#213 - Sorrow - (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
theatrical_muse)
Jan. 21st, 2008 11:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
head_psychic"There's enough sorrow in the world, isn't there, without trying to invent it."
E.M.Forster, A Room With A View.
1986
I am Shawn Spencer and this is my essay about a quote I don't get. That sounds like something my grandpa would say, though. In his old, raspy voice. It might scare you if he was a mean man but he isn't so his voice is more like that old toy you don't wanna throw away like ever because it's just so awesome.
He always said "Think of the nice things, Shawn. You will see enough sad things in your life. Don't encourage whoever brings it upon you by adding your share."
What means adding your share, grandpa? Giving in.
You mean give up? No, that's two completely different things.
So what's the difference? If you give up you feel bad about something. If you're giving in you make yourself feel bad about something.
But why would I do that?
---
"But it's not correct, Shawn, it's neither well structured nor did you stick to one tense. And what's flumpsy, that's not even a word, Shawn!"
"It is! It means totally made up. So I guessed it was only fair that I could totally make it up."
Henry breathed in and out, heavily, his nostrils trembling with suppressed frustration. "You're gonna do it again. And this time you're gonna do it right. I don't want your teacher complaining about your style again. I mean, how will you ever write a good police report if your reader can't even follow your-"
"It's not a police report, dad! It's an essay about grandpa, grandpa's not a report! Why can't you be more like him!"
"You wouldn't want me to be more like him," Henry growled.
"How would you know!"
"Because I know what it's like. Now you write that thing again and this time you do it right. We understand each other?"
"... yes, sir."
---
"Henry, don't be so hard on the boy. Why don't you loosen up a little?"
"No, dad, not this again, we had it and we're done with it!"
"There's really no need to yell, son. All I'm saying is that the boy needs a little more-"
"No, you gonna stop right there, dad, don't you tell me I'm a bad father, don't you dare! Because unlike you, dad, I am preparing him!"
"Preparing him for what exactly, Henry?"
"Preparing him for life! Because whenever I needed you, whenever I tried to talk to you like an adult because I needed it? You weren't there, you were too busy cracking your jokes whenever I seriously needed your advice!"
His grandpa heaved a long sigh. "Shawn's not like you, Henry."
"And you're not his father," Henry snarled angrily. "So don't you tell me what my boy needs."
---
"What was all that about, Shawn!" Gus complained, crossing his arms in front of his body. "You didn't come around to play all day long, 'cause you said your dad said you had to finish that essay!"
"Yeah. I did."
"So why didn't you read it out! Why did you tell Mrs. Fletcher you don't have it! You're gonna be in trouble if you keep doing that, Shawn!"
"I couldn't. It's a bad essay."
Gus frowned. "That never stops you."
"No, you don't understand. It's really bad. It makes people cry."
His friend looked at him, irritated. He shook his head. "Shawn, an essay can't make people cry. Because an essay is something professional. Matter-of-factly."
Shawn scowled and kicked a random stone on the ground, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "Well, guess then I did what Mrs. Fletcher's quote said. I invented sadness."
"It's sorrow, Shawn. And by the way, you can't invent that! That's ridiculous."
---
"I like the old toy reference. Go on. Go on, read it, continue, I'm listening."
He leaned forward. "But grandpa, dad said I had to write it all over again," he whispered in a small voice.
"Oh nonsense! I want to hear the original version, unless you wrote mean things about me?"
"Never," Shawn chuckled. "Alright, alright." He cleared his throat. "Grandpa is really cool. He can think of thousands of stories in a heartbeat. That's like at least a million in a day, I guess. I have to ask Gus, I bet he can figure it out. I think he should write books. My grandpa, not Gus. Maybe he does." Shawn looked up and squinted. "Do you?"
His grandpa laughed his hearty laugh and Shawn grinned. "Go on, go on."
"Yeah, that's, that's actually when dad said I should do it again," Shawn dodged the subject.
"What? But I can see you've written more. Come on, boy, don't make me all curious!"
"The rest isn't exactly..."
"Oh, but you wrote something. I'd like to hear it. Let's see what happens when you write down what you think, not what you're supposed to think." He winked in mischief.
Shawn thought for a moment and then shrugged. "Alright." He cleared his throat again, because that's what people on TV did when they had to read something out and pushed back a strand of brown hair. "My dad is very different from my grandpa. And lately grandpa and dad have been fighting a lot. I think..." Shawn frowned, flattening the crumpled paper, chewing his lower lip. "I think dad misses grandma a lot. That is why he is so mean to my grandpa. He thinks grandpa isn't sad enough about her death. But I think that's because he's too sad to see that grandpa really is. Also, I think he's scared that grandpa could go away next. But they shouldn't fight because it sucks and... grandpa?"
Muse: Shawn Spencer
Fandom: Psych
Words: 933
E.M.Forster, A Room With A View.
1986
I am Shawn Spencer and this is my essay about a quote I don't get. That sounds like something my grandpa would say, though. In his old, raspy voice. It might scare you if he was a mean man but he isn't so his voice is more like that old toy you don't wanna throw away like ever because it's just so awesome.
He always said "Think of the nice things, Shawn. You will see enough sad things in your life. Don't encourage whoever brings it upon you by adding your share."
What means adding your share, grandpa? Giving in.
You mean give up? No, that's two completely different things.
So what's the difference? If you give up you feel bad about something. If you're giving in you make yourself feel bad about something.
But why would I do that?
---
"But it's not correct, Shawn, it's neither well structured nor did you stick to one tense. And what's flumpsy, that's not even a word, Shawn!"
"It is! It means totally made up. So I guessed it was only fair that I could totally make it up."
Henry breathed in and out, heavily, his nostrils trembling with suppressed frustration. "You're gonna do it again. And this time you're gonna do it right. I don't want your teacher complaining about your style again. I mean, how will you ever write a good police report if your reader can't even follow your-"
"It's not a police report, dad! It's an essay about grandpa, grandpa's not a report! Why can't you be more like him!"
"You wouldn't want me to be more like him," Henry growled.
"How would you know!"
"Because I know what it's like. Now you write that thing again and this time you do it right. We understand each other?"
"... yes, sir."
---
"Henry, don't be so hard on the boy. Why don't you loosen up a little?"
"No, dad, not this again, we had it and we're done with it!"
"There's really no need to yell, son. All I'm saying is that the boy needs a little more-"
"No, you gonna stop right there, dad, don't you tell me I'm a bad father, don't you dare! Because unlike you, dad, I am preparing him!"
"Preparing him for what exactly, Henry?"
"Preparing him for life! Because whenever I needed you, whenever I tried to talk to you like an adult because I needed it? You weren't there, you were too busy cracking your jokes whenever I seriously needed your advice!"
His grandpa heaved a long sigh. "Shawn's not like you, Henry."
"And you're not his father," Henry snarled angrily. "So don't you tell me what my boy needs."
---
"What was all that about, Shawn!" Gus complained, crossing his arms in front of his body. "You didn't come around to play all day long, 'cause you said your dad said you had to finish that essay!"
"Yeah. I did."
"So why didn't you read it out! Why did you tell Mrs. Fletcher you don't have it! You're gonna be in trouble if you keep doing that, Shawn!"
"I couldn't. It's a bad essay."
Gus frowned. "That never stops you."
"No, you don't understand. It's really bad. It makes people cry."
His friend looked at him, irritated. He shook his head. "Shawn, an essay can't make people cry. Because an essay is something professional. Matter-of-factly."
Shawn scowled and kicked a random stone on the ground, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "Well, guess then I did what Mrs. Fletcher's quote said. I invented sadness."
"It's sorrow, Shawn. And by the way, you can't invent that! That's ridiculous."
---
"I like the old toy reference. Go on. Go on, read it, continue, I'm listening."
He leaned forward. "But grandpa, dad said I had to write it all over again," he whispered in a small voice.
"Oh nonsense! I want to hear the original version, unless you wrote mean things about me?"
"Never," Shawn chuckled. "Alright, alright." He cleared his throat. "Grandpa is really cool. He can think of thousands of stories in a heartbeat. That's like at least a million in a day, I guess. I have to ask Gus, I bet he can figure it out. I think he should write books. My grandpa, not Gus. Maybe he does." Shawn looked up and squinted. "Do you?"
His grandpa laughed his hearty laugh and Shawn grinned. "Go on, go on."
"Yeah, that's, that's actually when dad said I should do it again," Shawn dodged the subject.
"What? But I can see you've written more. Come on, boy, don't make me all curious!"
"The rest isn't exactly..."
"Oh, but you wrote something. I'd like to hear it. Let's see what happens when you write down what you think, not what you're supposed to think." He winked in mischief.
Shawn thought for a moment and then shrugged. "Alright." He cleared his throat again, because that's what people on TV did when they had to read something out and pushed back a strand of brown hair. "My dad is very different from my grandpa. And lately grandpa and dad have been fighting a lot. I think..." Shawn frowned, flattening the crumpled paper, chewing his lower lip. "I think dad misses grandma a lot. That is why he is so mean to my grandpa. He thinks grandpa isn't sad enough about her death. But I think that's because he's too sad to see that grandpa really is. Also, I think he's scared that grandpa could go away next. But they shouldn't fight because it sucks and... grandpa?"
Muse: Shawn Spencer
Fandom: Psych
Words: 933
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
OOC
Date: 2008-01-21 10:26 pm (UTC)Just had to say "JOO RULE!", because ya do...and many thanks for massively awesome RP. If Shawn ever wants to play, Rian will always welcome him. :P
Re: OOC
Date: 2008-01-21 10:59 pm (UTC)Re: OOC
Date: 2008-01-21 11:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-22 01:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-22 09:59 am (UTC)