van Gogh's ear sorted out.

Hi, hotshots

A recent conversation with a friend went like this:

"Hey, what artists do you like?" (friend)

"Ah... Van Gogh." (me)

"Isn't that the guy who chopped off his own ear?"

"I... Not...why does everyone ask that?"

Look, people. The guy was a great painter. Can we get over his ear? 

Or lack of it?

I thought I may as well impart what really happened so that his art will be remembered more than his body parts. That sounded better in my head.

WHAT REALLY HAPPENED:

(dramatic space)

It wasn't his whole ear, for starters. It was the lobe of his left ear. Not all of it. Okay? Okay. His family had a history of mental illness, and he suffered from acute mania and epilepsy. After an argument with his artist-friend Paul Gauguin, he was in a fit of rage and cute off part of his ear to symbolize the end of their friendship. The reasoning behind that was something like Gauguin being "deaf" to his needs.

Get it? Ear, deaf...

And then just to really make a point, van Gogh put his ear-bit in an envelope and handed it over to some chick called Rachel, a brothel wench.

Okay?

Okay.

Glad we sorted that out.

The whirlpool

Hi, hothots

Don't you just hate when this happens?:

All the images of what the story could be like flash over your head, all the possible characters and scenes, the possibilities, the potentia-
And then you get a pen and paper, and everything comes out in a muddled mess that looks like a dictionary just had a seizure on an A4 notepad.
This is the point when I usually try to discern what on earth I've just written down. Of course it makes sense in separate components, but together? What? Just..no.
It makes no sense, and the whirlpool has left me with a string of mismatched concepts, taking away the thread that held it all together. A load of ink and paper with so many half-ideas and no actual solid material to work with.
I think my muse has diarrhea.

Introduction and Hello

My name is Jeanne, and welcome to this is no doubt someday extraordinary blog!
I'm a student, and I love to write. My first story was a bit of a fail, I'll admit; the world was enveloped in giant bubbles and a fairytale castle called Bubble Castle (imaginatively enough) made me its ruler. But hey, live and age and learn and improve, no?