At 5/12/05 04:37 PM, -Manic- wrote:

At 5/12/05 03:47 PM, Myst_Williams wrote: I wouldn't... thats dangerous. I do miss your writing tho.

awwww bless :-) Someone misses me writing ;-)

Of course i do!

I'll have some time to do some writing tommorow so I'll be able to make a start :P

A start is better than nothing.

Brain lapse... whats GFC stand for?

Grandfather clock I'm guessing.

Oh... okay? *confuzzled*

At 5/12/05 05:05 PM, Mast3rMind wrote: Myst, here's a clip of one of my short stories. It's called...

I’m So High

I'm assuming it is fiction?

Well, i was actually uncomforatble reading it, so either you must have gave me some good imagery. It is written well, and seems honest.

Three things to look out for:

1) realistic dialogue
2) paragraphing
3) Be more specific and descriptive... you jumped around a bit much and then only touched some topics and suddenly moved on. Try and stick to one topic at a time, you seem axtious with your writing.

Other than that, it was quite good. Well, i think - i really was uncomoratble reading it, even though i kind of knew what was going to happen. Scary really - in a real-life kind of way.

I hope its fiction, and if it was, i commend you, because you almost have me believing that it's a true story. Who knows nowadays... who knows.

At 5/12/05 03:47 PM, Myst_Williams wrote:

Well, christ man. Can you please do that regularily. This is so frigian intriguing. I want more. lol.

Other than your paragraphing, and lack of character development, this is some amazing story i badly want to read more of. You have a keen way of keeping your writing strict, honest and intelligent prose while maintaining strong imagery amd unique style. What i like is that you made me feel as if i was jumping around in the first paragraph, but not in a confusing way - like i was there looking over as the alpha-omega. Just wierd how that first part pulled me in.

Thanks for the input, character development is something I always like to drag out (I let the characters make themselves, rather than let me do it for them) and paragraphing was never a strong point of mine :P
It's getting late over here, so I won't be posting the next section just yet, by tomorrow night I should have some more done though.

At 5/12/05 05:14 PM, Myst_Williams wrote: I'm assuming it is fiction?

Sorry if you were uncomfortable reading it. It's an excerpt from my short story, the first of the three. This is fiction. I wanted to create a story where the main character didn't do much. The kind of story where everyone else is the center, and the main character moves the story. I used the drug references because I got tired of stories where it was always the fault of drugs, but they never explained what the drug does, let alone defend the characters like I did in my short story. The ironic thing to this story is that you have a person who takes drugs telling a story saying that all drugs are bad. Think of it this way. For the people who don't take drugs, they think of all other drugs are bad, which are in some cases true. But think of it this way though, you have a person who has smoked weed for a long while and is living a good life, which many users can accomplish. To the main character all other drugs are bad news. Stereotypes bother me, so I had to even this out. If you want I could post the second part of the story. This is fiction.

sup Myst? got my next chapter here, following your advice has really given my story life.

A Hectic Night, The Show

"Hey! Bus found something!" Carathorn picked Bus up by his topknot.
"Let me go! it's mine!" shouted the plender, whom was helpless against the giant man.
"Hey! that's not yours! That's mine!" hissed Raistlor. "Keep out of my things!"
"It's yours Raistlor? Well you're lucky i found it! You might have lost it forever if i hadn't!"
Kaniis was growing tired of all the shouting and argueing. just a bit ago, Fireforge and Bus were argueing over who was dumber. Bus was happy to point out that it was Fireforge who was afraid of horses and boats, and Fireforge said at least he had his wits with him, and didn't take others possessions without asking. about this time he noticed his only flask of whiskey missing, and his face turned red when he found Bus juggling it around. then they shouted as they chased eachother for the last half hour. Kaniis was about asleep when Bus took Raistlor's...whatever it was.
"You fruit! Can't you see Kaniis needs his sleep? you're bothering him!" shouted Fireforge.
"Well no need to shout, you could have whispered in my ear and i would have understood just fine!" said Bus.
"All of you be quiet!" shouted Kaniis at the top of his lungs. at which point he proceeded to point at each member of the boat and call them something nasty in elven.
Carathorn felt sorry for the half-elf, he had gone through a lot, more than all of them combined. quietly, he hushed everyone while Kaniis got to sleep.
"Hey fruit! you have my flask again!" whispered Fireforge roughly at Bus. Carathorn nearly threw him off the boat.

"Come Everyone! Come see a man of multiple talents! a Woman of unsurpassed grace and beuty, and a man unmatched in swordsmanship! right here in our fairgrounds!" shouted the man Havik had paid the last of his money to in order to advertise. After the man left, Havik looked at the setting sun.
"It's seven hours after second time," he said. "Almost time to start."
Brum looked over at Kitiana, whom was dressed in the most exotic outfit he had ever seen. HAvik said he made it when he was learning how to make clothes. He had used real models back then...for more than one purpose. Brum was slightly irritated that a legend would talk about his quests beneath the bedsheets, though Kitiana found the stories quite interesting.
The outfit had leaves put together, and held together by magic, and the bikini was just a couple halves of coconuts. Brum didn't like the outfit, he said it demoralized Kitiana. But he did admit that she didn't look half bad in it. Plus, Kitiana didn't seem to mind showing off a bit of skin either.
Looking back at Havik, he asked him again what his act was, "I'm not at liberty to say." was his only response, it was always his response, and answered with a bigger smile each time.
"Alright you two, it's time to get on stage!" shouted Havik, a goofy smile on his flawless face.
He stood up on stage and smiled even wider as he saw that there were a lot of people there. He introduced Brum and Kitiana the same way the advertiser did, and went on with his act. First, he took a coin from a random man, and it disappeared in his hand. it reappeared in the man's nose and Havik pulled it out. the crowd grew bored, wondering if sleight-a-hand was his only act. then, Havik threw the coin in the air, and it floated, then, ten more coins appeared beside it, and they danced in a circle. Havik began singing a local favorite drinking song, and the coins flew left, and right, up and down in perfect sychronization and rhythm.
After the coins were done dancing, Havik offered the man who owned the coin to take one, when he did, the coin he chose dissappeared, and Havik told him to check his back pocket. To the man's surprise, the coin was there, and not in his wallet.
Havik did many more tricks, tricked the audience into believing a dragon was about to kill them when he made an illusionary one appear overhead, when in reality, it was a small bird. he made Brum look like a giant troll, and started saying how horrible he smelled. After awhile, Havik was tired, and done with his performance, the audience clapping.
Brum was next, challenging several men to fight him, he defeated all of them quite easily, cutting their pants, humiliating them fully, before letting them go back to the audience, or for some, back home where they could get changed.
After Brum bowed to the laughing audience, it was Kitiana's turn. Even Havik sat at attention as her music began playing, and she slowly danced to the end of the stage. smiling at random men, Havik smiled as random coins were being thrown on stage and the men asked for more. after ten minutes of this, Kitiana began to sweat, and she began to collapse, Brum, always being watchful of her, ran out and caught her before she fell. it was a ruse set up by her. she smiled and grabbed onto his neck and began spinning around while he was holding her hand.
Brum uneasily smiled as Kitiana danced all around him and he could do nothing about it. to run off stage would make him look stupid, plus, he didn't have too much of a problem with Kitiana dancing around him. five minutes later, she was finished dancing, and both of them bowed as even Havik gave a standing ovation.
"Well?" he asked Brum.
"Well what?" answered the knight.
"Well was it nice being up there with one of the best dancers i've ever seen?" laughed Havik.
"Oh shut it you two! We have enough money to travel and stay here a night, and i need some rest," said Kitiana.
"Fine with me, i have some business of my own to take care of here anyway before we leave." said Havik.
Brum stood stupified as the two walked off. he had the suspicion he was intentionally placed in that situation by the two.

At 5/12/05 06:11 PM, -TheDoctor- wrote: Thanks for the input, character development is something I always like to drag out (I let the characters make themselves, rather than let me do it for them) and paragraphing was never a strong point of mine :P

Ya, i got that feeling, and if it is done affectively... showing vs telling can make a good stor ya great one.

It's getting late over here, so I won't be posting the next section just yet, by tomorrow night I should have some more done though.

I look forward to it. Sincerely.

At 5/12/05 06:46 PM, Mast3rMind wrote:

At 5/12/05 05:14 PM, Myst_Williams wrote: I'm assuming it is fiction?

Sorry if you were uncomfortable reading it.

Don't be sry, it is good that you made me feel that wya - it proves your writing somewhat effective.

It's an excerpt from my short story, the first of the three. This is fiction. I wanted to create a story where the main character didn't do much. The kind of story where everyone else is the center, and the main character moves the story. I used the drug references because I got tired of stories where it was always the fault of drugs, but they never explained what the drug does, let alone defend the characters like I did in my short story.

Ya, i got that feel. The ending proved not only his perspective, which makes the drugs a little bit more valid, but it expresses the same pains, but through the eyes of life... not the drugs. Everyone gets to drugs somehow... drugs dont go to them.

The ironic thing to this story is that you have a person who takes drugs telling a story saying that all drugs are bad. Think of it this way. For the people who don't take drugs, they think of all other drugs are bad, which are in some cases true. But think of it this way though, you have a person who has smoked weed for a long while and is living a good life, which many users can accomplish. To the main character all other drugs are bad news. Stereotypes bother me, so I had to even this out. If you want I could post the second part of the story. This is fiction.

I would love to read the second part. And it is quite believable. Your writing isn't top notch, but your effectiveness, emotion and imagery really captured me which makes your writing not stand out so much. Though, keep writing, becuz if you improve your pen... it will make an even larger impact on the reader. : )

Great job again.

At 5/12/05 06:56 PM, BigLundi wrote: sup Myst? got my next chapter here, following your advice has really given my story life.

I am glad i can help. : D

I must say that your paragraphing already looks better, and your dialogue is always quite affective. Right now i am finishing up an essay and my head is spinning, so i only got through the first part... i will read the rest tomorrow before i go out. I got a good two hour gap there to whatever i want. : )

And is there any new characters, or am i just mixing them up in my head?

Here is the second story from I'm so high. I'll put this in paragraphs. One more thing I should point out is the Jesus in this story is Latino. So it is pronounced hey-sus. Just in case, I had to point that out.

The second story is called “Sacked by the Crack” This friend of mine got somewhat more luckier than Jessica did. Jesus was the basic pothead. He was the weakest one on the football team, but he always tried to play to the best of his ability and gained respect for it. He smoked and held a job to support the rent and his weed habit. He kept preaching about how he wanted a brand new high.

He contacted a crack dealer by the name of Seaz Giption. Jesus only bought one, he figured that he would only try it once then go back to smoking weed. He lit up the crack rock before the football game and in an instant he felt as though he was superman, he felt invincible and stronger. He went out on the field and forced 10 fumbles and knocked out a football player from the opposing team. In one night he became the most popular kid in school all thanks to crack.

He told my friends and I what he did and under all circumstances we all told him stay away from that crap. His plea to us back was that when the effect of the crack kicked in he felt invincible and that he felt no pain from the hits he took out on the field. The answer back was the same from us. To stay away from crack. Months passed by and the football season was almost over, we all thought that he kicked the habit but he didn’t.

Jesus developed a before game ritual. Smoke the rock, then play the game. He thought that he had it under control. He thought wrong. Three games after the game that made Jesus popular he began smoking crack at all hours and eventually was fired from his job. He became more volatile by the day. My friends kept telling me about what Jesus was doing to himself. I didn’t care. He didn’t listen to us so why should I care? Jesus’s life became a downward spiral.

He was kicked off the football team for his over aggressiveness and lack of teamwork. He lost all of his money and started to rob local stores until he was caught. He’s serving a seven year sentence. I visit him every now and then and tell him what’s going on, on the outside. Before I could I apologize, he apologized. All was forgiven.

At 5/12/05 07:30 PM, Myst_Williams wrote:

At 5/12/05 06:56 PM, BigLundi wrote: sup Myst? got my next chapter here, following your advice has really given my story life.

I am glad i can help. : D

i'm glad you do help. : D

I must say that your paragraphing already looks better, and your dialogue is always quite affective. Right now i am finishing up an essay and my head is spinning, so i only got through the first part... i will read the rest tomorrow before i go out. I got a good two hour gap there to whatever i want. : )

looking forward to it, and thanks.

And is there any new characters, or am i just mixing them up in my head?

no new characters, maybe your just tired or something.

Mrawr. Po-eh-tree. Fuck that show man. That tree was fucked.
It's free-verse. So I have no responsibility over it. sweet exoneration.

Untitled (but that's a title)

Do you promise to save us like you "saved" yourself?
Or just put us up like toys on a shelf?
Do unto others as you would do to yourself.
I guess that means you would treat us like shit too.

Turn your head and cough, just so I can make you laugh.
If this future is so great, why do we go back to the past?
If we want to slow it down, stop driving so fast.
It's too bad this will only be seen by a few.

You have to look through the glass
and ignore the stains on it.

Put things in the longview
but don't bother looking at the big picture.
It's just really depressing.

Why do we drink to forget
then struggle to remember what we did that night?
There's no point, but I'll drink to the fact that I made you think.
Too bad I'll forget in a couple of hours anyway.

Don't bother trying to get inside me.
Most women would call that rape.
I might as well too, because I don't enjoy it.
That would be a fun court case. "The people vs. The MIND RAPERS."

Another year has gone by. A year ago today, it was the same day.
No wonder I think birthdays are overrated.
I might as well just set fire to myself.
Just fucking immolate myself and everything around me.
All while singing "Happy Birthday."
Or at least trying too. I can never get the words right.

This whole thing just went from bad to worse.
I guess that's what's pretty cool about life.
It's never so bad that it can't get any worse.
I mean you could die, but then you just don't care anymore.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------
--------------

That was fucking sweet to write. I'll post some serious writing soon, I promise.

At 5/12/05 05:06 PM, Myst_Williams wrote: Oh... okay? *confuzzled*

lol grandftaher clock has posted a few things in here. I think he posted a limerick(sp?) at one point which was very chuckle worthy.

Anywya i'm making a start on my story tonight so aybe tommorow I'll have it reayd to psot.

At 5/12/05 07:38 PM, BigLundi wrote: no new characters, maybe your just tired or something.

I probably was...

So, my thoughts. There was some good lines that gave a me chucle, like the bed-sheets part. It was quite honest, but maybe too honest at times. Like when you say 'plus' yadda yadda... its like your telling the story to me and not showing me, and showing is much more affective.

I think some of the tricks were a litte much, and u could have described the dance a little more, but overall... you keep improving and that is what makes a good writer. Someone who can improve upon past mistakes... and so wuickly i might add.

It kept me interested, and i want to keep reading on. : )

I think you're doing an awesome job, keep it up. Just note to show more than tell... and be a little more descriptive from time to time, you are leaving a few too man ydetails up me as the reader. You are the writer, you have control if you want it. : )

At 5/12/05 07:37 PM, Mast3rMind wrote: Here is the second story from I'm so high. I'll put this in paragraphs. One more thing I should point out is the Jesus in this story is Latino. So it is pronounced hey-sus. Just in case, I had to point that out.

That ponuctiation is arabic, no? I love how the spanish tongue is derived from so many languages. Anyway, on to my thoughts.

He kept preaching about how he wanted a brand new high.

I hope this doesnt turn out like the last being about pot again, but i guess that is where most cases start.

He contacted a crack dealer by the name of Seaz Giption. Jesus only bought one,

One what? You should specify...

He told my friends and I what he did and under all circumstances we all told him stay away from that crap.

Re-phrase... awkward etc.

He was kicked off the football team for his over aggressiveness and lack of teamwork. He lost all of his money and started to rob local stores until he was caught. He’s serving a seven year sentence. I visit him every now and then and tell him what’s going on, on the outside. Before I could I apologize, he apologized. All was forgiven.

Hmm, well the ending was weak to me. This wasn't as good as the last becuz you rushed through it i think. The paragraphing was much better, but i thought you should have described the story more. Went into more details and emotions. It was good writing, but the story wasn't as strong as the last.

At 5/13/05 01:32 PM, -Manman- wrote: Mrawr. Po-eh-tree. Fuck that show man. That tree was fucked.

huh?

It's free-verse. So I have no responsibility over it. sweet exoneration.

Okie- doke lol.. should i be worried some? : )

Untitled (but that's a title)

I hate Untitled peices :P Titles can make or break a piece of writing.

Do you promise to save us like you "saved" yourself?
Or just put us up like toys on a shelf?
Do unto others as you would do to yourself.
I guess that means you would treat us like shit too.

The last line pulled off on the strength of your statement i think.

Turn your head and cough, just so I can make you laugh.
If this future is so great, why do we go back to the past?
If we want to slow it down, stop driving so fast.
It's too bad this will only be seen by a few.

Wow, great stanza! Like seriously... the first wasn't all that impressive to me, but this one kills. Even the imagery was exhilerating.

You have to look through the glass
and ignore the stains on it.

Put things in the longview
but don't bother looking at the big picture.
It's just really depressing.

Wow, some imagery that gives me a metaphorical sense to the message.

Why do we drink to forget
then struggle to remember what we did that night?
There's no point, but I'll drink to the fact that I made you think.
Too bad I'll forget in a couple of hours anyway.

Hmm, i dunno if i am a huge fan of that stanza. It kind of becomes more whiny than the other ones.

Don't bother trying to get inside me.
Most women would call that rape.
I might as well too, because I don't enjoy it.
That would be a fun court case. "The people vs. The MIND RAPERS."

I have no idea where the hell you got that idea from, lol, but it works.

Another year has gone by. A year ago today, it was the same day.
No wonder I think birthdays are overrated.
I might as well just set fire to myself.
Just fucking immolate myself and everything around me.
All while singing "Happy Birthday."
Or at least trying too. I can never get the words right.

You really like those distrubing images...

I think the swearing kills some of its power though... : P

This whole thing just went from bad to worse.
I guess that's what's pretty cool about life.
It's never so bad that it can't get any worse.
I mean you could die, but then you just don't care anymore.

Nice closing. I think it sums up the feelings in a cliche way, but seems to work best for this almost speratic poem.

That was fucking sweet to write. I'll post some serious writing soon, I promise.

This wasn't bad... you've done better, but like you said... a free-write is what it is. It isn't meant to be 100% serious, or accuarte, or meaningful, or anything really. So i can't really judge it as a true peice, but i will say you effectively used imagery and even had some lines the went stright to my own life...

It was interesting to read, but some of your stuff has got some freaky messages lol. : )

Nice work.

At 5/13/05 02:06 PM, -Manic- wrote:

At 5/12/05 05:06 PM, Myst_Williams wrote: Oh... okay? *confuzzled*

lol grandftaher clock has posted a few things in here. I think he posted a limerick(sp?) at one point which was very chuckle worthy.

Oh okay, i gues si just forgot. I actually do think i remember hi mstopping by once now.

Anywya i'm making a start on my story tonight so aybe tommorow I'll have it reayd to psot.

Awesome!

Decided to change my name again. Here's a story I made last night when I just felt like typing.

Attention
You could tell the guy was bored with life. If you took a good look at him, you'd see the dying ember of his once burning passion. He was a man who made his own rules, but was unwillingly surpressed by reality. Well, you know what? That guy wanted to prove something in his life. That people would care for him. It went from a personal interest to sheer will, and he was losing horribly. He'd site and cry at night just for the sake of crying. He deserved no pity, nor did he want it. He had to prove something in his life. He decided. He'd buy some rope and it would be done. Everyone would feel so horrible. Everyone would care. For most certainly if someone takes their own life, there's at least one who cares, correct? At the funeral there was only a priest, the only person who was required to be there. As the preist said his final words, he shut the casket and cried in the man's place. For someone to be so sad, so hopeless in life is inhumane. And, if you think about it deeply enough, how someone could live like that is self inflicted. He craved the attention of others so much that he sent his life into a rapidly increasing descending spiral. It is but a sad life, but the one chosen by many a man. There's no helping it, or stopping it. The path has been chosen, and no one can alter the course of destiny.

Alrighty, here's the next installment of my little narrative, it's a fair bit longer than the others (requiring more than one post) and settles into a more regular form of writing. The previous sections were a "Prologue" of sorts, and this would be the first chapter of the story. The title of the whole thing will be "Arcadia", and will likely stretch out over a long period of time if I really get into it (I found myself really enjoying writing this chunk, it's amazing what a glass of wine and a listen to Beethoven's seventh can do to stir the creative talent). So without further ado:

Reclamation

Death is an area open to debate. Is an individual dead when their heart stops? Or do we have to wait until there is absolutely no hope of revival before making that prognosis? Fortunately for Stanley Hunter, we are using the former as our example. His heart stops close to two minutes after his assailants have departed, and precisely 34 seconds before the area support group arrive. These officers belong to one of several squads that are assigned to different areas of the city. The idea behind this scheme was to provide immediate support for any officer requesting backup at short notice, but as you can imagine, any situation requiring emergency backup is likely to be over within minutes, as we have just witnessed.
Thus the support teams have slowly developed into clean up squads, including more medics and fewer enforcers. This particular group has access to a Long Range Retrieval Vehicle, or LRRV as they are more commonly abbreviated to, initially designed to evacuate injured officers from high-risk areas of the city. The aircraft still serves it’s intended purpose, but has been stripped of most defensive weapons and other nonessentials. At first the unit have difficulty locating the origin of the distress call (as such a signal has become known), but after descending into visual range of the parking lot the motionless form of an FCPD officer can be seen, a familiar crimson shadow on the ground beneath him telling as much of this tale as the support unit need to know. Their vehicle descends with moderate ease, despite it’s neglected condition, coming to rest with an unsettling crunch on the concrete. Two enforcers and a field medic depart, officer Hunter’s saviours.

Ho-hum Lynda Rivera thought to herself as today’s victim hove into view. It was another street cop, on his own in a distant part of the city, asking for trouble really. Her companions were doing everything by the book, securing the area, making sure there were no unpleasant surprises in store for them. It was all a formality, making sure none of them could be to blame on the off-chance of something actually going wrong for once. Street thugs were never stupid enough to hang around freshly dead cops, but at the same time never quite smart enough to use the situation to lure in more prey. What would be the point anyway? The FCPD could outnumber and outgun pretty much anything the city threw at them, and murdering a bunch of officers was unlikely to change that. No, it always had to be “accidental” killings like this. Cop spots a bunch of citizens doing something they shouldn’t, goes in to take a look, goons panic, and before you know it you have a tough job for the city cleaners and a hell of a lot of paperwork… In general? Work sucked.
As it turned out, officer Hunter (according to his badge) was still warm, and after a few seconds of CPR stable enough to get into a restraint and back onto the LRRV. Not bad, for a guy with a smashed spinal cord and half the number of kidneys he used to have.

Once the patient was stable, and hooked up to the on-board medical systems Lynda allowed herself a breather, slumping down into one of the few remaining seats in the vehicle’s “troop bay”. “Tell me Watson” She sighed, removing her cap and allowing several rather unkempt locks of blonde hair to drop down “Why does it seem like I have the most pathetic, monotonous job in the world right now?” The man sitting across from her chuckled (one of those inane things the old guy would do at seemingly any given time) “You need a haircut.” He declared “Think of health and safety.” “Oh yeah, like, “I-just-got-gunned-down-in-the-street” health and safety.” Lynda replied. She was more than a little pissed right now. It had been a long night, and an hour of Watson’s “light-hearted” attitude was not an appealing prospect. “Like I don’t have more important things to be worrying about right now…” Watson removed some of the various riot-control paraphernalia from his bandolier before picking up the thread of conversation again. “Such as?”
“What have we been doing for the past eight hours genius?”
“Oh come on Lyn, you can’t honestly be telling me you stay at the station 24/7. Hell, you were the one complaining about how much you hated work just now.”
“That’s not what I was…” She sighed before propping her head up on one elbow with a weary frown. “Aww, just give me something to talk about before I fall asleep”
“Alright then, what about the guy we just picked up? What’s your medical knowledge got to say about this one Miss Rivera?”
“Well… He’s not in very good shape. Poor bastard won’t walk again that’s for sure, took a bullet right through the spine. Whoever got him sure was damn good or very lucky, and knowing the types that hang around here I know which one I’d put my money on.” She shifted in her seat, glad to have her mind focused on something. “He lost a fair bit of blood, nothing we can’t replace though. It’s the kidney I would be worried about, not a lot we can do there without surgery. The life support can clean him up a bit, make sure the internal bleeding doesn’t get out of hand, but that’s about it. At the moment it’s probably 50/50 on whether he makes it or not”
“He going to be able to work again?”
“Not unless it’s behind a desk. I sure hope he wasn’t enthusiastic about fighting crime, cause it doesn’t look like he’ll be on the streets again without a wheelchair.”
“Wow, sucks to be him huh?”
“Yeah.” Lynda replied. An awkward silence fell, although neither of the police officers could say they really cared.

It was Carter (A street cop, relatively new to the job and just transferred to the support unit) that broke the silence. “I don’t get it.”
“What’s there to not get?” Watson mumbled with half-closed eyes.
“You guys. You’re just so… Cold. When I was over on the east block we saw loads of our guys killed, or worse. But here it’s like, you just don’t care anymore.”
“Well once you do this job for a few months you realise there are only two ways you can go about it.” Lynda said. “Either you watch officers and citizens die every day and spend hours mourning their poor souls, or you take our approach.”
“Which is?”
Watson glanced over at Carter for the first time since the start of the conversation. “Shit happens. Deal with it.” The younger cop looked away, as if unwilling to accept this harsh new perspective. But when he spoke again there was only an air of reluctant acceptance in his voice. “I guess that’s what we all think after living in this god-forsaken place for most of our lives. It’s just with you I’ve been seeing a whole lot more of the bad and almost none of the good that we do.” Watson laughed mockingly, as if to say I’ve heard this shit before kid. When all he got in response from Carter was a blank stare he sat up again and continued his lecture. “You think this is all some kind of virtuous crusade? That we’re the knights in shining armour who dash in to save the day? Don’t give me that crap, we keep this city from falling apart, plain and simple. Just like the foundations of this shithole, someone put em’ there with a purpose in mind and let them do their job. Now stop me if I’m getting a little too metaphorical for you, but the police force is just the same. Sometimes the foundations get damaged in one way or another, sometimes people try to destroy them on purpose, but when it looks like they can’t keep the building up for much longer then the old ones get taken out, new ones go in. Hell, every now and again they renovate the whole lot just for the hell of it so that people think the government is still doing a good job. We’re nothing special.”
Now it was Carter’s turn to laugh. “That’s one hell of a lame-ass philosophy you have there old timer.” The casual smile deserted Watson, and for once his tone became stern. “Alright you want the truth? Scumbags in this city kill people, loot, rape, pillage and in general have a fucking field day when we leave them to do their own damn thing. You can stick em’ in rehab or prison for a few years, but that just pisses them off even more. You ever wonder why they stepped up the death penalty? So they don’t have to waste time and money keeping people locked up, only to send them back to their old habits. The truth’s nothing glorious. There are people out there who break the law, so we kill them to make sure they don’t do it again. It’s a war of attrition, and no one’s ever going to win the way things are going at the moment. You might want to think about that for a while, and then work out for yourself who the good guys really are.” That uneasy silence descended again. Carter muttering something to himself that sounded like “Bullshit” was the last thing Lynda Rivera recalled before drifting off into a well-deserved sleep.

At 5/14/05 12:36 PM, Myst_Williams wrote: Hmm, well the ending was weak to me. This wasn't as good as the last becuz you rushed through it i think. The paragraphing was much better, but i thought you should have described the story more. Went into more details and emotions. It was good writing, but the story wasn't as strong as the last.

Yes, I agree. It's one of the only weak short stories I have made so far. I myself am very connected to the first part of the story, as well as the last and final part of the story. Here is the last part of the story. To make this clear, E is ecstasy.

The last story is something I’d like to call the next story “Breath” Being the youth of this generation you can’t help wanting to go to the hottest clubs and party. Anna was the living embodiment of the word party. She was the first person to hit the dance floor and the last person to step off of it. Anna was all about having a good time. I think that’s how she fell into our group three years ago before she actually got to know us. Her main comments on weed was that it was a great sensation and the euphoric moment of being high on the dance floor while feeling the waves of the music sooth her was all good but she wanted a new feeling.

I paid no mind to it. I never thought that she would do anything like take E. It didn’t seem like a possibility at the time. We all had fake ID’s. How else would we get in? Anna told my friends and I that she would hit the club early this time. We didn’t mind. When we showed up at the club, I found Anna dancing as usual, and having a great time. Although something didn’t seem right. I walked onto the dance floor and talked to Anna. I asked her if she was feeling alright. She looked at me as though she didn’t know me, until a second later when she remembered my face. Her face was red. Her reaction to me was very slow.

I asked her if she was anything. She said that she had taken E. I took her off the dance floor and put her at the table my friends were sitting at. I gave her water, a lot of it. I asked her who gave her the E. I got my answer and I asked my friends to make sure he wouldn’t bring that crap in this club no more. What that meant was using intimidation to get him to stop. My friend let her crash at her house. Unlike the weed that she had been used to, E was new in her system and she couldn’t and wouldn’t be able to look clean in front of her parents.

When Anna came out of her stupor she told us about the wonderful time she had when she was on E. Anna is a free spirit. No matter what you do or say she will do what she wants, whenever she wants. Knowing this, we had to watch her at all times to make sure that she wouldn’t take it again. After all, it only takes one time to almost kill you, why do it again? Being the youth of our generation we all believe that we are invulnerable to anything, and that nothing could ever happen to us since we’re young. Anna believed that.

Her main saying was that only bad things happen to old people who aren’t young anymore. Even when we were all high that still didn’t make since. We watched from now on when she went to the clubs. It was a Monday and everyone had work except for Anna. I thought nothing of it since Anna usually didn’t go the clubs on the weekdays. It was 9:23 P.M. when I got off of work. I called over to Anna’s house to see how her free day was. Her mother answered the phone and said that her daughter was at her friends house.

I hung up and sensed a lie. I called all my friends and as usual all of the were at work. I got into my car and checked ever club I could think of until I saw an ambulance in front of one. I stopped my car and got out to see who was on the stretcher. It wasn’t Anna. It was a break dancer that broke his neck. I approached the last club and entered it. It was then 1:53 A.M. I found her. Just as I was approaching her she passed out. I called up 911. Just like I thought, she had taken E again. I got into the ambulance with her. I asked the paramedic if she would be ok. The paramedic replied that when a person takes E they deprive their brain the necessary oxygen it needs to breath.

Her eyes opened for a brief second and looked at me. The eyes that I knew began to change in front of as her eyes faded to black. I lost another friend. Before you can assume anything about what I’m trying to do I want you to know this. I’m not trying to say that weed is good for you. For me, it’s a recreational drug that makes me feel good. Another thing is that I’m not trying to get you to not take E or anything, I strongly believe that you have the common sense to not take those drugs.

There is no special meaning to these stories, the only I was doing was laying back with a joint in one hand and a handful of Fun yuns in the other. My final word before I kiss the sky is do what you want, but know the consequences.

At 5/14/05 12:36 PM, Myst_Williams wrote: A bunch of cool advice

hmmm, thanks dude, description really isn't my strong point, in fact, it's my weakest point. but i'll try to be better at it, i do like the scene i described in the first part. but i guess that might not be enough, it's cool though. i'll try harder! :)

you,have a very unacceptable sig pic myst_williams!

At 5/15/05 11:55 AM, goldenclock4 wrote: you,have a very unacceptable sig pic myst_williams!

what do you mean? everyone should have that sig. Da pope owns all of us.

Shit, shit shit! I was talkin msn and reviewing, and i was copying my reviews, then copied something in MSN and lost all my other shit! Christ, i'm stupid. Now i have to do it all again.

At 5/14/05 01:23 PM, LostHope wrote: Decided to change my name again. Here's a story I made last night when I just felt like typing.

I get so confused. lol.

Attention

Well, shit... i had a good review for you too. Basically it got down to the fact that you need to show vs tell, and watch your paragraphing.

I made a couple wise cracks icant remember now... damn!

Anyway, i remember leaving with a: Nice job!

At 5/14/05 08:19 PM, Mast3rMind wrote: Part 3

I really, really liked that one. Some grammar, spelling, and awkward sentences that need editing, but shit, it was good.

Like your telling style is kind of different, which is good for a short... if it was a novel, i might get sick of it. : P But, the ending was amazing... i got a little chill. it felt honest, it felt real.

So just keep at your structure, detail, and grammar/spelling... all in all, awesome work.

At 5/14/05 05:57 PM, -TheDoctor- wrote: Reclamation

Man, you had my longest review in a while, but there is no way in hell i am writing it ALL over again... so here is the jist of it:

1) Show vs Tell = show more. Your narrative does more telling than showing at times, which is less effective; however, i wil lsay, it works for you.

2) Edit: Typos/Grammar/Awkwardness/Tense... no huge porblems, but little ones here and there.

3) Sometimes you paragraph properly, and sometimes not. You also double space some paragraphs, which is a style thing for a new scene or setting without transition... well... you never used it properly really. Also, everytime a new person talks = new paragraph. IT got confusing at times with the long dialogue.

4) The dialogue was authentic and showed a lot, but the one male charcter (forget his name now... not carter, or hunter... maybe Wilson> Lydia partner anyway) he was light hearted at first, then went KO style on carter. I know he was sarcastic at first, but you didnt eas einto his other side effectively.

Um, i forget what else. Sorry it is so blunt and al lnegatives, but i dont want to re-write EVERYTHING all over again. You know i am loving the story line and am loving your writing and want more. So why point out the positives. : )

Amazing work man!

At 5/14/05 10:15 PM, BigLundi wrote: hmmm, thanks dude, description really isn't my strong point, in fact, it's my weakest point. but i'll try to be better at it, i do like the scene i described in the first part. but i guess that might not be enough, it's cool though. i'll try harder! :)

No, it was good. Just could use more. I am nejoying it anyway. : )

At 5/15/05 11:55 AM, goldenclock4 wrote: you,have a very unacceptable sig pic myst_williams!

True... it is. But, i lost a bet and i have it until Wednesday i think . : P
A bet is a bet and fair is fair.

Here is one of my most strongest and most realsitic stories that I've ever made. Gangs are still a problem in the U.S. this story ties closly to fabric of gang life.

No Regrets

My name is Byron Reed and I’m an ex-crip from the Rolling 40's Militia. I was a general. I left because I wanted to alter my current life. I wanted better because I wanted to have a family in this world that wouldn’t be taken from right under me. I learned one valuable thing that not even a top psychologist could find out. When I first became a crip I wondered why we hated the Bloods so much, to me I didn’t know the answer at that time. I had a friend that became one because some Bloods had claimed the life of his older brother. He figured that since he didn’t have the manpower himself, he would instead join the Crips and kill every Blood in sight.

I joined at the age of eleven. Prior to that choice I would often see my mother crying because the only way that we could get by was through her being a prostitute. Night after night, day by day. People came and went and went and came. A cycle that disturbed me on so many occasions. My mother could never hug me or kiss me because she felt so dirty around me. I felt that pain. Deep down I didn’t care and wanted her love regardless. When she was in pain I was in pain. Some people ask why gangs kill off other gangs. My answer to that is that gangs don’t kill off gang. People kill people and the gangs stay existent for as long as there is two to three people left in the gang.

To tell you the truth there is no gang I know that has been brought down to that many people. I had another friend who had become a Crip. At first he couldn’t understand why Crips hated Bloods so much until a drive-by shooting claimed the life of his mother. He was embodied with rage as he walked into Blood territory and killed every Blood in his sight. I showed up too late, as I found out where he was and hurried to that location. When I got there he was about done. He had turned around for one second and the next second each house outpoured with Bloods. He was my best friend. He got shot in the process as we were trying to get away. He screamed at me to run but I didn’t want to. He pulled out his gun and raised it me. Then he screamed “ Run or I’ll shoot you myself dammit! Don’t you understand that your life has meaning?! I take your life, they take your life, or live?!” I ran away crying as I heard his blood curdling screams entangled in gunshots. A week later, a car had dropped off my best friends mutilated remains. I lost my mind, body, and soul to the hatred burrowing deep from within. The lieutenant of the Crips had held me back as bloody tears ran down my face. I promised vengeance, I swore vengeance, and I wished for vengeance. The lieutenant and others had felt my pain.

So he gathered some of the other Crips in the different areas that we own to form a massive strike against the Bloods. We succeeded in this battle. My happiness was short lived. In retaliation the Bloods had hit my house in a drive-by shooting. My mother was hit. I was fifteen and didn’t have a car. I gathered all my strength and carried my mother all the way to the hospital with nothing but a strong will and a lot of adrenaline. I had also receive directions from a few kind people. I knew better than to ask those people for a ride because I know that people are afraid of us, I know this personally. I would try and explain, but what good will it do for anyone?

The media keeps feeding people these stereotypes without even realizing that their own ignorance deep inside of their minds is constantly getting fat from the heavy consumption of what is said or portrayed. I got my mother to the hospital, things weren’t looking all that good. My mother was in critical condition for two weeks. I remember this date. May 16, 2000. On that day I went to visit my mother and she was at the verge of flatlining. I held my mother’s hands and said that I was sorry, and that I was a failure. My mother being in intense pain had risen up, wiped my tears, and not being ashamed of herself had finally hugged me just as she died. My mother died smiling.

Wait there's more

I was all alone in the world for four years. During that time I had gained massive respect in each territory that was a part of the Crip domain. I met a Latin Crip by the name of Maria. I can’t say that it was love at first sight. To tell you the truth we hated each others’s guts, we were exactly alike in thinking patterns and nerves of steel. Nothing could phase neither me or Maria. After constantly feuding about which territory to claim she’d sometimes win. It bothered me at times because it was like I was arguing with the female version of myself.

Often when a woman disagrees with an opinion from a general or lieutenant or going up against orders they were often beat and other things would happen to them. I stopped that. Before I knew it I was slowly gaining respect for her. During an attack on the Blood’s territory we were outnumbered and had to split up. Maria and I crashed into an abandoned house and hid there. As usual we started arguing. After that we started talking normally. I began asking her about what her life was like. What did she hate, what did she love, why she is a Crip. She asked me some of the same questions. We talked until the sun came up. We started to fall in love with each other. Neither of us had ever felt feeling this way towards another before. We left hand in hand, gun and gun as we were leaving enemy territory.

We made it back safely and talked some more. I was at the age where talking to girls should’ve been natural, and yet it wasn’t. In the past it was love them and leave them the next day. The same case was for Maria. She masked this inefficiently and unsuccessfully acting tough, when all she was was weak deep inside, just like me. Two months later we decided to be more than just associates in a gang, it is highly unlikely for something like this to be formed. We loved each other’s opinions and hoe we did things. We became boyfriend and girlfriend. During missions we’d safe each other more often than the other members of the gang. We were inseparable. We couldn’t bear to be away from each other due to the heavy fear of being slain. The fear of never getting to say goodbye.

So to fix the problem we actually bought a house and lived in it. We promised that if we die, we die together. That went with everything. She’ll always be my everything. Like I said in the beginning I wanted to have a family that wouldn’t be taken from right under me. Maria and I had decided to leave the Crips. Leaving a gang means major hostility upon leaving. For a woman leaving a gang they have two choices. Get pregnant by one of the members of the gang, or go through a five minute beating. For a man leaving we had only one choice and that was a five minute beating. I couldn’t see neither myself or Maria going through that. The next day there was an order telling all the Crips in the territory to take a territory from the Blood’s. it started at 8:23 P.M. it was the perfect time since cops were usually occupied exactly at that time every night.

When acquiring a territory there are is two ways to do it. One which is the idiotic run and gun method or seize each house. Of course we chose the other method. On the fourth house we seized a Blood had shot his gun and the other Bloods started pouring out of the houses and started battling the Crips outside the house. Things were looking good at first because we had better weaponry. Yet the Bloods had strength in numbers. After killing the Crips outside the house the Bloods had decided not to go inside the house. They stood and looked at it in a weird way as if they were planning something. Two Bloods disappeared and then returned with the five Molotovs. The Bloods had thrown everyone of them at the house bursted in flames. I searched for Maria and found her.

We died together, or so what we wanted people think. When we found each other we had ran into another room and killed a male and female Blood, took their clothes and escaped perfectly. In other words we faked our own death. My name now is Hector Ronado. Maria’s new name is Alexandra Ronado. She is my wife, and we live in Mexico. She taught me the language and soon after we began living here. I have a seven year old that I call Byron Reed Ronado as a remainder of my mother’s last name and my life in the past. I know that my ex gang members are dying everyday and it hurts. It hurts so much that I feel or wish that I had stayed. I can’t say that what I did was wrong.

All I know is that I am able to look at my family everyday without having to wake up every morning and know that my wife is beside me, I can go outside and play catch with my son and not worry about a drive by shooting killing my son and me. I’m happy, I am sad, for fitting retribution I do get mad, but my wife always cools me down. I love her even more than when I first met her. As I look back in a positive way I can actually one thing about this what happened in the past that doesn’t upset me. I have no regrets.

The End?!

At 5/15/05 12:54 PM, Myst_Williams wrote: 3) Sometimes you paragraph properly, and sometimes not. You also double space some paragraphs, which is a style thing for a new scene or setting without transition... well... you never used it properly really. Also, everytime a new person talks = new paragraph. IT got confusing at times with the long dialogue.

Yeah, I'm really not too good at that when writing a fictional narrative. Most of the work-related stuff I have written is very much formal, thus requiring little use of "dynamic" paragraphing (As I like to call it). I'll see if I can work on it, but don't expect too much improvement.

4) The dialogue was authentic and showed a lot, but the one male charcter (forget his name now... not carter, or hunter... maybe Wilson> Lydia partner anyway) he was light hearted at first, then went KO style on carter. I know he was sarcastic at first, but you didnt eas einto his other side effectively.

The change wasn't really meant to be smooth, due to their line of work, the characters in that section had to have a very casual approach ("Shit happens"). On the other hand, no one in that kind of a situation could reall be "ok" with what they were doing, thus when Carter mocked Watson's philosophy he just got pissed (the new guy thinking he knows it all, when actually he doesn't have a clue). Plus doing what they are, none of these people are likely to have immaculate mental health, so mood swings are abundant ;)

Um, i forget what else. Sorry it is so blunt and al lnegatives, but i dont want to re-write EVERYTHING all over again. You know i am loving the story line and am loving your writing and want more. So why point out the positives. : )

Amazing work man!

Thanks again, I'll try and have the next installment ready by tomorrow.

Normally when I am faced with insomnia, I read. However, tonight I decided to pick up a pen and write a poem. It was written in anticipation of the Vans Warped Tour, which I will be attending in less than two months. Keep in mind that this is actually the first poem I have ever written and I had no idea how to format it, so I just winged it. If you've ever been in a mosh pit, you ought to enjoy this. Hope you like it :D

MOSH

I stand surrounded, faceless in the darkness
Shadows on all sides, fading in and out
The anticipation of thousands fills my ears
The noise melding into a single toneless voice

A solitary note cuts through me, silencing the chatter
A second follows, the dance begins
The explosion staggers me as I set myself free
The symphony resonates through my very being

Thousands become one, the heartbeat synchronized in every chest
I move with the sea, fighting the current
Disoriented, faces swirling through my vision
A jewel in the darkness captures my eye

I break free of the current, drawn to it
Into the opening, freedom is gained
I lose myself completely as all emotion is unleashed
A little pocket of chaos with me in the middle

Exiting the clearing, I struggle to advance
Forging a path, striving for greatness
The pressure on all sides closes in
Attempting to stand and failing horribly

A sudden surge, I lose my footing
Falling into the void, crushed by my brethren
The wave breaks over me and my vision blurs
Time seems to slow as it all fades to black

Instantaneously, my vision returns
A hand in the darkness, pulling me free
Regaining my footing I continue the dance
As my faceless saviour is carried away

Okay I should take a snother stab at something that can be taken a little more seriously than my last couple of works. But c'mon, they were awesome.

The painted rabbit

You need to stop your running
and you need to stop the tears.
You're running like a rabbit,
been doing so for years.

You've got no sense of space
and even less of time.
You just keep on sprinting down the road.
Running from your life.

And you've got to
turn and face your issues.
And you've got to
turn and face me.
And you know you
can't keep going.
But you think you're
get free.

Everyone who tries to make
you smile and make you laugh.
You think they're after something,
kind of like what's in the past.

You need to get up over
the water under that bridge.
But you'll never find the exit
if you don't know where it is.

And you've got to
let us closer to you.
And you've got to
quit hiding from me.
You think that you
can make it alone.
But you're wrong,
adn you won't get free.

Het Myst do you ever do like an acrostic poem or a rant? My teacher say it is poetry, but I do not see anything that resembles a poem.

I promise that I will come up with something during the summer maybe a couple of short stories.

Gah! Being the only reviewing in here right now is killing a lot of time i need having exams coming up... : P

At 5/15/05 01:45 PM, Mast3rMind wrote: Here is one of my most strongest and most realsitic stories that I've ever made. Gangs are still a problem in the U.S. this story ties closly to fabric of gang life.

No Regrets

So here it is, short and sweet.

1) Edit: Typos and awkward sentences. Grammar was pretty good ithink, maybe a splice or two, but iwasn't looking for those.

2) Dialogue is key! You told so much, you forgot to show.

3) Some great gems, but some aweful downfalls. Try not to sound like that 11 year old kid telling his story... sound like the adult how ever man years later. Sometimes you write some amazing lines, and the sometimes you write something too quickly, unprecise, and blandly. Read it aloud and try to execute some of those pedestrian-like lines. You just need balance is all ,which comes with practice, i assure.

4) Keep using imagery. The few images you used, you used well! Keep showing, and try telling less, because you can do it well, you just need to do it more often.

5) Be desciptive, you ran through his whole life a little quick. And they fell in love pretty wuick. I like how you introduced that Maria was his love before you described that night togethor, but describe the acts and convo that took place to make it more original and less cliche. : )

Overall, nice job. It was good, but just not balanced. Some amazing parts, some horrible. So the amazing parts show me you have it in you, you just need consistency. Hope this helps.

At 5/15/05 01:57 PM, -TheDoctor- wrote: Yeah, I'm really not too good at that when writing a fictional narrative. Most of the work-related stuff I have written is very much formal, thus requiring little use of "dynamic" paragraphing (As I like to call it). I'll see if I can work on it, but don't expect too much improvement.

Heh, okay. It is just very effective and quite important, i think. Just whenever anyone new talks... new paragraph, new topic = new paragraph... thats the basics... anything beyond that is style and can only be used effectively by practicing and seeing what works for your writing.

The change wasn't really meant to be smooth, due to their line of work, the characters in that section had to have a very casual approach ("Shit happens"). On the other hand, no one in that kind of a situation could reall be "ok" with what they were doing, thus when Carter mocked Watson's philosophy he just got pissed (the new guy thinking he knows it all, when actually he doesn't have a clue). Plus doing what they are, none of these people are likely to have immaculate mental health, so mood swings are abundant ;)

Ahh, i get what you mean now. However, that wasn;t evident to me when i read it. So maybe you should infultrate that somehow. Because chacracter is character and each is indivual and you don't want mix ups b ythe reader, considering you like to use long dialogues as well (which i like btw).

Thanks again, I'll try and have the next installment ready by tomorrow.

Sounds good!

At 5/16/05 06:20 AM, _IAMCanadian_ wrote:

Glad to see you. : )

MOSH

Sry, i probably won't be able to relate, but for style.. i will review.

Stanza 1

Ahh, man... good writing, but the rhyme couplet would have been key there. Iwas so feeling it, and the ending thre me off. : P Stil lgood though.

Stanza 2

Ahh, now that is better. Nice closing to the stanza!

Thousands become one, the heartbeat synchronized in every chest
I move with the sea, fighting the current

Contradictory? Metaphor to confusion i hope, or else, makes no sense.

Disoriented, faces swirling through my vision
A jewel in the darkness captures my eye

Jewel? Hmm, i guess i'd have to be there to know? I have never experienced a mosh pit.

Stanza 4

'Pocket' is a good word, it works really well for some reason. Sometimes the simple things make a world of difference.

Stanza 5

The last line was awkward.

Stanza 6

Confusing...

Stanza 7 (Final)

Ahh, nice closing. It kind of saves the last stanza which lost me in sense, but had me in imagery.

Good job, it is well done for a first poem. I am sure it would have been more effective if i could have related, but as to structure and style... it was loose, but well done. Imagery is strong.

At 5/16/05 02:44 PM, -Manman- wrote: Okay I should take a snother stab at something that can be taken a little more seriously than my last couple of works. But c'mon, they were awesome.

Um, a little concedced? lol They were awsomely disturbing, but none the less decent pieces.

The painted rabbit

Stanza 1

Rhyme = flows.

Stanza 2

I read on, becuz i mintrgued, but have yet to make sense of it. Meter flows as well, though its free.

Stanza 3

Ahh, a song? Chorus? Will read on. If its not a song, then its cheesy, becuz it needs music to support the repedativeness.

Stanza 4

Weakest stanza thus...

Stanza 5

I really like, but you really killed the rhyme and meter : P Which has it lose flow; however, it seems to be a song, which makes it an amazing hook, but if poetry... its awkward.

Stanza 6

Yay, song it must be. : )

It was good, if it was a song. Otherwise, it was all over the place. Overall, great work, but deffiently better as a ballad, than as poetry itself to be read alone.

Great job! Oh, and i like the slight change in chorus. Variety = more interesting.

At 5/16/05 06:38 PM, -repent- wrote: Het Myst do you ever do like an acrostic poem or a rant? My teacher say it is poetry, but I do not see anything that resembles a poem.

I am not a fan of Acrostic poems... they suck lol:

Stupid little poems
Unused for meaningful purpose
Carefully unwitful
Kindly give me a headache

Wow that sucked... see what i mean?

And about Rants... i have no idea... but if you man free verse about prersonal issues, i do it all the time.

I promise that I will come up with something during the summer maybe a couple of short stories.

I can't wait!

At 5/16/05 08:48 PM, Myst_Williams wrote:
Glad to see you. : )

Glad to be back :D

MOSH

Sry, i probably won't be able to relate, but for style.. i will review.

Stanza 1

Ahh, man... good writing, but the rhyme couplet would have been key there. Iwas so feeling it, and the ending thre me off. : P Stil lgood though.

Yeah, I would have made it ryhme, but I was too damn tired to put that much effort into it.

Stanza 2

Ahh, now that is better. Nice closing to the stanza!

Thank you.

Thousands become one, the heartbeat synchronized in every chest
I move with the sea, fighting the current

Contradictory? Metaphor to confusion i hope, or else, makes no sense.

Either that or that fact that it was written in twenty minutes at three in the morning after 20 hours with no sleep while still recovering from a killer hangover. Probably should have been "Swept away, fighting the current" or something like that.

Stanza 3

Disoriented, faces swirling through my vision
A jewel in the darkness captures my eye

Jewel? Hmm, i guess i'd have to be there to know? I have never experienced a mosh pit.

Well, then the explanation won't make much sense. I was trying to create an image of being swept away by the "current" then seeing the circle pit, or "jewel" which I only threw in there because I couldn't think of a more fitting word to use at the time.

Stanza 4

'Pocket' is a good word, it works really well for some reason. Sometimes the simple things make a world of difference.

Yeah, they do.

Stanza 5

The last line was awkward.

See response to Stanza 2 : \

Stanza 6

Confusing...

It was supposed to represent trying to reach the front of the mosh pit, then falling and having a buch of people fall on top of you. Quite the common occurance in any mosh pit.

Stanza 7 (Final)

Ahh, nice closing. It kind of saves the last stanza which lost me in sense, but had me in imagery.

Yeah, creating imagery has always been one of my biggest skills while writing.

Good job, it is well done for a first poem. I am sure it would have been more effective if i could have related, but as to structure and style... it was loose, but well done. Imagery is strong.

Thanks for the awesome review. I'll try and re-write it over the next day or two and post the revised version.

Myst, it is done. I have completed the second reading of chapter 2 and have edited it, in accordance with your critique.

Check your inbox, I'll mail you a copy, just so you can have another read.

At 5/16/05 09:00 PM, DaSadGirl wrote: Here is a lil' somethin' somethin' that I wrote a couple of weeks back.

"Gummy Panties Story"

End of stupid story. Don't yall think it would make a good flash movie? I do. :D

( 6

For sure. It makes for some funny reading, and I'm sure it would make a A+ flash as well. I mean, c'mon. PANTIES.