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At 4/16/13 01:34 AM, Aliendude2 wrote: The Little Things

Often times people in general often times overlook the smallest things, even though they may do the most. Common items are family members, people they pass by almost every day without much of a thought, and can even include the smallest amount of sugar that they normally put in their morning coffee. When these things go missing though we find that life is unbearable without it, causing entire routines to fail, entire lives to be forever ruined, as well as entire stories left untold as those affected attempt to continue with their lives as if nothing changed. If we were to pause and consider these small but precious moments and items however, perhaps the collective human race will be able to gain a new level of conscience thought and will be able to achieve previously unthinkable achievementsâEU¦

You seem to have a problem with grammar. Not to be a grammar "Nazi" but sentence structure is a basic of any writing. I'll fix it by removing comma splices and run-on sentences and redundant statements

Often times people in general overlook the smallest things. Common items are family members and people they pass by almost every day without much of a thought. These things can even include the smallest amount of sugar they normally put in their morning coffee. When these things go missing, though, we find that life is unbearable without it. Entire routines to fail, entire lives to forever be ruined, as well as entire stories left untold as those affected attempt to continue with their lives as if nothing changed. If we were to pause and consider these small but precious moments and items, however, perhaps the collective human race will be able to gain a new level of conscience thought and will be able to achieve previously unthinkable achievements.

Sorry to say but it is difficult to accept this as poetic. It is more like a small essay because it doesn't have a pronounced flow of timing. I would suggest your next piece address and emotion. Ask "How would I feel about being over looked?" and express the answer in symbols that are creative yet relatable.

"I am here, don't you see, the little thing that is me? I am a hope for tomorrow, a dream from your childhood. I am quiet but I am here. The little thing that is me?"

Written for my little sister whom had just lost a close friend. The friend she lost was a 13 year old boy whose 16 year old sister also committed suicide a year earlier.

Eulogy for a suicide

Yesturday she stirred. She was unhappy and she was in pain. Her options were few and her soul was bare. Through the silent peace of waking hours she felt a small place where the world didn't hurt. So warm was this place and so trusting it felt that she wished everything could be so calm.

Today she thought. There lay in her view nothingness and hopelessness. Her heart felt cold and heavy as would a stone feel in the arms of a man sinking into dark waters. There is peace and there is warmth in this place she found, the place between awake and a dream. That is where she belong, with no one to judge her and no one to disturb her brief glimpse of happiness.

Tomorrow she will go. She's chosen her route and there's no turning back. Behind the lids of her eyes lay the only refuge, her sanctuary from a life she never asked for and indeed never wanted. She thought, if this be what my life is about then I want none of it.

Forever she'll ache. The childâEUTMs eye that lead her search for peace lacked the wisdom to see the truth. The truth that no peace lies within the dream. The truth that her options were all around her yet her secluded heart lead her away from. The truth that the real peace is and always will be only found through her pain and NEVER around it. This pain, her pain is not hers anymore. She's not around to help and be helped by those that loved her.

The weight of this pain has not gone because it was not transversed, no this pain cannot die with her and so it finds its way into the hearts of those that would give anything to show her the truth. That she was loved, her life had purpose that her young mind had yet to learn, and that indeed as time went past that life would have been honored in its passing. She stirred and so because of her actions, he stirred.

A soul wrought with discord cannot rest in peace. That warmth, that beautiful small place between awake and a dream, is your heart's elation at the fact that it was given this one more chance to make things right and to bring harmony to a troubled life. It is certain that no dream is beautiful unless you awaken to the chance to make it a reality.

I mourn, not for what has taken place but for what will never get that chance to take place in the future, I mourn.

Looking for an animator to work with. I've written a peom entitled "Don't turn away - My Dear Adolescent" which I envision being animated as a family of 3 generations sitting around a camp fire. It would be a simple projecthopefully finished within a few weeks. I have a story-board in my head. anyone interested? Here's the piece.

Don't turn away:

Light seeks where darkness creeps. Peaceful sleep leaks from smoldering dreams.
but don't turn away.

Courage is alive consuming fears and begetting triumph. Weakness is alive, consuming your will
and begetting your humanity. Divine is a chest filled with things to be done.
Stay strong and don't turn away.

The child is watching, basking in every flicker, amazed by every lick. Keep the child alive for as long as you live.
We see it too, the darkness that looms in the shadows. Watch it now as it waits for us all and with haunting eyes unwavering. Wait it does, and wait it shall. Come now to your place in the light.
Warm your soul, stay strong and don't turn away.

The child is watching,
until we must,
face the dark.

Born 1982 on the island of Honolulu. My life has been devoted to two things, most recently my loving wife and always to my hopes of promoting understanding. For the past 3 years IâEUTMve been attending college working on my bachelorâEUTMs degree in psychology. Thanks to my 7 years of military service and the G.I. bill IâEUTMve come to understand a lot about myself and about others.
I was born the son of a schizophrenic. Being aware that the condition was congenital I became engrossed with the workings of the mind at a young age. I was certain that I would fall into the oblivion of madness and so instead of being a victim of it, I decided to watch the progression of it and take notes. Over the last 5 years IâEUTMve noticed some changes beginning to manifest in my cognition. Again, IâEUTMm no beggar. IâEUTMm actually doing very well at a 40+ hour week job as an electronics technician.
Instead I have something to offer, my notebook. I am a writer and a thinker. IâEUTMm a philosopher and student. I offer my manifest to the world in the hopes of spreading understanding. Through the careful examination of reality as IâEUTMve seen it dissolve and reform over the last few years, IâEUTMve completed a difficult and tedious work. It is a philosophy born from the third person perspective of reality and sanity.
IâEUTMve struggled against my faults and have become a productive (and stable) employee, husband and family member. My passion for writing and art, combined with perhaps a bit of a messiah complex, has made me quite an eccentric person. IâEUTMve put countless hours of deep thought into this work and I give it to the world as a peace offering.

Please read more at: www.vicerolives.com

Comment and/or subscribe. Knowing someone is reading my opus would mean the world to me.

Thank you for your time,
Vicero

Don't turn away:

Light seeks where darkness creeps. Peaceful sleep leaks from smoldering dreams.
but don't turn away.

Courage is alive consuming fears and begetting triumph. Weakness is alive, consuming your will
and begetting your humanity. Divine is a chest filled with things to be done.
Stay strong and don't turn away.

The child is watching, basking in every flicker, amazed by every lick. Keep the child alive for as long as you live.
We see it too, the darkness that looms in the shadows. Watch it now as it waits for you and with haunting eyes unwavering. Wait it does, and wait it shall. Come now to your place in the light.
Warm your soul, stay strong and don't turn away.

The child is watching,
until we must,
face the dark.

At 3/22/13 08:11 AM, PixelSkye wrote: Hello! I'm PixelSkye and I love stories! Please help me write my own with your opinions and help. So here we go!
In/Sanity

I also felt overwhelmed by the layout of your story, but you've heard that enough.
To me, creative writing is all about stroking the readers attention with the pacing of syllables and paragraph structure. If you can learn to time your words, and pace your paragraphs, you can convey so much more to the eager reader. The important thing to remember is that readers are automatically optomistic about reading your work. It's up to you to prove that you're worthy of their mental resources right off the bat.

A bit of advice I picked up from speech class that I can offer is how to structure a paragraph to maximize initial impression. Make sure that the first sentence of each paragraph offers something to the reader. Just like the first sentence of this paragraph offered you advice and now you're still reading. Funny right? Next tip is that the following 2-3 sentences of a paragraph follow through with the offer given in the first sentence and provide support on why what you've offered is worth retaining. With these last two sentences I've delivered the offer and am making my point by supporting information.

The last bit of advice is to use the last sentence not as a rehash of the offer or a restatement of the support but as a closing statement which concludes the process of delievering on your promise. (just like I did in the example paragraph) Now you can deviate from this pattern if you want to, such as putting the "topic sentence" as the second sentence instead of the first. I've done that in this paragraph because doing so paces this paragraph in a way that my writing doesn't seem formulaic. Like I said, it's the STROKING of the readers attention that keeps them reading.

With sentences also you must keep in mind the pacing of syllables. This is important because if a sentence is too long the reader will lose interest in the point. you have to remember that brains work much faster than mouths and so it's more common to wait 5 seconds during a conversation for a person to finish their sentence as opposed to 1 second when it's read silently. I'm purposely going to make this sentence a long one in order to exemplify how improper pacing of syllables can become tedious for the reader.

Again, as not to become formulaic, you want to deviate from this rule in moderation. If you are lengthening your sentence then make sure the point is worth it. you want to grab the reader's attention then make them wait for the payout in suspense, not boredom. I like to think of syllable pacing as me taking the lead with someone that doesn't know how to dance. I show them my rythym and they sway with it. They may miss it the first time around but if I've done a good job then they'll be motivated enough to re-read it until they get all the steps.

It's in stroking attention and swaying emotions that writing communicates in the beautiful way that it does. I'll be posting a piece I wrote yesturday to accompany a painting I'm making today. Give it a read and let me know if you see what I'm talking about.

~Vicero

At 4/8/13 02:38 PM, Blitzkreig261 wrote:

Cool stuff! It's like an adorable love letter to the meek and fragile child in us all.

I'm starting a kick-starter and I need a logo made up. This is a picture of my tattoo that I'm looking to base the logo off of. Offering $50 for the best rendition of this image to be submitted by saturday evening. Paying through paypal.

Colors to incorporate: primarily purple, secondary colors include black and grey. Please note that the three shapes (two triangles and one circle) are exactly the same proportion and interlocking.

To enter, please post your work here then PM me with a message that you've done so. I will announce the winner saturay march 23rd night - or sunday morning, whichever.

Reaching into a fold of his beaten under armor, Calleth pulled out a flask, taking a small amount of a sparkling liquid into the palm of his hand. Slowly, as not to startle the

still edgy Nogood, Calleth rubbed his hand over the wound he'd suffered at the hands of Minna. Hesitantly at first, the tense muscles under the soft fur relaxed as his wound faded away. Minna was shocked to even hear soft purring.

As they arose to walk Calleth struggled to imagine the age of his new apprentice. Since the feline face of Vah Shir aged much faster than humans, Nogood appeared to be about thirteen winters aged. Calleth knew well that he was probably about ten winters off. If he would learn and train at that rate the hermits newest pupil would make Zek proud.

Days went past since Nogood and Calleth reached Qeynos and training was never in short demand. First years training revolved around sword play, the next, poisons and the parts of the body. Many nights were spent with stiffness and soreness as young Nogood tried new poisons on his unsuspecting mentor. With Nogood growing in stature, skill and cunning by leaps and bounds Calleth hesitantly taught him the ways of stealth and bits of magic to keep him unseen and unheard. Often he'd wonder if his hair was growing sparse due to the stress of raising such a mischievous apprentice, or from Nogood practicing his stealth by plucking hairs from the hermits head as he slept. As time continued Calleth became more aware of Nogoods predatory instincts and felt control of it slipping away from him.

"So Nogood, you went out last night?" Calleth asked casually over the morningâEUTMs usual meal of sweet bread and fruit.

"Yes, I went to watch some matches in the arena." Nogood replied, never taking his eyes off of his meal.

"You didn't wonder into crushbone on your way did you?" Calleth asked, giving the now very adult looking Vah Shir an accusing glance. Nogood choked on a bit of bread, and quickly responded.

"Uh, why do you ask that? You think me feral or something?"

"Feral?! No, of course not." Calleth chuckled. "However, someone did drag a deathfist pawn to our doorstep last night missing half of its face."

Nogood leaped from the table and rushed to the door to check. Flinging open the old wooden door to their small back alley flat Nogood saw no dismembered orc. He did how ever hear the maddened laughter of Calleth behind him. Sulking back to his seat, obviously embarrassed at being caught in a lie, his sparkling blue eyes drop to his feet.

"My boy, I've taught you the ways of misdirection. DonâEUTMt go getting all hurt I can still outsmart you." This truth did little to relight Nogoods spirit. "Nogood, you seem a might down, what's bothering you this much?" Calleth asked in what could almost be mistaken for parental concern.

"Well you told me long ago that I'd be able to roam as I want andâEU¦ hunt as I likedâEU¦" Nogood said. "That I did and yet I keep you here to train and clean." A brief moment of quiet pause filled the room as the two looked at each other, trying to sense each others intentions. "Well I suppose its time you started roaming, isn't it?" The thought sparked a new fire in those large blue eyes of Nogoods. "Very well then. As of today you are no longer my apprentice. We will adventure together as peers and hunt as well." A broad smile streaked across Calleths face as he noticed the long tail of the Vah Shir twitch with

anticipation at the word.

"Honestly I've seen this coming for a few days and had your documents filed with the warrior guild master a few days ago. We can pick them up after breakfast." Calleth said, while pocketing one more piece of sweet bread. Glancing again at the Vah shir Calleth noticed once again that Nogood took a long depressed sigh. The old war dog often forgot that despite his size and natural ability Nogood was also unhardened by the life outside of a child's grasp. "Is there something else you wish to say Nogood?" Asked Calleth.

"I wanted to wait until more certain word arose but, I've decided not to take your place as captain of the Qeynos guards. I've spoken with Stanos of the high hold keep and have taken a job as a supply runner." Nogood cleared his plate, only sensing Calleths anger at his back.

"My Apprentice?! In leagues with a smuggling, thieving rat such as Stanos? I should think not! You of all people should know his true colors and I would be dead before I see it." Even the strongest of storms could not shake the tiny room as much as Calleths protests.

"But fathâEU¦ Sir." Nogood sometimes slipped in the distinction. Calleth never seemed to mind, or at least didn't notice. "You know I am no thief, donâEUTMt you? I can tell you no more than I already have but trust me that no shame will come from my mission with the thief boss." As Nogood spoke old gears slowly turned in the now nearly elderly head of Calleth. Many nights he's put Nogood to sleep hoping to finally have an agent cunning and skillful enough to infiltrate the network of smugglers in high hold keep. Now with veiled words of missions and secrecy his dream may come true.

"Even still, you are too inexperienced to handle such aâEU¦ 'job' as this one. I will accompany you for a while, at least until I'm certain your knowledge of the world isâEU¦ strong enough. Without my guiâEU¦.guidance's youâEU¦ " The protest would go unheard as the full affect of the sleeping poison took hold of Calleths mind. "Don't go getting all hurt I can outsmart you old man!" Nogood said to his slumbering mentor. "You taught me misdirection, remember?" Nogood gathered a few of his most needed possessions and started out on his own destiny.

Sweet and simple, what's a good program for voice recording?

This is what a Vah shir looks like.

This is the longest story I've ever written. It's not complete but I will post it in sections as people show interest. If you've evber played everquest then you'll get a kick out of it. If not, then I apologize but a lot of the detail and integrated lore will be lost on you. Anyway, enjoy and please feel free to comment. Who knows, I may ever pick the pen back up and complete it.

Chapter 1:

"Alone he sits, and alone he'll stay as far as I'm concerned." Rapidly graying hair, ragged and unkempt betrayed what must have been the most beautiful pair of hazel eyes to ever give Calleth such a disdainful look.
"Surely," he interrupted, "No child deserves such a life to be caged in a room no larger than a witchâEUTMs closet." Calleth knew this child of which he spoke was no more fit for teddy bears than any other beast that roamed the country side. The old woman gave a harrumph of a twisted chuckle and sat back in the tanned leather chair which seemed to give her tiny frame nearly an ominous presence.
"Well then, you're either very kind, very blind, or the dullest sword this side of Antonica." Calleth stifled a grin, not of jest but at the comical thought of the chair the old hag seemed so fond of swallowing her whole. The old hermit put aside his wonderfully ironic thoughts and continued,
"Perhaps we're all guilty of at least two of these from time to time. Tell me madam âEU¦ Mini, is it?"
"That's Minna, you dolt!" She snapped with the voice of someone tired with that very correction. Calleth continued unstirred.
"Forgive me. Madam Minna. This child could have a happy home and a loving family. Would you forsake him for ruining a few drapes?" The tiny gnome threw her head back in laughter. She awkwardly jumped from her chair, the sound of laughter moving around the large oak desk. The grey of her head the only hint of its source, Calleth so hated the sound of gnomish laughter. Nothing good ever came from that high pitched chatter, now careening through his skull like rusted nails scraping a very shrill cat.
"And you say you will give him this happy home, hermit?" She asked unbelievably.
"That and so much more." His reply was stern and unwavering. Their eyes met in silence as she assessed this human before her. His broad shoulders and chest spoke of an adventurer. Eyes, dark and nearly to blackness gave subtle hints of wisdom beyond his years. Scars of every type and size told of countless battles, one predominately on his cheek looked nearly ancient. A single ring adorned his strong hands, the symbol of Zek set, center stage among a choir of three gems.
Madam Minna was certain this man would either tame this growing beast, or raise an atrocity of war; either way she'd best be done with the whole mess.
"Very well then, take him if you like, just be sure to forget this place after you do." Calleth gave her a bowing nod of his head as she turned toward the door and led him out. A long dark hall way lead to the two past rooms filled with young ones of every ilk.
Young elves chasing erudites in circles, teasing them with floor wax. Ogrelings using make shift broom handle clubs to bop young dwarves as they hobble to their well constructed pillow fort.
Even a young iksar sat in one room reading a book while wearing a bed sheet dyed black and cut into a crude robe. Calleth considered making another trip to Madam Minnas orphanage with so many promising stars.
At last they came to the one door that was locked. Minna placed a small hand on the door and the sound of it unlocking seemed to send a shiver through her small body. She looked up at Calleth and with an uneasy smile moved aside.
He opened the door but was met only by darkness.

"Go ahead, I'm certain he'sâEU¦" Her small voice stopped dead in her breast as a small black flash dropped from the door and lunged at her, seemingly content only at ripping her throat from her tiny neck. Hurried incantations leaped from Minnas lips as a blinding bolt of lightning lashed out at the would-be assassin, catching him squarely in the chest. He collapsed into a rolling ball of singed fur and writhed in pain. Calleth was wrong, this cats shrill scream was far worse than the gnomes now renewed laughter.

"Now," breathing heavily as the magic takes its toll on the small mistress, "That you've seen this I'm sure you're disappointment matches my own." She turns to look at Calleth who only smiles and crosses his arms.

"Not at all." From the muttering cries came a guttural hiss, no louder than that of a small house cat but definitely more menacing. From the shapeless ball of midnight black fur arose two pointed feline ears followed closely by the rest of a head very much like a panther. Needle sharp fangs rimmed powerful jaws promising a pain worse than any poison to anyone foolish enough to come near. Calleth would be the first to approach this young Vah shir so recklessly. His voice seemed to boom with new found dominance, sounding like gibberish composed of long reaching notes and screeching falsettos.
The hissing faded away as the small feline seemed to fall into a trance.
"I should ask you what that was, hermit." Minnas voice sounded both surprised and irritated.
"It was only a vah shir lullaby taught to me by the bards of Luclin. The warrior walked closer and eyed the Vah shir with pride. "You are a long ways from your nursery on the moon young one." He whispered. "Tell me, what is your name?" his ears twitching with every word, the ivory white teeth bare them selves again.
"IâEU¦ am Nogood." To defile such one being with a mockery like that brought a pinch of malice to Calleths heart towards the snickering Madam.
"Well Nogood, my name is Sir Calleth of Qeynos Guard and I've come to make you my apprentice in arms. Do you want to be free of this place? To hunt and roam as you please?" Nogoods head twitched as if trying to break his drowsiness.
"Hunt? âEU¦ Yes, hunt." The young Vah Shir seemed almost to smile at the idea. The two stood in perfect understanding and Calleths eyes met the unnerving stare of feline persuasion, like two sapphires born from the clearest Norrath Sky sunken deeply into an abyss of shadow. "Thank goodness for your calming spell else he'd have had your blood by now, eh human?" Minnas voice broke silence like a ship through calm waters. "My lady, that spell broke long ago." Calleth replied knowing it only served to frustrate his unwanted cherub.

. You just sound like another angsty teen girl hoping for prince charming to rescue her.

Sorry if that was a bit harsh.

At 3/15/13 11:01 AM, mhzinski wrote: Well you have done it. After years of research and intrigue you have found out the stupidest thing any one person can possibly say. In the world. Ever.

This isn't smugness, 6 seconds on google and proofreading could've prevented you from fucking up so hard. That's not anything you're incapable of.

Yikes! i guess you told me. Sorry for spelling the name wrong, I haven't been in school for a long time. Note to you young folks, use it or lose it applies to spelling.

Trying this collab thing out to see how she goes. Anyone interested in animating a little something I wrote. Bring your own artistic vision to it! Could easily become soemthing more than a simple short. PM me if interested.

The Hike

Wind at my back pushes me further along the cobbled path. It is one less walked but somehow so familiar. With each step the air clears a little more. Further and further until the dust pulls back and blankets the hell I'd left. Here the water is clean and the grass is soft. Here the horns are chirps and the animals are wild. Here I belonged.

My legs still burned from the hike to this place and my chest even more so. A violent cough brought smoke from my lungs and another brought acid from my stomach. Head spinning and heart pounding, my back lurches and I'm relieved of my foulest meal. The city left behind, the sun ahead, the world at my feet. Much better!

I'm a writer, here's what I wrote. It's a small bit of bidness about someone taking a hike. I'll decide winner for best sketch.

Ready? Go!

The Hike

Wind at my back pushes me further along the cobbled path. It is one less walked but somehow so familiar. With each step the air clears a little more. Further and further until the dust pulls back and blankets the hell I'd left. Here the water is clean and the grass is soft. Here the horns are chirps and the animals are wild. Here I belonged.

My legs still burned from the hike to this place and my chest even more so. A violent cough brought smoke from my lungs and another brought acid from my stomach. Head spinning and heart pounding, my back lurches and I'm relieved of my foulest meal. The city left behind, the sun ahead, the world at my feet. Much better!

Hello fellow wordsmiths! I've been on newgrounds for a LONG time and I'm finally getting started here in the writers area. In order to find out who I'm chatting with I would like to pose a challenge! Continue Keep this thread going as long as possible by adding another line to the poem. Write whatever you want as long as your addition is in iambic pantameter. This is the writing style of Shakespear, the greatest historical wordsmith!

Iambic Pantameter: the rhythm of syllables goes "buh-dum, buh-dum, buh-dum biddy bum" as in; Now is the winter of our discontent "Now(buh) is the win(buh)ter of our(buh) discontent(bum)"

Got it? Good! Go!

Welcome to newgrounds, we have lots of stuff...

At 3/13/13 01:35 PM, AuggyDoggy wrote: Well the other day I smoked a big ass joint and wrote a poem. so now I'm just completely confused by it, and i was hopeing maybe some of you guys can help me figure out what the hell I was thinking when I wrote it.

Laying down I look up into the sky
Wondering what fate there lie
Then I close my eyes to dream again

Then the walls start to close in on me
Now there's no where to run
Yet again
How can i hide when my mind has turned against itself

Traped within the walls of my skull
I look around there's no escaping myslef
How can I hide
When my thoughts conspire against me

Now there's nothing but darkness
Traped within my mind
Searching for an exit
Wile screaming and pleading
But there's no way for me to wake up

Spiraling down
Falling ceaselessly
The darkness engulfs me
Setting in the insanity

Wait what is this I see
A light the end of the tunnel
Maybe hope will still smile for me
Rushing through the darkness and into the light

Now on the other side my eyes ease open
First thing I see
Is your face
Your eyes looking into me

Now that I'm safe again
My eyes glide closed to rest
Secure in the knowledge that the walls have been torn down
Only because I'm safe with you

Again just a reminder I was really fucked up when I wrote this. Any help is much appreciated.

Not to be mean or anything but, honestly it doesn't seem to say much. The metaphores of falling, walls closing in, mind turning against self and lit tunnels are "run of the mill" symbolism. You just sound like another angsty teen girl hoping for prince charming to rescue her.

Short and simple, I'm a writer who knows nothing about the process of animation. I'de love to collaborate with you amazingly talented people and I want to get it right. When writing for an animator, what should I keep in mind to make sure my submissions are condusive?

What goes into planning as far as screen direction? Environment settings? Action? Are things like outdoor environments harder to do that indoor? Should I avoid explosions because they are difficult to animte?

Any feedback would be greatly appreciated! Also, if anyone has ideas they want to flesh out let me know!

After decades of crafting stories I've finally decided to throw my creative hat in the ring. I love creating intricate, interlocking stories with characters of substance. I'm not interested in video game stories unless they are particularly deep like the lore of everquest, diablo or world of warcraft. I love to blend real world lore / fables / history into fantasy adventure type worlds but I'm open to any suggestions!

On a slightly different note, I have a degree in psychology and will be pursuing a grad degree in creativity and innovation. I'm making a career out of inspiring artists to complete great works. If anyone is looking to bounce ideas off of someone or chat about the creative process let me know!

Let's work together to make something great!

~Vicero

At 3/4/13 08:49 PM, thatawkwardkid wrote: I am looking for someone to come up with a script for an animation. if you are interested send me the script and Idea. do not tell me you are a voice actor, I am NOT looking for a voice actor

I fancy myself a writer, what kind of story are you developing?

Short and sweet, I'm looking to create a storyboard for an animation project. Does anyone know what information a storyboard artist would need in order to do their thing? Would they need compete dialog or a brief explanation of the scenes?

Does anyone have examples of what Is ready to go to storyboarding?
Also, since I'm already typing, does anyone know of a common storyboarding program? I can't draw worth a damn but it would be nice to see what variables a storyboarder may need to fill in from information supplied from the writer.

Thanks!