Oh My Rowling!

Welcome To My Blogg.



HERE you will find a wonderland of less-then-three love, dreams, passions, constantly changeing blogs, and basically everything worth having.

Sunday, May 29, 2011

France (the Others)

It's going to happen, Internet, and soon.
Maybe it's too soon. I barely know the language, and a lump rises in my throat at the very thought of leaving everyone I love for so long.

 Recently,  I was discussing my definite plans for going over to France for five-and-a-half months, and she asked me why. I hesitated for a moment, because it really was such an obvious question that I just presumed everyone knew why I was going. To study, to learn, have fun, expand my views on the world, blah-bla-blaaaaah..
But behind the lump of sadness (great personification, there Ell, really well done) there is a knot, a clique, a nexus, a spiral, a pack, a gathering, a tumour of something that makes me want to catch the nearest train out to anywhere. That may be part of the reason why I want to travel.

Here are the Others: 
  • Ride a scooter down the Champs-Élysées 
  • Feel that tingle down my spine as the Mona Lisa herself smiles at me
  • Nearly crack my neck trying to see all of  Château du Versailles at once
  • Speak really terrible English because I have only been talking in French
  • Ski down the back of the Alps
  • Open those doors on the windows that only France seems to have
  • Ride a hot air balloon across a sea of lavender
  • Dodge the infamous load of dog-poop that is apparently *all* over Paris (this is from my Uncle, btw)
  • Hold hands under the Eiffel Tower
  • Eat a multi-coloured macaroon 
  • And it's not stopping there

  • Love Ell x

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Lalala Short Story Time!

Workexperience was great, thanks for asking! But now I am back, and have nothing but the holidays, so hopefully I will get back into the swing of blogging. And to start this ball rolling, I present to thee:

Petty Revenge
A short story

The warm ocean surrounded me, calmly swaying and moving around my long board. I shifted slighly on the waxy surface of the old surf board, looking around in search of that next big wave that would bring me back to shore. No waves appeared on the horizen, but I calmed by rising fears of being swept far out to sea, and closed my eyes, breathing in the salty air.

Somthing brushed agasint my leg.

I stifled a scream, and leapt haphazardly onto my board, attempting to squash all my limbs onto it's narrow surface, whilst peering into the deep blue sea. I could see nothing execpt for a large, dark something far down below me. But it could be anything. There is no need to panic.
I over balanced, and toppled head first into the salty water. The stringy hair in my eyes, the salt water clogging my wind pipe, and the grip I couldn't find on my now slippery board all made me panic uncontrollably. And whatever was down below, the something that had brushed agasint my leg and started this mess, sped up to the surface of the ocean to meet me.

A shark.

I knew it.

Cold, consuming fear over took me.
There were times when I noticed everything with such painful clarity that it almost killed me. Pain, water, cold, shark, fear.
There were also times where I was almost blissly numb.
I could feel the shark's teeth sinking into my leg. I didn't feel my leg being ripped away, and for that I am thankful for.

Then I blacked out, and felt nothing more.


Three days later, I woke up in hostpital, screaming about montress fish with flesh-tearing teeth. The nurse hurried in, soothing me, it's only a dream.
I nodded, reasurred slightly, and wiped my sweaty forehead.
"Shall I fetch your dinner, sir?" said the Nurse cautiously.
I grunted, and she hurried away.
Ten minutes later, she returned looking sheepish.

"The dinner tonight is...Fish and Chips.."

I smiled an almost evil smile, and ran my tounge over my teeth.
I was going to enjoy this.


- - - - -

There! Finished!!
I hope y'all enjoyed it. The idea came to me at Red Rooster, because Hungry!Daddy was eating this seafood basket, and the boxes that the food come in at Red Rooster have bits of newspaper printed on them, because seafood is traditionally served in newspaper or somthing.
So the newspaper, because I read it, was saying that this guy had been attacted by a shark, which I thought was kinda funny considering this was printed on a box CONTAING FISH. Ahh..

Did it make sense? Would you like MORE yummy short stories? And, more importantly, what did I learn at work experience?

Love Ell,
xx

Monday, March 7, 2011

Challenge FAILED :((

SHIZZEL MA NIZZLE!


Yo there bloggers, how are you this fine night?

I have this friend. Many of you may know her (both personally and/or by her brilliant blog) as Quack, and she features prominently in this exciting episode of Ell Really Should Concentrate On What Mr History Teacher Is Saying and Not Be Blogging! Yay!

So onto the Quack story. Our bud Klara had just got home from exchange and we were celebrating her being home at the local nom-nom-nom place. We (Georgie, Toongen and the aforementioned  Quack) were casually (not singing really loudly in the slightest) talking about how Toogn so did not write a fan-fict. about people IRL, and Quack said in an undertone, “God, I hope no-one write a fict. about Bladdison...” To which I lept to my feet, and triumphantly punched to air, yelling “CHALLENGE ACCEPTED! I, Astro Ell, will hereby begin to formulate a plot that will totally prove that Blakey Hearts Quack, and not STOP UNTIL I GET LAID!”

Or something like that.

(Note: Without giving the game away, Bladdison is the ship name, devised by yours truly, for Quack and her lover-boy, Blakey. They are so canon)

Thus, I tirelessly worked and thought and watched various science-fiction shows (cough Doctor Who cough) over the coming weeks, searching every available space in my brain for inspiration for this story that I had to write, but alas, nothing came to me.

That is, until I had this epiphany that was the reason for me to write this blog.

I realised that I couldn’t possibly write a fan-fict about Bladdison. How could I? Everything I had tried to write was too Harry Potter, too Scott Pilgrim, too Doctor Who, to0 much like every freaking DC Comic ever made.

You see, Bladdison is basically a fan-fiction. Except, it’s not fiction. And not created by a fan. Unless God is an air-condition. Presuming there is a God. (GET BACK ON TRACK!)

Here is a basic outline of the relationship:

• They live about six hours apart

• He is a bit of a flirt (from what my facebook stalking can gather, but don’t quote me on that)

• There is a crazy stalker slut who is in love with Blakey

• She is so freaking weird

• He just wants to study; no relationships in the most important schooling year

• She (Quack, no crazy stalker whore) (or is there a difference?) (ZING!) is too of an independent, self-sustained, liberated, free women-girl to fall in love.

• There are goodnight texts.

• There are goodnight texts.

• There are good night texts.

• Did I mention the goodnight texts Quack getting this ridiculously adorable smile/blush every time Blakey is mentioned in conversation?

That sounds like a fan-fict, no? So maybe I just have no inspiration, which would be a huge load of suck.

So this is where it ends. Thank you for reading this relieving post about a formally well-structured and (romantically) loveless girl. Then again, I might just be saying all this just to bring her down in my attempts to because the WORLDS GREATEST BLOGGER. BWAAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Love Ell : ) x

PS, Did anyone else read that in Barney Stinson’s voice? I sure did when I re-read this.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

So I did this for school..

The Boatshed is a traditional fish and ship shop. It is located in the heart Bateman's Bay, and although it sits right near one of the most prestigious restaurants in the region, there is always a queue that sometimes bends out the door.

As you line up, waiting to order your fish, you see the seafood on beds of ice and lemons, and several hands snatching various fillets to cook and batter. The wait is normally about 20 minutes, (just enough time to build up a tremendous apatite driven by the wonderful smells wafting from the pans behind the counter) but it is all worth it when you take the tray stacked with small straw baskets pilled high with hot chips, fresh salad and melt-in-your-mouth battered fish.

But that is not all the Boatshed offers. There is also a porch that stretches across the river that runs through Bateman's, with crystal-clear waters, and filled with a bright assortment of fish, a small fishermen's' boat bobbing in the gentle waves and even the odd manta ray that the workers fondly name.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Victoria949:)

Just wanted to make sure you guys check out my besties blogg!
Check it out! <3



Ps. This was so hacked :)

Saturday, February 12, 2011

I CHANGED THINGS. AGAIN.

What does one do at 12.02 am when she can’t sleep? She blogs, of course!

This is my first post in quite a long time, and I have somewhat matured in my wordy-words, so I hope this is enjoyable to read. Without prolonging any further, today’s topic! It’s something a little bit different to the stuff I normally post on here.

I have been reading a book, dearest internet friends. It is called The Messenger, and was scribbled by Markus Zusak, who apparently writes books as a hobby rather than a career and (I quote) “watches the same movies over and over and over again”. He seems a lovely old chap, (well, he’s not that old, around 36, so he is actually pretty young-ish) and lives in Sydney.
This book is about a lad called Ed who is basically going no-where in life. He gets some cards in the mail, some crazy shit happens, and Hey PRESTO! We have our messenger.  It sounds (and is, to be frank) odd, but somehow our bud Markus has made it into a powerful novel that government schools study in Year 10.
I particularly like this author because of his unique writing style. In everyday context it would make zero sense, but in this book it creates a realistic scene you can almost taste.  For example:

“I laugh and the stars watch. It’s good to be alive”

You can’t take his writing literally. Doing so would confuse the hell out of anyone. I love that quote because of the picture it paints in one’s mind. Oh yeah, the quote is from the Messenger, by the way.  And this little rave/rant/doobly-doo is too.

Ed Kennedy.

He is such a waste of space. Good for nothing, too much like his drunk of a father, going no-where, unlike his babe of a younger brother, who is smart, rich and not in that backwash of a town that Ed hasn’t yet escaped. All he does is play cards with his equally lame friends (and Audrey, the hot girl who can’t love a thing) and drive people around in a Taxi.
Then the Ace of Diamonds rocks up in his mailbox, with directions too some supposedly random houses. The plot thickens, Ed gets a few more dimensions, and this seemingly flat-panel world becomes extended and complex.

(This is where I may start to not make any sense what so ever. Just a heads up.)

Instead of simply stating that these people that Ed has to deliver messages have complicated backgrounds that make them rapists/evil/catholic/violent/smelly, Markus actually lets the reader feel these traits. He joins words that normally wouldn’t be compared, uses phrases that normally wouldn’t comprehend and all the while sticks to the common theme: the cards.

Not understandin’? Well, maybe this odd comparison will help me make my point.

Think of a painting. The most wonderful, realistic canvas that you have ever seen. It’s all right there, plain and simple, yet so confusing and magnificent. (Well, at least I HOPE it is...). This book, and others by Markus, are like that painting. You can smell the grass, taste the orange and breathe in that endless blue sky. (Just presuming that your imaginary paints only depict an orange, some grass and a bluest blue sky.)
It might my babbling easier to understand if you read the book. Then again, it is 12.37 in the freaking morning, and my brain isn’t working properly. So I think I shall leave this lovely little post here.
Thank you for reading :) I think the next post will be about The King’s Speech and how that made me want to travel. Yeah, I don’t get how it made me want to either.

Love Ell x

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

CONTINUED!!

Chapter Five – A Long Story Short

‘Oh Harry, so nice of you to join us.’  Said Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster for Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, a tall man with a silver beard that disappeared beneath the desktop. He peered at Harry and the Doctor over long, spindly fingers, and Harry got the distinct impression that the man could see right through him.
On either side of Dumbledore’s desk was a circle of large, squashy, purple armchairs. In these sat a number of people, among them Harry’s best friends Ron Wesley, a gangly boy with a shock of red hair, and Hermione Granger,  the smartest girl in the year and lots of bushy brown hair. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her hand was in Ron’s.   Harry was surprised to see Professor McGonigal, the transfiguration teacher and head of Gryffindor house. She was a very stern lady, with a tight bun and permanent frown to match. 
The Doctor slipped from Harry’s left shoulder to stand protectively over one of the chairs. It belonged to the pretty, blonde stranger known as Rose, and she was as mysterious as the Doctor himself.
As Harry sat himself in an armchair that had appeared between Ron and Hermione, he found himself staring straight into the transparent eyes of Neville.  The shock that this gave the raven haired boy nearly caused him to fall out of his chair.
Ron quickly looked at Harry, hearing his gasp of horror, and smiled meekly.
‘It’s alright Harry. Neville is a ghost now. It’s just like having him around has a human, expect he is.... a ghost.’ He finished stupidly. Neville laughed, and the laugh sounded exactly the same, expect it lacked something. Harry was sure that someone died when Neville had.
Floating next to Neville was a chubby little ghost, wearing a plain robe and calming smile and a taller and much prouder ghost wearing elegant clothes and a neck ruffle. These were the ghost of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, known as the Fat Friar and Nearly Headless Nick, or as he was preferred to be called, Sir Nicholas Demimse Porpinton. They hovered close by Neville, and it was clear to see that they were some sort of mentors, helping Neville through this strange new world of his.
Dumbledore coughed polity, and all eyes shifted to him. He rose from his chair, and said in a calm voice, ‘Last night a tragic event took place. We all know what happened, but what I want to know is why. I have asked you to gather with me in this early hour to answer this question. Breakfast will be delayed and today’s lessons will be postponed until for Neville’s friend’s sake.’
He sat back down, staring straight at Harry, waiting expectantly. So Harry told them the events of that night, although he left out the scene in the morning, because he still wasn’t sure if it was a dream or if it had actually happened. The room gasped when Harry described the Darlek’s, and Neville whimpered slightly.
When Harry finished with him leaving the hospital wing, Dumbledore turned his now ferocious glare on the Doctor and Rose, silently demanding that they explain how those things had gotten into his castle. The Doctor stood a little straighter, and stepped into the middle of the circle of armchairs.
He coughed, clearing his throat and mentally preparing the speech he was to give. He glanced at Rose who nodded as if to say, ‘it’s okay, I’ll help where I can’. With that, the Doctor launched into the story of his life.
‘I think it’s best if I start from the beginning. Well, not the very beginning, we would be here all year!’ He began, grinning broadly.
‘Doctor...’ Growled Rose, warning him not to get side track.
‘Right, right. Okay, so I am not a human. That’s a good starting point! So I am a Time Lord. The very last in fact.... Anyways, I, sorry Rose, we are here on a sort of mission really. Those things that killed you Neville are indeed called Darlek’s, and you haven’t been their first victim. They destroyed my home planet and all who lived on it.’ His eyes stared straight ahead, not seeing the wall. They were remembering seeing the Great Time War, were he had fought bravely on the front line.
Rose sighed and got up from her chair.
‘I travel with him through time and space. We stole something from the Darlek’s, their main source of power. It was called....’ She looked up at the Doctor, silently asking him to supply the name.
‘It was the Archangel Crystal. Actually the Darlek’s stole it from the Time Lords about a thousand years ago, just before I was born. It helped them reform and become an organised killing machine. So Rose and I infiltrated their ranks when we came across them in when was it? Oh yeah, the year 9800. They were planning an attack on the Swampies, weren’t they funny things? Them and their Kroll.’ A look from Rose here stopped the Doctor from going into too much detail about the Swampies, ‘so we stopped them, and scored this! Oh, and it appears that they followed us through time and space to this place. We are trying to destroy it.’ He added as an afterthought.
The Doctor brightly took out a large, brilliant white crystal the size of a pomegranate. It was beautiful, the light in the room danced around it, as if playing a game. The core of the crystal was liquid gold, and the surrounding crystal was a white so bright, that it nearly blinded Harry. The white mixed with the gold, making wonderful tones of white gold and a soft yellow.
The room seemed fixated on the Archangel Crystal, and Ron’s hand had actually left Hermione’s to stretch towards it. The Doctor had become aware of this fact, and hastily stuffed it back into his pocket.
Hermione stood up. ‘This is impossible. I mean, time travel is possible, but only small leaps in time. And you’ She pointed at the Doctor, who lifted his hands in defence, ‘ You can’t possibly be an alien! The Muggles, the non magical population, have already proved that there is no life outside of Earth.’
She sat back down, looking pleased with herself for having disproved the couple’s story.
‘Muggles? Is that make me a Muggle?’ Asked Rose, looking at Hermione.
‘Yes it does. If magic is present, you would have been sent a letter.’ Stated the girl simply. ‘Look, I think I know a bit about time travel. I’ve read all about it. You can’t go back more than a year, because you could potentially rip the space-time continuum. It’s very fragile.’
Harry looked at Ron, who looked back as Harry, looking as confused as Harry felt.
‘That’s all very well, but there are other galaxy’s out there. My people, the Time Lords, have developed this sort of ability to be able to make all sorts of time-travel equipment-‘  
‘But,’ interrupted Hermione, ‘How do you survive? It sounds as if you two do lots of time travel. How do you not run into your past selves?’
The Doctor crouched in front of the girl, who glared at him. His grin broadened. ‘Wibbly Wobbly Timey Whimey. My machine, the TARDIS, has a programme in it that stops me from entering my own timeline. Well, mostly.’
‘So now we know the story. Now we need to decide what to do about you two.’ Mused Dumbledore, studying the Doctor and Rose, who glanced at each other, wearing matching expressions of worry.
‘It sounds to me as if you too are the only ones who know how to deal with these Darleks. I also think that if your story is true, which I believe it is, you will be of great help. Some of our students are confused about the logic of magic.’
‘Well so am I!’ Interrupted the Doctor, straightening up.
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows before continuing, ‘ I thought as much. You and Rose will be temporary teachers here at my school. I believe you have something you could teach us all.’ He concluded, looking at the unusually silent McGonigal.  She glared up at him, still thinking about the information she had been presented with.
‘Are you sure this is wise, Albus? We don’t even know if their story is true.’ She finally said.
Neville floated high, struggling to make himself stay at eye level. ‘I believe him. That thing that shot me wasn’t like anything I had ever even heard about before. And that laser, when it hit my body, it didn’t have that thing that you feel when a spell gets you. It was far to foreign.’
The room was deathly quiet. They obviously still hadn’t gotten used to the idea of Neville being a ghost yet. Hermione burst into tears again, and Ron slide over to her, holding her gently.