General Stuff #1
Writers, anyone?
Archive: 10 posts
| I have a hobby (or habit) of writing stories. I do it to please myself, but sometimes enter contests, and hope to one day reach the ultimate goal of publishing. So, if anyone else is the same about writing, we can talk about it. Or, if you are requested to, post some of your writing here. So, writers, anyone? | 2010-11-08 01:13:00 Author: Nana997  Posts: 197 |
| Post some of your please. | 2010-11-08 01:27:00 Author: Unknown User  |
| How much would you like to see? | 2010-11-08 03:39:00 Author: Nana997 Posts: 197 |
| How much would you like to see? As much as you're willing to show.  | 2010-11-08 03:40:00 Author: Outlaw-Jack  Posts: 5757 |
I've written quite a few short stories, most of them are written in roughly an hour and have a ridiculous plot line that ends with a really obvious moral (e.g. fire is hot) I just write them when I'm bored in class, though, I haven't written anything in a long time, I've actually had to do work in school  I have one story posted in creative writing called Skye, I've been meaning to fix it up (it's about a third of the length it should be) ever since I posted it but haven't found the time to. I just write for fun, nothing too serious comes of it. Even if one of my stories seems serious, it's not, they always have something stupid in them, you just may not pick it. | 2010-11-08 06:06:00 Author: SR20DETDOG  Posts: 2431 |
| Well, here's the Prologue (or epilogue) of what I currently working on: Prologue Epilogue I rested my head gently on the glass window in the passenger seat. The rain splattered against the outside of the car, and I just watched it drop from the sky. The window held it out (or me in) and I was grateful-the last thing I needed today was to be wet. In the backseat, Emmy sniffled, and I almost felt her shudder from behind me. Ms. Fesworth, from the driver?s seat, sighed. ?It?ll be alright Esmeralda,? she said, in that annoying cockney accent. ?We?ll? we?ll recover.? Emmy sniffed again and nodded solemnly. I didn?t though. I didn?t even move. He had been my friend, my mentor, the closest thing I had to a parent. The road, paved with stone, was winding down a narrow road, and we had begun to move slightly upward. Soon the trees became thicker, and it was getting harder to see the sky. Not that I wanted to, it was nothing remarkable, just gray clouds. I then did the only movement I had since we?d gotten in the car. I lifted my head from the window, in an effort to look in the rear-view mirror. I saw the small, jet black car behind us. I felt a pang of loss deep inside me. Black-it had been his favorite color, as well as mine. I had a strange sense of ?backwards d?j?-vu?, as I was reminded of the hearse we had followed to get to the funereal, only now we were the hearse, and the car behind us was, well, us. Ms. Fesworth looked over at me, staring blankly out the window. ?Logan,? she said slowly. ?I know that? It seems?? after a few more failed attempts, she gave up getting my attention. I was glad too, as she would have just made the rest of the ride awkward. Emmy tapped me on the shoulder, and after a moment, I decided to turn and face her. When I did, I saw that her eyes were very red from crying, tear stains on her cheeks. I hadn?t cried. He?d once told me crying was for those who had lost something, and that, even in death, no one was lost. I knew his spirit would have been unhappy had I cried. Emmy would be forgiven, she was only ten. But I had held back. Waking up from my thoughts, I went back to Emmy. She didn?t say anything at first or even move. But then, a small but sure smile began to spread across her face. It never grew larger than a grin, but it was there. I guess she?d learned his lessons a little too, and tried to cheer up. I could tell it was hard for her. I just stared for a bit, thinking of what to do. I wanted to cry, but I wouldn?t let myself. The only other thing I was urged to do was scream, but that wasn?t appropriate either. In the end, despite myself, I gave her a tiny smile back. Not even a grin, just a bit of a curl to the right corner of my mouth. I thought of smirking happily, but thought it would make her more upset. He?d pulled that face at her many times, and maybe it wasn?t time. I?d turned back to looking out the window (no words had been exchanged between me and my sister) and realized how far we?d gotten. The trees had begun to clear up some, but they were replaced by a light fog. It seemed right, somehow. Normally, when he had been here, the place was full of sunshine. Emmy and I would play catch outside, or he?d be training me. But now, in his absence, the house, even the world right now, seemed gray and lifeless. We pulled into the extremely long driveway, and went through the open gate. The three gargoyles on the gate (one on the left, one the right, and one smack dab in the middle) seemed to be frowning, where they would normally be growling. We passed trees, bushes, hedges, all manner of shrubbery until we reached the house. The big, purple house had been full of happiness a few short weeks ago, but it was now drab, and cold. The lack of light from the sun made the normally deep, intoxicating purple color of the house seem like a sickly, hazy color. We parked, took of our seatbelts, and got out of the blue Prius. Emmy walked up to me, and I took a firm grip of her hand, like I had the first time we?d come to this house, but now there was nothing new awaiting us. Instead, there was an empty void, and empty future. We had no plans, no idea what would happen next. This had been a huge turning point, a fork in our road. Am I quoting Green Day? Yeah, I am. Anyway, we waited (reluctantly) for the funereal master (I?ll explain later) to show up at the parking area. When he did, Ms. Fesworth pulled out an umbrella to put over his little head. The Master was a short, slightly plump man. He was wearing a black, pinstriped suit, much like mine. He had a bowler hat on, and his nose was round and red. His squinty eyes showed sadness. Ms. Fesworth escorted him inside, and Emmy bid our farewells for us, as I still wasn?t talking. Ms. F and the Master bid us goodnight, and we went off up the stairs, at the top, when we were out of sight of the adults in the foyer, we hugged tightly, and then parted ways to go to our rooms. As I strolled down the halls, I glanced at the paintings on the wall. All the owners of this huge house were on a painting somewhere. Soon we?d get his picture up there, and I?d make sure it was the grandest of them all. And I?d be sure to reserve a place for mine when I passed away, less grand, but right next to his. He?d like that. And, when I died, if there is a heaven, or a hell, or any afterlife at all, we?d meet up, and I know he?d be happy about it. The painting nearest to my room had been the owner of the castle before the one that had just died, and there was an open space right next to that one. It was placed for the next in line, but he deserved a better place. I would find him one. My room was just above the foyer, so I could hear the conversation going on below me. ?It was a lovely service, Master Dunfield,? said Ms. F. ?I know the Estate Master would have loved it.? There was a sound, like a throat clearing. ?Ah, yes,? said the funereal Master. ?The young masters seemed quiet somber. What are their names again? ?The girl is named Esmeralda, but her brother calls her Emmy. And the boy is named Logan. They did greatly? appreciate the Master.? Appreciate? We loved him like a father. I banged my foot against the floor, and then flopped onto my bed. Ms. F. said something else, but I wasn?t paying attention anymore. I unbuttoned my jacket, removed my shirt and pants, so I was just wearing boxers and socks. I took off the socks, and then pulled the sheets of my bed up over my body and head. I tried to drift off to sleep, but couldn?t. I still hadn?t cried, and wouldn?t let myself either. I decided to reflect on all of the events that had let us to here. Anyway, I bet you?re wondering what?s going on, and why I keep saying ?he?. Well, it all started about four months ago? What do you think. It's only the first little chapter. Any comments or questions?  | 2010-11-08 14:40:00 Author: Nana997 Posts: 197 |
| Well, here's the Prologue (or epilogue) of what I currently working on: What do you think. It's only the first little chapter. Any comments or questions? Nice work. The only things that bugged me was the use of brackets, I don't think they're necessary, there are ways of integrating the info into the story without the use of brackets . This relates to my second point, sometimes you broke the flow of the story and it broke the mood with it. There's nothing overly wrong with that, it's just something to consider. I would recommend editing them out and seeing which version you like better. I think it would read nicer that way, instead of having to re-establish the mood again. I rested my head gently on the glass window in the passenger seat. The rain splattered against the outside of the car, and I just watched it drop from the sky. The window held it out (or me in) and I was grateful-the last thing I needed today was to be wet. In the backseat, Emmy sniffled, and I almost felt her shudder from behind me. Ms. Fesworth, from the driver?s seat, sighed. ?It?ll be alright Esmeralda,? she said, in that annoying cockney accent. ?We?ll? we?ll recover.? Emmy sniffed again and nodded solemnly. I didn?t though. I didn?t even move. He had been my friend, my mentor, the closest thing I had to a parent. The road, paved with stone, was winding down a narrow road, and we had begun to move slightly upward. Soon the trees became thicker, and it was getting harder to see the sky. Not that I wanted to, it was nothing remarkable, just gray clouds. I then did the only movement I had since we?d gotten in the car. I lifted my head from the window, in an effort to look in the rear-view mirror. I saw the small, jet black car behind us. I felt a pang of loss deep inside me. Black-it had been his favorite color, as well as mine. I had a strange sense of ?backwards d?j?-vu?, as I was reminded of the hearse we had followed to get to the funereal, only now we were the hearse, and the car behind us was, well, us. Ms. Fesworth looked over at me, staring blankly out the window. ?Logan,? she said slowly. ?I know that? It seems?? after a few more failed attempts, she gave up getting my attention. I was glad too, as she would have just made the rest of the ride awkward. Emmy tapped me on the shoulder, and after a moment, I decided to turn and face her. When I did, I saw that her eyes were very red from crying, tear stains on her cheeks. I hadn?t cried. He?d once told me crying was for those who had lost something, and that, even in death, no one was lost. I knew his spirit would have been unhappy had I cried. Emmy would be forgiven, she was only ten. But I had held back. Waking up from my thoughts, I went back to Emmy. She didn?t say anything at first or even move. But then, a small but sure smile began to spread across her face. It never grew larger than a grin, but it was there. I guess she?d learned his lessons a little too, and tried to cheer up. I could tell it was hard for her. I just stared for a bit, thinking of what to do. I wanted to cry, but I wouldn?t let myself. The only other thing I was urged to do was scream, but that wasn?t appropriate either. In the end, despite myself, I gave her a tiny smile back. Not even a grin, just a bit of a curl to the right corner of my mouth. I thought of smirking happily, but thought it would make her more upset. He?d pulled that face at her many times, and maybe it wasn?t time. I?d turned back to looking out the window (no words had been exchanged between me and my sister) and realized how far we?d gotten. The trees had begun to clear up some, but they were replaced by a light fog. It seemed right, somehow. Normally, when he had been here, the place was full of sunshine. Emmy and I would play catch outside, or he?d be training me. But now, in his absence, the house, even the world right now, seemed gray and lifeless. We pulled into the extremely long driveway, and went through the open gate. The three gargoyles on the gate (one on the left, one the right, and one smack dab in the middle) seemed to be frowning, where they would normally be growling. We passed trees, bushes, hedges, all manner of shrubbery until we reached the house. The big, purple house had been full of happiness a few short weeks ago, but it was now drab, and cold. The lack of light from the sun made the normally deep, intoxicating purple color of the house seem like a sickly, hazy color. We parked, took of our seatbelts, and got out of the blue Prius. Emmy walked up to me, and I took a firm grip of her hand, like I had the first time we?d come to this house, but now there was nothing new awaiting us. Instead, there was an empty void, and empty future. We had no plans, no idea what would happen next. This had been a huge turning point, a fork in our road. Am I quoting Green Day? Yeah, I am. (This seemed really out of place for me) Anyway, we waited (reluctantly) for the funereal master (I?ll explain later) (This seemed very strange to me the reader was benig spoken to) to show up at the parking area. When he did, Ms. Fesworth pulled out an umbrella to put over his little head. The Master was a short, slightly plump man. He was wearing a black, pinstriped suit, much like mine. He had a bowler hat on, and his nose was round and red. His squinty eyes showed sadness. Ms. Fesworth escorted him inside, and Emmy bid our farewells for us, as I still wasn?t talking. Ms. F and the Master bid us goodnight, and we went off up the stairs, at the top, when we were out of sight of the adults in the foyer, we hugged tightly, and then parted ways to go to our rooms. As I strolled down the halls, I glanced at the paintings on the wall. All the owners of this huge house were on a painting somewhere. Soon we?d get his picture up there, and I?d make sure it was the grandest of them all. And I?d be sure to reserve a place for mine when I passed away, less grand, but right next to his. He?d like that. And, when I died, if there is a heaven, or a hell, or any afterlife at all, we?d meet up, and I know he?d be happy about it. The painting nearest to my room had been the owner of the castle before the one that had just died, and there was an open space right next to that one. It was placed for the next in line, but he deserved a better place. I would find him one. My room was just above the foyer, so I could hear the conversation going on below me. ?It was a lovely service, Master Dunfield,? said Ms. F. ?I know the Estate Master would have loved it.? There was a sound, like a throat clearing. ?Ah, yes,? said the funereal Master. ?The young masters seemed quiet somber. What are their names again? ?The girl is named Esmeralda, but her brother calls her Emmy. And the boy is named Logan. They did greatly? appreciate the Master.? Appreciate? We loved him like a father. I banged my foot against the floor, and then flopped onto my bed. Ms. F. said something else, but I wasn?t paying attention anymore. I unbuttoned my jacket, removed my shirt and pants, so I was just wearing boxers and socks. I took off the socks, and then pulled the sheets of my bed up over my body and head. I tried to drift off to sleep, but couldn?t. I still hadn?t cried, and wouldn?t let myself either. I decided to reflect on all of the events that had let us to here. Anyway, I bet you?re wondering what?s going on, and why I keep saying ?he?. Well, it all started about four months ago? (Again it feels odd that the character is addressing me) Overall though I really liked it. I got very clear images in my mind of the scenery and setting while reading it. | 2010-11-10 10:26:00 Author: SR20DETDOG Posts: 2431 |
| Thanks a lot for the advice. About talking to the reader, yeah, i tend to do that. I don't know why, but it's a habit of mine. And the part about Green Day, well, I really want to enforce the fact that this is all taking place in modern times, so I try to throw things in from popular culture. So, does anyone else have some writing to post? | 2010-11-10 21:34:00 Author: Nana997 Posts: 197 |
| I have a previously posted story of mine here (https://lbpcentral.lbp-hub.com/index.php?t=32732-Skye&p=679288#post679288). I'm going to re-write it to what I originally wanted it to be, it was for a school assignment :/, I'll probably start this weekend. | 2010-11-10 22:13:00 Author: SR20DETDOG Posts: 2431 |
| when i was 11 years old, i used to make a colection of comics called "SUPER PEDRO and..." (my name is actually pedro, but most of my friends call me nosemomkey) and, well, i wrote like... 8 books, and 3 of them had 2 or 3 republishments, and i actually sold them (1 euro each), so yeah, im a world famous writer but i wont publish the comics here becouse they're in portuguese, unless you want to visit google translator 70 times per comic  | 2010-11-10 22:46:00 Author: nosemomkey  Posts: 414 |
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