Sample Entry:Have a dear_mun post! Sample Entry Two: Oh, now, this was ridiculous.
Keats' eyebrows knitted together as he stared down at the obviously empty page in front of him. Only an hour or so ago, he had written all his observations down about the place and what he had gathered from its inhabitants, and now...it was all gone. Vanished. As if he had gone and accidentally written in invisible ink when he wasn't looking.
"Come now, you can't be telling me that-?" He couldn't finish the sentence. Of course he could write without things like this happening. This must be a fluke of some sort, perhaps a good prank by one of his roommates, or maybe something in the air had influenced the ink and changed it's composition somewhat, making it fade...Keats' mind pored through every explanation he could think of, and finally, he put the page down on the table, letting out a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. Although none of the explanations he had thought of really seemed to fit, he was satisfied enough with them to completely brush off the idea that this was all due to supernatural causes.
"Right. I'll just rewrite all of it. Even though it took me a while to do that..." Without even a pause, he tore another page from the empty journal he had found, ready to start all over again. Magical reasons or otherwise, nothing was going to keep him from writing the articles he needed to write. The truth about Haven was going to come out one way or another.
A reporter never backs down from any challenge, after all...
Keats | Folklore | Reserved
Sample Entry Two:
Oh, now, this was ridiculous.
Keats' eyebrows knitted together as he stared down at the obviously empty page in front of him. Only an hour or so ago, he had written all his observations down about the place and what he had gathered from its inhabitants, and now...it was all gone. Vanished. As if he had gone and accidentally written in invisible ink when he wasn't looking.
"Come now, you can't be telling me that-?" He couldn't finish the sentence. Of course he could write without things like this happening. This must be a fluke of some sort, perhaps a good prank by one of his roommates, or maybe something in the air had influenced the ink and changed it's composition somewhat, making it fade...Keats' mind pored through every explanation he could think of, and finally, he put the page down on the table, letting out a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. Although none of the explanations he had thought of really seemed to fit, he was satisfied enough with them to completely brush off the idea that this was all due to supernatural causes.
"Right. I'll just rewrite all of it. Even though it took me a while to do that..." Without even a pause, he tore another page from the empty journal he had found, ready to start all over again. Magical reasons or otherwise, nothing was going to keep him from writing the articles he needed to write. The truth about Haven was going to come out one way or another.
A reporter never backs down from any challenge, after all...