizens made Mondays all the more worse. Cars beeped endlessly at exactly 8am on the dot, trying to make their ways two blocks down the road by 9am (which was plausibly impossible sometimes.) The sidewalks were filled with children in backpacks, making their ways to school in the most sluggish of manners. Even the birds sat on the telephone wires seemed irritable and far too exhausted to wake up for their 9 to 5 job of defecating on vehicles below them.

Everything was going so lazily… but not for one man. He was the man Chicago didn’t want… and he was also the man that Chicago didn’t need. Mochaman was his name. Five years ago he was all the rage to take pictures of, dressed up in his Vigilante-Superhero getup… but now… now he was just the bane of all Mondays.

People made an effort to cover their flowers with plastic sheets or boxes every Sunday night, just to avoid his weekly ritual of ‘watering’ them. Watering? What was so wrong with that? One might ask. The water… was coffee.


Homemade Prompt!
“Describe your most favourite weather.”


I’ve had a ridiculous case of ‘overly-European-skin’ my entire life. Meaning I only have two shades of colour: pale, and red. I would love to enjoy the beach, skipping under the summer sun in a bikini, but it wouldn’t be worth it to spend the following month as a recluse lobster. Over years of conditioning, I have found that my most favourite type of weather is overcast. The temperature outside is moderately warm, but with a cool breeze. There is no sun to blind me, so I can keep my eyes as wide-open as I desire; my sight is in it’s prime state. I can get away with wearing shorts, or maybe even a skirt, and not suffer the goosebumps that come with the chill of a passing gust of wind. I am content… comfortable. If I want, I can put a jacket on; I will not swelter. My hair can either be up or down, it will not matter, for it will not make me feel hot and bothered. When I am indoors, I would like to hear the soft rumble of thunder, but let there be no crackles or flashes of lightning to cause me to gasp. The heavens are a tribal orchestra; the crescendo of thumping clouds and the andante pitter-patter of loud raindrops perform their chorus upon my windows. May my room be made chilly from the cold water as it lowers the temperature of the little space in which I sit, but allow my blankets to enhance the experience with their ever-warming embrace. I want to turn off all electronics; all man-made, synthetic, un-natural noises must cease.
…This is comfort at it’s finest for me.

Try This 2.1

From ‘Imaginative Writing’ by Janet Burroway (4th Edition):

Try this 2.1:
“Pick two words and invent an image that suggests each word.”
E.g: Rumble, Sick.


It was a sound that was most unnerving, that it nearly made the very ribs in my chest shake and involuntarily cause the pit of my throat to itch. It was a sound that instantly made me hungry, as it egged my stomach on to reciprocate the noise. It was a sound so deep that if made close enough to the ground, small pebbles might toss and turn with the low-frequency of the vibrations. It was at that moment that I knew I could not forget, accept, or forgive it. When I look at him, all I can think of is that disgusting, deafening, ogre-like belch he made on our very first date. I cannot move on from this moment, and I cannot see him in a different light. There will not be a second date.

You knew today was not going to go as accordingly to plan as you first intended. All sniffles turn to snuffles, and all snuffles turn to snortles. It just had to happen on the day of your big interview. You read somewhere online that hot honey-water helps, but you desperately needed that lemon-juice to get rid of the rusty, rotten pasta taste off of the back of your slimy tongue. You know? That taste that comes with sleeping while rivers of phlegm drip down your throat in the night, giving you a belly-ache in the morning. Should have gone with the honey-water; now you’re not only snortling, but you’re also vibrating your tonsils together as if you’re trying to start up a stubborn lawn-mower. As you try to present yourself as… graciously as possible to the interviewer, you can’t help but notice their glance constantly dropping to your nose: You think there’s an endless stream of liquid pouring out of each nostril, but you’ve rubbed the skin so raw there that you can’t actually feel a thing. In truth, they are just distracted by the fact that you could guide Santa’s sleigh in the most blistery of white-winter nights.

Try This 1.7

From ‘Imaginative Writing’ by Janet Burroway (4th Edition):

Try this 1.7:
“Pick a trigger line and keep writing!”
E.g- The first thing I want in the morning…

The first thing I want in the morning… is for someone to turn off my fan. I don’t know why, but I just love when my room is chilly at night, so that I can cocoon in my blankets. Once the room has gotten warm, I want them to carefully pull back my covers and pick me up. They’ll carry me to a lounge chair (appropriately placed in the kitchen) and put on America’s Funniest Home Videos while setting my food before me on a nifty pull-out tray. My food will consist of two little pancakes with syrup, some English bacon, garlic button-mushrooms, some German salami, and a tall glass of Orange juice from Starbucks. Whilst I consume my edibles, I want my hair combed and pulled back into a pony tail, so that they don’t irritate me while they give me my massage.

I am holding my future-husband to this now that it is written down. Sorry dude!

Try This 1.6

From ‘Imaginative Writing’ by Janet Burroway (4th Edition):

Try this 1.6:
“Choose a cross-genre form that attracts you, and write about it.”


Video Essays

As soon as I read this suggestion, I immediately thought of my boyfriend. Recently he had to explain something in sign language, (Obviously you can’t write that) so he had to record himself doing all of the signs. I was trying not to watch him, because I didn’t want to throw him off, but it was so interesting watching what could be an essay- interpreted with sign language. It gave me a new appreciation for words, knowing that they also have a physical representation as well as an oral one.

I wish I could get someone to sign back all of my essays to me. I think it would add a whole new level of interesting to them which people don’t typically get to see.

Try This 1.5

From ‘Imaginative Writing’ by Janet Burroway (4th Edition):

Try this 1.5:
“Write down a question you want answered and research it. Write down what you gather from your findings, briefly.”


“Why do we care about other people’s sexuality?”

– What I have gathered is that people are afraid of the younger generations learning from other people’s interests, and possibly turning into that themselves. I call utter bogus on this, however. Watching a girl kiss another girl does not mean you’re going to like it yourself. Straight parents can raise a gay child, and gay parents can raise a straight child all the same. That’s my opinion at least. I find this era to be a very picky and self-righteous one… definitely in a bad way. It’s quite rude to pry into other people’s lives and judge them for things that don’t harm you in any way, shape, or form.

My boyfriend told me a very interesting piece of information today while we were driving by the seaside. He has a tendency to go off on little tangents of things he finds interesting, (mainly to do with science or social psychology). Today he spoke about how there was a conspiracy theory that had to do with the Big Bang separating atoms- and now the atoms are trying to find their bonds once more. Which could explain a lot about finding soul-mates and partners (regardless of gender). I found it quite (romantically) sweet, and somewhat plausible at least.

Everything’s just chemicals and reactions in my book! (Though don’t get me wrong, I find the idea of religion to be quite beautiful: In some cases at least.)

Try this 1.4

From ‘Imaginative Writing’ by Janet Burroway (4th Edition):

Try this 1.4
“Describe a piece of music and what it means to you.


“Five Years Time” – Noah and the Whale

The thing I love about this song, is that it sounds so cheerful and cute, but the lyrics really don’t match the mood it is setting. Without looking at the lyrics, I can imagine a cheerful, happy day, where a couple are going out on a trip, maybe even having a picnic in a park. I imagine a young couple because of the whistling and the use of the xylophone. The music gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling. On the other hand, if I take into account the lyrics, I feel a very mixed reaction. The bland, positive singing does not suit the words they are saying, and that’s what makes this piece so interesting and fun to listen to.

Try This 1.3

From ‘Imaginative Writing’ by Janet Burroway (4th Edition):

Try this 1.3
“Take a notebook with you to any public place and make a list of the proper names you find there.”
E.g- Museum / Lavatory / Pavilion / Main Hall / Reception Desk
“Write a paragraph of anything at all that these names or one of them suggests to you.”


When I think of pavilion, I think of a very romantic scene. The sound of the word itself rolls off of the tongue in a most comfortable and delicate manner. I see a very lavishly decorated circular pavilion with classical stone ornaments and tables spread out evenly here and there. Chaise-lounges and little puff chairs dot around the area, sparing plenty room to sit, and plenty variety at that. I envision women in long, silk dresses leisurely sitting around, fanning themselves, or admiring the surrounding gardens in a typically Renaissance fashion. All colours would be pastel or faded, making the scene feel like something from old Florentine times, just waiting to be replicated on a canvas with oily paints.

#2 Awkward

This was another school assignment, the subject was voice and character. I melded Frank around it, and this was the result.

I wrote this really early in the morning, and I learned that it is very hard to write comedy when you are in a ‘down’ mood. It isn’t as cringe/funny as my other Frank manuscripts, but I am pleased overall. Hope you enjoy it!

Also P.S, my Frank works are not necessarily in chronological order. I am writing short manuscripts just to get a feel of him, and figure out which direction I want to go in.


With a Micky Mouse pancake hanging out of his maw, the gargantuan man known as Frank rushes his way out of the door and to the elevator. He was relieved to see nobody was already occupying it, he often felt too claustrophobic with others (plus his large weight) inside of the small, steel container. Skimming his fingers down the panel of floor numbers, he eventually plods the sausage ring-finger of his left hand onto a button labelled ‘G’. As he waited for the door to close, he paused to look at himself in the mirrored walls of the elevator.

He could have smartened up more, but he was in a hurry. His blue convenience store uniform-shirt was only half tucked in to his silky black pants which snuggly fit around his thunderous thighs and Hercules calves. Finding Nemo crocs adorned his sock-clad feet; he wasn’t required to wear smart shoes at work, just as long as he didn’t wear converse sneakers he was free to wear whatever he wished. A drool of syrup brands his left breast, a clumsy mistake from being in such a hurry. His curly, dirty-blonde hair stretches back into a greasy bun, resting on the first fold of his neck fat and tucking in to the second. Upon the top of his head rest an old fashioned hat, one commonly worn by Italian mafia gangs in the early to mid-nineties.

Just before the door could fully close, a slender hand slices through and stops the elevator from shutting. Frank took in a deep breath of anxiety and lowers his gaze to the floor.

“Gotcha’ just in time!” Calls out a sweet voice; a girly voice. She hopped into the elevator after prying its’ maw open, and stood at the other side just after reaching out to press ‘G’ and realizing it had already been pressed. “Hello!” She exclaims, turning her attention to Frank. Her eye twitched a tad at the scruffy state he was in, though out of politeness, she tried to maintain eye-contact at least until he acknowledged her.

“Mmello.” Frank mumbles through munching his pancake. He didn’t look up to see what she looked like, he was much too nervous, especially around women. The stranger caught the drift, and thus, remained silent until they reached the ground floor and went their separate paths.

With a quickly beating heart, Frank made his way to his sticker-destroyed car. Images of Mickey and Minnie were the two most common characters. From the shape of the vehicle, it could have been a beetle, but the colours were so misleading. As he approached his car, he could hear footsteps closing in behind him. A quiet whine squealed from his sticky lips, ‘no more interaction…’ he prayed mentally.

“Hello again!” Came the same voice from before. Frank reached for the handle of his door quickly, before realizing he hadn’t even pressed the unlock button on his keys yet. With one hand, he dove into his right pocket and started frantically searching. Without touching his keys, which were nowhere to be found, his car lights flicker, and the machine makes a clicking noise to alert everyone around that it had been unlocked. What was going on!? What was happening!? Full panic spread throughout the body of the large Frank.

“Uh, yeah… You might need these if you’re gonna drive…” The female utters, carefully reaching around to place the keys on top of the car and back away, as if she was feeding a dangerous predator. He must have dropped them in the elevator. Frank’s eyes flicker up to his keys, which he grabs with hesitation. Along with the keys, came about five different tiny stuffed toys, two plastic figurines, and a big golden plaque with the Disney Castle embedded into it, all attached to a pin-laden lanyard. Without saying another word, the embarrassed Frank got into his car and started to make his way out of the car park.

The female watched as he drove away, then desists to go to her own car. What did she think of Frank so far?

“Why why why why why!?” Roars out Frank as he travels down the typical route he took to work. His gorilla fists slam against the steering wheel for emphasis of his frustration. The last slam accidentally hits the horn, giving the car in front of him a fright. In response, a single middle-finger raises out of the sunroof and directs at Frank, causing him to blush in offence.

Traffic was slow, which gave Frank more time to reflect on his poor conversational skills with the stranger in his apartment, whom apparently lived on the same floor as he. “Why’d you have to go and goof things up, Frank?” He whines to himself, “You’re never going to find a princess this way!”

Turning his head to peer out of the window beside him, he notices a girl in the passenger seat of a red jeep, watching his yelling with a slight smirk on her face. Whilst blushing further, Frank raises a shaking hand to grasp the brim of his mafia hat, and tip it in her direction. ‘Milady’ he mouths. The girl slowly raises up her phone from her lap and snaps a picture of Frank, before laughing out loud and ushering her friend to drive faster.

With a sigh, Frank turns his head forward again and stares at the vehicle in front of him which now had two middle fingers sticking out of the sunroof. The urge to scream out PG 13 insults boiled within the very gut of Frank. Cracking his window a tad, the large man leaned up and took a deep breath.

“I bet you’re ugly!” He yells, only to suddenly shut his window once he hears a quick response of:

“What did you say!?” Frank pulls down his hat a tad to try and hide his eyes as best as possible, but found the pudge on his forehead to be far too much to squeeze into the circumference of the material. The hazard lights appeared on the car in front of him, this couldn’t be good. The driver’s door swung open and outstepped a young ‘dude’.

Wearing a stretched out wife-beater shirt, and pants down to his knees, it was clear he was dressed to show off the long hours he’d spent at the gym, or money he’d put into muscle-enhancing drugs, (whichever one prefers).

The man-beast swaggers his way over to the Disney Disaster: walking in a fashion which said he wanted others to believe he was carrying a large salami, when in truth his thigh muscles were just so disproportionate and ridiculous, that they couldn’t even stand rubbing up against each other.

“I know you ain’t talkin’ to me!?” Yells the platinum-blonde meathead. Frank lowers his gaze, putting his own hazards on to let the people behind him know to drive around him. Yet, he does not reply. “’Ey! Freak!” he roars again, knocking harshly on the window. Frank reaches over and turns up the volume on his radio. He forgot he had slipped a CD into the drive the last time he used the car, however.

“Look for the… bare necessities! The simple bare necessities-“ Hollers out his speakers. Frantically, Frank reaches out to try and turn down the volume again, accidentally flicking on his window-wipers at the same time. A jet of water squirts out of the base of his window and splatters over the meathead’s face, blinding him momentarily with sanitized water.

“What the hell!? I’ll sue you for blinding me, freak!” He roars. It was now or never, Frank had to get out of here. Turning off his hazards, he put his car into reverse slightly, only to push into drive and floor his acceleration, speeding over the side-walk a tad just to get in front of the meathead’s vehicle. He was successful for the most part, bar a scrape against a safety guard by the side of the road. It was worth it just to get away from the danger of interaction. Through the rear view mirror, he could see the meathead scrambling to get into his car, but by the time he had; Frank was already too far ahead to catch up with, legally.

Turning up the volume once more, Frank listens to his favourite jams to relax himself as he continues his commute to work. He could only hope there would be no more interaction for today and his boss would let him hide in the backroom to handle the storage jobs.


. . .

Try This 1.2

From ‘Imaginative Writing’ by Janet Burroway (4th Edition):

Try this 1.2
“Write a list, then pick a single word to write a paragraph about.”


– Trust
– Honour
– Dignity
– Kindness
– Happiness
– Gratefulness
– Justice

Justice can fall under a lot of categories. I feel generally uncomfortable if a situation or decision is unjust. If one party is favoured over the other, I will want to go out of my way to firstly find out why, but also figure out how to fix it. Injustice sprouts from greed, most definitely. To me, justice can come from solving a situation to a point where all sides are on an equal/fair level, or, it can be giving someone something to make them no longer feel mistreated in a particular event: be it morally or physically. I once did an art piece for someone, though I wasn’t happy with it myself. They liked it, but I felt unbalanced making them pay for the artwork. In order to feel justice was done, and to make me feel better about myself, I gave the art piece away for free. Making someone pay for something I wasn’t proud of, felt like injustice to me. Justice universally causes people to feel they are treated well, and have been respected for the person they exist as. This is my view.