Jiber jab and moosh koosh.

So I'm writing a really long story. It may even get to the point where it becomes a novel. Why would I take the time to do such a thing? For both practice and fun. When I practice writing I usually just write short story's or other dialog's of the sort. As you can imagine, this gets boring. I wanted something grander in scale to work on, something that could not be wrapped up in three pages. Looking back on the stuff thats already been written Ive already noticed a lot of problems with both my story telling and writing abilities. Which is good, because now I can work towards destroying them. My problems that is. Right.

Here's a short fragment. In this sect the two main characters travel through some form of chaotic void so they might reach the plane where all wasted time goes. Yes, I'm pretty sure it makes sense. Also, I haven't edited anything yet. I'm writing like 6-10 pages a day and I am not up for the equivalent in grammar analyzing.

The room turned into a blurry mess. Parts of the couch were scattered in all direction but not in the conventional sense, it seemed they were still connected. But that only lasted for a few seconds, soon all remnants of Williams living room had gone to some other far away place. Now the two were flying. They were being pulled by something that was not easy to understand or see. They were being pulled by an hour that had gone to waste. Well, Matthew was being pulled by an hour, William Stouting was bring pulled by Matthew. As they flew they flew past many things. They saw words that meant twenty things at once, a large group of strange animals that were keenly spitting vomit onto each other, they saw a rabbit whom had thought himself clever for he had fashioned a tortoise shell onto his back, a minstrel that was singing songs backwards, a poet who was erasing and burning all of his works so he might test his memory,a god that was no longer a god for he feared the consequences, a pen that was filled with melted pencils for ink, fire made of water, two horses having a man race, the insides of an intelligent mans head, a goose making love to a walrus, two severed hands interrogating a severed foot, a circle fighting a square well a triangle tried to prevent further blood shed for the symmetry war had already gone on to long, a ball that was rolling but wanted to bounce, a car with humans for wheels, and then they saw an open door. And then they went through the open door. And then the open door was a closed door. And then Matthew let go of the hour for they had arrived in The Waiting.