How To Write Like A Goblin on Happiness

How a Goblin paints emotions with his words


somehow the goblin had changed, saying “…before I started this muse’s pact, I might have been someone who had wanted happiness, but now, I know that if I had been content, I wouldn’t have even seen, nor felt, nor understood half of what goes on around me…”, outside, in that hum of this late city’s night that contrasted, or complimented, the methodical ticking clock on those white walls around him, and with that countless majority beyond that, who still wanted “to be happy” here, and yet, the goblin’s feeling at this point was one of awareness and depth, “…happiness is just one color on the palate of life, I need all the colors to create, I want to mix those colors together, the sadness and the tears on the one hand, with the joy and laughter on the other to create something beautiful, but above all, I don’t want know the outcome, oh no, this author mustn’t know how life’s story ends, even if that ending is the same for us all isn’t it…” said the goblin feeling the need of this “last post” thread once more, the clock ticked away his moments but every moment here was worth it to him he felt now

Which colour of life’s palate is yours?

14 thoughts on “How To Write Like A Goblin on Happiness

  1. (“…it surprises me which ones you choose, even if I like your choice each time…” went the goblin indebted to the mouse once more, while outside the winter’s day just passed overhead in some cold constant grayness, not that the goblin’s mind was upon it though, just that each time someone opened the door it made him appreciate all the more the warmth of his bistro, adding “…why do I write humans, well I write to escape my reality really, ah but don’t feel too sorry for me now, for I guess you’re reading this to escape your reality too, so why not keep me company then with your thoughts awhile, for I’m not a book, nor some blog neither, naah, I’m a goblin like any other I suppose, that’s me here…”)

    • “It just goes to show how our expectations, brought upon us by how we perceiver others, can differ from the reality of the person behind the persona,” says Lucy after reading the Goblin’s response. “To me it’s no surprise but a very logical choice. And do we not all read, or write, to escape our realities? And no, I do not feel sorry for you at all, I’m sorry to have to say. But I do know you are not a book, but a Goblin with a real life who I’m happy to have found and snagged to be on my blog.”

    • (“…I see, but then how does one know if one has all those colors before one gets to one’s end…” inquired the goblin cordially, adding “…moreover, what then can one paint if there’s no time left to paint in…”, yet with that the goblin, curious as ever, wondered if he shouldn’t pay a visit to Mari Collier’s blog seeing how she had replied, whereupon he smiled to the words “…this blog world here is not my neck of the woods but the hospitality been great so far so here I am then…”)

      • Gee, I didn’t mean to scare off the goblin. If you must know about colors, there are all variations of colors. Blue is one that has many shades for me. One that isn’t there is black. That can happen also. I didn’t see the angry red that occurs in mortals.

      • (“…ah now, without the color black the rest seem lifeless, for black does seem to be the color of death, where death, some would have it, is a backdrop to life much like darkness would be the backdrop to a candle I suppose…” smiled the goblin wondering a bit upon seeing Mari Collier’s blog whether she was on any forums now, explaining “…alas I have no blog to speak of, I mean I could never stand waiting for my readers, so instead each text I do acts as my ambassador, where this blogworld seems a funny place indeed, one so very different from the forumland where I originate from, but perhaps you can show me how to adjust to here…”)

      • Since I’ve always lived in this world, I can only illustrate mine and how I have survived growing up without electricity and inside bath facilities. Perhaps my alien character, MacDonald, could teach you how to survive in this world. You see I have lived long enough to see black arise over and over again. It’s nothing we Earth beings can avoid.

      • (“…quite right, so life is just winning the unwinable while one can I suppose, where to write is much the same type thing in the end, just two ways to win awhile, where one writes till one falls silent and where lives till one does not…” mused the goblin thanking Mari Collier for her company still, then asking “…so tell me why you write, for I gladly listen to your reply though I confess to being somewhat unable to read those books these days, ah no, not enough of me to go round it seems, but posts, well they’re different, they’re short and interactive too, so isn’t this the real readership we should be aiming at…”, ah, but didn’t everybody know that goblins were not to be trusted)

      • I was not ignoring you, nor was I contemplating. I was ill and when that occurs, I withdraw for awhile. You asked why do I write? it is simple. The story is there, the characters are there. If their story stays in my head, it will run over and over like a video. The characters keep saying their words in my head. Once it is down on paper or an electronic screen, the characters go silent or let me know they are satisfied that their story can now be seen. My posts are more like ramblings, but the stories are a different reality. Anna was the most persistent about her story. Lorenz was equally bad, but then he is Anna’s son. As for trusting or not trusting goblins, it’s rare that I truly trust people that I have not met, nor known for a long while. People are people and their own interests come first.

      • (“…in short, as a writer you write for your ghosts then, where they’re far more real than any of those readers might be…” surmised the goblin who, like everyone else here he imagined, was a persona reflecting an alter ego behind it now, and as such, was mere words upon a screen each time, he just smiled at himself concluding “…so a shared life it becomes by the practice of it, one where [i]what one writes writes one back[/i], becoming a feedback loop in other words, oh yes it’s odd that anyone would ever wish to become a writer here, for [i]fame and fortune[/i] seem hardly a worthy recompense for being stuck with a muse in one’s head 24/7…”)

    • (“…well yes, the mouse is showing the ropes of this blogworld here…” mentioned the goblin who tended to write a reply only to rewrite what he had written as a reply across forumland later, adding “…just these replies are raw then, where a livewriter tends to polish the post into something more then all this ad hoc [i]post and discard[/i] that one sees around you now…”, “…no, don’t trust him…” went those voices in the background now, yet somehow the goblin had been here before)

  2. [quote=Mari Collier]I write for my sanity. Those I write about cannot be ghosts as they never existed, and you my friend have not walked there.[/quote]

    (“…ah no, whether ghosts exist is up to the individual here, where those that note associations with objects/places/people don’t need to question their existence now, nor their origin neither, just they unquestionably are to them anyway, like those things that you say nag you to write them are to you then…” mentioned the goblin who could have just as easily called them “one’s visitors” or “one’s company” even, but resulting in a shared life all the same, one that normal people, for want of a better word here, do not experience so much if at all as writers do, smiling “…tell me more if you like, I’m good at listening now, how do you see your online presence towards your written works today…”)

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