I rewrote this essay -had to expunge some unwanted epithets and needless invectives. But it felt so good when writing them
He reclined on his chair, cogitating. "What to do" he queried in his thoughts. Reading "Absent Friends" undoubtedly would harbor David boredom and writing about the synopsis of the novel for his assignment would have exacerbated his torpor. Readily after scribbling in pen regarding what transpired in the book, he threw it down in impasse when finishing up the third paragraph. He read it over scantly. Another sesquipedalian crap with exorbitant usage of intense vocabulary in tumultuous fashion. The story he recaptured proved inane. "'No one could demur to that assertion...' What does that even construe?", he berated himself. How can the creator find his creation inscrutable? The writing tyro has dawned upon the crude idea that his rhetoric required much scrutiny and permutations. Each sanity-be-damned sentences disconnected the flow of the passage. They were disjointed, disappointing, and a upshot from a defecated crap. "How revolting but mostly deluding" he cried. After reading a umpteenth slew of books, he gathered to finally be able to forge some decent work. David needed to find out why his writing emanated such foul malodor-why the message sparked no hint of intelligence and meaning.
Forthwith, David scoured for his pen once more and dug out a piece of paper. He vehemently started to jot down the exact events unfolded in the recent past. It began "He reclined on his chair, cogitating..." and by almost finishing this new craft, an effulgent epiphany alighted. It sang to him in a melodious repertoire. Then it screamed "You suck at writing because you write so little! Just by reading does not proliferate ones capability you asinine son of a lamb! Reading foments ones knowledge and ideas, but writing them makes you a better writer! You have to write and write and write perennially to master your writing concept." And with this incredibly astute, acid, erudite, incisive, caustic, reveling, dawning, arid, and most unimportantly an obvious idea, he set down his pen, encumbered enough of hearing the word "writing". He arose, sashayed his way to his swimming pool and entertained his boredom by assaulting a flips and kicks submerged.
The end.
He reclined on his chair, cogitating. "What to do" he queried in his thoughts. Reading "Absent Friends" undoubtedly would harbor David boredom and writing about the synopsis of the novel for his assignment would have exacerbated his torpor. Readily after scribbling in pen regarding what transpired in the book, he threw it down in impasse when finishing up the third paragraph. He read it over scantly. Another sesquipedalian crap with exorbitant usage of intense vocabulary in tumultuous fashion. The story he recaptured proved inane. "'No one could demur to that assertion...' What does that even construe?", he berated himself. How can the creator find his creation inscrutable? The writing tyro has dawned upon the crude idea that his rhetoric required much scrutiny and permutations. Each sanity-be-damned sentences disconnected the flow of the passage. They were disjointed, disappointing, and a upshot from a defecated crap. "How revolting but mostly deluding" he cried. After reading a umpteenth slew of books, he gathered to finally be able to forge some decent work. David needed to find out why his writing emanated such foul malodor-why the message sparked no hint of intelligence and meaning.
Forthwith, David scoured for his pen once more and dug out a piece of paper. He vehemently started to jot down the exact events unfolded in the recent past. It began "He reclined on his chair, cogitating..." and by almost finishing this new craft, an effulgent epiphany alighted. It sang to him in a melodious repertoire. Then it screamed "You suck at writing because you write so little! Just by reading does not proliferate ones capability you asinine son of a lamb! Reading foments ones knowledge and ideas, but writing them makes you a better writer! You have to write and write and write perennially to master your writing concept." And with this incredibly astute, acid, erudite, incisive, caustic, reveling, dawning, arid, and most unimportantly an obvious idea, he set down his pen, encumbered enough of hearing the word "writing". He arose, sashayed his way to his swimming pool and entertained his boredom by assaulting a flips and kicks submerged.
The end.
