My brother writes stories with his blog. I am not any good at writing fiction, but I'm going to give it a go anyway. Speaking of stories, here are some very strange bed-time stories: Gordon Dioxide.
Also, here is a photo of a spider web:
Once upon a time, there was a girl who wanted to be a writer. She had drive. She had ambition. She had a large vocabulary. She had everything but a story.
The girl searched for ideas in her home. 'Who would ever want a story about my parents or my cat?' she wondered. But it was winter vacation, so she invented a story in which her cat, Peanut, could speak and wield a fencing foil and went on all sorts of adventures.
When she went back to school, she shared the story with her creative writing teacher. "This is too fanciful," her teacher said. "Try to write about something you know."
So the girl wrote a story about the romance unfolding between her third-best friend and the young, attractive Spanish teacher. She showed this story to her creative writing teacher, anxious for approval.
"Oh my," said the creative writing teacher, "this is not a story. This needs to be brought to the attention of the principal."
The girl's third-best friend became her first-best enemy as the Spanish teacher was fired and she was sent to counseling. The girl decided she would no longer share her stories with her creative writing teacher. She wrote all of this into a story and showed her older Brother. "This is boring," he said. "It needs more violence. Or video games."
The girl followed her Brother's advice and wrote a dark story about a vampire who played video games during the day and prowled upon creative writing teachers at night. She showed this story to her Brother, but he was too busy playing video games to read it. "Give it to Mom and Dad!" he shouted over the cacophony of laser guns and explosives.
She didn't make it to her Mother and Father, however, because she first ran into her Uncle, who came over often to use her family's high-speed internet and eat their food. Her Uncle looked over the story and said, "Well, it's alright if you like this kinda thing, I guess. But don't you want a story that more people can relate to?" She gave a reluctant nod and trudged up the stairs.
The girl locked herself up in her room and decided that she wasn't coming out until she had the perfect story. She wouldn't eat, she wouldn't get fresh air, and her only company was her iPod, which sometimes played on when she fell asleep.
The girl spent one whole day this way.
Then, finally, she had it: her masterpiece. It was inspiring. It was accessible... "It champions the American Dream while acknowledging everyone's need to feel wanted," the girl explained to her Uncle.
"These are the lyrics to 'Don't Stop Believin'."