40 Forum Posts by "DuckyInferno"
At 12/8/10 07:50 PM, SteveDude64 wrote: And, I didn't know Pablo was Spanish for Paul :o
Steve, I'd suggest doing a search through a name origin or baby naming site every time you create a new character. Not only will you get the background of the name, but sometimes you might be able to incorporate (or completely contradict) the meaning of the name for further depth to a story (allowing over analytical types the opportunity to be satisfied as well).
Canas, I think you would benefit greatly from reading Edwardo Galeano's trilogy "Memory of Fire." It's always filed under History at the book stores, but I think you will really be able to relate to his writing. It's poetic prose, very similar yet very dissimilar to your style.
Look him up, if you have any questions about Galeano or Memory of Fire, let me know and I would gladly discuss my feelings/take on his stuff.
At 11/2/10 02:33 AM, tinytim12 wrote: Also, what is the word limit? I've been looking everywhere and can't find it :(
1000-5000 words
At 11/1/10 08:53 AM, lilith66 wrote: All of a sudden "Our heroes" by sheep standards were morphing into villains.
Says whom?
Once again that mindless mentality started to take over."Shouts of murderer and baby killer began to echo in the wind.
Pretty sure everybody has avoided chastising the actual men and women in uniform. Those that do/have end up alienating themselves as they're a huge minority.
I sat here and wondered how sheep are so easily manipulated by media and why they are so weak willed. And the saddest part is they are passing this trait on to the next generation. It is why kids who were too young to remember 9/11 are making fun of it. The elder sheep do not raise their lambs to show respect.
Sounds like Fox News bias. Deft is right, there was no need to put this writing up in this forum. Maybe the political forum would be more apt to carry a conversation with you; this just isn't the place.
If you just wanted critique on the writing itself, you should have left out (or wrote very differently) the disclaimer from the bottom of post.
It's just annoying, although tbh, it's most frustrating when trying to critique, so the change to the OP wouldn't fix my biggest problem with the character limit.
I still would like to see the change, though.
If you get in contact with a mod make sure to tell them we should have more characters available in our OPs here in the writing forum. Just sayin' :)
At 10/28/10 01:16 AM, DeftAndEvil wrote: hmm very clever. Have you read Poe's "The Black Cat" because it is very similar. Although the part about a body being shiny when it is burnt really sounds unbelievable to me but ok.
I agree it sounds unbelievable, but It is. 5 years in the military, multiple deployments, and being part of an emergency stretcher crew taught me this. Still have nightmares :(
Also, there are not really any intimations to the guy;s insanity. Also there is a Fight Club element where the main guy is insane and reality is intertwined with delusion without the audience knowing (i.e. the police give him cigarettes is somewhat acknowledged through his flashback)
Not insane, just super distraught, wife just died. But I do love me some Chuck Palahniuk.
also, his memory must've also taken place on a curb.
I see the first memory as they're in the car, the others are that maybe they're in a field or something. Romantic date type location, grassy. Up to the reader on those though.
Clever. Good story. The part that really bothers me is the flesh thing though.
Thanks!
At 10/27/10 04:37 PM, DeftAndEvil wrote: Well most of the intimations throughout the story suggest that the man was smoking behind the woman's back. I assume the shiny thing is either a metal lighter or a gun.
The shiny thing was Rebecca. Flesh gets shiny when burnt.
Also the convulsions in the man suggest that he was unaware of this, or he was surprised that it happened. Since that lady has anosmia (cool plot element. if she has anosmia that means that she cannot taste things either) I assume that either a: she was smoking and the house burned down because she couldn't smell the smoke, or b: same thing but the guy was smoking.
The rude joke he made to her, concerning the anosmia, was what I figure happened which would explain 'took to the sky in a million directions.' I left her actual fate up to the reader, though.
If you look at the conversations between Freddy and Rebecca, they're all written in past tense. Memories, if you will, placed sneakily into the story so it seems she's with him all along.
Most of the story revolves around the guy's habit and her anosmia, so this seems the logical choice, but there really are not many other hints to the cause, other than the obvious. Also, it is a story about loss and the guy is not really distraught about the loss of his house but rather something else. So maybe something more valuable was burned? However, the ambiguity of the last line again does not offer enough insight (no description other than it was burned).
The smoking was just a way for me to push the theme of smell further. The "campfire" stench of his house burning down was nauseating for him because he knew that it meant he was smelling his burnt wife.
At 10/27/10 10:31 PM, Luwano wrote: I don't understand what you mean. The images you can upload to the art forum are subject to the same restrictions as in any other of the NG forums.
"File must be a .gif or .jpg and no larger than 150k, and must not exceed 599px wide by 700px tall."
From the Art Forum Rules, "Maximum upload size is 200k, with a maximum width of 595 pixels and maximum height of 700 pixels."
So either the little text next to "include picture?" is wrong in the Art Forum or NG is lying.
Deathcon, I want you to know I've read all of this and there are a few parts that I will hit on later. I'd do it now but I have a lot of work I need to complete tonight.
Quick thoughts on it: I like the superhero feel of these characters, which is a cool contrast to the supernatural feel of the first chapter you submitted.
At 10/27/10 02:41 PM, KoLdBLooD wrote: I'm currently finishing up a story someone wrote for the Halloween lit contest.
Check It out.
I clicked the preview and it said "No such dump exists."
:(
I need to know more about you, finish filling out your NG profile so I can at least see your age. All I see at this point is a cat jump-kicking a dog.
At 10/23/10 05:55 AM, Dr-Worm wrote: I liked it. The core concept here is very interesting, and some of your word choices and phrasing are really evocative ("associate" is such an impersonal way to describe a person, isn't it?). The only major problem is that in the first stanza the poem trips over itself before it can get a good rhythm going. "Imperceptible" and "acceleration" make their respective lines kind of clunky, and I think they could probably be replaced with some more straightforward synonyms. The transition between the second and third lines is kind of awkward; you might want to consider making the line break at a different point. And the last line seems kind of off. "Unaware of the outside?" "Unaware of what's outside?" I dunno, just some suggestions.
But all in all, this is a pretty decent poem.
Awesome critique, Dr-Worm!!! Here goes the poem, modified based on your suggestions:
"Indulging in Gravity"
The invisible breeze
competes with the rush
of late night business deals
unaware of the outside
Glass flashes past
as associates agree
the asphalt becomes more defined
in the eye of the bereaved
The suits close in
and shake the other's hand
while an outsider
has induldged in gravity
How come in the art forum people can post "large images" but here in the writing forum we're still forced to whittle our writing down to 8192 characters?
How about at least doubling it for OP in this forum? Just sayin'.
Breathing this poison is better than smelling that campfire stench, the smell that means you're going to have to restart your life.
A heavy commotion arises from the firefighters, you look up and it seems the last of the flames have been out for a few minutes. Holes in the house reveal traces of your furniture, now blackened and scattered by the explosion and its effects.
Rebecca had finally finished the rundown of her favorite constellations. After a brief silence you looked up from her lap and toward her face. You could only see the profile created by her chin, but she sensed you were looking at her. She glanced down at you and flashed a smile that told you everything will be alright. You half-smiled back at her, and she decided it was time to change the subject, "So, have I ever told you about my anosmia?"
"You sure haven't. Wait, what? You seem to sleep fine when you spend the night with me."
She smiled a little at your misunderstanding, "Not insomnia, anosmia. It's this disease that makes it so I can't smell anything."
You pulled your head up from her lap, possibly a little too quickly, and inquired, "Really? You can't smell anything at all?"
She frowned, "No, I can't. And because of it, I'm always really worried that I smell bad too."
"I assure you Becca, you smell great. You have nothing to worry about. But more importantly, that means I can go weeks without a shower and you'd never know the difference!" You were getting way too much joy out of that fact and had come to realize, by the look on Rebecca's face, that she had just told you something she doesn't share with everyone. You quickly came up with something to make her smile, "You know I'm just kidding, I smell terrible even if I take a shower!"
Hearing that elicited a little smile from Rebecca, but the smile quickly faded into a slight frown, "It just sucks, I will never know the smell of a rose, the smell of your skin, of anything, honestly. Another thing I constantly worry about is the freshness of the food that I'm eating. I know it doesn't sound like that big of a problem, but having anosmia is pretty sucky."
You sat in silence for a moment, just looking at Rebecca's face; you were attempting to gauge the conversation. Seeing as you always had problems not knowing the right or wrong thing to say, you just blurted a stupid joke out alongside a chuckle, "I guess whenever we move into a house together I should never leave you home alone, a gas leak and a spark wouldn't be good at all, huh?"
"Shut up, Freddy."
Through one of the new holes in your home, you can see a few firemen in what was once your living room. One of them takes off his hat and looks toward his feet. You can see something burnt and shiny saddled over the armrest of the equally burnt couch.
Your nausea hits you full force, causing you to vomit onto the asphalt, consequently ejecting the cigarette from your mouth. While reopening your pack of smokes, you see the officer walking in your direction.
Once next to you, the officer says, "Sir, I'm so sorry. I have bad news."
You stand up and glance again at the group of firefighters and can now see full well what they're huddled around.
Sorry it's not about zombies or vampires. If you have questions about what's going on in this story, just ask; it seems a lot of people don't quite get it the first time reading through.
As you stand in the middle of the street, staring in disbelief at the wreckage that was once your home, you can't help but yearn to tell your wife that everything will be okay. The firefighters on the scene are unsure of how your house took to the sky in a million directions, but the nausea building in your throat gives you an idea of just what happened.
"Freddy," your wife, Rebecca, mumbled your name quietly into your ear, she was looking for that comfort that only you could give to her.
You don't respond to her, you really don't even hear her. Instead you pull through the hug she had around your right arm and walk closer to the smoldering piles of your life, being careful not to break the perimeter created by the local police.
You could really use a cigarette, but you're fresh out. You wave your hand to catch the attention of one of the officers still on the scene. Explaining that it's your house the crowd is watching, you ask him if he or any of the other officers have a smoke you can bum; you could really use one right now.
"Yeah, man, let me see what I can get for you. Just have a seat on the curb over there," he nods towards the side of the street that isn't being illuminated by a quickly dying fire. You comply and wait diligently for your cigarette while peering deeper at your life laid out all over your carefully tended lawn.
"You shouldn't be smoking, Fred," Rebecca said in that tone that made you want to change the world.
"I know, honey, I really shouldn't, but this is just one of those situations that I just gotta burn for a bit. Stress. You know."
You took her hand into yours and kissed it gently, but she just stared at you. You felt like an idiot but ignited the cigarette anyway. In response to her silence you quipped, "Shit, just let me have this cigarette," you chuckled, then borrowed a phrase from an old friend, "don't look at me in that tone!"
You could tell she was fighting a smile, but she then added, "You have to think about our future together, you have to live a long life for our kids. Smoking won't help that, Freddy. Anyway, I hate how it feels when I breathe in your smoke."
You look up at your house and can smell the cooked insides of it. The smell reminds you of camping; the nausea pitted in your stomach begins to rise again.
The officer returns with a beat up pack of cigarettes. Holding the pack out to you, he says, "Williams said to just give you the rest of his pack, here you go."
You take the slightly crushed box into your hand and thank the officer. It's not your brand, but any nicotine at this point will do. You didn't notice it before, but when you hold the box up to pull out a smoke, you stop for a moment and watch the intense trembling coursing over your hands. You can now consciously feel it over your whole body. After inhaling deeply in a feeble attempt to calm your nerves, you pull out a cigarette, put it to your lips and reach into your pocket for the cheap plastic lighter you always carry with you. You have difficulty lighting the cigarette, but finally it takes the flame; the initial inhale tastes like your early twenties, it smells like the hole in the wall you used to drink light beers at until 2 a.m. on Friday nights.
You overhear some yelling from a firefighter, something about the source of a fire, something more about cutting off a line. Putting the cigarette in your mouth, you stretch your legs out from the curb, put your hands on the sidewalk and stretch your head back until you're looking at the sky. You try to lean your head back far enough to just see stars, but the smoke from your house still invades your view. A tear welled in your eye finally releases itself and rolls down the side of your face, toward the top of your ear.
In an attempt to get comfortable, you rolled onto your side and placed your head into Rebecca's lap. She ran her hand through your hair until she seemingly found a spot she really enjoyed and began twirling it in her fingers. You could already feel the tears subsiding. She knew how distressed you were and she tried her hardest to take your mind off of reality.
Rebecca never quite understood that just holding her helped to put you at ease, so she spoke of trivial things; constellations were her favorite topic, especially late in the evening like that night. You grunted affirmative noises at the right spots, and even though you weren't really listening to what she was saying, her voice alone made you forget about the terrible event that had occurred that day.
You lean forward and put your arms on your knees, the cigarette in your mouth has all but turned to ashes. You spit it out and crush it with your heel while simultaneously pulling another out of the pack. You light this cigarette as quickly as possible and inhale the addiction.
As I'm new as hell to the forums here, I was wondering if all the horror stories being posted are simply due to the fact that Halloween is this month, or are the stories here like this year round?
At 10/26/10 04:13 PM, Deathcon7 wrote: I appreciate your input, Ducky. I also appreciate you offering your insight. The most basic goal I was trying to reach was simply to gain interest; see how many people actually get through it. Thus far, here and elsewhere, I've gotten positive feedback on flow and interest, so this is a step in a good direction.
To confirm, this is NOT the first chapter. This is actually the first of a bunch of firsts in the story as a whole; it's a beginining, not the beginning. Anyway, I was trying to introduce themes with this that will flow into the rest of the universe and expand it out. The next chapter is another of the firsts, and it parallels this one, except on the other side of the fence, so to speak.
You'll get a bit more clarity with the next submission, and hopefully a better scope on this initial piece. Again, thanks for reading.
The flow in this piece is great (imo), and I didn't come across any portions where I had to reread anything for better comprehension. I'm pretty excited to see the scope of this universe and the parallels offered through different chapters. I like reading supernatural stories that offer something different than the rest and yours, thus far, seems to be going in the right direction.
"Enough," said the stranger as he placed a hand on the man's shoulder.
The man pulled back roughly, pushing the girl away from him. Her limp body shuffled farther down the alley than he expected. His body was beginning to feel loose now, and his mind, the fog, it was lifting. The mist in the alley was receding as well, his feeding ground in shadow but his birthplace drenched in sun light. The stranger stood behind him, half in sunlight, and half in shadow.
Gregior, he remembered. He examined himself. His clothes were still tattered, but his skin was nearly completely healed. "Gregior," the man said out loud, a satisfied smile on his face.
"I was beginning to grow uncertain," the stranger said as he bowed deeply.
"Of all the Daywalkers, they sent you?" Gregior asked.
What's wrong with this particular Daywalker? Will this character have a name in future versions? Maybe he will be described in a previous chapter if this isn't the first chapter?
"By the time we knew where to find you, it was already past time for a night Awakening. I volunteered, Master. We could not afford further delays."
"Your diligence, as always, is appreciated. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten." In a flash, Gregior was on top of the man. With alacrity he broke arms and legs, as well as the man's spine. "You've been very helpful this day, old friend." Gregior plunged his mouth into the man's neck and, rather than drink the thick blood that oozed out, he inhaled deeply. He felt a coldness scathe the back of his throat and freeze his chest as it fanned out to cover his body. It spread over him until every inch of his body felt numb and cold.
Why kill this servant? Seems the adage "good help is hard to find" is applicable to my question here. This guy volunteered to hunt down and revive Gregior, and in return he gets a gruesome death? Is it because Gregior has something against killing little girls and he's punishing the servant? Or maybe he knew escape from authorities would be impossible for the servant, so killing him was the easiest way to assure he wouldn't talk?
Sirens were approaching quickly. The wall towards the back of the alley led onto a short rooftop, above which he could reach the fire escapes and through them the rooftops. He took a hesitant step into the sunlight. A smile split his lips as the warmth simply soothed the coldness that wracked him. He gathered strength in his legs and sprang upwards, grabbing the lip of the low wall. With one last glance at his friend's corpse, he fled.
So after feeding he can tolerate sunlight? I do like that, even though supernatural, he couldn't just automatically jump to the top of one of the buildings.
I'd like to see past (or further) exposition to this story to get a fuller understanding of why this story is being told or at least be able to pinpoint some themes. The story is easy to read and comprehend, and I look forward to reading more chapters (be they before or after this one).
At 10/24/10 03:49 PM, Deathcon7 wrote:The Lurkyr is a multimedia project I've been working on. This is one of the first chapters in the story detailing the rise of Archon Gregoir. Let me know what you think.
Sounds good. When you say "one of the first chapters," though, do you mean this is definitely not the first chapter?
Thick mist filled the alley, casting a protective shade, blotting out the climbing sun. [...] When he finally breached the mist, stepping into the crowded sidewalk and shining sun light, his skin burst into flames, yet he still felt no pain.
Before the flames could completely consume him, a powerful arm grabbed him by the throat and yanked him backwards into the alley. Stumbling, he lost his footing and slammed into the ground. The mist felt like tiny daggers against his burnt skin; not pain, however. It wasn't unpleasant, he simply felt it.
These two opening paragraphs are rather interesting and offer enough exposition to keep the reader involved while leaving out enough details to maintain that "what's going on here?" type of feeling.
From outside the alley, he could hear excited voices. The man who grabbed him, however, was nowhere to be seen. Slowly, he got to his feet and looked around. Deeper in the mist a large black shape stood, still as a statue.
"What do you think you're doing?" the stranger asked, his voice like the rumble of an avalanche; which made sense, except he wasn't sure how he recognized the rumble of an avalanche. He felt like he should know.
I like the question offered by the servant (?) here in that it implies they know each other somehow. Great descriptive narrative as well.
"I don't know," the man rasped, his voice rough and foreign. Speech felt oddly natural. He didn't know how he knew the words, or how he understood the stranger, yet understanding was there.
"You're not a Daywalker; you need to keep away from sunlight. What is your name?"
Does the servant ask Gregior this in an attempt to gauge his master's current comprehension levels? On my first read through, it really seemed that the servant didn't know who G was at all. I don't want to assume your authorial intention, so I guess I'm just letting you know how it came across to me.
"I don't know," the man responded. The large dark shadow shifted through the mist, coming closer to him. "Are you going to kill me?"
"We'll both soon know," the stranger responded, before disappearing into the mist.
This line goes with my last comment, maybe change it to something along the lines of "you'll know soon enough"
Why do I want a name? The man thought. Everything he thought seemed to come in halves. He knew he wanted a name, knew he had one, but didn't know why or what. The man returned to his birthplace, taking a seat in the garbage. Any kind of deep thinking seemed stifled. He tried to think hard, and harder yet. But nothing. Nothing ever came. Just half answers to questions he couldn't understand.
I really like the term 'birthplace' you used in this passage. It offers the reader a chance to fully realize how fresh/new everything seems to Gregior at this juncture.
He sat there for some time before he finally heard the stranger approach. In his arms was a small girl, kicking and thrashing, her complaints muffled and unintelligible by the stranger's large hand.
"What are you-"
"Feed."
The man wasn't sure what the stranger meant, but he approached anyway, curiosity overtaking him. The stranger genuflected and draped the girl backwards over his knee, tilting her head to expose her neck.
"What am I to feed on? Her?"
"I cannot draw blood without loosening my hold on her. Bite her, and your Hungersense will guide you."
The man got to his knees beside the girl. Her eyes darted everywhere, wild, afraid. She smelled like... it was a scent he couldn't describe. He leaned in and inhaled deeply. The scent flooded his nostrils. It was sharp, exciting, and pleasurable; he felt a stir in his abdomen, soothing warmth. "My mouth is watering. She smells very..."
"Delicious. I smell it too."
This line suggests that the servant is himself a Vamp of sorts, is that what you're implying?
The scent became stronger. It pulsed against his face in tiny puffs. He leaned in again, placing his face against the girl's neck. She began to buck stronger, strong enough to hit him in the temple with her chin. The feeling was terrible, it... hurt. And now he was upset, no, angry. He roared furiously then snapped his teeth around the little girl's neck. Something warm squirted into his mouth, it poured into it. He swallowed fiercely as it drowned his tongue and dribbled out the corner of his lips. She was no longer bucking as hard, and the man realized he was pinning her to the ground. He shook his head softly, coaxing more blood from the child. He was heaving, sucking in through his nose in sharp whiffs. His hands trembled slightly against the little girl, her body so small and fragile.
How about instead of "something warm squirted into his mouth," change it to "warmth entered his mouth," squirted just sounds a little off here; I think I'm making a very minor point with this, though.
At 10/25/10 04:08 AM, Bloodspade wrote: Well if your mother in law is in college just say
"Well you raised a family and held a job, you seem to be pretty responsible. Here's three pages to start you off finish it yourself"
If only it was that easy. In theory that sounds like the best option, but at this point I need to finish this paper off. It's almost 2 in the morning now and I'm at about 6 pages. This thing is due tomorrow and it wouldn't be tactful for me to dump it back on her after making the promise, y'know?
At 10/25/10 02:42 AM, DuckyInferno wrote:At 10/25/10 02:08 AM, DuckyInferno wrote: at this point to read someone about someone else having a similar situation...*to red about someone else*
*read*
Yikes...
At 10/25/10 02:08 AM, DuckyInferno wrote: at this point to read someone about someone else having a similar situation...
*to red about someone else*
Damn this essay is destroying me.
So I was asked by my mother-in-law to write an academic essay about music for one of her classes. I agreed, of course, as I wouldn't want two women mad at me (wife and MIL), and asked for the specifics of the essay. Immediately my heart sank and I wished I could renege my previous acceptance of the task. Alas, I am now stuck writing this monstrosity.
The down 'n dirty on this essay:
8-Pages about a concert (that I didn't go to), describe the venue (that I've never been to), the audience (that I didn't see), the music/musicians/instruments (that I didn't hear), include two books in the bibliography (that I didn't read), and analyze interviews you held (that I didn't conduct).
My immediate thoughts were, OK, I can do this, it might take a little while but I should be able to finish it by 1 or 2 in the morning. I asked my MIL for her notes...
"I don't have any."
So now, I'm three and a half pages into this essay and really starting to hit that wtf am I doing state of mind.
Anyway, I figured I'd spend some time here on NG and see if any of you ever run into this scenario of writing essays for your friends/family due solely to the fact that you're known as the "one who writes good words" within your social circles. I think it'd be helpful to my psyche at this point to read someone about someone else having a similar situation... I hope it's not just me who does this crap.
At 10/23/10 03:38 AM, SPectrumTopHat wrote: I think this is the most beautiful thing I have ever read.
I wrote it to touch the soul on an emotional level unattainable by normal prose.
Is this a poem about capital "g" God? or relationships? or life in general? depression?
See it's this kind of stuff why I generally never critique poetry. I like how this sounds but I think I need some Cliff's Notes.
So I created and uploaded a song to the audio portal here and was inspired by my own melody to create a fairly depressing piece of poetry:
"Indulging in Gravity"
The imperceptible breeze
competes with the rush
of acceleration past late night business deals
unaware of outside
Glass flashes past
as associates agree
the asphalt becomes more defined
in the eye of the bereaved
The suits close in
and shake the other's hand
while an outsider
has induldged in gravity
:Badge of Deception, the inspiration for this poem.
:http://www.newgrounds.com/audio/listen/
371033
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Badge of Deception by DuckyInfernoClick to listen.
- Score
- 5.00 / 5.00
- Type
- Song
- Genre
- Ambient
- Popularity
- 6 Views
NM, I think I found it (just copy paste url of song)
When linking to a song, how do I make it so it shows up with the CD image?
