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cooldude76
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-13 11:21:09 Reply

Hey, i just made this up, so don't over critizes.. please.

Fiery Inferno
Burning Leigon
Ice of Heaven
Saves the Dead
Redeams The Dieing
Relinquishes life
Destroys the living
That is the power
of the One
In... Control
The Authority

please don't comment on spelling... or grammar or anything
does anyone get the refference to His Dark Materials? XD

Sistine1408
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-13 17:09:36 Reply

Ciglioni: free verse is something (IMO) that is meant to give ease to extremely skilled poets in order to allow them to more freely express their ideals, rather than an excuse to put little work into a poem.

definelty go with some sort of rhyming scheme next time. In addition, that didn't sound at all like some child's monologue as he saw what was happening before him at all, so id work on that.

cooldude: welcome if you are accepted, but SERIOUSLY...dont submit things here if you dont want it criticized. this is still newgrounds here, even if we are all writers.

that said, its just a bundle of barely-related words to me, since i have no knowledge of said reference.


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SprintT
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-13 17:13:30 Reply

At 12/13/07 11:21 AM, cooldude76 wrote: Hey, i just made this up, so don't over critizes.. please.

Fiery Inferno
Burning Leigon
Ice of Heaven
Saves the Dead
Redeams The Dieing
Relinquishes life
Destroys the living
That is the power
of the One

Of the One

In... Control

Never use "..."

The Authority

please don't comment on spelling... or grammar or anything
does anyone get the refference to His Dark Materials? XD

Well I have to steal that style now, kudos

So I criticed the grammer and spelling too XD
Nice job


<"Clusterfuck of ideas heading nowhere... " Writersblock

Zodir
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-13 17:50:07 Reply

HOLY SHIT!!! The new people are really filling up our forum fast. Jeez... My god. NEW PEOPLE WELCOME!!! I SALUTE U!!!


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Proud Demon residing in the METAL HELL!
Lay down your soul for the god's rock n' roll!

blamninja1
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-13 19:01:38 Reply

Everyone, if you want to join the collab, here's the link. Clicky, clicky.


To be or not to be....
You get the idea.

Lindione
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-13 20:11:38 Reply

Eden, Elron, and Evett

Part 8: The origin of the young man

After coming back from the blood red plain
The young man came back from the crossroad on the path
There was no camp for there was no reason to maintain

It was no issue for if they came Elron's soldiers would feel his wrath
But along the southern road he saw a man clutching his arm
It was the holy man from the journey's start

It seemed as though Elron would cause even old holy men harm
The young man was told their dogs tore him apart
He managed to create a makeshift bandage out of the robes of the man

The young man told the man his tale
A boy known only as Blade from the town of Hellioz was where his life began
Blade grew up unknowing of his true parents who gave him up so he would prevail

He was given his powers during his teenage years
Along with a vow never to harm an innocent soul
Or else he would feel the pain of one thousand spears

He received his mission from a seer while he was on patrol
Yet when he returned Eden had massacred his home
Blade found no remains and vowed revenge

And the next day he set off for Salome...

Part 9: Infiltration of Elron

Blade left the holy man the next morning
He gave the holy man a protective veil
And also told him it will fade in one day as a warning

He knew it was time to infiltrate he must not fail
He used his one and only magic seal
To teleport him to Elron's camp

He glowed his eyes silver and changed his clothes to the ideal
And charged up the first great ramp
And went to the first checkpoint but was stopped

It was apparent this part was the officer's cabin area
But an officers badge the guy next to him "dropped"
But first it was time to cause some mass hysteria

He envisioned a giant viper which stated in ire
"Abandon your posts your swords and arrows will be thrown in vain
You have angered me with this place for forgiveness you will plead until you tire
Now burn it to the ground for I cannot be slain!"

This completed part one of Blade's idea now to continue
While the place was burning he would grab the master key
And like a shadow through the night this place he would slip through

Blade then opened the doors to the master cabin and action he would guarantee

Part 10: The Young Man With the Silver Eyes

Blade stepped into the Elron Commander's tent with eyes glowing
From behind his back he started spells and vision uncontrolled
Fire was blazing time for the commander was slowing

This type of spell no one could say sane and behold
He was getting boiled alive and struck with lightning
Yet of course this was all in his mind

All of this was Blade's master plan even to him frightening
For the mission to save mankind
It was almost complete when the unthinkable occurred

The commander showed his golden eye and put up a force field
Blade quickly turned into shadow to finish it then he preferred
So he summoned all of his mental strength to break through the golden shield

This time he summoned death itself in its ugliest form
With one last chant with one last breath blade released the spell
He then passed out on the floor all he knew was that there would be reform

He woke thinking he was in hell
But it was only the blood red field of Evett's grave
But his eyes shone silver no more

To him this no longer mattered to the young man bold and brave
Since on this field full of white roses with diamond tips
He completed the mission and was the ruler of man

Yet he was in pain knowing never again he would touch Evett's lips

Ok, thats it for my poem/short story of Eden, Elron, and Evett Tell me what you think of the series as a whole and i'll try to improve my writing. Right now I'm working on a story (don't know how long yet) and I'll try to get the first part up tonight if not tomorrow. I hoped you enjoyed since I think this is probably one of the greatest things I've ever done.


"Any state, any entity, any ideology that fails to recognize the worth, the dignity, the rights of man, that state is obsolete."

Don't bother using the bible as an argument.

Lindione
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-13 20:24:53 Reply

Double Sin: Part 1

Jonos was sitting on the rooftops of the city, not a very desirable spot with the rats on the attic but he has to collect his blood money to be able to eat. He looked at the battle scars on his body while waiting for the mark to come on his way. It seemed as if he was getting old, most of these he did not remember and some were just a vague blur. One of the scars he could just remember a sword stabbed him in the stomach and him waking up next to a tree with someone else's cold blood on his hands. This was not a life for the weak and he wouldn't recommend it to anyone, the pay was only half decent and you didn't live long unless you had your wits about you.

The mark came at last; he picked up his throwing dagger and aimed three inches below the hairline... bull's-eye. He could not celebrate, though, being that the target was his third cousin. Yet that was the part of the life- no emotions, just survival and serving the highest bidder no matter the cost. He collected the valuable possessions and cut off his head with a lucid sound, as if someone was snapping a chicken's neck but worse -this was human.

He brought the head, sneaking through the sewers like a snake, weaving and diving through the sewage pipes with ease. He found the employer waiting for him on the agreed location, a dark ally somewhere in the south end of the city. He paid the agreed on price as promised, 100 gold coins. Apparently this was important to the employer; Jonos got twice the regular amount for a bounty of this danger level which was really none.

"This is going well for us," Exilon thought "maybe now I can afford to avenge our parents. But first..." Exilon gained control and grabbed a dagger from his back pocket, he jabbed the knife into the employer's heart and threw the body into the sewers, he would allow the rats to have a snack. "That's what he gets for wanting to kill cousin Alphonso."

Jonos returned home that night. "Dark, damp, and just like home," said Jonos.
He was careful to hide any money from that night's kill and went to the cot he called bed. He had a dream that night, it was about a being taking control of his body and killing his employer. He woke up in a cold sweat thinking he was losing himself again.

He decided he had to go see the sage on top of the mountain outside of the city. He packed up what he needed (mostly weapons and some jerky for food) and started off for the mountain.

Ok, this is part 1 of the story I'm working on, I'lll probably do poetry in between but I'll be working on this for the most part. Tell me what you think so far.


"Any state, any entity, any ideology that fails to recognize the worth, the dignity, the rights of man, that state is obsolete."

Don't bother using the bible as an argument.

Sistine1408
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-13 21:01:10 Reply

no time 2 read the story lindione, sorry.

NEW PEOPLE:

seriously, click the damned link that balmninja put up. its damn important and we need more people.


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blamninja1
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-13 21:23:56 Reply

I just wrote this. As weird as it seems, this was actually written while listening to Stronger on iTunes and watching the TV Guide channel simultaneusly. I think I might post it on the Collab, this is what I have so far.

Adam looked across the desert. The town in the distance looked marvelous in the late hours. He was thinking hard. I want to write something, he thought. A great manuscript, of epic proportions. But I am not inspired enough to do that, said he. Nothing could stir him to take up quill and create such writing. He decided to go to bed.

He couldn't sleep. I'm running out of money, he thought. Food is scarce. Barely any water. And no woman could possibly learn to love him, with him being quite lazy. He had the fantasies of some extraordinarily beautiful woman being his wife, doing chores, sleeping with him at a snap of the finger. Like that would happen. If only he could create the world in his own vision, a world where nothing would go wrong, perfection. And then it hit him.

Jumped out of his bed and bolted to his stone desk. Furiously scribbling with quill and many a cup of ink in close proximity. In a matter of twenty minutes and forty five seconds, he finished what just might be the greatest writing any human being ever saw.
Genesis, the Creation of Man, written by his own hand. And he was the star character of the show. He assumed two roles, that of God, and that of Adam (which he named after himself) The God had supernatural powers, he could create anything he desired. So, just like the man who wrote the story, he created the perfect world, the Garden of Eden.
Adam then went to bed and got a wonderful rest.

He decided to scurry over to town and see if he could persuade any publishers to be interested. Today was quite busy; must be Market Day, thought Adam. After unsuccessfully attempting to wade through the massive crowd, he decided to spend a moment to rest, so he leaned against a nearby pillar. A beggar moseyed up to him and began poking Adam with a sharp stick and asking if he could spare any coins so the beggar could buy lunch today. It got tedious quickly. Adam, who thought the beggar might follow him, threw up a copper and walked away swiftly. Most of the crowd converged on the copper, and he stole away to the nearest building. Adam then saw a man very well know for his writing, Daniel, of whom Adam was very fond of, and admired Daniel. Daniel! , shouted Adam. Daniel approached and asked, What is it you require of me, my brother? Please, read some of this, it shall surely leave an impression on you and your belief of how the world was created. Daniel scrolled through the pages, and said, What is your age, brother Adam? I am twenty years in this land, Daniel. , responded Adam. You write in a different age, my brother. This theory is beyond any other. , said Daniel. Oh, this isn't a theory, replied Adam. What? , asked Daniel. It is not a theory, but a complete story, Daniel. I have created my own world, and I wish for your advice on how I can improve it. , responded Adam. You, mean, you're just trying to make some kind of drama? , Daniel asked. That's just it! , said Adam. Come with me. , said Daniel.

They arrived at Daniel's house. It smelled of rich food and alcohol. Adam's nose wrinkled. Who's drinking? , asked Adam. Shut up. , replied Daniel. They sat at Daniel's table. This could turn out to be a great story, said Daniel. I can see it now: the paradise that the characters live in, shattered, by this 'God's' warning, do not eat from the tree.
When did I say it was going to be a disaster book? , asked Adam. Adam, the people are suckers for the drama, the tension, add a little sex and you have a major coin gathering device. Adam was stunned. This maniac was gonna ruin his story. Now, we just need to add a little devil to screw up paradise. , said Daniel. What are talking about? You're ruining my story. , said Adam. Oh, on the contrary, my friend, I am spicing it up. Our audience is going to mostly be men, so we can have the female, Eve, take the blame for stealing the fruit of the tree, then she blames it on the little devil, who, who is a snake, yeah, this god smites the devil, Satan!, that's a good name, so then, Adam, did you name him after yourself?, whatever, and Eve are banished from the Garden, and have to live on their own. , said Daniel, who took a long breath after speaking.

Controversial?

Hell, yeah.


To be or not to be....
You get the idea.

Seggi
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-13 22:01:17 Reply

Hey, i'm a new member, only posted like, three times, but i was wondering if anyone could give me some constructive criticism on a sample of one of my short stories;

He leapt from the thing's hands, his face on fire with the acidic substance excreted from its pores. His feet touched onto the cement floor, but the thing was fast. It pounced and he was back in its vice-like grip. Slowly, surely, he was moved towards the things face, or, at least, where its face should be. It bore the grim reapers hood on its head, the abyss of darkness within sucking him in. As the darkness enveloped him, his eyes slammed shut, his mind throbbing against its power. He felt his brain imploding, slowly collapsing under the pressure of its thoughts. Its free hand slowly moved towards his neck, creeping ever closer, closing around his throat and tightening to the point of suffocation...

Sistine1408
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-13 22:07:11 Reply

At 12/13/07 10:01 PM, Seggi wrote: Hey, i'm a new member, only posted like, three times, but i was wondering if anyone could give me some constructive criticism on a sample of one of my short stories;

very nice, descriptive and mysterious. i see possibilities here.


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Seggi
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-13 22:27:13 Reply

i was just wondering... how many people are online on the wirters club at 10:30? Just wondering since i live in Aus and when its about 10:30 on NG its more like 2:30 here

P.S. thanks for the praise sistine

Boltrig
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-14 06:18:50 Reply

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3926700/1/Th e_1st_Lukitarian_The_First_Planet

I posted the link because the entire story is a bit big to post here. Im planning on taking this story to 6 chapters, and I know what I want in each. Do you guys think its worth it. Any criticism and comments gratefully received.

SprintT
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-14 07:48:26 Reply

At 12/14/07 06:18 AM, Boltrig wrote: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3926700/1/Th e_1st_Lukitarian_The_First_Planet

I posted the link because the entire story is a bit big to post here. Im planning on taking this story to 6 chapters, and I know what I want in each. Do you guys think its worth it. Any criticism and comments gratefully received.

Interesting idea and plot, but the writing it's self was so dry. You really need to work on varying your sentence structure, and giving your sentences some zing.

overall: 5/10


<"Clusterfuck of ideas heading nowhere... " Writersblock

SprintT
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-14 07:49:37 Reply

At 12/13/07 10:27 PM, Seggi wrote: i was just wondering... how many people are online on the wirters club at 10:30? Just wondering since i live in Aus and when its about 10:30 on NG its more like 2:30 here

P.S. thanks for the praise sistine

At the time of this post I amigin most of us are asleep during the week days. During the weekend I got another 4 hours-5 in me so XD


<"Clusterfuck of ideas heading nowhere... " Writersblock

SprintT
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-14 18:06:24 Reply

2 peoms I did today
----------------------------------------
====================
----------------------------------------
Sorrowful Calm

Upon deaths great door I stand.
The sight of the end is much to take.
In search for that of a gentle hand.
The slightest hope of worry for my sake.

The end forever drawing me closer.
To be lost in the great abyss.
Like the controlling hand of a composer.
Yet something is amiss.

The death in which is the end.
The seemly sorrowful tone.
The end is not to be had, for a hand death would lend.
The calm presence, I was not alone.
--------------------------
Awakening

From the depths of the abyss.
The grand end forever feared.
The simple solemn bliss.
The end is not what it appeared.

To die is the final end.
Yet upon the world thou stand alive.
The chance of anew, death would lend.
The chance for repentance, that which to stride.

The eyes blind to the world, forever nevermore.
That which goes unseen is forever admired.
To look past that which, is expected evermore.
The great gift acquired.


<"Clusterfuck of ideas heading nowhere... " Writersblock

Not-a-panda
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-14 19:09:19 Reply

I don't know whether people will be annoyed at me for posting this or not. I've stated who I am (aaaaages ago) and all that biography stuff. So, here it goes.

*note* imagine Rick (The Young Ones), A.E Pessimal (from "THUD!" by Terry Pratchett) and Arnold Rimmer (from Red Dwarf). Combine them and multiply, and you get Pritchard Loxsley.

Begin.

Chapter one: In which we meet Pritchard.

10/09/02, 11:29 a.m. New York City.

"Pheeeep!"
"You, stop! You are in direct violation of section 3b, appendix J, paragraph E of the 2002 New York Motorist handbook! Stop in the name of the law!"

Pritchard Locksley was proud of his job. Every inch of him, from patent leather shoes to obsessively parted hair, was a Parking Inspector. He blew his whistle with conviction, come rain or shine. He graduated a straight-A student from school. He had won seven consecutive "golden whistle" awards. He ironed his socks every morning. He also had the charm and goodwill of the bubonic plague, which is why he ended up as a parking inspector. Nonetheless, he was the worst nightmare of all motorists. And proud.

"You, sir! Your windscreen wiper is broken! Fifty dollar fine!" he ripped a ticket out of his little book and thrust it at the confused owner of a bright red Lamborghini Diablo Convertible. The young man stared at him for a minute, trying to figure out if it was some kind of joke. He spoke with a heavy italian accent.
"Cosa? Seriously?"
"Your left windscreen wiper is damaged and may impede your view in heavy rain and/or sleet," Pritchard proclaimed.
"I..I..ciò è ridiculous! It's only a little bent!"
"Fifty dollar fine."
"No!"
"Yes. Otherwise you are, once again, in direct violation of-"
"Okay, okay! Bah!"
The Italian youth swore heavily and sent him a look of pure loathing, ripping the ticket out of his hand and stalking towards his car. Pritchard looked at his watch and a malicious grin spread over his face.
"Wait just a minute! That car has been parked one minute longer than paid for! Come back here!"
"Vai a cagare, bastard!" The man revved his engine and sped off, with Pritchard in hot pursuit on a Moped, practically steaming with indignation.

What passed for low hour traffic was a filthy, agressive monster prone to outbursts of swearing and fehement horn honking, but at least there was enough room for a little speeding. As the Lamborghini wove it's way around lesser cars and it's driver swore in rapid italian, Pritchard followed it, blowing his whistle until he was purple in the face. He was gaining, slowly but surely, on the guilty party. An intersection approached. Pritchard floored it, and was now only five metres from the red car when...
SLAM!
The Italian stomped on the brakes, halting with a shockwave.
Again, SLAM!
This time it was the moped which slammed into the car. For Pritchard, the world went in slow motion. He was thrown forward and soared over the convertible, with a triumphant grin on his face and the wind ruffling his immaculate hair. A quick slap and the ticket was stuck to the windscreen, and then the world sped up again. He landed with a CRUNCH in the blessedly empty intersection, managed to stand up, pointed imperiously and roared:
"YOU HAVE BEEN SERVED JUSTIC-"
Then he was hit by a truck.

No traffic. No tickets. No New York City. Nothing but sky, sky, sky. And a voice.
"Pritchard Locksley, you have been chosen." boomed a voice.
Pritchard's eyes snapped open and he retorted instantly.
"Who are you? Is this a joke?"
"No, Pritchard. I have a task for you!" the voice sounded a little impatient.
A new voice chimed in, this one scratchier.
"Oi, you can't do that! That's against the rules!"
The other voice countered it.
"Rules? Since when did you know anything about rules, Lucifer? I MAKE the rules!"
There was a distinctive sound of a boot punting a heavy object and suddenly it was only the first voice.
"Pritchard, listen carefully. You will wake up in one year and one day, in the Fort Worth airport in Dallas."
"Wh-what do you ask of me?"
"Only that you be yourself. Now go."
And with that, the sky faded.


Fin.

Feedback? Improvements? Suggestions?


~I can kill you with my mind~

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cooldude76
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-14 19:27:04 Reply

Thanks, i didn't really do anything.... :D but i still put some tought into it, so don't call me lazy.

cooldude76
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-14 19:28:37 Reply

Thanks for the input.... also... the referance is to His Dark Materials a book by Pullman... and also yeah, i relized that the askign for mercy was kind of pointless...

Sistine1408
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-14 21:33:24 Reply

sprintt, have you ever written poetry that didnt use the same single word to begin each sentence?


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SprintT
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-14 22:04:45 Reply

At 12/14/07 09:33 PM, Sistine1408 wrote: sprintt, have you ever written poetry that didnt use the same single word to begin each sentence?

The last two, and I don't tend to. My personal style is ABAB with the same word to begin with.


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Lindione
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-14 22:21:27 Reply

Ok, time for some poetry from me

"Infinite Pathway to a Place Unnattainable

Jake walked down the infinite pathway
Trying to reach the nearly endless staircase
Before the shadowy cave with no end
Right after the impassible high bridge
Yet he never seemed to care about
The giant sign next to him which read
"Goal of life unattainable this way"
He never looked for a second way
He just kept marching ever onward

"Poet's Conformity"

He never thought twice about his choice
About how readers would never rejoice
After reading a work of art
While he was putting movies in a shopping cart
The thoughtless poet lets his work rot
For selfish pleasure which he never sought
The world of conformity has captured another mind
Soon his vision into other worldly thoughts will go blind

"Cry Out in the Night"

He was alone in the room that night
His vision was blurry nothing in sight
He heard a voice cry out
Which he could do very much without
He was in pain from a migraine
Wondering if he was sane
Hallucinating his wildest dreams
Hearing that woman's screams
But being caught up in his own imagination
Having absolutely no concentration
He ignored her

"One"

One crescent moon in the night's sky
One lonely star oh so high
One mourning widower whose wife had died
One sighing neighbor who failed but tried
One beaten path on the way out of town
One peacefully sleeping girl in a silk nightgown
One lamb roasting in an oven pan
One windy storm blowing over what it can
These things are all different but yet all the same
some are in peace and some are in pain
but all are unique and nothing is the same

As always, tell me what ya think


"Any state, any entity, any ideology that fails to recognize the worth, the dignity, the rights of man, that state is obsolete."

Don't bother using the bible as an argument.

Seggi
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-15 03:38:54 Reply

At 12/14/07 10:21 PM, Lindione wrote:
As always, tell me what ya think

I really liked 'One' and i thought the middle two were pretty good, but i didn't really like the first one. But then, i don't know much about poetry, i'm more of a short story kinda guy. But, i did like the way you used different styles.

Seggi
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-15 04:49:04 Reply

Ok, most likely, noone will be on, but i just wanted to post this short story that i just finished, coz this will be my first finished story that i posted on the wirers club, and maybe i could get some feedback from some wise and learned NGers. (I censored it slightly for the writers club)

"Steve was a good brother," Jon Davisson read his brothers eulogy, tears welling in
his eyes, then streaming down his cheeks. "a good friend, a good writer... but a troubled
man." The funeral was small, just Steve's family and friends, a few reporters had been
waiting outside, but were denied entry. Everyone inside was crying.

The eyes of the little children still haunted Steve in his sleep, like little
demons intent on making him excavate inside his skull in an attempt to bore the images out
of his mind. He remembered all of their eye colours, three dark brown, two hazel and the
deepest pair of baby blues you ever saw.

"He struggled with his demons, like we all do..." Jon's voice broke as the tears started to
flow harder. "Unfortunately... he lost."

"It's my fault," Steve thought, gravely. "my fault that they'll never grow up to be
doctors, or sports stars or even, maybe, little senators or presidents." He rose to his
feet,anger and self-pity swept over him. "No, I couldn't possibly blame myself (Yes, I
could), it wasn't my fault, I was a victim in this as well(BULLSHIT!). It was David, not
me, Dave was the one who did it(SHUT UP and LISTEN to yourself!)!"

"He was constantly conflicted, never able to choose a side and stick with it..."

His fist slammed down on a little writing desk, causing it to break under the pressure. A
notebook and some papers spilled onto the floor, his last six months work, stained and
ruined by a week-old cup of coffee that had smashed to ground with the desk.
"Goddammit!" He thought. "My work! That was everything I've produced since I got rid of my
post-traumatic writer's block! (It was all crap and you know it!) No, the quality was
getting better, it was starting to get good! (Then why won't you try and save it?)" The
rhetorical question stopped him in his tracks. "Dammit..." He conceded.

"But he was still a great person, his soul was contaminated by his anger, aside from that,
it was pure."

He picked up a small rubber stress ball, cursing in time with his squeezing.
"Get out of my HEAD-"(You can't stop me) "-you MOTHER----ER!" His voice seemed to echo in
his head. "GET-" (You) "-OUT!" (Can't) "Get the-" (Stop) "-hell OUT!" (Me!)
He pelted the stress ball, tossing it at a nearby window. It made a loud slap against the
glass, then bounced off to some unknown place, to wait to be found for four or five weeks.
He looked at the window, someone was out there... smiling, their evil eyes taunting him.
"Hello, Steve." His voice sounded menacing, like he would kill his mother just for a break
on his rent.
"David." Steve sounded angry and frustrated. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, you know, I just wanted to... stop by..." He let out a loud, despeccable laugh.
"You're not welcome here. You've never been welcome here."
"Not even BEFORE you killed those children?"
"I DIDN'T kill them, you did! It wasn't my fault!" His hand slammed into the wall next to
the window, making the glass shake.
"Okay, so it WAS me. But everyone still thinks you did it. Just because you got off on some
weird loophole doesn't mean noone thinks, ney, KNOWS it was you."
"Stop it..." His voice had shrunk to a whisper.
"You think their parents will ever forgive you?"
"No...'
"You think they'll ever be the same?" His smile grew more malicious, if it were possible.
"Wasn't me..."
"You ruined their lives!"
"No..." His voice was slowly rising, his infuriating impatience taking over.
"They'll never get over it!"
"NO!" His scream of fury echoed in the small room, off the window and back at him.
"Everyone knows it was you!"
"IT..." His voice growled in the back of his throat, his hands clenching into tight fists
of anger. "...WASN'T..." David's eyes shone with triumphant glory. "...ME!"

"He was quite patient and loving, when he wasn't fighting himself..." His words touched the
hearts of the crowd. "...or 'David'."

Steve's right fist swung around, smashing into the glass and impacting on David's skull. He
was looking at the ground and saw a few shards of the glass that had bounced back on the
ground. He felt David's head fly back as his fist made contact, and heard a loud snap, like
plywood breaking, before his hand came into contact with a cement wall.
He looked up and saw his bleeding hand, now uncurled.
"A wall." He said to himself, softly. "How did Steve do that?"
Centimetres beyond the glass was a broken plywood wall, snapped to reveal the cement frame
beneath. He looked down at the glass that had bounced back, bending down to pick one up. He
sat down on the bed, the springs beneath squeaking loudly.
"I can't take it, any more."
He took the glass to his wrists, drawing blood and cutting veins, slowly draining his life
force.
"I'm not gonna see you hurt any more people, David." He muttered, his strength sapping
away, painfully.

"Suicide is a terrible thing." Jon's voice turned somber and slow. "It effects everyone, at
some stage..."

He gazed deeply into the blood stained glass, looking down at a solid colour.
"Wha-" His throat was dry and worn.
He turned the glass over, looking down at the shiny surface.
"No..."

"...Unfortunately, it is not uncommon in cases of split personality.."

Steve couldn't believe it, looking down at his own face, everything suddenly became clear.
He rolled over onto the bed, and, right then, staring at the ceiling, he uttered his last
words; "Sorry, kids."

"...but we must never forget the most important part..."

His gaze turned cold and unforgiving, his heartbeat silenced as blood poured out onto the
bed, dripping down onto the floor in a repetetive, wet smack.

"...he was loved."

As the the funeral house emptied, Jon took one last look at the sign on the altar, then
went home and cried.

Steve Davisson, 18th January, 1885 - 15th December, 2007; The good die young, the troubled
die younger.

So, how'd ya like it?

Seggi
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-15 05:03:24 Reply

At 12/15/07 04:49 AM, Seggi wrote: "A wall." He said to himself, softly. "How did Steve do that?"

Sorry, that's supposed to say "How did David do that?"

Phantom
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-15 10:58:48 Reply

At 12/15/07 05:03 AM, Seggi wrote: Sorry, that's supposed to say "How did David do that?"

That happens to me a lot, I change a character's name and sometimes use the old name in the actual story, which is why I have a proof reader who hates it when my work is all messed up.


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Centurion-Ryan
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-15 11:29:17 Reply

Yep. I actually wrote a (n incredibly) short story about not writing stories.


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Sistine1408
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-15 15:20:13 Reply

ahs anyone been in contact w/ gunground recently?

if hes been on then hes been ignoring my PMs, and i havent seen him.

also sprintt will u be on msn tonight?


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Lindione
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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-16 10:21:56 Reply

Well i didn't do much yesterday but i came up with this

The lone stranger rides out into the storm
Out into the cold which was once warm
Taking no insult or scorn
He rides out on his old horse beaten and worn
The old man ends up in town at noon
Wondering if was there too soon
As planned a bar stool flies out
Another fight he could do without
He draws his dusty pistol from his belt
With adrenaline going he no longer felt
He shot the men involved
But knew his problem was not solved
He might have avenged his brother's death
Yet he could not draw another breath
He was poisoned with a dart from the east
Painful was to say the least
With his last breath he loaded one shot
And fired the bullet red hot
However, he would not know the fate
Of those that were involved that date


"Any state, any entity, any ideology that fails to recognize the worth, the dignity, the rights of man, that state is obsolete."

Don't bother using the bible as an argument.

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Response to Writers Club 2007-12-16 13:36:05 Reply

At 12/15/07 03:20 PM, Sistine1408 wrote: ahs anyone been in contact w/ gunground recently?

if hes been on then hes been ignoring my PMs, and i havent seen him.

also sprintt will u be on msn tonight?

Probably will be on ya.


<"Clusterfuck of ideas heading nowhere... " Writersblock