Sorry that i have been away for like 3 days... mini-vacation i suppose.
Anyway, just checking in. I have a Sociology Assignment due, so i cant review right this minute, but its seems Manic is doing a god job keeping u pwhile i was gone anyway. I will check WOR before i get off. See you all tomorrow when i'll have more time to ski mthrough what i missed... if much.
K guys I need your opinion. I randomly decided to try and write a comedy sketch but I want your opinion on the idea I cam up with.
Four Yorkshiremen of the apocaylpse.
Basically the Four Horse men of the Apocalypse (death,war,famine and plague) have retired from the apocalypse business and bought a small farm in Yorkshire where they are growing Cauliflowers and sprouts.
Haven't come up with a punch line or any script part yet as I'm just flirting with ideas at the moment. what do you think of the Four Yorkshire men of the apocalypse idea?
I kinda centered it around the lyrics of Jet's 'Look What You've Done'
More late night work
Could you check it over?
Look What You've Done
I'm a foolish person. And that foolish person has an even more vile soul. The more I think of the way I am, the more disgusted I become. It's a strong cycle of self-loathing I'm caught in, and I can't say that it wasn't my own fault that brought it about.
I've taken everything for granted because of my actions, and now that 'everything' that my actions made me pay so little mind to, has become nothing. Only the dark abyss that seemingly fills my mind and soul remains.
Ever since the accident....
Ever since the accident, that was caused by my own stupidity, and, if not for my existence, could've spared the life of my husband, my lover, and the sole thing I cherished more than life itself.
We were your typical, excited, newlywed couple with that ‘ready to face the world together' attitude when we bought the house, that, unbeknownst to me at the time, would become my purgatory. We talked of children and our future, just content in each other's arms laying by the fireplace, listening to each other's breath, the fire crackle, the tick-tock of the antique grandfather clock. Though it wasn't said, I was his Anna, and he was my Adam
...This was how I wanted to spend eternity...
He was such a beautiful figure to watch work. It seemed like an odd description, yes, but it was the only way I could describe him. He'd always have those glasses of his on the bridge of his nose, his shoulder length hair down and in his face, and he'd be caressing his chin, searching that profound mind for an idea. And I was always content watching, no matter how long it would be.
...And while I watched, I could only wonder what magnificent worlds, horrific nightmares, or tragic endings he was creating with the touch of his fingers or the stroke of his pen. I was always excited to see what he had done.
Why he'd want someone like me, I'll never know. I had tried to commit suicide time after time before, I still had my ongoing battle with depression, my alcoholic tendencies, and the fact that I had cut myself for reasons I can't even remember.
...But, he saw something in me others didn't. He saw my good side, if there was one left, and he wanted to take care of me. He wanted to help me when no one else did.
...And most of all, he wanted to spend his life with me...
And the day I told him I was pregnant, I don't think anything could've brought a greater joy to his face. I was nervous about telling him at first, and most of all disturbing him from his work. But I finally got the nerve up tell him, and the reaction was much greater than I expected.
Those big emerald orbs of his widened, and he took off his glasses. He approached me with a stunned look, and ended up grinning and taking me right off my feet, spinning me around and around, laughing with an uncontainable joy. Only a few days later, I saw that same concentrating stance he took when writing again, but this time, he was building a rocking chair for me and our child.
...But that brief happiness was soon overwritten with tragedy...
At 4/4/05 05:05 PM, _RiVeN_ wrote: I kinda centered it around the lyrics of Jet's 'Look What You've Done'
More late night work
Could you check it over?
here's the rest
Adam had went out of town for a few days to some kind of meeting with a possible publisher or maybe it was a convention of some sort, and I was left alone. To be exact, it was the first time I'd been alone since we had been married. And with me being the shell of a person I am without my Adam, I began to drink heavily again. Anything I could find was fine. Vodka, tequila, Jack Daniels, it didn't matter. I drank to dull the pain of missing him, and to satisfy my own needs.
...Not a smart move, Anna...
I had originally planned to stop drinking and be completely sober by the time Adam arrived home. But to my surprise, my seemingly well thought out plan was taken down right before my very eyes.
While I was laying on the couch, too intoxicated to move, and listening to the pouring rain, I heard a knock on the front door. I couldn't muster the will to move and get up to get the door, and to stop that terribly loud knocking, so I waited until I heard a voice, or something that would tell me who it might be.
"Annie? You there?" Came the all-too-familiar voice of my husband, calling me by his nickname for me.
My heart skipped a beat. If he found me like this, in the state that I was in, and potentially harming our future child, I knew he'd think I was the scum of the earth, no matter how much he said he loved me.
Soon I heard keys jingling, and the doorknob twisting. I closed my eyes and just waited for his reaction to the mess I'd created.
When he first saw me on the couch, he dropped his bags and rushed over to my side. He was checking me over, worried for me, that is, until he smelled the alcohol on my breath. He looked at me with a confused and hurt expression on his face.
"Anna, what have you done?" He said in a quiet, disappointed tone.
"Aye'm shorry." I slurred. It was the only thing I could think of to say.
"Why did you do this?!" He said, his voice rising with a harsher tone.
"Aye kint heylp it. Aye mished syou too muwch." I said, ashamed of my inability to speak clearly.
"You knew I was coming home! Anna, look what you've done! You can barely move! And who knows what affect that damned alcohol could have on our child! Doesn't that mean anything to you?!" He snapped at me.
"..." I couldn't say anything. I was speechless. Adam was right. Every word of his was right. And I had no excuse. I deserved to be yelled at.
"I just don't know what to think of this. I don't...I don't know." He mumbled. He closed the door behind him and went out into the pouring rain again.
...Little did I know, those were the last words he'd ever say to me...
The screeching tires and the crack of lightning that occurred outside a few hours later. It startled me out of my sleep on the couch, and it made me pull myself up to go and look out the front door.
There I saw something I couldn't of seen even in my worst of nightmares. There was the car...stopped in the middle of the road...
And there was a man standing, presumably the driver, standing over another man, which I made out as...Adam.
I went dashing into the cold, pouring rain over to him. He lay there, he chest not risind anymore...and no pulse either.
I looked over at the item he was holding, or, had been holding...
...A bouquet of roses, with a note saying ‘Everything will be alright, I'll still love you, no matter what.'
It was then that I broke down, sobbing and screaming, cradling my Adam in my arms. He had forgiven me after the stupid act I'd pulled, and now he lay there, listless and cold, and never to open those beautiful eyes ever again.
...At that moment, I then knew what loneliness truly was...
After his funeral, I never left the house. I always stayed in my rocking chair, slowly rocking back and forth, only hearing the creaking chair and the antique grandfather clock tick. I truly felt empty, and a bitter loneliness had taken over me...
I can no longer bare to go into our bedroom, where we had made love and shared all of our secrets, or his beloved office. His presence was so strong in both places...and it hurt to know he wasn't there. It still hurts to this day. I do, though, still see my stilled rocking chair, with my body, which I left behind long ago, still in it.
...No, not my body. I am Anna no more. Anna died. She is no more.
But only now the emptiness, the darkness, the loneliness has become heavier in the air...
There is no tick-tock of the grandfather clock , no crackling fire, no breathing of two happy lovers, no creaking of the rocking chair...
It makes my purgatory a lonely, empty, eternal damnation.
Ok doeky Riven That piece was better than the last one you posted that's for certain and I can't really pick up on anything that is wrong with it at the moment and it's a nic elittle piece and I enjoyed reading it. I'll go over it throughly later though and give an indepth review then. but its a good piece and I liked it.
At 4/4/05 05:04 PM, -Manic- wrote: Four Yorkshiremen of the apocaylpse.
lol! Sounds entertaining. Kind of fun anyhow. Could turn out well, could turn out shit. It all depends on how you write it. Clever idea though. : )
At 4/4/05 06:56 PM, Myst_Williams wrote: lol! Sounds entertaining. Kind of fun anyhow. Could turn out well, could turn out shit. It all depends on how you write it. Clever idea though. : )
Yeah that's the problem lol. I can't think of an actual joke to go in the sketch :-\. So I gave up on that and at some point during the week I will post the one I've made
ZEN: The Art of Ratching!
this is a project for my english class that people said was good its a letter from a guy in Auschwit reveiw it please
sry i haven't been on lately
Dear Arnold,
I’m here in Auschwitz concentration camp, being tortured and beaten. Just last week I was in the Warsaw Ghetto as a Jewish soldier (A.K.A Flop). I’m not that sad though because, I was Hans Bernstein the 29 years old who vowed to save the lives of another Jewish family along with his own. I have 3 kids my daughter Flora who’s 8, my son Adam whose 10 and my son, Barnabas whose 19. I also have my wife Elisabeth. Flora wanted a chocolate cake for her birthday so we went to the only Jewish bakery in Warsaw around us. When we were walking the green police spots my son Barnabas without the Star of David on. They take all of us straight to the Ghetto without a word. They separated us from Barnabas the second we got in and it killed me inside for he was the one I knew who could protect his family and risk his life for them when I’m gone. He was the only one who could protect them the way I could. He was gone and I lost all hope.
I was in charged of picking up dead bodies on the street. We had a horse and buggy for throwing the bodies in. The Ghetto is full of different types of people. There’s Jews, Gypsies, homosexuals, Poles, elderly, mentally challenged, physically challenged, people who disagreed with Hitler, and Germans that weren’t Aryan (blonde hair, blue eyes). People are dieing here very fast, from hunger, the cold, suicide, being killed by guards, and typhus. Some people just lost all hope and lie down on the ground waiting to die. The people who are dead are covered by newspaper so no one sees them. Some people pass out in the street and when they awake there in the horse and buggy surrounded by dead bodies. The bodies are disrespected here also. Their shoes are taken or their jacket or even money which has no value here. Food is very scarce here. People will do anything for a piece of stale bread. Some people throw food over the wall and watch the people fight for it like dogs. Being a solider I get very little but enough to feed my family. Being a soldier has been hard on me. Things I see jackboots doing makes me sick. There has been some good thought. One time I was picking up a body when his wallet fell out. I picked it up and I saw a picture of his family. He has a wife and 2 daughters and a son. They were poor, this was easy to see because their clothes were ratty and they were dirty. They still smiled and looked happy.
This moved me and warmed my heart and uplifted me from my depression of losing my son. I vowed right then and there, that I would save this family and mine. There was a problem though, his wife and son where lying on the ground next to him. This meant I needed to find his daughters and pray they where alive.
I decided that day to find the girls at all costs. I showed the picture to anyone I could find to see if they seen them. I met many people that never saw them. Many people said they saw them but lied to see if I would give them food as collateral. I searched for three months and found nothing. One day I came home and bumped into a girl on the stairs. The girl looked familiar but I could think of where I’ve seen her. Then it came to me; she was the man’s daughter! I jumped for joy and laughed and I just was flabbergasted. I explained why I was so happy and what happened with her dad and what I was going to and I asked if her sister was alive. She said she was alive and healthy and sick of this place. I knew she and her family were poor because her clothes where ripped and tattered just as they were in the picture. I myself was middle class with a wonderful life before this but now we fit in with all the other prisoners. That didn’t matter now because we were getting out.
After we rejoiced and became acquainted we thought up a plan. Ideas were thrown out into the open and we devised a plan. I would search for a hole, not a big hole because the girls are very small, and so are my wife and my kids. The girls names are Helga whose 16 and Giselle whose 12.since I met them my life changed dramatically. They brought hope to me and I brought hope to them and we became a family. Outside of the ghetto we weren’t as happy as we are now. When Hitler came into power all the Jews were full of anger and fear, but now life has meaning and everything is less depressing, at least for us. One day when I was out I spot a rat, food was very scarce so I chased it. I followed it into an ally then it was gone. I looked around and I saw a big hole in the wall, big enough to fit my family and me. I raced home to tell the family about the hole. Words cannot explain the looks on their faces and the joy and hope in their eyes. That night we left all our belongings behind and prayed we would succeed in our escape. We got out of the Ghetto and got very far until a little German kid said we weren’t wearing the Star of David. In a matter of 3 seconds we were taken to Auschwitz “The Gate To Hell”.
The second we went into the camp the smell of burning flesh made the girls vomit. Being here is 100 times worst then the Ghetto. Dead people stacked up like boxes and there was medical experiments done on children and adults. They took my family into different buildings and killed them. I was next but somehow I didn’t care. Growing up I was happy and when my kids where growing up they were happy but now there is no happiness at all, except Hitler and the SS. We lived in harmony before Hitler and now were fighting wars and dieing for no reason. Life has no purpose now, my kids, dead, my wife, dead, the girls, dead, my heart, dead.
Sincerely yours, Hans Bernstein
Epilogue.
Hans was killed in a medical experiment one week before the camp was liberated. The letter he wrote was never delivered or read until his son Barnabas read it. When Barnabas was taken into the Ghetto he was locked up until they sent him to Auschwitz then he was locked up again. Barnabas delivered the letter to Arnold who was an ally soldier and gave Barnabas a ticket to America. Barnabas told his story to anyone and everyone he could find.
At 4/5/05 03:17 PM, -Manic- wrote: Yeah that's the problem lol. I can't think of an actual joke to go in the sketch :-\. So I gave up on that and at some point during the week I will post the one I've made
Aha, you always give up so easily. : P
*********************************************
This is a little five minute poem i came up with just suddenly. Probably needs a lot of revision, but i don't feel like doing it so much right now. I want to come back to it i na week and see how bad, or good, my poems are without revision and major editing.
This was purely inspiration, so I only have a vague perception of what the theme really is.
When Tides Arise
K. Myst Williams
When tides arise
Arms rise high
Rising with force
Tides pause during course
When tides reach the heavens
Arms fall with all knees
Crashing with please
Ocean cries
When tides arise
When breeze blows by
Nature flies
The whistling source
A swaying remorse
Though tears were wind and leaven
Then a burst will seize
That choir’s reprise
For song sighs
When breeze blows by
When the flame dies
Soon mind’s eye
Loses light’s source
An attractive force
Falls the manna of heaven
But never to please
Essential need
The heats spry
When the flame dies
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Please give thoughts etc. : )
At 4/6/05 05:27 PM, Myst_Williams wrote:At 4/5/05 03:17 PM, -Manic- wrote: Yeah that's the problem lol. I can't think of an actual joke to go in the sketch :-\. So I gave up on that and at some point during the week I will post the one I've madeAha, you always give up so easily. : P
No not really. i looked up tips on howto write sketches online and thye said if you don't come up with a punchline withi n 30 mins then you probably won't come up with one at all.
Please give thoughts etc. : )
Not your bets piece Myst. good but it was a bit...........soemthing :-\ I dunno why but I wasn't to keen on it.
I'm seeing some beautiful, touching works here. Its good to be among great writers.
Anyway, This is a poem I thought up on the spot last night.
Lechery is my name
My pleasure is thy pain
The bloody whip and leather hide
Invoke in the weak, a bane
Lechery is my name
Treachery is aflame
A pure iron maiden has died
Her flower, sent to maim
Yes finaly I have something to post. Tommorow I will post a power write I had to do if alll the money in the world was gone and what would be the effects.
I should post it tommorow I will take it home and re-write it to perfection, kind of make a story out of it I guess.
Review this please people :-)
Bloodline of Balthazar
The candles in the throne room flickered gently as the doors swung open and a somewhat weedy man stepped into the room. His brown hair was oily and fell to just below his shoulders and his eyes were dull and dreary as though he was tired of life itself.
“It is as you predicted my Lord. A man and a woman have been sighted in the forest outside the village but they managed to elude the men I sent out to capture them.” he said tentatively.
The cloaked figure that sat on the throne moved his hand slowly and eloquently towards a goblet that was positioned near the edge of the table that stood next to the throne.
It reached for the goblet and a pale skeletal like hand was revealed. Its bone like fingers grasped the goblet as it spoke.
“I matters not” it said “They shall return and when they do I want them brought to me. I have use for them so make sure your men understand that they are not to be harmed.” It hissed as it held the jewel studded goblet.
The brown haired man nodded once and turned to leave.
“I did not tell you to leave Garret.” The cloaked figure hissed “You shall remain here and attend to me for a time. They will not return for some time yet as they are in hiding.”
Garret turned around to face his master. His face echoed his feelings of nervousness and fear.
“What do you require my lord?” he asked.
“Sustenance, Garret. I require sustenance. Go find me something to replenish my energies and when you have it make sure it is prepared as usual.” It replied.
“Will there be anything else my lord?” inquired Garret.
There was a pause and the only sound that could be heard was the crackling of the candles that lit the dim room. This was soon joined by the sound of Garrets feet nervously shuffling on the spot. The silence was abruptly broken by the hiss like voice of the cloaked figure that Garret called master.
“No Garret there is nothing else. Now go and bring me my nourishment.”
Garret turned quickly and walked quickly to the wooden double door that stood between him and escape from his master. He reached his hand for the handle and grasped it between his fingers. It was cold to the touch like everything else in the castle that had been touched by his Masters’ hand and there were few places in the castle that the master hadn’t touched.
He turned the handle and left the room as his Master sat and watched him intently. He lifted the goblet he held and brought it to his lips. The candles continued to flicker across the room and for a split second revealed a smile on His face.
The Master rarely smiled. At least few people had ever seen him smile but then again few people even knew he existed and those that did know were under his control as Garret was or were buried underground with the weapons they had thought to slay him with. None had succeeded in their attempts and the sight of the Master smiling was the last sight they ever saw before he turned his vengeance upon them and drained away their very life essence.
The Master placed the goblet onto the table and turned to the window that looked out over the lands that were soon to be his. Lands filled with riches and resources. But the thought of the one thing that was abundant in this land and nowhere else had kept the master alive for so many centuries. The Magic that ran through the very soil of the earth was what kept the Master going. The Magic was what he craved and when the master craved something, the master got it.
At 4/8/05 02:35 PM, -Manic- wrote: Review this please people :-)
Bloodline of Balthazar
I liked it! That's my kind of thing! I found it really interesting.
But by the way, can I join the writer's guild?
At 4/10/05 02:16 AM, _RiVeN_ wrote: I liked it! That's my kind of thing! I found it really interesting.
Cheers, It aint finiashed yet but hopefully its gonna be the opening for a short story typething.
But by the way, can I join the writer's guild?
Of course. Were never gonna turn down a chance to get a new member.
can sum 1 reveiw my story on page 88 on the holocost
Well, I couldn't sleep last night so I decided to start re-writing my short story "Thief's Luck".
Here's what I have written so far. It's not that great, but it was 3AM when I wrote it.
He fell to the ground yet again, splattering into the mud with a sickening squelch, supplies spilling from his battered pack as he fell. Laying completely still in the muck, he was seemingly oblivious to heavy rain pounding onto his back as he caught his breath.Thoroughly exhausted, he pondered simply surrendering to the urge to sleep where he lay. The pure hopelessness of his situation was resolutely crushing his will to continue.
After an entire week of running with only a minimal amount of sleep, that will was flagging. His legs felt as if they were being prodded with thousands of red hot pokers from constantly jerking his feet out of the clutching grasp of the wet mud. His leather boots had long since worn through and filled with mud, soaking the bandage he had hurriedly wrapped around his left ankle after violently twisting it in an unseen rabbithole and making the rough cloth cling to his clammy skin.
When he remembered what had sent him fleeing the previous week, the pain and exhaustion of his ordeal flew in the face of his all-consuming rage. Forcing himself to his knees, he quickly salvaged what he could of his dropped supplies, leaving the rest for whatever scavengers happened upon them. He rose slowly to his feet, ignoring the sudden agony of having his full weight upon the injured ankle.As he started off into the gloomy woods once again, his eyes burned brightly with lust for a single thing.
Vengeance.
At 4/11/05 02:06 PM, _IAMCanadian_ wrote: Well, I couldn't sleep last night so I decided to start re-writing my short story "Thief's Luck".
Not bad. You can definetely tell a story, and use colorful words as well. The story is overall intriguing, also. I'd like to see more.
Thoughts?...... of a dying atheist
By Rhys Pugh
He had cancer. He was an atheist. He was fucked. What would death bring him but nothingness? Bitter cold? Not even that. He was doomed to do nothing. Be nothing for the rest of eternity. He had chosen to deny god a part of his mind and now god was fucking him over. Deny god entry to your mind and he denies you entry to your soul. An unfair trade. What would cesearion do? Apart from cough up blood until he choked or croaked. Maybe if he found a way into heaven? A loop hole in the whole “god system”. Could there be one? God was apparently perfect. So cesearion would have to be better than perfect. He would have to start small. Start at the bottom. Start with the believers.
The street people would be the easiest. They had faith. It was all they had. Cesearion stepped out of his black Mercedes. He may have been dying, but he was wealthy. No doubt. Stepping into the grey streets of London he looked around. Towering buildings of grey cement soared above him while dull pavement separated a person from a walk and being separated from their legs. Cars were humming past on the bridge overhead though none would come down here. None would come down to the level of the street folk. It was suicide. Though it didn’t bother cesearion. He looked over at the flock of people gathered around a pitiful bin fire. How could anyone sink this low? He asked himself. He stepped off the pavement avoiding the cheap shot of a puddle god had placed there for him to step into. Cesearion had no need to look before he crossed for no one would venture down here in a car. Walking across the street the wind caught his long black coat. As he approached the smell of damp and uncleanliness met his nostrils. He muttered under his breath. The bearded men looked over and seemed to not know what to make of this stranger. They retreated from the fire and approached Cesearion. “an’ who might you be?” the obvious ringleader spoke.
“A person wanting answers.” Cesearion stared trying to make the street person avoid his gaze though he did not.
“Police?” the man seemed too casual at the thought of law enforcement.
“no.” Cesearion knew something was up.
“good. Lets go boys.” The man called upon his minions. The human incarnations of demons. These men had been tainted by the devil. They had lost faith.
“shit!” though he was going to die Cesearion wasn’t going to speed up the process. He swung his head around looking for an exit through the band of homeless, wild eyed people. Suddenly the merc blew up and hope was lost. These men were gonna kill him. So cesearino thought. Wasn’t the time to think. There wasn’t time to think. But he did. And knew what he was gonna do. Picking up a stone of the floor he swung it around like a madman knowing that the ranks of vagabonds wouldn’t know what to make of it. Then he struck. The rock flew through the hordes and struck their leader. Who went down onto the grey of the ground within seconds. Although meaningless cesearion hoped he was alive. The men retreated knowing that an endless supply of stones would be the end of them. What were they to do now apart from scrounge money and buy booze.
At 4/11/05 02:43 PM, Arch_Angel_Rhys wrote: Thoughts?...... of a dying atheist
write more now btich!
Seriosuly that was damned good. I really enjoyed reading it. If it aint finsihed finsish it off NOW!
not bad for a fourteen year old. lol. don't worry. there'll be more. that was just chapter one. next one on the way.
At 4/11/05 02:56 PM, Arch_Angel_Rhys wrote: not bad for a fourteen year old. lol. don't worry. there'll be more. that was just chapter one. next one on the way.
good :P
hope this lives up to the first chapter...
Chapter 2.
Walking home took about three hours though he had no other choice. The vagabonds had destroyed cesearion’s car. Walking through the door into the block of flats warm air greeted him. No one appeared to be there. Which was good. What would be the point in wasting time talking to people? Walking through the decorated corridor rain water dripped onto the perfect marble flooring. Coming to the old style mesh elevator cesearion rubbed his eyes. Fourth floor. The familiar uneasiness came as the elevator ascended and soon the ping which brought the arrival of the fourth floor came. Stepping into the corridor a flash of lightning came at the window. What was going on? Everything seemed to be going bad since he started looking for god. Suppose god didn’t want to be found. The thought brought a smile upon cesearion’s face. Fishing through his pockets he produced a key. Putting it into the lock he turned it and stepped into his apartment. Home. Or at least it would be for the week until he was going to die.
As he sat down he thought. Maybe he could earn his way into heaven. Not believing in god cesearion was desperate. What would he do? A singular deed of great self sacrifice and selflessness should seal his fate. Shaking his half empty glass of whiskey around in his hand cesearion had a thought. Not many dying atheists have thoughts except death. The next place to search would be the church. Surely an ambassador of god could help him? Stepping out of his apartment cesearion began walking. Upon arriving at the gates of god he hesitated to step inside. Almost as if it was pushing him away. Screw it. He left for his apartment. The night was dark and the rain was on tap.
“Get the fuck off me!” cesearion heard screams from an alleyway. Walking down the dark way he saw a man with a knife trying to rape a young blonde lady. Clenching his fist the rage took over. Cesearion ran at the assailant and dragged him off the young frightened lady.
“what the…?” the attacker didn’t know what was going on. Cesearion swung and seemingly broke the man’s nose. Hitting him in a violent anger his hands became sodden with blood until the attacker didn’t move anymore. He was dead. Stepping off him cesearion went to comfort the woman.
“get the fuck away from me!” collecting her bag the young lady ran. Hmph. So much for my hero. Cesearion picked up his fags and left.
I skimmed through the work and read those that really capture dme and there is some good prose running through here. Sorry that i was away, but i just got home last night and was too tired to post. I didn't miss too too much anyway.
Currently, i am taking my Evemortal Series and developing a serious more organized plot. The plot i have now is great for the first book, but it does not connect the first with the second all too much, so i want to write it as one book and then divide it into two books in the end after it is written. So far my plans are going superbly.
A book i say everyone should read: A Prayer for Owen Meany by, John Irving. It is boring at times, but the style of writing is fantastic and the idea is kind of cool to see being applied to real life in a spiritual and almost supernatural way.
At 4/11/05 03:57 PM, Myst_Williams wrote: A book i say everyone should read: A Prayer for Owen Meany by, John Irving. It is boring at times, but the style of writing is fantastic and the idea is kind of cool to see being applied to real life in a spiritual and almost supernatural way.
I'll be sure to pick it up. I like those kinda books a bit.
At 4/11/05 03:57 PM, Myst_Williams wrote: I skimmed through the work and read those that really capture dme and there is some good prose running through here.
Did you read my start of a story myst? I kind of need some serious reviewing of it I think.
At 4/11/05 03:59 PM, WithoutCease wrote: I'll be sure to pick it up. I like those kinda books a bit.
It is a good learning experience for serious writers i think.
At 4/11/05 04:04 PM, -Manic- wrote: Did you read my start of a story myst? I kind of need some serious reviewing of it I think.
Yes i did. Okay, to start: Things like " hadn't " should be " had not " in a formal piece, so kill off all conjunctions. Now, it is very intriguing and deffiently grabs my attention which is key, but the whole calling rhw master "it" seems odd, it makes me realize he is not human, but i am sure he (i say he) has a gender and/or has traits similar to a specific gender (i gathered male). Also, read it aloud to yourself, because some of the writing is awkward and hard to read. Kind of like a run-on sentence, but still grammatically correct. Read it aloud and if anything comes out awkward, then think of a better way to write that sentence or to write it into two sentences. Other than that, i liked it. It got me interested which is most important for an intro piece; it looks like this could turn out well.
Getting someone else to read it aloud can help also, because some people read things differently, and a great writer can force a reader to take it in a certain way. Great start, Manic!
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How is Coop's story coming? I havn't heard anything... does he still visit here?
At 4/11/05 04:16 PM, Myst_Williams wrote: It is a good learning experience for serious writers i think.
Then I should definetely pick it up.
How is Coop's story coming? I havn't heard anything... does he still visit here?
I haven't seen him in a long, long while. 'Tis a shame.. 'Tis a shame...
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