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File 132547412487.jpg - (962.53KB , 1654x804 , 20.jpg )
326 No. 326 ID: 7011fd hide quickreply [Reply]
Tell me what you think.

Thanks


Relapse

The captured motion of life's remorse
Pertains to man excusing none
Ballads and Odes ream their course
Inebriating and enlightening as our sun

Pertains to man excusing none
A rallying shout in a deserted plane
Inebriating and enlightening as our sun
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282 No. 282 ID: b7ba70 hide quickreply [Reply]
Here's a stream I wrote:

My teeth are burningas I clamp down on something coarser than sand, yet more fluid than water, until an icy cool sensation drips down from my prefrontal cortex to my spine and the fire fills into my throat, heightening an awareness of the gravity of this situation I’ve got myself into, and I realize that there is a river in my head that is overflowing in a nectarous flood, dousing my mind’s eye with sweetness, except it’s the kind of sweetness you only find in the box of artificial sugars at that two bit hole in the wall they call an ego, though instead of filling any sort of real desire they just serve to make you crave the real thing even more because you only know enough to know you’re missing out on a treat far more plentiful and delicious while the bloodless gurus shout that this is all it takes to satisfy you, just let it all in and that chemically induced coma you’re entering is really nirvana and not some cock shit half life cooked up in a corporate kitchen, but despite the ache in my belly from faking even I can tell that there is something more, something real worth fighting for and that I’ll never feel happy as long as I keep sitting around drinking from their rusty faucet that has became my path to pleasure, so I’ll gather my wits, bite hard and shove myself all out saying, “Fuck you world, and fuck your menial attempts at meaning, I never really liked you in the first place,” and take the first step toward molding this crackpot theory into something I can hold, pouring all my mental projections and doubts into this film canister destined to be burned on the unmarked trail to the pinnacle of my existence so that I can show you sick mother fuckers that I’ve been playing this game for the sheer joy it brings me and because I might just have something that you don’t have, the kind of thing you can’t manufacture or produce or get anywhere, the kind of thing that no matter how you’ve constructed your life you’ll fall into a pit of sameness where everyone tries to be different in the same way, not understanding the transcendental purpose for which your life truly is, while I have become nothing but what I have always been, grasping a lens that can pull into this world that which no one else can: it is pure, unadulterated, overwhelming, all-fulfilling, indefinable Beauty, the kind I could never in a million years explain but only show you through a sincerely unique adventure through the depths of consciousness that some people call

Love.

Thoughts?
Should I read it at a poetry slam? (never done it before)
>> No. 294 ID: a6f4b5
>the kind of sweetness you only find in the box of artificial sugars at that two bit hole in the wall they call an ego

>that chemically induced coma you’re entering is really nirvana and not some cock shit half life cooked up in a corporate kitchen

>I’ll never feel happy as long as I keep sitting around drinking from their rusty faucet that has became my path to pleasure

I think your imagery is very clever! If I were to make a change to it though, I would suggest rephrasing the second half a bit.

>no matter how you’ve constructed your life you’ll fall into a pit of sameness where everyone tries to be different in the same way, not understanding the transcendental purpose for which your life truly is,

>while I have become nothing but what I have always been

You're assuming that you're more enlightened than the reader? Hey man, yuppies can feel love too. And I have no problem with being challenged or insulted by a piece, but lines like "so that I can show you sick mother fuckers that I’ve been playing this game for the sheer joy it brings me" sound a bit petty and arrogant (in my opinion). The ending is great though.
>> No. 322 ID: 5fa15d
What a steaming pile of arrogant self aggrandizing prose. Do you really think your opinions and thoughts are so deep and special?
How old are you?


I I I ME I ME ME MYSELF ME I ME ME LOOK AT ME IM SO CLEVER ME I I I I ME I'M SO DIFFERENT ME ME LOOK HOW SMART I AM ME IM SO INTERESTING
>> No. 325 ID: 7011fd
>>322

You are a dick.

OP I enjoyed it. Try it out at a slam.


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308 No. 308 ID: fc9594 hide expand quickreply [Reply]
No title, but here's the piece.

Words, written down on paper, what do they even mean?
It is not a cure for a disease, nor is it a way for me to make money.
What is suddenly causing me to be expressive?
Why do I feel the urge, no, the impulse to put these letters down into words and sentences?
it is not for fans that I write, nor for a girl to excite.
Random rhymes with admittedly no rhyme or reason to them
What is the point?
Will someone see these words and be able to understand the true me?
I am not a complex fellow, while deep, I am fathomable.
Yet I sit at the Ground Floor, and words just seem to pour out of my mind
down my arm, to my hand, pencil, and messily onto paper.
Scribbled thoughts, silly jots
Again I wonder why I write, and why do I want to do so more often.
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1 post omitted. Click Reply to view.
>> No. 311 ID: fc9594
>>309
Is that a good thing?
>> No. 312 ID: 44009e
>>311
I think what >>309 is saying is that you're being-

A) Too direct; you're waving your literary dick right in their face.
and
B) Too pretentious; you're assuming the reader WANTS your dick in their face.

While this is a neat little grouping of words, it's not particularly complex. While something doesn't necessarily need to be complex for it to be good, that's what it seems like you were going for here. It seems that you're boasting a little too much, in that roundabout self-deprecating Micheal Cera kind of way. You also seem to write a bit condescendingly, telling (and asking) everything too directly while over-clarifying things such as your "dark mind" when you could just as easily allude to your mind as an attic or cellar without comparing it to one.
>> No. 315 ID: fc9594
>>312

Thanks! I apprecieate the criticism. I don't really know how to connect to a reader so i don't usually take them Into consideration regarding the content in my writing.

I honestly do think my writing is shitty but i gotta practice and just write things down when they come to me, like the last two pieces I wrote.

Again, I apprecieate any and all criticism of my work!
>> No. 316 ID: 4fedf9
:')
Sup bro?
>> No. 319 ID: 44009e
>>315
No problem, broheim. You're never going to learn to connect to readers unless you attempt it though. I read your other thing about that chick in a coffee shop, and (while mundane and slightly neckbeardish) it was at the very least something I could relate to.


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290 No. 290 ID: a6f4b5 hide quickreply [Reply]
Hey /wri/ I wrote this poem today. I think it's the first thing I've ever actually written and I wanted to get some feedback. The whole thing is a gay, pretentious metaphor for existential angst or something. Hands = the true self while Shadows = the roles we play in bad faith. I'm not sure if a reader could figure that out from reading the poem alone. (Should the reader be able to figure out your metaphors? If you make them too abstract it's kind of pointless, but if they're too obvious it's lame). Anyway please tell me what you think of it!


Shadows are cast by your open fingers
The flat projections stretch over the wall
Although they lack in texture, mass, and depth
I recognize their familiar sprawl

A funny thing: your hands don't change, and yet
The shadows vary with the time of day
Their darkened lines can be well defined or
Blurred by the surfaces on which they lay

The digits curl; the thumb swivels on cue
Orchestrated movements to make a show
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272 No. 272 ID: 0230a2 hide quickreply [Reply]
The poorer I am, the fatter I get.
Welcome to my country. It's some fucked up shit.
Time is money and I ain't got a dime.
Watch us rush through the fast food line.

Welcome to my city, ain't a sidewalk in sight.
No one'll ever stop. Don't even try to hitch-hike.
I drive to work, spend my pay on gasolene.
It's a sea of parking lots and it's fucking obscene.

I know aabb is the most amateur of rhyme schemes but hey, I'm an amateur.
Anyway, I kind of like it feel like I could write more about the urban sprawl where I live.
What do you think?
>> No. 279 ID: 9b4874
I think it would work best as a Slam Poem.

Without hearing it live, it looks like something I'd write in Year 8 thinking I was a rebel.

I'd go more into a specific detail about your city, rather than the entire spectrum of the country. That way you have a better chance of hitting people in the fucking face with a message.

I want you to say it out loud, with emotion. Fix it to how your voice needs to recite it. Then go perform it at a coffee shop on a Wednesday night.
>> No. 281 ID: 248bbd
>>279
I like this advice and think you should follow it, OP.

Your poem is kind of weak on paper but, as has been said, with strong recitation could be enjoyable to hear. Find a local slam night or open mic.

Yes, the rhyme scheme is a little weak but it would be greatly improved if you ironed out the cadence more. Recite it out loud; it doesn't quite flow like it should. Iron that out and the lame rhyme scheme won't matter as much.
>> No. 289 ID: aaeb24
i've been 160 for the last 4 months and ive been as poor as i can be in that time. :/


File Shooting_Stars.odt - (21.22KB , Shooting Stars.odt )
269 No. 269 ID: 8fb1a9 hide quickreply [Reply]
Very rough draft.

Basic guideline of a story I've been thinking about. I'll update it, fix errors, and add more for sure. Right now I just kind of want to get some other people's opinions of it. I showed it to a few friends of mine and I've got mixed results. My favorite reaction to it was "Oh great. An entire of race with the mentality of the Space Sphere". Even though he's a dick the thought made me laugh.
>> No. 283 ID: b7ba70
I like it!! After reading what you have I was left wanting more.
You give enough information to keep me interested while leaving out huge chunks that make me wonder about this race and their planet.
Keep Going!


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278 No. 278 ID: dceb9f hide quickreply [Reply]
http://pastebin.com/F4fNfLud

(USER WAS SENT TO SHOWER WITH SANDUSKY)


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256 No. 256 ID: 0357b9 hide quickreply [Reply]
Hey, /wri/. I got a bit of an odd question for you. I've been wanting to venture into comic writing for a while now and finally have a draft written up, a story outline, and now working on a synopsis. I'm in the market of submitting it to some different publishers, unfortunately I have found that most of them require a team assembled and some art ready. I was wondering if any of you would know of any comic publishers that will take submissions of just writing. I know Dark Horse does, but I haven't been able to find any others. Wasn't sure if I should ask this here or over at /co/.
>> No. 260 ID: 6ab549
The best way to do it is to find a comic club in your city, they have workshops and meetings where artists and writers meet one another. Ask your local comic book club.
I did this but i got so nervous at the first meeting I never went back, even though everyone was very friendly, I am just too award, even for meetings in the back rooms of comic shops.
>> No. 263 ID: 0357b9
>>260
That's actually not a bad idea. I'll see if the comic store near here has one. I'd imagine they do.

I'm moving to Atlanta soon as well, so I'll probably have a better chance there to fine tune my word-smithing.

Also, I did find some artists that are interested so here's hoping to that. Think I might use Kickstarter or IndieGoGo to help pay for their work.


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243 No. 243 ID: 8254dc hide expand quickreply [Reply]
CHAPTER ONE: A GRIM FUTURE

Standing at the peek of a mountain built out of bones I chuckled like a mad man as a
portal opened to my target my school. “Behold you new god is he not terrible to behold?!
I bring too you the harvesting of your Flesh, bone and you very souls!”.

My arm went stiff pointing east Alice my shade wrapped herself around it and spread
from my arm to my torso and chest giving my body amour and turning my arm into
a hellish nightmarish weapon. It was pure death based magic pure black with green
glowing at some points like cracks in marble.

My finger nails vanished and in their place nothing but at the tips of my fingers sharp
bone came out. The amour was green with black skulls all around it with some gold just
to make it look nice. I was both a fearsome reaper and a damn sexy one at that.

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>> No. 250 ID: 8254dc
“James you have saved your friend Witch from a terrible fate many years from now.
You will under stand soon enough.” I heard some one coming and ran till I found my
self falling from a cliff into the sea. “NOOOOO!” I cried out slamming my hand to the
wall of the island in attempt to hold on. Bones came out of the tips of my fingers and
I then slowed down leaving a long slash in the rock only a few inches away from the
waves. A little baby hydra came up and started sniffing me and I shot it with my free
hand. “Your right I should be happy because I saved Witch from being stripped.” The
voice replied. “Yeah about that there was more then that… Ummm see when a man…
You know what they will teach you this later maybe like fifth grade or some thing. You
will probably be taught it from a upper classmate.” Looking at the blood in the water
from the poor child of a hydra I just shot for no reason but out of instinct of protection I
asked. “So how am I going to get out of here and please tell me that things mother wont
come.”

I large creature swam up to me I could see its shadow in the water and see I was peeing
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>> No. 251 ID: 8254dc
Once huddles in with every one else from our year the assembly started. The principle
was able to create a image of himself in every assembly at the same time and it sounded
as if he was really there. Fear tactics was his specialty I could tell by the fact he had
habits of spreading darkness when ever he appeared.

The giant room filled with smoke on the ground and cloaked figures hovered above it and
then famished into thin air. They were the new hall monitors apparently. The stage lit red
and every thing else went into darkness. The Principle rose through the floor of the stage
hopefully a illusion.

“Children yesterday a student in the first year of grade one was murdered on school
grounds. His name was Yral Snark.” The room was filled with gasps. “The daughter of
the man who brought Mr. Leo to us was the first to discover the corps She also in year
one. She brought a upper class mate named Earl he kept her under control thankfully. She
was a prime suspect until it was found out the spell used on Yral to his brutal and terrible
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>> No. 252 ID: 8254dc
As I walk to Mr. Drake’s classroom I start to wonder why is it that since I came to this
school I started acting more mature. It doesn’t add up at all I mean before I came here
I enjoyed running around pretending I was some type of dashing hero or some thing…
Now that just seems embarrassing. Did I some how manage to become an adult at my
early age? No that doesn’t add up at all perhaps I should ask about it later.

I walk into the class and I am welcomed back. I await for some other students to return
before Mr. Drake tells us and brings us to our new dorms. All the students but Witch
are in the class and Mr. Drake starts to speak. “Okay students every one but Kai get in a
single file line to get assigned a new dorm that you will be stuck in for the rest of your
school life.

One student spoke out. “Are we aloud to move to a new dorm in case the one we are
assigned to hates us?” Mr. Drake glared. “Yes every one but you. Now let’s see.”
Mr. Drake assigned the students each to their new dorm only three of them actually
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>> No. 253 ID: 0357b9
I don't understand why people just upload a .doc or something on this board. It would make life so much easier for us to read. Or put it in a pdf
>> No. 257 ID: f5f9d2
>>253
Because you have to download it to read it and I personally don't trust it, plus if it on the board it can be read here, though I'm a hypocrite on both accounts for posting a .doc in my thread.


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240 No. 240 ID: 27aca6 hide quickreply [Reply]
Good afternoon /wri/

Well. I went ahead and posted something to a blog website today for the first time. I started out just ranting on paper about how silly everyone's idolization of Steve Jobs was early in the morning, but a funny thing happened as I started to finish up. I decided I liked it a little bit and that maybe other people would too which is somewhat out of character for me.

So I set up a wordpress account and there the piece sits at this very minute.

I know almost nothing about blogging which is probably pretty obvious and it's really admittedly a sort of "look how edgy I am with my unwarrented opinion, everyone is stupid but me on this issue", but my intent was to write a critical Mark Twainy Op Ed.

I haven't done any free writing since I got my English degree and promptly sold out at the first sign of a decent job, so I feel rusty and rather insecure and unqualified.

Please let me know how I can improve on my writing. If you can add anything to the blog-promotion info on the website, I'd be really pleased. I don't want to be internet famous, but a healthy trickle of responses and comments in the future would be really fulfilling. Mostly though, I'd just like criticism on the writing itself. The substance is obviously the most important thing.

Hell, obviously I'm not quitting my day job. This is for fun. Thanks all. I'll include the link at the bottom of the text itself if anyone can help with format as it appears. I am not trying to advertise, and do not ask that anyone comment within the page if they don't feel like it, link to it or whatever earns bloggers ego-bonus points.

Enjoy, and thank you:
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54 No. 54 ID: 7091fb hide expand quickreply [Reply]
<sloth> someone start a story worm on /wri/
<sloth> or i'll ban you all

Ok, so let's get this thing rollin', I guess. I'll start, and you guys can continue. It's kind of like creativity.

1989. London. It was a dark night, and the heavens were pissing it down. Some rockin' band was rolling along the night streets, arguing and being clearly off their tits on booze.
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>> No. 125 ID: c18aee
Paul Wall #s 3 and 4 reach to restrain the woman, whom we now know to be called Janet, whilst Paul Wall #8 removes his grillz, with the intent to attach them to Janet's mouth and turn her into yet another Paul Wall. Despite struggling to escape Pauls 3 and 4, she remarked to herself how convenient it was that every Paul Wall had a large sign on its chest telling the number in the sequence of Paul Walls it was.

Then, just as the TOTALLY SICK GRILLZ were a mere inch from her face...
>> No. 127 ID: 047065
...Janet changed her strategy. Instead of resisting further she embraced #8, put her hand down his loose hiphop pants and began to massage his sphincter with slow circular movements.
He was caught off guard.
>> No. 138 ID: 5fa15d
He began to sway back and forth in bliss, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. "Too easy" thought the woman, as she probed the roof of her mouth until she dislodged the razor blade she kept there, a nod to the time she spent in Harlem. The Paul Wall never saw it coming as she gripped the razor lengthwise and leaned forward, and in one deft motion, she
>> No. 154 ID: 083688
...forgot what she was doing. In a moment of filmy, gauzy recollection, the budgie out of the corner of her eye had reminded her of her favorite park-bench-bound activity. As she turned her head to see whether this week's supply of hardtack was adequate to feed the creature, the razor in her teeth sliced a neat bisection across Paul's carotid artery.
>> No. 225 ID: 5fa15d
The cut she had made was so thin that it took a moment for the Paul Wall to notice what had happened. "Did this ho just bite me yo?" He asked out loud, seeking confirmation from one of his clones.

Paul Wall #4 reached for one of his guns as he answered "Grab yo tec, she cut'cho neck! Time to put this chick in check!"


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178 No. 178 ID: c57cf0 hide expand quickreply [Reply]
Hello my dearest 99chan.

I have been pondering the idea for some time and I am finally doing it. I want to write my first novel as spoken in the first person and I thought I'd practice my writing with my fellow being who can read it and comment on the writing style that I have. I thought I'd start with writing idle thoughts. So here I go.....
4 posts omitted. Click Reply to view.
>> No. 196 ID: c526b4
>>195

I immediately love the expression "cheese and flipping rice." I'm going to use that every day.

SAGE has been used.
>> No. 197 ID: 0e75f5
Are you me?

If so please contact me immediately. Other than that, your writings have a very cohesive flow to them which is nice. Though it does get darker than the beginning lets on, I have to ask why?
>> No. 206 ID: a55bae
I don't understand why some of you guys are ticked off by the OP. This is good practice for writing in my opinion. Sure, maybe he shouldn't have shared it on here, but writing like this does help build up creative flow.

I took private writing classes back in high school and my instructor got me to do stuff like this once a week or so. It really does help, and even better when critiqued upon so that correcting mistakes becomes a natural habit and mistakes tend to disappear, though not completely.

Keep doing it, OP.
>> No. 213 ID: d27172
>>206
>I took private writing classes back in high school

Creative writing courses in high school are a goddamn joke. Any creative writing course, for that matter. While exercises like this can help enhance one's description, it's an beginner's course gimmick that doesn't help address the multitude of other aspects that go into crafting a good story; a much, much better exercise would be just writing a fucking story. Nobody that does writing exercises has ever been a successful writer. They're there to coddle you and make you feel good about how much you think you're progressing while neglecting the actual "progress" part.

And I'm mad because OP posted it here and wasted my time. I read half a paragraph of his stupid trite—half a paragraph! I can't be pissed to come here and critique people's stories every day, and when I get the time and patience to do so I'd like to have something to help someone improve, not someone's worthless garbage rambling.

SAGE has been used.
>> No. 224 ID: 5fa15d
It seems self absorbed and rambling without being very interesting. Everyday mundanities are hard to make very compelling though, and you don't really attempt to bring the reader into your world, you just sort of launch into talking about yourself. Try writing a story about a glass of water and see how long you can make it.


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208 No. 208 ID: 878c7b hide quickreply [Reply]
Bear with me, I'm a little rusty. I'm bored, though, and wanted to try and tackle one of my big sticking points back when I did write more -- suspense. Criticism is welcomed and appreciated.

---

"Shit!"

"Sssh!"

"Shit." He whispered this time.

Two weeks of planning, four hundred thousand credits, five of the most skilled people in the business, eight minutes to get in and out, and eighteen million platinum on the black market.

It's funny sometimes, how things boil down to numbers.

Sort of like the twenty-eight guards in the building, the three security cameras in the room, the forty slender red beams shining through the smoke, and the two inches between Otto's face and the nearest one.
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>> No. 209 ID: 44009e
Why was this dude banned? Ponies?

Anyway, you didn't really build a lot of suspense here, man. It was a cool little action short, but I didn't really give a shit about any of the characters, ruining any possibility of suspense. I'm sure you could make it longer and flesh out their personalities though.
>> No. 210 ID: 1673ec
Well, I liked it.

There wasn't a lot of character development, true, but it was still enjoyable, if more as an action piece than as a suspense piece.

I really liked how the OP didn't waste time explaining all the terms and backstories for every little thing, like who's crown was getting stolen, exactly. If it's necessary, then do it, but shit, can you imagine if Star Wars (1977) had taken the time to explain who and what everything was?
>> No. 211 ID: d27172
>>209

Yup. Ponies.

>>210
>can you imagine if Star Wars (1977) had taken the time to explain who and what everything was?

The fuck are you talking about? Did you have trouble paying attention for 12 seconds?

>"It is a period of civil war. Rebel spaceships, striking from a hidden base, have won their first victory against the evil Galactic Empire. During the battle, Rebel spies managed to steal secret plans to the Empire's ultimate weapon, the Death Star, an armored space station with enough power to destroy an entire planet. Pursued by the Empire's sinister agents, Princess Leia races home aboard her starship, custodian of the stolen plans that can save her people and restore freedom to the galaxy..."

That's a back story. There's an evil empire. They're building a planet destroyer. Rebels are trying to steal their plans, which are in possession of Princess Leia, who's being chased by the stormtroopers. They don't go over the history of the empire or anything like that, but that had nothing to do with the story that was being told. Luke Skywalker didn't know or care about any of that shit, he was just thrust in the middle of this war and it was up to him to save the day.

OP, that's the problem with your story: we don't know what's going on. It's like starting a book by flipping open a random page instead of starting with page 1. If you were going for a nonlinear style and were planning to reveal the background of the characters, what they were doing, what they looked like, Catch-22 style, then fine, but as it stands this is just a scene of a greater story and without context there isn't a story.

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>> No. 216 ID: 1673ec
>>211
The film didn't explain who Jabba was, what the Jedi really were (even excepting fuckin' bacteria-based Force), what the clone wars were, what a lightsaber was, how space travel worked, how exactly Han & Chewie ended up in debt, what a moisture farmer does, etc, etc, etc.

The opening crawl didn't explain nearly as much as it seems.
>> No. 222 ID: f5f9d2
>>216
>explain who Jabba was
>how exactly Han & Chewie ended up in debt
deleted scene after introducing Han had him run into Jabba and explained the debt. Moisture farmers farm moisture, its a desert planet, they need water, I knew that from the name. Technical science details weren't explained because Lucas had no clue how to make an explanation that didn't sound stupid, they needed the EU for that. The force is a quasi religious thing, it wasn't supposed to have an explanation, ever. Fuck the phantom menace.


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219 No. 219 ID: 773b6e hide quickreply [Reply]
Hey, fellow /wri/ters. I have a question I'm hoping you can help me with.

I write a lot about everything, right? I'm pretty fluent in most writing styles, including poetry and that, but there is one aspect of it that's always missing and can't bring myself to do: scenery.

I don't know why. I sit down, I write, and when I read it over afterwards, there is no description of surroundings. When I attempt to salvage my piece, it sounds fucking terrible and then I abandon it all together.

Does anyone else have this problem? My brain seems hell bent on focusing on only interpersonal exchanges and the characters themselves ;_;

Would my only solution be to write a few pages of descriptions until I get better? If you have the same problem, what did you do to overcome it? Any tips?
>> No. 220 ID: f5f9d2
My suggestion would be to find some pictures of scenery, natural or otherwise, and write descriptions of them. Let them sit for a bit, then reread them and try and picture the scene based on your description, then look at the pictures again and see what the differences are between your mental image and the original one.
In the meantime, stick to your strengths. different writers get know for different things. Being focused on something can work if you are good at it.
>> No. 221 ID: 773b6e
>>220
Thanks! That's a good suggestion, I might try it when I get home from work later.

Yeah, I've always been attached to the more emotional/personal side of things and everything seems to get lost in it somehow.


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207 No. 207 ID: a55bae hide quickreply [Reply]
My fellow wordsmiths,

I have recently started working on a fantasy piece. Mainly due to my girlfriend going through my collection of personal writings and finding a short story that I had written back in high school.

I come to you for tips. I've never written a serious fantasy piece but have always wanted to and am enjoying working on this one. The problem I'm having is making the unreal feel real, so to speak. I've read Tolkien and a few books from the "A Song of Fire and Ice" series and I am amazed how real those worlds feel, especially that of Middle-Earth.

Just yesterday, I spent a good two hours outlining an imaginary sport for my story even though it's only briefly mentioned in a paragraph. Whether it was out of sheer joy (which it was fun) or just for the sake of having it on file to come back to if need be, I'm not sure, but it's there. The same goes with a language I am attempting to develop for one of the races, as well as a creature type that is a mixture of flying squirrel/possum (yes, it does sound silly.). The problem I'm having is how do I approach explaining these instances without jamming it down the readers throat or making it come off as a bit ridiculous.

Though, very rough, I'll provide an excerpt. Mind any mistakes and poor choice for words, I shall go back through with a thesaurus.

The foreigners called them giant squirrels, but they were more than that to the Fidori. They were the great gliders of the forest. Used for their quick speed and ample climbing abilities. Though they did resemble squirrels, they had extra skin that hung from their front legs to their back. The doanai could stretch out their long legs and soar between the trees for miles. Upon their heads and between their giant ears were small antlers, like that of deer. They adorn large claws and from their backs sprout long, skinny rat like tails. The only beasts that could match them were the hanjanni, the great desert bison from the east. However, when pitted against each other in the forest the doanai would always come out ahead.
Riders were bonded to their doanai at a young age and only separated from their forged brotherhood by death. It is said that doanai know when their Fidori brother has died and sing out to them in sorrow. The prisoner who was being beaten in a dark, damp cell somewhere by strangers he could not understand wondered the same and what song his doani brother would sing.

Also, keep in mind that "doani" is the singular and "doanai" is the plural. I want to convey the structure of the language, the tongue of the Fidorai, but help readers be able to pick it up and understand it on their own without having to explain it continuously. There are other bits where the language comes up as well, so I'm hoping that people will get it though uses of the word "nili/nilai" (child/children) and such through context. But any help is greatly appreciated.

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>> No. 212 ID: d27172
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212
I'm not a fantasy fan. I try to read works that can show me something about the world, something that lets me be John Malkovich, so to speak, and see through the eyes of the character/author so that I may gain some perspective and spend my life being a tad less ignorant.

However, realistic fiction and fantasy fiction share the same struggle: attempting to craft a world so believable that the reader may immerse themself and see something beyond their sphere of influence. I've always really loved this C&H comic because I identify with it. Calvin lives totally in his imagination and loses himself in daydreams and fantasy. That's what I try to do when I write, and that's what you should do. Don't leave any stone unturned when you're constructing your universe. The worst thing you can do in any sci-fi or fantasy is to create a logical fallacy or a continuity error. You can stretch reality within reasonable means, but it's vital to create another world that can actually exist. It's a fantasy, but that doesn't exclude it from logic. Are the doanai herbivores? If not, then if they're so quick, nimble and yet mighty, how have the Riders been able to tame them? If the Riders existed, would they have chosen to ride the doanai? Does it make sense that an animal that could probably overrun the Riders (I'm imagining them as pretty much humans) would be dominated by them?

God I love Adderall.

SAGE has been used.
>> No. 215 ID: 63a221
>>212
Thanks for that reply.

I've written realistic fiction before, but this is all new to me and I'm having a much harder time making it believable. You proposed great questions, though and I shall definitely look into it. In fact, I already have.

The thing with me is I don't want to have long expositions of why things are and rather explain snippets through either dialogue or observation. I don't want to tell the reader everything at once, just pieces along the way. I think for the sake of keeping the reader interested that would be best. I also have plot devices for some of this, such as some characters not knowing how things outside of their personal realm of experience work. So I'm hoping I can use that to an advantage.


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214 No. 214 ID: d27172 hide quickreply [Reply]
This is a piece I did when I imagined what it would be like if homosexuality was a literal attack on marriage. It might be a bit too ridiculous, but I like it. There was more to it, but I doubt I'll be able to find the original drafts.

The sultry affair was remarkably diverse, as far as wedding receptions went. Reconnaissance gathered from idle chatter and a cursory glance at the bride indicated that the ceremony had been a smashing disaster; allegedly, an ex-lover of the groom had attempted to set the church ablaze before storming the chapel. The room was abuzz with dramatic re-tellings of the event.

"It was fantastically ferverent! The timing was so precise that had I knot known better, I would have believed I had stumbled onto a film shoot!" An energetic young man had gathered a crowd whilst regaling the story, "The ceremony itself was quaint, yet exquisitely tasteful. They ran against the traditional church design scheme, which I thought was absolutely fantastic. I sat at the back. The room was small, though, so I had no problem seeing. As if that mattered; I find marriages to be terribly droll." The audience hung on the words that teetered over his lips, not daring to interrupt.

"Though I was more concerned with my shoelace at the time, I remember distinctly when the priest asked if anyone objected to the marriage. I heard a high-pitched shrill from behind me, and I turned back to find an armed man before the church entrance! He was a regular Spartan warrior: flawless musculature, glistening skin sanded smooth with olive oil, and he was entirely nude. Why, the only thing covering his ripped bod was the rainbow war paint that ran from head-to-toe." As the story became more dramatic, the man began gesticulating wildly. "He stopped shrieking, and with the most intensive glare I have ever seen, he lifted his weapon over his head, high into the air. At this point, it became clear to me that he was, in fact, wielding a dick-sword."

The stunned crowd emitted an audible gasp at this revelation. An Elizabethan woman—who had both attended the wedding and in fact had witnessed the entire scene—asked the fellow, "my word, a sword? Made of dicks?"

The man had a hearty chuckle at this. "Oh, my, no! It was merely a sword shaped like a dick; the effect was all the same though, one of shock and hysteria. When we all realized he had a dick-sword, the party descended into absolute chaos. Whether the culprit had intended for such a cinematic effect, I am unsure, but I do know it was pleasant and delightful. Naturally we all dashed for the exist, prompting a battalion of gay, dick-swinging troops to bum rush the crowd! I attempted to blend in, confuse them, you see, by stripping off all my clothing while they started to hack some of the guests to death, their dongs flapping in the wind..."

Nikolai, who had been listening intently to the story, grew bored at that point and wandered off to find his comrade, Petro. Petro was a professional caterer who had been sighted at the reception earlier. Their friendship was an odd one; Petro was trailer-park nobility who had managed a moderately well-paying job through meticulous refinement of his craft. He was able to produce elaborate presentations using only food, even works of art. Nikolai, on the other hand, was a wealthy ad executive who had migrated to the United States from Russia as a young child. His work relied on the methodical manipulation of the masses. The two men contrasted each other in almost every way; Nikolai was a tall, strong, Slavic man who enjoyed intellectual debates over the validity of Cartesian Rationalism, whereas Petro was a lanky, dark-haired rat of a human being who detested such frivolities, dismissing them as pretentious. Their method of meeting is of particular interest to those familiar with the pair because it is believed that they somehow had met on a pirate ship sometime during the fall of 1997.

"Petro! My friend! How have you been?"
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187 No. 187 ID: 34cd5a hide quickreply [Reply]
Would any of you fine fellows mind critiquing this for me. I wrote it to see if I could still write well after not doing it for a good year and a half. Could anyone help me out?


The morning light rays spread through the deep woodland. The leaves hanging glowed with a green aura as the sun caste down upon them. Morning birds sang a chorus through the air, an awaken to all those who dwell within the bounder of the woods. Deep Within by the wooded boundaries lied a small stream. Its shallow flow pushed against the body of a man. He laid face up in the rivers flow. As the sound of chirping reached his eyes a twitch came about. His arms shook and his head turned.Opening his eyes he partially beheld the sun and the light blinded him. Moving his head around; he cautiously opened his eyes. His sight adjusted as much as it could. They itched and were reddish. Looking ahead he see the shore. A slopping shore line which ascended a hill covered in trees. Questions, filled his mind. As he attempted to move his legs a pain shot up the whole of his body. Every much ached. He laid for a moment before trying to move again. Willing his way past the pain he forced his body to roll over. Pushing up off the ground he looked in the water to see a rippling reflection of himself. His eyes had dark bags under them and his eyes were tired. looking around, he took in the whole of the area. "hello," he asked quietly. His voice was raspy and nearly unrecognizable. He bent his head down and took a drink of the water. As he swallowed the dryness washed away. Following up he splashed water on is eyes. Looking up again he made another cry for help, louder than before. As h waited for a reply he found himself only answered by the birds. Almost dragging his body; he made his way to the shore. Hitting the rocky earth his laid down once again. Though he wanted, to he found that his body wouldn't take him any further. His breath became heavy and a wheeze emerge from his throat. A cough soon followed and with it another. turning on his back he looked above to a cloudless blue sky. He took a deep breath before crying out for help again. When no reply came he let out a small whimper. Minutes had passed before he found the power to move his body again. Sitting up he his hands hands to keep steady. Rising he looked ahead to a shock. Along the other shore, bathing in the rays of sun was a long white ship. it had little to no features save a designed like that of a bullet. The door was a hatched directly over the seat. It was was propped open. Inside was metallic with several switches and a wheel. With new found motivation he moved to his feet, first a stumble than to a steady step. He crossed the stream and fell against the side of it. nearly hugged it. moving to the front looked in to see it resembled the inside of a jet. He looked around at the small meters and everything was at zero, save a small digital dial in the front. It held a series of flashing zero's. It when then he looked down at himself and his cloths. He wore and all white shirt with matching pants. along the front of his shirt was a name; Pilot Howard.
>> No. 188 ID: 34cd5a
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188
The morning light rays spread through the deep woodland. The leaves hanging glowed with a green aura as the sun caste down upon them. Morning birds sang a chorus through the air, an awakening to all those that dwelled within the bounders of the woods. Deep Within by the wooded boundaries curved a small stream. Its shallow flow pushed against the body of a man. He laid face up in the streams flow. As the sound of chirping reached his eyes a twitch came about. His arms shook and his head turned.Opening his eyes he partially saw the sunlight. The rays blinded him. Moving his head around; he cautiously opened his eyes. His sight adjusted. Looking ahead he saw the shore. It slopped and ascended a hill covered in trees. Questions, filled his mind. As he attempted to move his legs a pain shot up the whole of his body. Every inch ached. He laid for a moment before trying to move again. Willing his way past the pain he forced his body to roll over. Pushing up off the ground he looked in the water to see a rippling reflection of himself. His eyes had dark bags under them and his lids hung low, tired. Looking around, he took in the area ahead of him. "hello" he asked, voice raspy and unrecognizable. He bent his head down and took a drink of the water. As he swallowed the dryness cleared up. Following up he splashed water on is eyes. Looking up again he made another cry for help, louder than before. As he waited for a reply he found himself only answered by the birds. Almost dragging his body; he made his way to the shore. Hitting the pebbled embarkent he laid down once more. Though he wanted, to he found that his body wouldn't take him any further. His breath became heavy and a wheeze emerge from his throat. A cough soon followed and with it another. turning on his back he looked above to a cloudless blue sky. Taking a deep breath he cried out for help again. When no reply came he let out a small whimper. Minutes had passed before he found the strength to move his body again. Sitting up he lead on hands to keep steady. He looked ahead to a shock. His eyes widened with disbelief. Along the other shore, bathing in the rays of sun was a long white ship. it had little to no features, save a design like a bullet. The door was a hatched directly over the seat. It was was propped open. Inside was metallic with several switches and a wheel. With new found motivation he moved to his feet, first a stumble than to a step. He crossed the stream and fell against the side of it. Moving to the front he looked in to see it resembled the inside of a jet. He looked around at the small meters and everything was at zero, save a small digital dial in the front. It held a series of flashing zero's. All the switches were upright. Looking under the wheel he saw no peddles. it was a small cleared out area. Behind the seat was a solid wall. He looked back out of the front to see the rest lead to the engine in the back. Turning back to the front he looked at the wheel again. Along the middle of the wheel was a name; Shiva. The word echoed through his head connecting to thoughts. He flashed back to being at a meeting. All around him sat men in suits including himself.. In front stood several scientist displaying equations. The words escaped him, but he knew it meant something. Looking down at himself he realized he wasn't in a suit. He wore a tight white shirt with long sleeves. His pants were soft and of the same color. Along the front of the shirt was a shown on; Pilot Howard.
>> No. 193 ID: 11d839
anyone?
>> No. 194 ID: d27172
>>193

I'll get to it later tonight OP, I'm busy atm, and it's hard for me to sit down and read your guy's shit.

I was really hoping people would be more generous about reviewing others' work. I guess this will be the 2nd board that will disappoint me.
>> No. 199 ID: 9376d4
Crap, dude, start with paragraphs. Wall-'O'text is not easy to read.

Ok, without knowing where this is going...:

>morning light rays
>"Morning light's rays"?
I think that should be possessive.

I'm noticing that the majority of sentences appear to be very simply, and with repetitive structure.
"X ( sometimes with adjectives) did Y". I'm not up on the latest of literary techniques, but it seems rather simple, and sorta dry.

How would the pilot notice the details of the ship before he crossed the stream, like the door being over the seat? I would think that the details should be revealed to the reader as they're being revealed to the characters, unless foreshadowing is needed.

>Along the front of the shirt was a shown on; Pilot Howard.
>"Along the front of the shirt, a name was sewn on: Pilot Howard."
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>> No. 204 ID: 11d839
>>199

Thank you for the feedback. it is very helpful. I can't wait to see what you post and would be happy to return the feeling.


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58 No. 58 ID: 1116c4 hide expand quickreply [Reply]
I have problems. One of these concerns my writing. Not the actual act of writing (and revising), but finding something and gathering the motivation to write about it. My last several pieces where all written as assignments for various classes and the few projects I have on the side that are solely my own creation feel uninspired and I have little motivation to finish them.

Advice?

P.S. I can post samples of my writing if you like.
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>> No. 83 ID: 147117
Dude. Really? Your problem is lack of ideas? I don't want to be a dick, but its over. Ideas are the EASY part. Its the grind that's is hard. Without ideas you are destined to be a technical writer, describing mechanical parts for submarines or designer buckets for caterpillars. Nothing wrong with that though man. Nothing at all. You can make a really good living describing patents or writing court briefings...

I have the opposite problem. I have a million ideas, but ever since the health insurance ran out and my supply of ADD meds disappeared, I have not one ounce of grind left in me.

Perhaps we should work out a deal? Drugs for ideas. It sounds like a fair exchange.
>> No. 93 ID: 1116c4
>>83
I don't know if you really read what I wrote or if I just stated it in a confusing manner. Let me reiterate.
I write well. I have quite a few original and interesting ideas and I can make more at any time.
I have no motivation.


About your drug problem: drink tea or some such other herbal hippie shit. I hear those things work well.
>> No. 164 ID: 18ca60
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164
>>93
>other herbal hippie shit

That's the ticket!
>> No. 169 ID: d27172
>>59

Not true at all, a lot of extremely talented writers have this issue. Dostoyevsky only wrote most of his masterpieces after he was starving, hungry and drowning in debt. Hunter S. Thompson wrote Fear & Loathing because, instead of going to report on a motorcycle story as intended, he ended up spending all his money on drugs and just started ripping shit out of his diary and sending it to his publisher. I like Bukowski too, but there's not one perfect formula that leads to good writers.

>>83

I feel you man, I fucking miss Adderall. Try Adrafinil, it's not euphoric, but it's stimulating and unscheduled, so you can order it off the internet. Ephedrine's in the same vein, and it's a better stimulant, but it's also a precursor for meth and hard to get. You could try nootropics, but I find their efficacy questionable.
>> No. 198 ID: 9376d4
When I hit a wall, and can't do the prose part of writing, I just outline stuff, or add in little comments about what needs to be written. Like storyboards and stuff. "Such and such needs to happen here", or "Rework this to maintain continuity", or "find the capabilities of XYZ so that it's not a magic device". Sometimes I just work on something related, like mapping where in the story world the characters are so that I have a timeline for how long they'd take to get from A to B.

Then when I get the motivation to start reworking the prose, I'm still ahead of where I was. Even if I haven't done the heavy lifting, I at least know what needs to be done, and it doesn't take nearly as much work.

I generally deal with short fiction stories, though, so not all of that may apply.


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167 No. 167 ID: d27172 hide quickreply [Reply]
So while I"m procrastinating my drunk monkeys piece, I spent the last 4 months writing, throwing away, and rewriting this for a girl I absolutely adore. Here you go.

Quantum

Thriving in a chaotic land
a bold new quark set out to find
nothing but order and rules so base
The wise Bhorish elders said "Look around you son,
you won't be different!"
Soaked in static and spun
unable to tell up from down
just hoping he's not too strange
Until he met a darling little photon
A massless treasure to light the way
A muse with who he formed a bond so strong
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>> No. 189 ID: 15e051
I like it.
>> No. 191 ID: 5fa15d
I think you should stick to limericks for now, also if it's for a girl, why do you only give her the last couple of lines? Up your game man.


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165 No. 165 ID: 18ca60 hide quickreply [Reply]
Hey guys. I have a post at my College's newspaper when I return in the fall, and I wanted to try writing some short pieces to get my rhythm and shit in order.

I'd really appreciate a comment or two. I haven't written anything stylistic in a while and I badly want to improve.

Wednesday


Sloth held strong, but was rapidly overcome by bored hunger. An alien force inside David and Gary compelled them, lifting them upwards and out of their house towards the car. Each day of their whole lives both had felt robbed of choice in this way. Both could count on their resources and resourcefulness to make sure they never suffered, leading to a sense of disconnection from reality or consequence, and especially monetary consequence. Both had events in their life to freak out over, sure, but such things rarely amounted to an appreciable change in their normal lives. Both did work of good quality, yet there was never that moment of content understanding that they had accomplished something. Thus both were unmotivated, yet incessantly restless.
They both were white too.
For these many unique and special qualities, Gary and David freely and enthusiastically smoked weed in Gary’s Nissan every day, and never they had much reason otherwise.
>> No. 168 ID: d27172
Sloth are you sure the newspaper's going to publish your creative writing? We get a lot of people that try to join my school's newspaper thinking that they're going to write creatively and are extremely disappointed when they find out that they have to do boring newspaper stuff.

Anyway. Show, not tell. This is 100% you telling me what these people are, what's going on, what they're like, it's all your opinion. Writers have to present imagined stories in a factual manner and allow the reader to draw their own conclusions, and a good writer must do so in a manner that leads well-read readers to an irrefutable conclusion and allows them to experience that idea through good storytelling.

This also makes no sense

>and never they had much reason otherwise

Some of the things you say make sense, but they're just kind of an alien idea that makes you need to re-read it to figure out. Not in the good, postmodern way, either, things like "bored hunger."

Keep at it, champ.
>> No. 174 ID: 18ca60
>>168
Thanks man. This isn't a creative writing position, it's more political analysis. I'm just not used to writing and was hoping to refine my basic prose a little. Thanks for the comments, I see what you mean about showing and I'll make an effort to improve.
>> No. 175 ID: 0a4792
Just one thing I noticed, your tone seems to switch a lot. A good example would be "freak out over, sure" compared to "rarely amounted to an appreciable change". That change sort of breaks up the writing and messes with the flow of reading it.
>> No. 176 ID: 567fcf
>>168
That is not me.



>> No. 177 ID: d27172
>>176

Really? Weird.


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