At 1/5/06 04:04 PM, Mick_the_champion wrote:
Yeah that "Mic" is an un-reliable cunt, I'm still in though.
Harhar, perhaps you forgot to plug it in.
/WITTY PUN
Failgrounds.
Hi I'm an animator looking for a script to create a 1-2 minute flash animation. The script must be an original work(not based on any existing tv shows or movies etc.), and may be modified according to my tastes. In return I will create a brief animation based on your creation and give you co-authorship when the movie is uploaded.
The script must have several lines of dialogue for both male and female characters, and be something you would feel comfortable showing to family and friends. I generally prefer comedy, but am open to anything.
Send scripts to cleverlobe@yahoo.com, or if you have any questions feel free to post them here. Thanks!
Below is a sample character design from my "Animesuki Intro" animation.
At 1/5/06 03:01 PM, gumOnShoe wrote: the only one I see dropping out is Mic...
That's onl;y because it makes all the voices sound wierd.
I have an exam on wednesday next week, and as such shall not be around enough to actually write anything.
In other words skip my go on the collab and continue without me till I return.
At 1/6/06 11:35 AM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote: In other words skip my go on the collab and continue without me till I return.
So that means we roll around to Scribbler's turn. I await my go after him :D
At 1/6/06 11:36 AM, Coop83 wrote: So that means we roll around to Scribbler's turn. I await my go after him :D
Sorry I have been gone so long. The holidays had me scaricely by a computer.
I am glad the collab is still on, because with (major) refinement, the story is quite good and can go so many places.
A poem to get some lit in this thread:
Burning lungs, Itching noses, and Throbbing arms
open your sight
[I am the colour not in your skin
now the haze that toys]
static along the couch
[I fade in seven, six]
the stucco ceiling is tranquil
your ripple eyes along the roof
like the whispering wind
of mountains
[I fade out six, five]
discovery is effortless
[I fade in five, four]
the tingle in your arm aches
and stubble limbs pour heavy
as slowly as heat washes
and rises
[I fade out four, three]
and washes
[I fade in three, two]
pulling at your neck
the sweater is restraints
tiny fabric irritates like bracelets
[I fade out two, one]
your mouth is a cave
for flies
[I fade in one]
awaken in white mountains
[I am everything
but routine
and mirrors]
I assume Ng will screw up its format, so if you are further interested... go here:
Anyone know where scribbler is though? I havn't seen him post in weeks
hey can i join the collab? im not a part of this yet but i love writing and im getting better at flash and i really like collabs, so let me know if i can help out k?
At 1/8/06 03:47 PM, fallen_son wrote: hey can i join the collab? im not a part of this yet but i love writing and im getting better at flash and i really like collabs, so let me know if i can help out k?
Its not a flash collab... check the link in my sig titled elijah project to see what we are doing.
At 1/8/06 04:21 PM, Mick_the_champion wrote:At 1/8/06 03:17 PM, gumOnShoe wrote: Anyone know where scribbler is though? I havn't seen him post in weeksHe's saving the world via some Tronesque adventure!
I should have known :(
In other news, Stephen King's On Writing is the most absolutely brilliant guide to writing I have ever read. Ever.
It's written in a very casual form, which really helps, and unlike a lot of things you learn from textbooks/classes, the guy actually knows his stuff. There's plenty of detail, but only in the right areas, none of this grammar nazi business you can read pages and pages of, and still have no idea what the point of it all is (in fact he encourages breaking grammatical conventions a little, if it fits with your style). Of course, there are plenty of King's personal likes/dislikes in there, which might well discredit the book as a whole from a critical point of view, but for the most part they make sense.
For example, at one point he mentions how plot is the one thing you should never concentrate on when writing a story. At first I just thought "Well, that's plain silly", but as he goes on, it seems like more and more of an essential lesson to learn. The idea of it is pretty much to just sit down and write. If you plan a narrative out from start to finish it's unlikely to be much good (unless you're doing some sort of satire), sure you might have some great ideas, but things run the risk of becoming horribly formulaic. While it's not a bad idea to have some idea of where the plot is going, selecting specific situations that will crop up later in the story will result in you nudging the characters toward them, giving the whole thing more of an artificial feel.
I've always done this with characters, but quite the opposite with plot. It's mainly been while I lie in bed, or wait for a bus that I start thinking of potential plot devices, in the end it gets so that I just have to work out how all of them will fit into the chronology of things rather than getting on with the story. As King says, life isn't planned, for a novel to completely capture the reader's imagination it has to seem as believable as possible, and if the writer himself is excited to see where the plot will wind up next, it's a good bet the reader will be as well.
So the major thing I plan on doing now is to let the story write itself, I'm working on another potential series entitled "The Snowfields", in which I intend to try out some of King's tips.
Rawr.
Failgrounds.
-Doctor- that was the most important thing I learnt while writing my last novel. As I wrote, I tried too hard to preciely plan each scene and thereafter - somehow I thought an intricate plot would strengthen my story. I gave up on it when I realized exactly what you just said. Just write.
I wish I had of read that book two years ago. but it is never too late... I am going to go pick it up.
At 1/8/06 11:22 PM, Myst_Williams wrote:
I wish I had of read that book two years ago. but it is never too late... I am going to go pick it up.
Yeah, that's why I'm not going to start any major projects for a good while. I want to actually study a bit, seeing as I haven't ever really looked at wiriting as a specific academic subject (other than in a multitude of indirect courses, none of which proved hugely useful from the point of view of a novelist).
So I'm just writing away when the mood takes me, posting some of my more lengthy stuff here, and reading anything I can get my hands on, including informative stuff on novelism (is that a word?).
So I'm making sure my toolbox is full before I start work on the main project.
Failgrounds.
I think thats wise Doctor. I myself have realised my work just isn't up to par. I havn't really written on that project for a while... this is helping though.
At 1/10/06 06:43 PM, Andersson wrote: It was fun to see that so many people missed my comment about it all being a made up story. XD
I have pulled a joke like that with some of my friends, with CD:Rs They've made albums and then left them lying around. I passed one over and said, here you go, that's some fucked up shit you watch. I then make a show of wiping off my hands as they look at me, dumbfounded.
At 1/10/06 06:43 PM, Andersson wrote: It was fun to see that so many people missed my comment about it all being a made up story. XD
Haha, that was great. I believe you, too! I so fell for that, hehe. You should make more stories like this more often ^_^
Your favourite former frozen canine/ manic preacher/ stick of dynamite has returned. My exam is over and I can now return to my writing exploits :-)
Will be posting somethign at some point during week.
Btw Doc, whats this book of Stephen Kings called? it sound sinteresting and I wanna pick up a copy.
At 1/11/06 12:54 PM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote:
Btw Doc, whats this book of Stephen Kings called? it sound sinteresting and I wanna pick up a copy.
"On Writing"
Only part of it's tips+such, the rest is his autobiography, but it's a damn good read all the same.
Failgrounds.
I've been playing about with my new Flash Drive and have successfully downloaded both chapters of the book, after they became erased when my old computer went kaput. I shall begin writing chapter 3 (again) imminently, so expect to see that turning up within the next 20 pages or so...
yo, i wrote the first part of a mafia story, that i may or may not contimue, and i WOULD LIKE SOME HONEST COMMENTS ON IT, PLZ
It's about frankie who tells the story of his career in the mafia, which didn't work out so well. and he wrote every step down, into a book, when it says "the present" it means frankie is reading out of his own book. when it says "the past" it means what frankie has written is happening. okay?
here it is:
The Family
Part 1
Frankie: you know,…when I look back at the time I had, I feel like I took the wrong way, of two roads.
The first road, is a one of honesty, and respect. The second road, the one I took, is about the same, but with murder.
And in that way,…you can either make it,…or fail, not both, or not neither, but always one of them. And the Callinci family is the medium, the scene, where it all happens. You meet some powerful people, and it can all work out in your benefit,…but you have to be careful, you can’t let the power fuck up your mind, because when that happens,…you’re trough, and there’s no way out. My experience,…with the Callinci family, was the experience that decided whether I make it, ...or fail, and sadly,…it wasn’t the first one.
It all began, when I lost my job in a convenient store, due to my lack of respect. And that lack, cost me my life…
The past:
Mr. Wilson: Frankie, didn’t I told you to take out the trash twenty minutes ago?!
Frankie opens his eyes, he reacts to the average lighting in the room, like it’s a giant spotlight right in front of him.
Mr. Wilson: I’m getting tired of your little naps, Frankie! Now take out the trash, or you’re fired!
Frankie: yes, Mr. Wilson.
Frankie grabs the filed garbage bag, and puts it over his shoulder, and walks out the back door. It’s dark outside, and the only lighting are the street lights, which some are nearly- or fully broken, and the light above the store’s back door. Frankie tosses the bag inside a half-full dumpster and walks back in. He immediately sees Mr. Wilson holding a bag of coke and money. He nods to Frankie, in a way of “shame on you”, and invites him into his office.
Frankie has a fearful look in his face.
Mr. Wilson: please, sit down.
And he offers him a chair in front of is desk, while he himself sits down behind his desk, and he strings together his fingers.
Mr. Wilson: Frankie,…you are THE most awful employee, I have ever dealt with. So, firing you, won’t be the hardest part of my day.
Frankie: firing me? I don’t underst..
Mr. Wilson interrupts him.
Mr. Wilson: that is exactly what every junkie, every low-life and every piece of thrash I bring in here said, when the same thing happened to them! You see,…that bag I found, not only includes drugs, that you may or may not have stolen from me, but it also includes my money, the same money that is disappearing from my cash register for the past two weeks, the same money,…I marked with a black circle, and let me take a wild guess here, Frankie,….I think this money is marked, do you?
Frankie: no, sir.
Mr. Wilson takes the money out of the bag and throws in on the table, and it slides towards Frankie’s side.
Mr. Wilson: go ahead, take the clip off.
Frankie slowly takes the money clip off of the money.
Mr. Wilson: unfold it.
Frankie does what is being told to him…and the money is marked with a black circle.
Mr. Wilson: wow, did you expect that? I did,…Frankie,…I’m not going to kill you. Why? Because you, going to get every dime, and every of coke, you stole from me, and then I might consider letting you live. Now get the fuck out of my office!
Frankie gets up and walks out of wilson’s office.
The present:
Frankie: that,…was the biggest mistake of his life, firing me, lead to a further part of my road, which was fatal to Mr. Wilson.
To be continued?
At 10/15/05 09:55 PM, StarF68 wrote: Click on the "Xono" link in my sig, leave comments there please. ^_^
No one paid any attention to me. :(
Feedback? Please? ^_______^
"In the house with the laughing windows, we're spilling blood like a cheap innuendo."
Writer - Music Addict - StarF68
At 1/15/06 04:02 AM, StarF68 wrote:At 10/15/05 09:55 PM, StarF68 wrote: Click on the "Xono" link in my sig, leave comments there please. ^_^No one paid any attention to me. :(
Feedback? Please? ^_______^
well, i liked it. (only read the first one, may read others later)
how about my mafia story just above your post?
i don't know if i'll continue it, and it's not as detailed as an average piece, but that's just my style of writing ^_^
Wow, I haven't posted here in a while. Last time I checked this thread, people were doing Collab stories (or something), and I was too busy to get involved :-p
Well, anyway, I'm back, because I just finished writing a short story (for my English class) and I'd like some comments on it. Good, bad, I don't care; I can always improve. The only thing I don't want to do is make it longer, because it's not supposed to be more than three pages, double-spaced. (Bummer. I could have kept writing.)
Anyway, as of now, the story is untitled... I haven't been able to think of a name. (Maybe one of you can suggest one, but that's not really necessary.) Also, like I said, I'd appreciate at least a little bit of feedback, even if it's just a simple "good" or "bad" and then why.
Well, here goes.
-----
[Untitled] by Michael Billings (aka Subpar)
All of my senses were suddenly awakened, as the deafening sound of my alarm clock entered my ears, jolting me into consciousness. Light flooded the room as I opened my eyes, and rolled over on the bed. With my face lifted from the pillow, it was almost impossible to see, as even the small amount of light that managed to pass through the curtains burned my eyes as if I were staring into the sun. So I sat, quietly, with my hands over my face, waiting for my eyes to adjust. As I did this, I tried to remember the dream I had woken from, but the sound of the alarm clock had washed already washed all of that away, and dropped me back into reality, where it was a cold, Friday morning, and I was late for work. Whatever dream I was having must have been better than this.
When I could finally bear to open my eyes, I reached over, switched off the clock, and stood up. Outside my apartment, the sun was already shining brightly; it didn’t look very cold. But somehow, that giant flaming ball of gas that causes people to die of heat stroke in the summer still fails to heat New York in the middle of November, no matter how brightly it shines. After the temperature drops, and before the snow falls, the world outside always looks so inviting, especially when you’re gazing at it from a window. But then you step outside and the wind chill slaps you in the face. Already, I wanted to get back in bed, and pretend that I had never woken up. But I couldn’t.
As I struggled to tie my shoes, something about the dream I had earlier was still bugging me. I could only remember bits and pieces… a few words, or a feeling, or an emotion, here and there, but not enough to really put it together. Yet somehow, I still felt as if it had been interrupted. I wanted to go back to it… to finish it. Maybe it was simply because I couldn’t remember what the dream was about that I wanted to go back to sleep. Everything in the real world is familiar, boring… but dreams, on the other hand, are different. They’re mysterious. And this particular dream, although I could not remember what it was about, left me with one thought: happiness.
I could never remember most of my dreams, after waking up, and they were usually gone and forgotten less than a minute after I got out of bed. As I thought about this, I realized how absurd dreams actually are: the brain fools itself into thinking that its own creations are real. And it all seems to have no purpose. Maybe, I figured, it was better that I forgot. None of it mattered. And then a simple, yet horrifying question came to me, as I reached down and picked up my suitcase: What did matter? I put my hand on the doorknob, ready to walk out the door, but paused, as I pondered this. If I stepped out that door, I would only begin the same excruciating routine that I had almost every day for the past three years. There would be no variation other than the amount of steps it would take me to get to the subway. This day was the same as any other.
Of course, all of this was necessary, if I wanted a paycheck. But I was beginning to realize that the only reason I actually needed this money was to survive to work another day. I was getting nowhere. I had learned to put up with this in high school, but only because I knew that eventually, the school year would end, and summer would come. Now there was nothing to work toward, except for more work… more of the same. All I could look forward to was the end of the day. There were only a few hours each day that I could stop worrying about life for even a second.
Slowly, I took my hand off the doorknob. The reason I didn’t want to wake up from that dream was not because of what I was waking up from – the dream was insignificant, so much so that I’d already forgotten it – it was because I already knew what I was waking up to. Just as one cannot remember their dreams after they wake up, it seems that they also cannot remember their real lives once they’re unconscious. That’s why our dreams feel so realistic. We don’t know any better, because we aren’t constantly thinking about our real lives, and the outside world. The only time that I could truly stop worrying about life was while I slept.
Backing away from the door, with my suitcase still in my hand, I turned around, and walked to the window. Down on the sidewalks and streets below, I could see hundreds of people, going about their own business, completely unaware of what was going to happen next. Carefully, I opened the window, and leaned out…
You couldn’t imagine the look on the face of that unsuspecting man who was standing on the sidewalk directly below my window. Simply by coincidence, he happened to look up, just in time to see a large object tumbling out of a fourth-floor apartment window. He was terrified, obviously thinking that some poor man had just lost his mind and decided to jump out. But I was still on the inside, watching as my suitcase crashed to the ground, nearly missing him. I laughed as I closed the window. Sure, maybe I had nearly killed him, and possibly ruined his day, but it would give him something to think about.
As I turned away from the window, I breathed a sigh of relief, as if the world had been lifted from my shoulders. Of course, throwing my belongings out the window would probably give me more to worry about, but I didn’t care, at the time. I just unplugged my alarm clock, and went back to sleep. I’ll figure this out tomorrow.
(End)
I am not responsible for the content of the post above.
Oops!
I've found a couple of typos, already... missing and repeated words.
But I'm sure you guys can still understand the sentences.
I'm already fixing any typos that I find on the Word document, now, so there's really no need to point them out to me unless it's so bad that you couldn't tell what I was trying to say :-p
I am not responsible for the content of the post above.
I POSTED THE FIRST PART OF A MAFIA STORY A FEW POSTS UP, COULD YOU GUYS TELL ME IF IT'S GOOD OR NOT? I DON4T KNOW IF I'D CONTINUE IT.
Thank you.
At 1/14/06 03:26 PM, -SeaDragon- wrote:
Frankie: you know,…when I look back at the time I had, I feel like I took the wrong way, of two roads.
Replace way with path or took with went to make it run smoother
The first road, is a one of honesty, and respect. The second road, the one I took, is about the same, but with murder.
I quite like this bit for some reason.
And in that way,…you can either make it,…or fail, not both, or not neither, but always one of them.
This bit's a bit confusing. its obvious your trying to say you can suceed and fail in both cases but you don't need to elaboate on the point that much. State it plain and simply that you can suceed and fail on either path and leave it.
In general this is a decent piece. You keep the tension reasonably well which makes me want to read more and find out what happens. Only thign I can really say is that I think it would be better if you juat put everything in the 1st person as though its Frankie speaking. You're doing that already with the present bits but your going ito the 3rd person for the past. Keep it in the first and just write it so Frankie is explaining to us in his own words what happened to him and it will read much better.
This is well worth you continuing with.
At 1/16/06 10:21 AM, Tri-Nitro-Toluene wrote:At 1/14/06 03:26 PM, -SeaDragon- wrote:Frankie: you know,…when I look back at the time I had, I feel like I took the wrong way, of two roads.Replace way with path or took with went to make it run smoother
yeah that's true
The first road, is a one of honesty, and respect. The second road, the one I took, is about the same, but with murder.I quite like this bit for some reason.
i know, it sonds so mafia.
And in that way,…you can either make it,…or fail, not both, or not neither, but always one of them.This bit's a bit confusing. its obvious your trying to say you can suceed and fail in both cases but you don't need to elaboate on the point that much. State it plain and simply that you can suceed and fail on either path and leave it.
yeah, but you get it and that's importent
. Keep it in the first and just write it so Frankie is explaining to us in his own words what happened to him and it will read much better.
This is well worth you continuing with.
yeah, it would be smoother, but i like how i did it with the past and the present, so i think i'll keep it that way.
but thanks for the review.
At 1/16/06 10:41 AM, -SeaDragon- wrote: yeah, it would be smoother, but i like how i did it with the past and the present, so i think i'll keep it that way
fair enough. If you are jsut writing for yourself and you like it like that then then there's no problem with writing it however you like.
but thanks for the review.
No problem :-)
The garden was bathed in the morning light as the sounds of the dawn chorus washed over the land with the sweet serenity that only the song of a bird can offer. The sky was cloudless, the sun shone bright and a beautiful day lay ahead for all those that wished to enjoy it.
The rose bush stood at the edge of the garden next to the wall. Its petals, moistened by the morning dew, glistened in the sunlight. Its stems had been meticulously pruned so not a single thorn could be found on any of the flowers. The roses were red. As red as blood, as red as the sky at dusk and as red as the lips of the gardener.
The other flowers were nothing compared to the roses. The snapdragons appeared to have lost their bite, the blue bells hung their heads in sorrow and the sunflowers no longer shone. But the roses, oh the roses, they showed compassion, love, tenderness, adoration and attention to the details. No roses existed quite like these.
The gardener walked down the cobbled path and studied the other flowers. She sniffed indignantly at them as though they were no longer worth the trouble. Her eyes wandered towards her prize flora. She absorbed the beauty of the flowers as she glided towards her children.
She laid her hand on the petal of a rose. Her skin was as white as snow and as soft as the petal. Her fingers rubbed off the morning dew and lowered her head to breathe in the sweet smells of the flower. She pressed her ruby red lips against the petal and kissed them gently. She lifted her head and a gentle smile formed on her face. She ran her hands through her jet black hair that acted as contrast with her skin. There was only one word to describe the gardener. Beautiful.
She moved with grace dignity and poise that most would believe was not achievable by a mere human. But then the gardener wasn’t just a normal person. No normal person could transfer their beauty to flowers like she has. No one could tend flowers way the gardener had tended the roses.
The garden was orderly, precise and neat. The forest that lay on the other side of the wall was nothing like the garden. The trunks of the trees were twisted and gnarled. They were ugly. It was strange that such a beautiful woman as the gardener would choose to make her home and place her garden in such a horrid place. But the ugliness of the forest and its inhabitants made everything that was found on the other side of the wall look so much more beautiful.
The dwarves watched the gardener as she tended the roses. They stared, transfixed by the swaying of her hips. Every day they came and watched as she tended the roses. Every day they sat in the trees and became transfixed by her grace and beauty.
One dwarf closed his good eye and began to imagine what it would feel like to be underneath those snake like hips. His scarred face twisted into a smile as he felt his groin becoming inflamed and hardening.
He opened his eye and looked towards his six companions and nodded to them. Slowly, one by one, they climbed down the tree they had been using as a means to gaze lustfully at the gardener.
The leader glanced at the garden and saw the gardener retreat back into her cottage. He grinned. Today was the day that he and his companions would be able to taste the sweets delights that the gardener had to offer.
He slid down the tree and followed his brothers into the garden. The beauty of the roses was lost on them as they walked down the cobbled path to the window. The first of the dwarves leant on the window sill and looked into the cottage.
Before his eyes he saw the gardener standing in front of a mirror on the wall. She ran a brush through her thick black hair as she spoke.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who is the fairest of them all?”
Her voice rang out in a sweet soprano that reverberated around the room and out towards the dwarves as they stared at her through the window.
She stopped brushing her hair and appraised herself in the mirror and sighed. She grasped the buttons on the back of her dress and began to undo them. Slowly they were undone and the dress dropped to the floor revealing the naked beauty that had lain hidden underneath her dress.
The dwarves gazed lustfully at the gardener as she admired herself in the mirror.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who is the fairest of them all?” she repeated.
One of the dwarves let out a lustful sigh in response to the Gardeners question.
“You are.” He breathed.
------------------------------------------
------------------------------------
Ok dokey folks. I started writing this a while ago. Its meant to be a short story that's a corruption of snow white and the seven dwarves. Can't remember if I've posted it here before or not so i thought I'd psot it again and get peoples opinions. Once I've got some and I can figure out how to continue it I'll get back on it.
Select between 5 monster racers, upgrade your monster skill and win the competition!
4.18 / 5.00 3,534 Views
Build most powerful forces, unleash hordes of monster and control your soldiers!
3.80 / 5.00 4,200 Views
© Copyright 1995-2014 Newgrounds, Inc. All rights reserved. Privacy Policy | Terms of Use
newgrounds.com — Your #1 online entertainment & artist community! All your base are belong to us.
