Sam O. Bscure




Okay, But Seriously This Time. I Mean It.

Hey, guess what time it is?
 That’s right! Time for Sam to reappear from the void and act like nothing ever happened.  Yeah, I’m a real blogger. I’m all about discipline and consistency. This blog is my pride and joy, I would never neglect it. 

Okay, fine. So I haven’t posted in five months, get off my case! I’ve been busy! I have school, and work, and dogs to pet, and food to eat, and people to stalk on Instagram, and a false persona to uphold on social media so people I don’t really even like will think I’m cool. Come on, you just don’t understand! It’s not like you have any personal experience with any of those things. 

Besides, everyone knows it’s not your past that defines you. It’s all about good intentions, right? Nothing else matters if you MEAN well. 

And, believe me, I mean so well. My intentions are so good. I’m like the Mother Teresa of good intentions. 

I’m totally not here just to quantify my worth with detailed WordPress statistics. They mean nothing to me, like I don’t even care if…..Wait, 3,488 views? Did someone actually just like my post? Thank God, I was worried I would have to delete it in fifteen minutes like that failed selfie on Facebook that nobody liked.

The Greatest of Tragedies

The day was Wednesday, October 26. It was brisk, probably 39.987 degrees Fahrenheit if I had to take a guess, and the sky was grey. On this day, a super cool and smart and funny and just generally amazing girl -let’s call her, oh, I don’t know, Sam. Just for the sake of easy reading, of course- had finished her classes for the day.

With a skip in her step, Sam joyously made her way through the halls. You see, Sam was especially happy today because she knew that waiting for her at home, in a safe and secure Styrofoam container, was a slice of spinach-chicken-mushroom-artichoke pizza with alfredo sauce. Indeed, she was quite the pizza connoisseur.

She stopped by her locker to grab her math book, because of course she was very studious, and then she continued to the doors. As she neared the exit, another student saw her approaching and quickly rushed to open the doors for her, bowing slightly as she passed.

“Thank you, kind sir.” Sam said graciously as she passed because she was no savage and she prided herself on her manners. Continue reading “The Greatest of Tragedies”

This Stupid Little Blog

It’s been five months since I’ve posted on this blog.

Now, that’s not to say it’s been five months since I’ve been on WordPress. In fact, it would be a stretch to say that there’s been even a month-long stretch of time between my visits to the platform itself.

You see, every month or so, I would come across some inspiring quote on Pinterest or Facebook or even in a good old-fashioned book. And, fueled by whatever wisdom I happened to stumble upon, I would find myself eagerly logging in and watching that ever changing Reader load on the screen before me.

I would browse through a few posts, looking to see who had held out and continued to blog after I’d quit.  I would like a few things, maybe comment on the blog of someone I was particularly fond of. Then, I’d click over to the stats page.

Of course, my stats were always bottomed out. Even during the period of time where I was consistently posting, my stats were far from noteworthy.

I was okay with that. I’ve never been a big fan of numbers anyway. If I was, perhaps I would have a promising career in the STEM field instead of planning on how to get by as an English major.

Regardless, at that point in the process, I would click to view my site itself in browser format. I would scroll through my own posts. Continue reading “This Stupid Little Blog”


It sat upon my shoulders, with beady eyes and gleaming teeth.

Sometimes It was light, a presence lurking still, but I was able to keep my shoulders square. I was able to keep my head up and a smile on my face, eyes bright. I was fine then.

But other times, It was the weight of the world. That was when it became impossible to stand tall, to look people in the eye, to function. I was not fine then. Continue reading “It”

A Post to Avoid My Feelings of Guilt For Skipping a Day of Posting (sorry)

I am running late today, my children. And, unfortunately (for you), this means that I do not have the time to write the sort of delightfully witty and just all around mind blowing sort of content you all look forward to each and every day.

I know, your day is likely ruined. And I apologize for this.

Do not weep for me, dear souls, for I shall soon return.

Do not forget me, for I am still here.

We shall conquer this Monday all together, as we have all those that have come before it. And on the other side of this uphill battle, we shall be reunited.

Be strong.

I believe in you, and that is a great honor.

Make me proud.


It wasn’t dark, it wasn’t stormy. It wasn’t even night. The sun was bright, perhaps even more so than usual, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The leaves were still green, comfortably dangling from tree branches. The flowers were still in full bloom, their beautiful petals adding color to the front of every house on the street. It didn’t feel like Halloween, it didn’t even feel like fall. One could easily come across this scene and assume they had stepped into summer.

She didn’t feel displeased by this, though. In fact, it was quite the opposite. It was these Halloweens that brought her the most joy. The most pleasure. People became comfortable this way, they forgot about the idea of ghouls and monsters and blood and fear. Instead, they simply put on their costumes and paraded around the neighborhood. They went to parties, they watched horror films, they carved pumpkins and decorated their lawns. But, on years like this, it was never quite the same. They did these things with less zeal, it was a casual affair, because in their minds it wasn’t truly Halloween.

And that was a dangerous mistake.

That was why she loved it, they had their guard down. It simply made it that much more thrilling when she slashed her knife across their throats. They didn’t expect it, and she had found that created the greatest of reactions.

As their blood poured from their body, she could watch as each and every essence of fear passed across their face. Of course, this sort of response is only natural when facing such a death.
But, she found a pleasure like no other this way.

The pleasure of reminding them of the fear they should be feeling.
The fear of Halloween.

November is Coming

It is nearly November, dear children. And, in the world of writing, November is an important month.

Yes. National Novel Writing Month. Because, as writers, we often lack motivation and inspiration and are generally the masters of procrastination (y’all can step right up and challenge me for the throne, as I have become the supreme ruler of all masters of procrastination, I’m quite proud). So, to counteract this Black Plague of writers which steadily kills off our kind, this glorious event was created.

You can find the entire history here, in great detail. I made it to year three. Of fifteen.

Personally, I find the idea to be rather ingenious. The structure is pretty helpful, 30 days to write 50,000 words. Although, I don’t entirely understand how something depending on a sense of community from a group of largely antisocial writers found success. Yay for them, way to beat the odds.

(Disclaimer: that is quite the generalization. Many of you are absolute social butterflies, and that is quite wonderful. Do not be offended by my stereotyping)

Of course, my opinion on this matter is not entirely valid as I’ve never actually participated. I always seem to rediscover the existence of NaNoWriMo approximately two days before it begins. And, at that point, I tell myself it is much too short of notice and I commit to being involved next year. And repeat.

Now, as I am writing this post for my blog, I feel a sense of obligation to mention that November is also the month for National Blog Posting Month, also known as NaBloPoMo, which I think we can all agree doesn’t flow as well. There’s just something about NaNoWriMo, it rolls off of the tongue real nice.

And with that being said, I shall conclude yet another post that I failed to create a solid purpose for, yet still manage to force you to read.
Ha tricked you.

The Metaphorical Rock Climbing of a Writer

Have you ever forgotten how to do something that is so engrained in you it’s more second nature than anything? Something you’ve done countless times, for countless years. Something you never thought it was possible to forget.
I’m afraid I have. And what I have forgotten is how to write.
It’s something that has always come easily to me. Whether or not what I wrote was good didn’t especially matter, the important fact was that I could.
When I was little, I would write ridiculous stories that were more my own retelling of whatever book I had read recently than they were original ideas, and of course that was okay. Then, I began to branch off, writing my own stories. For a time, I also had a group of friends who were interested in writing and we would work together on one shared inspiration. I thought writing was fun, a casual hobby I suppose, and that was all.
But, then things changed again. I developed passion. I realized that, upon occasion, I really could write something worth reading. And more than that, I realized that doing so provided a release for me. It was a newfound power, and I embraced it. I wrote every day, and even when the words in no way reflected whatever inner turmoil I faced, I still found what I needed.
It was easy for a time, and I think I let myself get a little too accustomed to that. But, then school was starting and suddenly I had essays to write and assignments in a creative writing class. I had never expected that creative writing would be more of a struggle than math, but it has become just that. I couldn’t will myself to write under the pressure. This wasn’t me writing for my own sake, it was writing for the sake of a good grade.
And I believe that is what has destroyed me.
Of course, even this is an excuse. There are so many who continue to write through situations that I never could, and for that I am truly envious. They have found dedication. I thought I had as well, but the reality is I have not yet found the drive that is needed to truly be a writer. It is work, no matter how good you are, as is true with anything.
But, after years of easy movement forward, I have reached the part of a writer’s path where we are forced to climb. And I am simply not strong enough to continue on.
With that being said, I would like to make it clear that this is not a resignation or an acceptance of defeat. No, this is a reality check.
This is the moment when I acknowledge how blindingly over confident I have been in writing, and accept the fact that I am indeed quite average.
And it is now my choice to do what it takes to find the confidence I deserve, not the one I have been blinded by.

Fantastic and Funky Friday Nights

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Sometimes, I forget how strange people can be.
But, fear not, a situation always comes along to remind me.

Such an occurrence came to pass last night, as I was living it up on a Friday night.
You see, I am but a teenager. A youth still free to make questionable choices under the guise of angsty, rebellious, immaturity. And, without a doubt, I do just that. Some might even say I’m out of control. In the case of last night, things became so intense and out of control that even I had to admit it.

You see, where I live, there are two high schools with a rather fierce rivalry between them. And, last night, there was a showdown between the two via a football game (which we cleverly call ‘crosstown’ as the two schools are across town from one another, we are true geniuses among the average). As you can imagine, an event such as this results in large quantities of alcohol and other such substances that we are not allowed legally to consume being easily accessible. What young and rebellious teen can refuse such an alluring prospect.

Well, I mean, I didn’t go. But, I’m sure it was definitely as great as they all hoped and not at all a rather unpleasant mistake.

Now, I’m not a hater. If that’s what you’re into, do your thing.
But, I was simply far too busy, and I’d already made plans for my Friday night.
So, tune in kids. I’m about to tell you what a real Friday night is like.

In this particular case, I returned home to make the discovery that my parents would be leaving the house for the night and I would be on my own. Ah, yes. Everyone’s dream.
Shortly thereafter, they left to whatever weird adult event they had chosen to attend and thus my night began.

To start, I prepared a box of macaroni and cheese, and I ate it. Straight out of the container (mostly because I had to do dishes later, and I really didn’t want any more than I already had, but whatever). Then, I remembered that I had to feed Jarvis. It’s upsetting how often I have to be reminded of that, poor little critter. And so, went out to retrieve his food dish. When I returned, he was patiently waiting by the door like the absolute angel he pretends to be. I tossed him a single piece of dog food and found myself greatly amused when he managed to catch it in his mouth.

Then, next thing you know, I’ve spent nearly two hours tossing Jarvis his dinner one piece at a time and trying to beat our own record for most pieces caught in a row (40, in case you were curious, we’re looking into pursuing this as a career opportunity, he has real talent).

When, at last, I have tossed him every piece of food, I decided to move on to the next phase of my night. Although, this one is not nearly as exciting as it was simply binge watching various shows on Netflix. I believe that’s all that needs to be said about that one.

By this time, it was well after midnight, and my parents had returned home. They told me to go to bed, as this morning I had to get up quite early, but what they were not aware of was the fact that I had already consumed approximately ten cans of caffeine in the form of Mountain Dew.

So, while I attempted to stop my heart from exploding, they went to bed.
It was at this point of the night, nearly two in the morning, that I decided it was time to make some cookies. This is actually a rather common occurrence for me, to spontaneously decide to make as many different baked omnoms as I possibly can, often at rather unnatural times.

After this, it becomes a little unclear and I’m not entirely sure that I was completely awake.

However, something must have gone quite wrong because this morning, when I once again returned to the world of the living, I saw two pans of cookies on the table. But, instead of individual cookies, they were all run together forming two monster cookies. It was both beautiful and confusing.
And thus, the conclusion of the average Friday night with Sam.
It’s okay to be envious. I would be too, if I were you.

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