Newgrounds.com — Everything, By Everyone.

At 11/6/05 07:15 AM, -TheDoctor- wrote: I think I've mentioned before, my ongoing sci-fi piece is like a very very rough, and abridged first draft of my most developed idea. I've had a couple of other main stories in mind, one being a modern/futuristic "mansion mystery" type thingie, the other a gothic horror, possibly set in the Middle East.

Well, best of luck. When my site goes up in December, be sure that you will have my full support if you are looking for more exposure. : )

I've skimmed it a couple of times, looks like a good scene. Perhaps I'll work that into my schedule sometime :)

Thanks. I really appreciate it.

At 11/5/05 09:34 PM, backpackxcore wrote: who the fuck cares if they steal shit from newgorunds its funny stuff only a little bit of the stuff comes from newgorunds its a good website nontheless so just back off from it there =

you also meant "nonetheless" .. with an 'E' people!

"non the less"... I think you meant "nonetheless"

It is one word, and you are missine an 'e'. You said non, when you meant none.

At 11/5/05 08:42 PM, -TheDoctor- wrote: Yeah, It's not bad per se, I suppose it's mainly just that I myself am very much a novelist at heart, whereas your writing style seems more geared towards the short story, and poetry.

Ahh, I see what you are getting at. I am sorry, I must have read a little wrong. Yes, poetry, short stories and novels are all written differently. I am writing a novel myself that has a much different style (mostly as it is a thriller). As for that introduction above - it is to a novella... which is basically an elongated short story.

Theprologue to my novel is in my sig "The Death of a Hero" if you ever have the time to read it and give thoughts (you may have read it in here before... I am unsure). Though even that intro is much more complicated than the actual 13 chapters I have completed. The intro is to set a mood, and is based 20 or so years before the actual story. When the story actuall begins (Chapter 1)... the narration changes.

Doctor, have you completed a novel? Just curous.

At 11/5/05 12:11 PM, Scribbler wrote: Good job but, what is this about, if you don't mind my asking?

Well, it is only the introdcution, so with time it becomes more evident... but the main character has just found out he is terminally ill. Then it is the state of mental shock ("Where's my car? I'm in my car... what do I do?") and then denial. The rest of the novella leads after this new found information.

At 11/5/05 04:47 PM, -TheDoctor- wrote: Myst - great stuff, but I have issues with your metaphors/similies and some general description.

Thanks.

I'll quote the great Mr. King on this one:
"Make yourself a solemn promise right now that you'll never use "emolument" when you mean "tip" and you'll never say John stopped long enough to perform an act of excretion when you mean John stopped long enough to take a shit"

I suppose; however, style is style. You write what you know. I don't know anything about pop-culture... I know classic (I have never read a King novel or anything of the sort). I don't mean to defend too precariously, but that is like telling a young dancer she has to learn hip hop even though she wants to learn the classic waltz. See my logic? That is the way I write, and a lot of the time speak. It is just who I am. Though, don't feel your words were without warrant, as next time I take pen in hand I will try my best to be more effective with my words.

It's a good quantity of description, but often the terms you use have too many frills to be effective in context. What springs to mind is the way I used to write exam papers - using as much complexity as possible. Good for first impressions, not so good for continuity.

Just so that I can fully understand, what do you mean by 'frills'?

And I understand what you mean by the possible lack of continuity. I can write more coherently and with better flow - to me, it is just too simple to write like the guy next door speaks. I do not try to write with complexity... it is just what I know: having only read classic novels in my life, and being an avid poet.

Though, of course, you are a fine writer yourself... and even though I have had much critique for the piece, I would take your words more seriously than some others. So your words will be in mind as I continue the novella.

Thanks. : )

I suppose now that I'm done dodging burning firework ejaculate for the evening (lol November 5th) I'll sit down and finish my collab section.

Haha! And ya, it was good.

And Then It Showers - Introduction to the Novella

The stench - that cold, dry stench was all I could manage to focus my thoughts on in that small, bright-white office. The stink seemed to linger in my mouth, which was growing dryer by the second. My mouth, a sum of paste, begged for liquid, and with that feeling on my mind I finally came to, and realized the man in front of me had already begun to speak.

The sun’s light, funneling through the window like layers of ice, masking the faces of the furniture with individual hues of intensity, grasped the few particles of dust that feathered throughout the air. I stared aimlessly into it, unable to look the man directly in the eyes.

The man, whose white coat seemed perfectly camouflaged for the room, and gave the impression of a suspended head, lifted from his seat, sounding like that of closing subway doors, to merely travel around his desk towards me. I could tell his migration was an attempt to comfort my racing mind with merely his presence, but I think we both knew it would not do any good. He sat upon the edge of his working space, and – without words, but with emotion – told me what I dreadfully feared. Though he knew the words were terrible for my ears, and he attempted to comfort me, there was a certain odd professionalism about his demeanor, and somehow he upset me more than he did comfort. It was like clock work, routine; an awkward arrogance that looked down upon my position with eerie pity. His head turned towards the ground with a slight smile as humor got the best of my uncomfortable, and uncanny placing in the room, ‘quoth the raven.’

Life can be funny – ironic. Though the irony is laced with pain, and undoubtedly, whether the man’s words accurate or not, followed by the teachings of a karma invested religion – be it outright, or conformed with age. Like wine, let it age. However, life can be crude with its comedy, and deservingly so we are as Mother Nature hinders year upon year, and swings to only find us even more oblivious than before, and as each one of us seems to take granted, not the objects or subjects of our being, but the being itself. Curiously, I wonder what power seems to explore the entity we each embody. Though, even when life can be crude, ironic, funny, awkward, dreadful, with a choke, it can be quite the opposite, and every being would rather be, than not at all.

I got up from my seat, my lips pressed tightly, my brow firm and low, and headed towards the door. The man, that arrogant, yet gentle man just sat there and stared at the ground, and it was then I realized how an emotion that is routine can still be just as meaningful as the first time. I nodded, as did he. I left that odor behind me, and it was nevermore.

As the automatic front doors opened, and I rubbed the antibacterial soap into my hands, gently pushed through, I felt a brush-wind slowly fade around. I listened carefully walking towards the parking lot, hearing the sounds of rushing cars, barking dogs, chatty children, and teenage laughter, I thought about how, at that moment, I truly hated the city. It was then I heard the old woman. I heard her cry. She spoke of her late husband, who seemed to pass only a few hours before. She loved him dearly.

I looked around, having been lost in my thoughts, and in the old woman’s words, and tried to find where my car had been parked. Noticing it only a few cars away, I unlocked it and traveled towards the door. I placed my hand on the handle, and looked back as the daughter helping the old woman into a van. Getting into my expensive sedan and placing my arms across the steering wheel, I rested my head on my hands, and locked my eyes tight while trying to hold in any pent up sadness or anger. I felt my body shake as I lost control, and a tear drop down onto the back of my palm. I sniffed hard, wiped my hand on my pant leg, and quickly turned on the car.

Shifting the car into reverse, I looked behind me and began to back out. I felt my body jolt forward and the car come to a sudden stop. Lifting my eyes, I looked through the rear view mirror to see a van against the rear-right side of my car. My head dropped onto the steering wheel, the polyester grain against my forehead, as the worst day of my life only got better.

And Then It Showers - Introduction to the Novella

The stench - that cold, dry stench was all I could manage to focus my thoughts on in that small, bright-white office. The stink seemed to linger in my mouth, which was growing dryer by the second. My mouth, a sum of paste, begged for liquid, and with that feeling on my mind I finally came to, and realized the man in front of me had already begun to speak.

The sun’s light, funneling through the window like layers of ice, masking the faces of the furniture with individual hues of intensity, grasped the few particles of dust that feathered throughout the air. I stared aimlessly into it, unable to look the man directly in the eyes.

The man, whose white coat seemed perfectly camouflaged for the room, and gave the impression of a suspended head, lifted from his seat, sounding like that of closing subway doors, to merely travel around his desk towards me. I could tell his migration was an attempt to comfort my racing mind with merely his presence, but I think we both knew it would not do any good. He sat upon the edge of his working space, and – without words, but with emotion – told me what I dreadfully feared. Though he knew the words were terrible for my ears, and he attempted to comfort me, there was a certain odd professionalism about his demeanor, and somehow he upset me more than he did comfort. It was like clock work, routine; an awkward arrogance that looked down upon my position with eerie pity. His head turned towards the ground with a slight smile as humor got the best of my uncomfortable, and uncanny placing in the room, ‘quoth the raven.’

Life can be funny – ironic. Though the irony is laced with pain, and undoubtedly, whether the man’s words accurate or not, followed by the teachings of a karma invested religion – be it outright, or conformed with age. Like wine, let it age. However, life can be crude with its comedy, and deservingly so we are as Mother Nature hinders year upon year, and swings to only find us even more oblivious than before, and as each one of us seems to take granted, not the objects or subjects of our being, but the being itself. Curiously, I wonder what power seems to explore the entity we each embody. Though, even when life can be crude, ironic, funny, awkward, dreadful, with a choke, it can be quite the opposite, and every being would rather be, than not at all.

I got up from my seat, my lips pressed tightly, my brow firm and low, and headed towards the door. The man, that arrogant, yet gentle man just sat there and stared at the ground, and it was then I realized how an emotion that is routine can still be just as meaningful as the first time. I nodded, as did he. I left that odor behind me, and it was nevermore.

As the automatic front doors opened, and I rubbed the antibacterial soap into my hands, gently pushed through, I felt a brush-wind slowly fade around. I listened carefully walking towards the parking lot, hearing the sounds of rushing cars, barking dogs, chatty children, and teenage laughter, I thought about how, at that moment, I truly hated the city. It was then I heard the old woman. I heard her cry. She spoke of her late husband, who seemed to pass only a few hours before. She loved him dearly.

I looked around, having been lost in my thoughts, and in the old woman’s words, and tried to find where my car had been parked. Noticing it only a few cars away, I unlocked it and traveled towards the door. I placed my hand on the handle, and looked back as the daughter helping the old woman into a van. Getting into my expensive sedan and placing my arms across the steering wheel, I rested my head on my hands, and locked my eyes tight while trying to hold in any pent up sadness or anger. I felt my body shake as I lost control, and a tear drop down onto the back of my palm. I sniffed hard, wiped my hand on my pant leg, and quickly turned on the car.

Shifting the car into reverse, I looked behind me and began to back out. I felt my body jolt forward and the car come to a sudden stop. Lifting my eyes, I looked through the rear view mirror to see a van against the rear-right side of my car. My head dropped onto the steering wheel, the polyester grain against my forehead, as the worst day of my life only got better.

I have to admit those sigs are pretty awesome. I that logo gave a slight chuckle. I wish I had the time to compete in these compeitions... maybe there will be one one day that adheres to my schedule. Good luck to all.

At 11/4/05 12:47 PM, FBIpolux wrote: Part 12: Monday.

Can't wait.

Promised :)

Oh shit, now you have to. A promise is bond. ; )

At 11/4/05 03:53 PM, Fragment wrote: Have you read my story yet?

I hvant gotten to it yet, but maybe someone else did.

I'm also requesting to join the Writer's Guild, if you don't mind.

Welcome.

At 11/4/05 05:03 PM, ElectroMagnetic wrote: I guess I'll join the Writer's Guild.

Welcome to the club.

At 11/4/05 01:07 PM, XwaynecoltX wrote: Nice poem Myst_Williams we have not had some good writing in the LNL so thanks for the good work...

I am glad you like it. Thanks for the kind words.

At 11/4/05 11:58 AM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: I'm writing a speech of my english coursework. Shall post it over the weekend after I finish my Alien Movie marathon (every single Ridley Scott Aliens Movie in one day :-) ) tomorrow.

Haha... sure man. Writing is writing. : )

At 11/4/05 11:47 AM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: Or just post random stuff not related to writing at all, which happens on occasion.

Ya, but it is all legal, as long as your a frequent to the club. Otherwise, it would be spammy, but it really isn't in here... so we're good.

A Poem...

Colourblind

The silk shapes her hourglass,
as clanking heels are muffled
by the blares of bass, and
the showers of lights
pour with the wind.
She leans over the bar top,
her arms tight to her sides,
her appeal in the forefront,
and calls for a martini.

Turning towards the traffic
she captures a glimpse or two,
lifting the torso and sipping
in pairs and threes, while
nicking the viable men.
She turns away and tastes,
her head tilted to the side,
her poise unbalanced,
and then finally is approached.

The bitch is on a mission,
and the candidate has arrived.
She looks him in the eyes
as there is no need to check
if he is worthy, or
if he is the ideal bronze.
She leans one arm on the bar top,
her hair descending through her fingers,
her dress rising with her cross,
and he calls for another martini.

In modest time they leave,
and travel to his condominium
upon the hills and facades
of showering lights, and
fake, plastic surroundings.
Pressed together she unbuckles,
and she slips to either side,
her dress a pool on the floor,
her body a dead weight,
and identify that I can see her.

At 11/3/05 10:45 PM, yoyodog76 wrote: okay, ill have something ready in a few days, probably by sunday, or before pending on what i do in skool

Awesome. Can't wait to see how talented you are.

At 11/3/05 08:08 PM, yoyodog76 wrote: ill join, i can be a creative writer, but i need some back-ground info, i do well with fantasy things, like swords and dragons and stuff like that, and maybe some stuff thats futuristic, so ill be back every so often, around once every 1 or 2 hours, pretty much every day, see ya then

Welcome mate. Please post some of your writing for us to read or comment on. : )

At 11/3/05 08:20 PM, Scribbler wrote: Hey Myst, not only is that picture awesome but your review is equally great.
Very detailed and precise!

The picture is quite stunning, and thanks for the kind words. I am glad you like the review.

At 11/3/05 07:30 PM, -Raiden- wrote: What else would I be asking to join?

Welcome to the Writer's Guild man. You have an idea of what we are all about?

If not... we post, review, comment, critique writing. Simple oy. : )

Enjoy.

A quick review I did on this photo.

Zeising's Ice Cube Meets Water

Streaming through the air, water nears the figure with every second. You watch the icy figure bullet towards the flowing ground. Finally, with silence, but immeasurable might, the waters blast around the cube in mid-flight. A soft chill floods through you, a shiver of quick travel, as you catch that one single moment the waters surround the cube in a swift swallow of rage. The waters spray out into the external area, disconnected from their norm, each unique from one another, but still fated to the same place. A beautiful cycle snatches the breath from your lungs as the light reflects and portrays that figure in the most beautiful way. Every second passes like an eternity and the walls of the water hold and control the wave that is the power of a thousand men, and is the rage that fills a determined avenger. The figure drops beneath the chaos above, small, fragile air pockets stream towards the surface before a slight cling startles your attention, and the entire experience washes away. The ice cube deteriorates immediately in the waters, its soul purpose and vocation complete in that instant.

Tobias Zeising’s “Ice Cube Meets Water” is not an abstract piece of multiple interpretations, or an environment that calms the soul, but an experience that can change a moment and be remembered frozen, as it was caught, and as it is meant to be. This photograph imprisons the perfect instant that is both tranquil and delicate, but raging and potent in tone. The contrast of this piece solely controls the fury within the waters as it crashed with the side of glass. The German twenty-three year old portrays a magnificent shot that is clear, without a blur of motion, or flaw in light. Not only is this piece memorable and visually beautiful, but it also is a shot that expresses one flowing moment and holds it for an eternity in a beautifully – even perfectly – expressed way. The aura and gentle blue hues add to the overall feel and mood of the piece and simply sums up all the emotions and visual delight that this photo depicts.

The focus of this photograph, an ice cube entering a glass filled with water, may seem simple and unoriginal – and that is not to say a photographer has to do something original with every piece, but the simplicity of the concept, and the fact that it has been attempted before, does not take away from the power of this piece. The harmonious blues seem so perfectly planned that it could not be better in any way. Looking at all the little details the lighting creates in this seemingly simplistic photograph has the viewer entrapped and convinced that this particular piece outranks numerous – maybe all – other photos of its kind. Crystal clear, and ideal in composition, the capture illuminates everything wonderful about the water, the glass, and the ice cube – all normal household things made unbelievable powerful by one young photographer’s vision.

Though the print of this photo comes in many sizes, the largest is 21” by 18” and goes for the Canadian asking price of $22.21. The memorable print is worth buying and is a print that will please you as a viewer, and owner, and will demand the attention of those wandering your home, or office, as company or kin. There is nothing more powerful than an impeccable combination of time, light, tone, clarity and capture; this piece truly represents a quality in all of these fields of photographic study.

At 11/3/05 01:11 PM, gumOnShoe wrote: I could put it back... but I only did so that later if we come back and go through all of this we know what it was supposed to be.

No, I totally agree that that was the smart thing to do. I was just saying that it wasnt a big deal to me so you didnt think I was nagging or something. : )

NEW POEMS

Colourblind

The silk shapes her hourglass,
as clanking heels are muffled
by the blares of bass, and
the showers of lights
pour with the wind.
She leans over the bar top,
her arms tight to her sides,
her appeal in the forefront,
and calls for a martini.

Turning towards the traffic
she captures a glimpse or two,
lifting the torso and sipping
in pairs and threes, while
nicking the viable men.
She turns away and tastes,
her head tilted to the side,
her poise unbalanced,
and then finally is approached.

The bitch is on a mission,
and the candidate has arrived.
She looks him in the eyes
as there is no need to check
if he is worthy, or
if he is the ideal bronze.
She leans one arm on the bar top,
her hair descending through her fingers,
her dress rising with her cross,
and he calls for another martini.

In modest time they leave,
and travel to his condominium
upon the hills and facades
of showering lights, and
fake, plastic surroundings.
Pressed together she unbuckles,
and she slips to either side,
her dress a pool on the floor,
her body a dead weight,
and identify that I can see her.

Night Beckons

The canopy of speeding lights, though stifle of the night,
reduce the angst of curiosity, and deem realities’ plight.
The seconds pass as starry-count, contrary to the tiny fingers,
driving potent reason, even in the lack of life, as it lingers --
the first moon hinges, intervals not aside, by means of start.
In recent aft, a large clutter, though evoked pleasant, there depart.
Above, like victim, the role is played, and then grows dreary,
for mind and interest, a better source, is a habitant of the weary.

A peddler’s goal, fade of light, as well awareness – heightened,
but nary a noise of prudence, though certainty is frightened,
for brief is cycle, despite extended travel, then passing is cower --
gentle ideas, and common things, and showers grow the flower.
In respite of daily custom, though sure is task, journey ends,
and caretaker, sibling, lover, son, lifts his closest friend
to lay upon the resting ground, and stand, the door nearby
before ceasing final light, and parting comfort wry.

At 11/2/05 02:33 PM, gumOnShoe wrote: I replaced the o with a 0 for now... it may lock a little odd, but at least we know what it says. Any "curse word" or sexual word is replaced, I don't know whether or not Andersson did it or the boards came that way...

It isn't a huge deal to me, I just found it funny when I read it.

At 11/2/05 01:39 PM, Myst_Williams wrote:

At 11/2/05 12:40 PM, gumOnShoe wrote: "Elijah Project"

I love how you posted in it sections like that. Its awesome.

HAHA! "I thinkyed my neck to the side"... you can't put cocked?

At 11/2/05 12:40 PM, gumOnShoe wrote: "Elijah Project"

I love how you posted in it sections like that. Its awesome.

I wonder if Mystic Williams is actually dead. Can I say I hope not... lol

Some fine writing man. Improving for sure.

At 10/31/05 03:51 PM, DirtySyko wrote: Myst, I emailed your gmail account twice and you never responded to me. YOU NEVER RESPONDED TO ME!!!

Ahh shit, sorry. I basically stopped checking that one... email at Myst_sparknode@hotmail.com.

I will go check my gmail right now.

COLLAB: Whos turn is it?

*sits awaiting more writing*

Looks like in my hang over I missed quite a few posts.

BTW, Nice poems Anderson!

Is that that old school cartoon where he plays the banjo? Or am I way off base?

At 10/28/05 05:23 PM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: Sweet! Whens the wedding and where's it gonna be? I need to know what to arrange for the hen night aswell.

I'll get back to you when I hit 10k posts.

Ya, I laughed my ass off at it when they first starting dancing. I am glad it didnt drag on, because I was just starting to get bored with the dancing when it ended. Perfect timing.

Pretty awesome vid. 5en!