# Writers' discussion thread



## Shinigami357 (Jun 6, 2011)

First things first, there's a legit guide for writers here, so if you're starting out or are confused with the whole act of writing, that would be the best place to start.

Anyway, I wanted to start a discussion thread. Whether you're writing something for school, writing as a hobby, writing seriously [considering publication, perhaps?] or, um, writing something for someone else, as long as you're serious about writing, then welcome. Whether you write poems, stories, essays, blogs, school articles, or whatever, if you need somewhere to discuss it, come on in. If you want to rant, brag, ask for help/opinions, or just take some time to talk to other people who write on your quest for literary perfection [there's such a thing?] hopefully this thread can help you.

...​
So, to start with, let me just say, sometimes I hate myself. Because of my own stubbornness, I've been forced to put my first story on hiatus at chapter 8. What happened is this: the story was doing just fine, getting along at 30k words for the first 7 chapters, and then this twisted idea gets into my head to make chapter 8, of all things, a love story. Just to be clear, the whole story is horror [with a side of drama for the backstory], and the first 7 chapters followed this no-BS straightforward horror template to a tee. Now, I'm stuck trying to write a chapter that I have no clue how to write [I mean, romance, for crying out loud!].To make matters worse, the next 3 chapters are all lined up in my head, waiting for this roadblock to take care of itself, and this story would have been finished within 4 months without the hiatus.

If you're wondering why I don't just start the chapter over, it's because, for one, my crazy hunches and ideas have made the story alright so far. Second, it's because I believe that if you put enough of a twist into any story, you can turn it into a horror story [which was the point of chapter 8 in the first place]. Hopefully, one of these days an idea falls out of the sky [that's where some of my best ideas come from] and gets this thing done.

It's not a complete loss, though, since it's given me time to shift my focus to an alternate story. It's doing fine [unless *knock on wood* some twisted idea gets into my head again] so far, I think. This is prob coz 1-it's not horror [a mish-mash of the premise of the once-great Heroes in a dystopian setting a la Hunger Games or Battle Royale] which is a breath of fresh air; and 2-I'm more at peace with myself when writing overall, so that helps.


PS
I somehow miss writing poems. Did that a lot during high school, when there was just enough time to write line after line, then stanza after stanza. I kinda stopped after noticing that after 4 poems, I didn't even get one reaction from the girl I wrote them for. 
	

	
	
		
		

		
			




I should consider tying this up with my story-writing, I think. There's definitely a way to get it in there. Hmmm...

...​
Anyway, that's all for now. What's up with the rest of our fellows who follow the path of the written [typed?] word?


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## KingdomBlade (Jun 6, 2011)

Writing.

I take pride in writing aphorisms, profound, slightly poetic statements about life and stuff. Though I find it quite difficult since in my situation, being a 14 year old means my experience is limited.

While lack of experience does not stifle creativity, experience can help to improve the product as a whole.

Not many people actually take interest in it though.

Here's the ones I've written at the time being.. I haven't written one in a while though.



Spoiler



Opposites attracting is puzzling, but like a puzzle all of the pieces fit together.

I like smiling. Why? Because I can.

Excuse my French as I excuse your English.

Break a leg, but don't break both of them.

Power is a fire that ignites us, but turns us into ashes eventually.

If I have 2 apples and you have 3 apples, why don't we just eat some apples?

We live to do everything and we do everything to live.

The only difference between the view from the peak of a mountain and the view from a helicopter is how you got there.

Enlightenment cannot be achieved by knowing what the world is, it can be achieved by knowing what the world is to you.

The most beautiful thing in the world is nothing.

A drop of water that goes into a river flows into the ocean.

The only good thing that never ends is goodness itself.

Giving does nothing and everything at the same time.

Peace and freedom cannot coexist without acceptance.

When too many people call something overrated, it becomes underrated.

A promise is not a promise if it was meant to be broken.

Even if we have survived dinosaurs and floods, we find it difficult to survive each other.

Don't look back or you will find yourself where you were before.

We say that a penguin is a bird that cannot fly, but we never say that a dove is a bird that cannot swim.

Nothing can define your life but you.

Even the best explorer needs directions.

Saying 'why take a bath if you get dirty anyway?' is like saying 'why live if you die anyway?'

If no news is good news, there's still great news.

Love can move mountains but not molehills.

The opposite of death is not life, it's birth.

There are more things to do with lemons than making lemonade.

Tissues take away tears but they don't stop the crying.

Desperation is better than indifference.

A lamp does nothing if you don't know where you're going.

The world is your oyster, but remember to open the shell.



As for fiction, I find that short sketches work for me the most, since I'm not one to make long stories. However, I can make a longer story if I feel like it.


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## Shinigami357 (Jun 6, 2011)

Those are pretty good aphorisms... Sometimes one pops into my head, and usually ends up in my tumblr or twitter, LOL. Not my forte though. And I somehow end up sounding too preachy when I do come up with one.

PS
Remember, experience only counts in RPGs.


How's that for an aphorism?

EDIT:
Typo. Damn.


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## Raika (Jun 6, 2011)

Gonna be writing A LOT of stories in future. But I'm only good at writing stories with dark themes, not those cheerful ones with happy endings. My mind is full of darkness. >:

Any tips on how to expand my writing style? Or should I just stick with dark and sinister themes all the way? :\


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## Shinigami357 (Jun 6, 2011)

Raika said:
			
		

> Gonna be writing A LOT of stories in future. But I'm only good at writing stories with dark themes, not those cheerful ones with happy endings. My mind is full of darkness. >:
> 
> Any tips on how to expand my writing style? Or should I just stick with dark and sinister themes all the way? :\




Hmmm... I started like that, too. I believe one can tell from the fact I'm writing one horror story and another in a dystopian setting, LOL.

IMHO, it won't hurt to get at least a little neutrality into it. It's generally the thought of light that breaks us when we are wrapped in darkness [profound much?]. I guess you can say it's the reason there are so many stories with twists in them, where a good situation turns bad [or a bad situation gets way worse]. Also, expanding your horizons is helpful, because you never know if you will need it somehow [like me, stuck coz of one chapter I don't yet know how to write].

That said, there's absolutely nothing wrong with dark and sinister themes. Each person writes what speaks to them. Best of luck there.


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## KingdomBlade (Jun 6, 2011)

Shinigami357 said:
			
		

> Those are pretty good aphorisms... Sometimes one pops into my head, and usually ends up in my tumblr or twitter, LOL. Not my forte though. And I somehow end up sounding too preachy when I do come up with one.
> 
> PS
> Remember, experience only counts in RPGs.
> ...


To be truthful? It's not really that insightful.

It's witty though, it's more of a one liner than an aphorism.


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## Shinigami357 (Jun 6, 2011)

Haha. Well, can't blame me for trying. At least I didn't go with "age is just a number", which is invariably cliche now.


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## Sterling (Jun 6, 2011)

My advice for the Love Story trouble you're having is to go read a little. As you advised in the last thread, many times if you're having trouble, someone else's form and prose will inspire you.

I haven't written in awhile neither. I'm more of an action oriented writer. I can put a image of a fight scene, or flight scene in your mind better than most. I've been trying to get a clear Horror writing style since I recently got into that genre myself.


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## Nujui (Jun 6, 2011)

I've been doing more detailed stuff...

Like this Professor Layton thing.



Spoiler



Autumn leaves are falling from the trees as people around London go about their daily lives, though the children of London are looking forward to the Autumn Fair. Every year you could always hear the children playing around in the crimson leaves, hearing the crackle of leaves as children piled into them.

"Reminds me of when I was a young gentleman" Said Professor Layton as he took another sip of his tea. He was watching Luke, his apprentice, playing with the other children.

"Ah, I always look forward to this tea. It's the annual autumn tea made with pumpkin species and maple to add a certain fragrance to it that I'm just drawn too."

As he took another sip of his tea, Luke came running towards him.

"Are you having fun Luke?" Asked Professor Layton.

"Of course I am, professor!" Luke said with a grin. "I just came to sit down and relax bit. I'm a bit tired out."

"Well then sit down and have some pumpkin bread. You can't expect me to eat all of this by myself."

Luke took a seat as he reached out to get a piece of pumpkin bread. "The fair…(munch) is tomorrow….(munch) right Professor?"

"Now Luke, it's very rude to eat while talking."

Luke gulped down his remaining bread and said "I'm sorry professor; I'm just excited for the fair tomorrow."

"It seems so," said Layton with a giggle "I remember the first time I went to the fair. It was the most wonderful experience I've ever had, though….."

"Though what, Professor?" Said Luke as he stuffed another piece of bread in his mouth.

"Well, during one of my times at the fair, there was a terrible tragedy that occur there. Involving someone being killed."

"What happened Professor?"

"I…..very much appreciate it if you not ask me Luke, I lost someone….very dear to me that day. I don't want to relive it again.

"Oh, sorry professor. I was just curious."

"No, it's not your fault. I peaked your curiosity with what I said, but please I would be very grateful if you didn't speak of it."

"Alright professor." Said Luke "How about we talk about something else?"

As the two were talking and eating, Layton looked at his watch. It was 6 pm.

"Well Luke, I think it's high time we seat off for home. It's getting late, and I don't think you want to be sleepy during the fair?"

"I wouldn't dream of it!" Said Luke as he picked up his bag. "Come on then, I want to go to sleep early. I want to get a fresh start in the morning!"

Luke and Layton went into the car and drove back home. As they were driving, they stopped at a red light. As Layton was waiting for it to turn green, he looked out his window and saw to little kids playing by a tree, one a boy, the other a girl. Layton was so transfixed on them that he didn't notice the light turn green until someone honked there horn.

"Come on!" Said the annoyed driver, "I don't have time for this!"

Layton jerked his attention back onto the road and proceeded to drive again.

"Are you alright professor?" asked Luke.

"Yes…I'm quite all right. I was just.. remembering old times is all."

Luke wasn't buying the fact that he was alright. He thought that he must be remembering the tragedy that happen, "It's better that I don't bother him" Said Luke in his head.

But inside Layton's head was something more than just a thought.



Not much, but something.


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## Shinigami357 (Jun 6, 2011)

Sterling said:
			
		

> My advice for the Love Story trouble you're having is to go read a little. As you advised in the last thread, many times if you're having trouble, someone else's form and prose will inspire you.
> 
> I haven't written in awhile neither. I'm more of an action oriented writer. I can put a image of a fight scene, or flight scene in your mind better than most. I've been trying to get a clear Horror writing style since I recently got into that genre myself.




I've been trying that, with limited success, partly because love stories bore me to sleep. So, instead, I'm incorporating a sort-of-but-not-quite love story angle on the story I'm working on now [btw, what story based on a dystopian setting doesn't have a love story angle anyway?].

You're considering writing horror? That's cool. Give it time, I think you'll take to it easily, because the attention to the smallest things that action-oriented writing demands is invaluable in horror [or at least to the style of horror I'm used to].

By the way, one of these days we should try rounding up all of the Temp's writers and make a short story collection. Haha, that would be fun.


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## Nujui (Jun 6, 2011)

Sterling said:
			
		

> My advice for the Love Story trouble you're having is to go read a little. As you advised in the last thread, many times if you're having trouble, someone else's form and prose will inspire you.
> 
> I haven't written in awhile neither. I'm more of an action oriented writer. I can put a image of a fight scene, or flight scene in your mind better than most. I've been trying to get a clear Horror writing style since I recently got into that genre myself.


How's this for horror?


Spoiler



How am I suppose to live in this....place.....I can't........control myself...no matter what I do, these voices in my head, they keep telling me to kill her....she's too pretty to say alive. She'll currupt others...like she did me...

Those thoughts rang through my head as  I picked up the knife with her tied up in the chair. I keep walking around in circles trying to think straight , but reailty keeps changing, everything keep changing, the carpet looks clean one second, but then a big pool of blood replaces it. The panitings keep chaning from the beautful pieces of art they once were into horrific monstrosities. I have to do something, or else I'll fade into this world, and I may not come back... I'm sorry little girl, but.....

I pick up the knife as things keep going in and out of focus, I put it to her neck....

And then nothing.... As I wake up in this cementary, I remember nothing of the events that took place there...but I think I have a pretty good idea, with the blood spatter on my shirt and the bloody knife in my hand.


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## Sterling (Jun 6, 2011)

That particular scene sounds like it's a thriller. It's out of context. Something like this:



Spoiler



The last house by the dead end. The place where I live. Two stories of pure hatred and malice of such force it corrupts anyone who dares to tame it. Thirteen murders, Thirteen suicides, Thirteen, Thirteen. The number of misfortune The number of death. The number stands ever so prevalent, ever so dark on the plaque of the address. I haven't gone crazy... yet. I've seen things lurking in this house that are worse than even the demons that haunt every man's heart. Yet, I stay. Inheritance is inheritance.



should lead up to your passage.

EDIT:
Should we start a 'temp writers' guild? People who are approved can review other's works and stuff. Perhaps start a few 'temp writing projects than anyone in the guild can edit and improve?


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## Sterling (Jun 6, 2011)

dammit double posts.


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## Nujui (Jun 6, 2011)

Sterling said:
			
		

> That particular scene sounds like it's a thriller. It's out of context. Something like this:
> 
> 
> 
> ...


Lol, I know. I'm not one for horror. I just tried is all.


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## Sterling (Jun 6, 2011)

It isn't bad by any means. I can see the potential for a great horror story there. It just seems out of context because it's only an excerpt.


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## Nujui (Jun 6, 2011)

Sterling said:
			
		

> It isn't bad by any means. I can see the potential for a great horror story there. It just seems out of context because it's only an excerpt.


I was going for the guy doing that and as he went walking through this other world, he starts to remember what led up to him killing that girl, while finding more people that had also lost their memories of a certain event. The girl would be the key part of the story.


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## Raika (Jun 6, 2011)

Sterling said:
			
		

> Should we start a 'temp writers' guild? People who are approved can review other's works and stuff. Perhaps start a few 'temp writing projects than anyone in the guild can edit and improve?


I like this idea. But there aren't that many writers on this site from what I can see.


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## Sterling (Jun 6, 2011)

Raika said:
			
		

> Sterling said:
> 
> 
> 
> ...


There are many writers on this forum. However, there isn't much incentive to participate. If we get this rolling, perhaps there could be incentive.


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## Shinigami357 (Jun 6, 2011)

Sterling said:
			
		

> Raika said:
> 
> 
> 
> ...




He has a point. After all, the majority of the forum is based on words, so there should be some of us who have at least some willingness to explore writing further. Let's see if we can find enough of us.

PS
Just somehow thought up another tip for the guide. Check it at your leisure.


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## Recorderdude (Jun 6, 2011)

I'm not a big writer, but a few of KB's contests (Steam Gives) and thread ideas (minor char stories in EOF) have opened me up to it a little more. I've never been the best at serious writing, though I love comedy, and, when writing, attempt to be as descriptive as possible with my stuff. I try and keep the reader guessing for the joke as long as possible before revealing too much to give it away.

Here's some brief "dark comedy" stories I've written for such things that sort of follow the same theme. Maybe I'll try other stuff sooner or later.



Spoiler



Julian had awakened from his deep slumber. He stretched his feet out, and began patrolling his assigned area. Should he see his enemy, he was to charge forward ruthlessly, and attack with no holds barred. He marched back and forth for hours, and began to feel quite weak from the repetitive and never-ending motion.

Then, HE appeared.

The ultimate enemy. The one who had killed millions of his bretheren. This fiend had to perish.

Julian charged forward rapidly at the murderous monster, and was ready to attack, but just then, the monster rose up into the air with a mighty bound. 

Julian gasped in horror as he saw the shadow of the beast descend upon his mortal body.

And then, he felt it.

Julian felt a large foot pressing upon his soft, fragile body. His internal organs spewed out and his skeletal structure collapsed. He screamed in pain, but his cries and his pain were soon ended by the sweet release of death. Yet another victim to the bounding beast.




Mario walked away with one hundred more points than he had before.



and a longer/better one:



Spoiler



The "pleasant pastures" bar was dark, murky and miserable as ever tonight. Within its cold, hard, dust-ridden walls, a group of grizzled old palace knights sat and guzzled down beer after beer. They should have been guarding their new ruler's residence from something, but they cared not about that. Instead, they turned to their only friends; themselves, the quiet and ever-busy bartender, and their drinks.

It was then that a Young man burst into the bar in a panic. 

The man seemed to be about twenty-one of age, of considerable cleanliness and decent appearance. He dashed towards the drunks in a rush and found his face planted into the beer gut of the largest, known "John Dodson" or simply "Staggerin' John", a name acquired from the many, many nights he had staggered out of the bar in a drunken stupor.

"Death...warrior...no...mercy...", the young man jitterishly uttered.

"Whoa, pal...slow...slow down there" John mumbled in a nearly inaudible slur. Surely the beer he was clutching was not his first tonight.'What...what are you so worry...worried about?"

Gathering himself together, the man began to talk in a clearer tone.

"My name is Harold Morris", he began. "However, that is of no importance. You must all listen to what I am saying and run for your lives shortly after".

The drunken bums chuckled at the prospect of something truly frightening occuring in their worthless slum town.

"L-L-LISTEN TO ME!" Harold shouted nervously in an attempt to attract attention.

The men quieted themselves and listened more intently.

"Listen, and listen well. There is an infamous warrior who has been rumored to be headed for our town. He is a ruthless beast who has destroyed the lives of many."

"Sounds like my wife", chuckled Staggerin' John. The others chimed in guffawing loudly in a drunken chorus.

"I SAID LISTEN!" Harold screamed once again.

They quieted down once more.

"This warrior is, however, different from most. He is the most barbaric man has ever known. He slays his enemies ruthlessly, and, when they have been defeated, he CONSUMES THEIR HEARTS.

Once again, the men burst into drunken guffaws. This time, Mel, the bartender joined in.

"I'M BEING SERIOUS!" Harold yelled out as he smashed a bottle on a table to command attention once more.

The men stopped immediately.

"Good.", Harold said quietly. "NOW, listen to me, you MUST know how to save yourself from this monster. If a teenaged boy wearing a green suit should come into this bar, smashing practically any container he should find, get out, then and there. If you do not, you will have but one saving grace. Pray that...Chickens are near."

At this point, the men lost it. They fell over on their sides, laughing uncontrollably. "So wait.", began Staggerin' John, you're saying that some kid wearing green clothes is gonna walk in here, break all the pots, and consume our HEARTS? and our only hope is CHICKENS?" "AHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!". They all returned to their laughter.

As they laughed, a chill ran down harold's spine. He heard grunts, and they were coming closer.

"No...not now...", he said, shaking and trembling in a corner.

Suddenly, the door burst open. There stood a young man in green.

"EEyah!" "huh!" "waaaaaaah!", he screamed. The men turned around.




Link happily walked out of the bar, having defeated three evil knights and gaining three hearts and ten rupees.



so yeah, maybe I'll do more of this in the future. I really love animation and music the most, though you often need a strong story to power those as well 
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	




.


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## Shinigami357 (Jun 7, 2011)

Those are actually cool [not to be confused with "cool story, bro"]. Short and sweet. The second one kind of gave it away too early, though [or am I just such a big Zelda nerd?]. Wonder why Link didn't have Navi with him, though, LOL. I also love the "reverse perspective" if you will.


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## KingdomBlade (Jun 7, 2011)

For love stories, I find Nicholas Sparks books to be quite inspiring. His style is pretty simple and gets to the point, but it's gripping in a way.

I like the writers guild idea a lot.

"The best writers can make you see in a statement what they see in their mind."

Just a quick aphorism I wrote.


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## x17th (Jun 8, 2011)

I'm not a super full on writer, I've never attempted it, but I always thought it was interesting.

For one I don't have the backbone to even attempt anything.  I'm naturally afraid of the criticism I would get, but besides that point I don't even know if the ideas I can come up with are good.  Anyways the things I tend to like writing is along the lines of poetry.

I haven't written a story, but I've done something called role playing if anyone knows what that is.


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## Recorderdude (Jun 8, 2011)

Shinigami357 said:
			
		

> Those are actually cool [not to be confused with "cool story, bro"]. Short and sweet. The second one kind of gave it away too early, though [or am I just such a big Zelda nerd?]. Wonder why Link didn't have Navi with him, though, LOL. I also love the "reverse perspective" if you will.



I sort of felt that way too. I wanted to have Harold warning them in a way that wouldn't give it away, but I couldn't think of one at the time. 

As for navi, If you noticed the beginning, the fellows in the bar were "palace knights" that were supposed to protect the castle. This is actually a throwback to "Link to The Past", as corrupted/controlled palace knights are some of the first enemies you fight in the game. In LTTP, there was no navi/tatl/whatever.

Glad you liked them, though. Maybe I will write some more in the future. These kinds of stories can't be animated easily, though, as it would be very, VERY hard to keep the viewers not knowing about who some of the characters are when they're looking right at them.


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## ShinyJellicent12 (Jun 8, 2011)

I happen to be in progress of writing a book with fellow classmates. 
It's called the Death Note, and is about a virus that can murder people. The four main characters try to stop it, but end up making ultimate sacrifices for it. It's like a murder/mystery/action/romance-packed series all in one!


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## Recorderdude (Jun 8, 2011)

helloworld12321 said:
			
		

> It's called the Death Note


You might want to pick a different name. Maybe something like "Black Death" or some kind of Virus name. "Death Note" is just too recognized as the anime/manga to use as a title for anything else and have people know that your story is something different. It's like calling a first person shooter "Final Fantasy"...not a bad name, but most will think of the RPG instead of it.


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## Shinigami357 (Jun 8, 2011)

I am supposed to be writing right now, but since we had a power outage hours ago [electricity came back on an hour ago; I had to wait to make sure it won't go out again] I'm kind of "out of it'". So instead of wasting my time typing something, editing it and then deleting it in frustration, I'll settle for something else. I'll just dissect my current writing style here, and hopefully by the time I finish my head's settled.

...

I started liking to write when my mother signed me up for journalism club back in 4th grade, so some of that stuck - when I write, I stick to my spelling, grammar, etc. It's as linear and uncluttered as possible, and all the details are almost always accounted for [which kind of irks me whenever I am forced to review an 11k-word chapter  to change minor details for clarity].

When it's appropriate, I like to do very long and detailed descriptions, mostly to make my setting clear before I move on, kind of implant it into the reader's mind. I think this is because before I write certain parts of a story, I visualize it on my head first, almost like a scene in a movie. It takes a lot of time, though, and I'm mostly a "feel thing" kind of writer, anyway, but it's useful. Here's an excerpt from the prologue from one of my stories that is on deep-freeze [it's gory, though.]



Spoiler



Silence. The sky was cloudless, the sun unobstructed save for a light haze of smoke drifting with the passing wind. Beneath it, miles of earth lay in ruins, everywhere littered with piles of long gone structures, equipment and machinery. Here and there, thousands of corpses, all either burned, mutilated or fragmented; in the relentless heat, all of them rapidly rotting. Around them, pools of blood are drying as it is being absorbed into the land. All around, not one living creature made a noise, not one a witness to this desolate scene.



Most of my writing is dark, too. Even when I used to write poetry [I really should get back to that; I miss it a lot]. Also, hospitals seem to sneak into a number of my work [spent a lot of time in a lot of different ones]; in fact, my best school paper piece was a personal recollection of one of my hospital trips [it's also there in the sample I put up in my writer's guild application, LOL].

Since I've started focusing on writing stories, I've figured that my best genres are horror, action and sci-fi [maybe some fantasy]. On the flipside, like I mentioned before, I am hopeless at love stories and those domestic scenes [y'know, when characters are just talking and stuff, esp in a home setting].

Lastly, I research, and I research again [a holdover from my school days when I was a science-geek]. Granted, I can't get out of the house [don't wanna talk about it; suffice to say all those hospital visits had something to do about the whole thing] but I have the internet, right? I'll usually have 7 tabs of research open for one little detail.

...

I'm kind of trying to expand my writing style, though...

So, anyway, how would you describe your writing style? I think it's useful to look at your writing style. Hopefully I can hear from you guys.

PS
And hopefully I can get back to writing now...


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## Sterling (Jun 8, 2011)

My writing style is Action Centric. Meaning, action scenes and descriptions paint a vivid motion picture. However, the descriptive qualities of my work also spread to other Genres that I don't usually write. I've been trying to write a few romantic stories and such, but many of those stories also come from experience and such. Which is why I'm not very great at writing such things.


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## ShinyJellicent12 (Jun 8, 2011)

personuser said:
			
		

> helloworld12321 said:
> 
> 
> 
> ...


Ok, but we'll take that into consideration later.
We're 11 years old and not the best writers in the world that know about every manga/anime


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## Edgedancer (Jun 9, 2011)

I have been writing for years, but its only recently that I have started taking it seriously. I love the stories I am able to write and my minor in University is in creative writing. My writing it a bit odd, considering that I enjoy reading action and fantasy novels, yet I find that I almost exclusively write about emotional love/loss stories, but I like doing it. 
Here are a couple of my stories.

Agatha
(this is an old story that I have been meaning to get around to actually editing one of the these days)


Spoiler



Agatha always loved nature. Her earliest childhood memories were of sun streaming through a window with lush plants and trees lying mere centimetres away from her, on the other side of the glass. 
As a young child, she loved to walk barefoot around the yard. She could feel the earth caking on her bare feet and smell the rich scents of the seasons.  Her days were spent with long picnics under the sun with her mother and bush walking with her father on the mountain that their property back on to. 
A distinct memory was of when her father first took her to the summit of the mountain. It was the most beautiful vista she had ever seen and she remembered asking her father, “Why aren’t there flowers on that bush daddy?” while pointing at a bush that looked just about ready to flower, and in a voice filled with love and a gentle smile on his face, he replied, “They will flower soon. Just give them a little while.”
But they never bloomed. Not once in the 10 years since her first visit to the summit of Buckle Mountain, across hundreds of trips, did Agatha see what flowers would bloom. It was one of the mysteries that all fascinated her.
She could name a million things that she loved about nature and never wished to be parted from it. 
But fate is a cruel trickster and a parting from nature is indeed what happened to pure, sweet Agatha. On the eve of her fifteenth birthday, she was assaulted by a vile disease. She had a fever that raged for weeks. One instant, she would be too hot, throwing the sheets off her and sweat beading on her forehead, while the next instant would result in chills that caused her to pull the sheets close around her in an attempt to gain their meagre heat.
Agatha slept through most of those terrible weeks, waking occasionally, sometimes with her mother sitting by her, stroking her hand or moistening her forehead. In those instances through, any effort beyond parting her eyes slightly were out of her reach and usually slept through such ministrations. She knew it was her mother though as she recognised the lavender soap that she washed herself with. Usually though, she woke with the room empty, save for the lonely, ravaged girl in the bed.
Many weeks passed and she eventually recovered. Her fever subsided and she regained her lucidity. She began to eat and drink, talk and listen, move and watch. While she regained her strength, she was confined to her room and would spend countless hours gazing out of the window at the world. She yearned to return but knew that her health came first and satisfied her desire by gazing out the window for countless more hours.
Thus a schedule was established for weeks, with tests still being done in an effort to keep her healthy. It was a rainy Wednesday when her life came crashing down again. Agatha had always been adept at discerning facial expressions and knew something was wrong when her mother came in to check up on her. After much persuading, Agatha’s mother finally succumbed and told her everything.
“Your latest blood work came in and I have some bad news for you. Did you wonder why you were still having regular blood tests? Did you wonder why we didn’t allow you to leave your room? I don’t know how to tell you this but the fever you had destroyed your immune system. Even the slightest infection could be life threatening. I am sorry but there is nothing that can be done. You will have to stay in this room for now. We are looking at ways to fix it but it doesn’t look good. I am so sorry.”
There was no response Agatha could give. She could see the sincerity in her mother’s eyes and she knew that she wasn’t lying but the idea of never being allowed outside mortified her. She had never understood the idea of being heartbroken but she felt it. A deep throbbing hurt that refused to go away. A stake had been driven through her heart and she had no idea what she could do. 
Agatha simply got up, sat on the window sill and cried. The hurt was unimaginable and although she knew it would not help, she shed tears in the vain hope that they would cleanse her mind, body and soul; just wash away such a deep pain.
In her pain, she felt a spark of anger burst into existence. It nourished upon her hurt and pain like a fire is nourished by oxygen. And in this red rage, she bore her head back and screamed to the god she had always relied upon.
“I am only fifteen! How dare you take away the one thing I love most of all! I have no idea where else my heart could be but out there! I placed my trust in you and in nature but it has been stolen from me and my heart will never be still! No more! I will not stand by while you claim to love me but have thrown me away! I denounce you, oh humble lord and swear that not even divine intervention will trap me in the destiny you have deigned upon me!”
And with that tirade finished, Agatha collapsed, falling unconscious. Her parents were on the other side of the door during the whole session and managed to get into the room in time to see pure, sweet, innocent Agatha collapse. She was breathing evenly and her face was pale. They put her into bed and locked the door not taking any risks that she would attempt to make a fateful trip outside. They knew that something was different about Agatha as they left the room, letting the lock softly click into place as they closed the door. And although they loved their daughter dearly, they were dreading what would wake up.
The parents had expected possibly an aggressive daughter or a depressed daughter but what they got was far worse.
Agatha was unconscious for 2 days and during that time; her parents were busy retrofitting the house so no diseases could afflict their daughter. They purchased sterilisation equipment and disinfected the whole house. But what they feared the most was that Agatha would attempt to escape and they both knew that it would have disastrous consequences if it was allowed to happen. They locked her door from the outside and replaced the glass in the window with plexiglass that blocked out the images from outside, fearing that seeing nature would re-ignite her rage and prompt an escape attempt.
No one heard Agatha say a single word after that. Not the slightest sound passed her lips. When she awoke, it was as if the fragile substance of her soul had been shattered. She responded to sounds but not words, she could eat but couldn’t prepare it, she could drink but couldn’t pour a glass. It was as if Agatha had just given up. 
She had no worries at all, but nothing also to look forward to. She simply existed. It was as if someone had snuffed out the flame of Agatha, leaving only a husk. Her body and mind seemed to be detached with her essence retreating into the depths of her psyche in an attempt to lessen the shock and pain she had received. Inside her head, it was a cold, frozen wasteland that refused to thaw.
Countless physicians and physiatrists visited, after being sterilised of course, but nothing they did could register more than a blank stare in their vague direction. Her parents were in despair. They had lost the daughter they loved so dearly and wished for nothing more than a smile or a single word but she was lost in a world that no one but Agatha could visit.
This proceeded for a many months. Agatha made no attempt at an escape and it seemed that nothing could extract Agatha from the shelter of her body. Toys, friends, games and videos did nothing. Only one action of Agatha remained throughout this whole ordeal. She would always sit on the window sill and although she couldn’t see outside, she would sit and stare blankly, registering nothing, not the lack of vision or the touch of a hand on her shoulder. This was the only act that the parents had that would remind them of the daughter they had lost.
One night, many months after Agatha had retreated inside of herself; her parents forgot to lock the door. With some sixth sense, Agatha was roused and moved to the door. She turned the handle and she was free but there was still no reaction. She walked down the stairs in her nightdress, oblivious to the many objects that she once walked past daily.
But despite her oblivious nature, she knew exactly where she was going. She stumbled through the living room and into the kitchen and opened the door to the outside world. It was a mere 3 o’clock when she left the house for the first time in nearly a year. 
As she walked barefoot through the backyard and up the mountain that backed onto their property, something stirred in Agatha. It was as if the frozen fingers that that had taken hold of her mind were slowly loosening their vice-like grip, returning her mind to her body and making her whole again. Every step she took and every smell she registered pushed back a little more of the cold.
“Tree” she whispered as she touched the rough bark with her fingertips, voice croaky and low with lack of use. “Rocks” she uttered as her fingers slipped over the boulders. “Water” she muttered as she waded through the shallow creek. Agatha was slowly waking up but it would take more to return Agatha to who she was.
Unregistered by Agatha though, was that she was countless scratches and cuts she was receiving on her palms and feet, allowing numerous infections into her system. Though relatively innocent by themselves, in her weakened state, they could ultimately be deadly.
Agatha made no conscious decision but she was walking a path that was well used in past years. Of course in that time, the walk would take no more than an hour but do to the fever that had ravaged her body and her subsequent detachment from herself, her energy reserves were low and she could not maintain the pace needed to finish it in such a time.
By the time Agatha reached the mountain top, the kookaburra’s we laughing and the bush had started to wake up also. During the trek, she had slowly remembered everything but I important fact. She did not know who she was. 
She had memories that she did know if she owned. She saw faces that she did not recognise and heard voices she did not know who they were addressing. 
Her palms had started sweating and Agatha had chills that she could no dispel. Her stomach churned and head throbbed. The various virus and infections that she had encountered upon in her trek were starting to take effect.
Her legs buckled, losing their strength and she pulled herself into a sitting position underneath a tree on a cliff that overlooked the valley below, the sun rose from its hiding place tucked beneath the hills. She saw it rise and burst to flames, the warmth it provided dispelling the last frost that clouded her memories and she uttered a single word.
“Agatha”
Like a dam breaking, all her memories came back. She remembered her family, friends and all of her possessions and keep sakes. But with the good memories came the bad, like the day her dog, Sandy, died and the memory of the last thing she could remember, the news her mother had told her, “...the fever you had destroyed your immune system. Even the slightest infection could be life threatening. I am sorry but there is nothing that can be done. You will have to stay in this room for now...”
Despite this memory though, she felt a sense of calmness descend over her. She wouldn’t know it at the time, but she had just lost consciousness.
Back at the house, the clock had just ticked over to five o’clock and the parents were just stirring as the cold draught from the kitchen door had finally pervaded their sub-conscious. “Close the door, Honey” said the mother and as he got out of bed to close the door, he saw something that should never have happened. 
Agatha’s door was open.
This shock woke him up instantly, removing any traces of drowsiness he’d had moments ago. He walked over to her room and looked inside to see an empty bed and no trace of his daughter. “Martha! Wake up!” he shouted as he pounded into their room, pulling on trousers over his pyjamas and buttoning up a shirt.
“What’s going on?” she replied with her head still rested on the pillow.
“She’s gone!”
“Who’s gone?”
“Agatha’s gone!”
“What!” That got a response out of her, causing her to bolt upright and jump out of bed to check Agatha’s room for herself. She could scarcely believe her eyes, and as she stood resting up against the door frame, she felt the cool, crisp breeze feather the back of her legs. She walked downstairs and into the kitchen to find the door was left wide open. 
She darted back up-stairs and proceeded to put on clothes as well, saying through tears, “She has left the house. We have to find her now before it is too late.”
Martha called the police while Agatha’s father, John, proceeded to follow her tracks up the side of the mountain, torch and first aid kit in hand. It was lucky that she seemed to be shuffling for most of the way as it made her easier to follow but as he saw her tracks proceed further and further up the mountain, a sense of dread began to envelop him. If she went too much further, it would be nigh impossible for the police or paramedics to get to her in time if anything were to happen, so he kept telling himself, “Just around the next corner. The next corner definitely.”
He eventually arrived at the summit as the sun was still rising, and to his despair; he found his daughter slumped underneath a tree overlooking the valley. He approached here with a cry of “Agatha” and as he embraced her, he noticed that her forehead was hot and moist with beads of sweat running off, and she had multiple abrasions all over her feet and hands. It looked like she was trying to fight an infection but her vastly weakened immune system was not going to manage. She was still breathing, but barely.
He called the paramedics on his mobile. “My daughter is on top of Buckle Mountain. We need a helicopter here as fast as possible. She is unconscious and barely breathing” he said in a hurry, hoping that the phone operator would understand his panicked tone.
“We will be there as fast as possible” the operator replied curtly and hung up, mobilising the helicopter as fast as possible.
John then dropped the phone, surrendered himself to grief and cried, “Oh Agatha!” His tears pattered down upon Agatha’s soft, pale, almost translucent skin and she stirred. Maybe it was the call, maybe it was the warmth of his body, or maybe it was the tears falling down upon her.
“Dad,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, “I am so sorry.”
“Don’t be. Just don’t go Agatha, my sweet. Please. Just don’t go!” he pleaded with her as he was the sparkle in her eyes slowly faded.
“Sorry” she uttered, “I am so sorry.” After that final phrase, her body gave a great shuddering sigh as it gave up the fight and she passed away.
Minutes later, the trees and plants on the summit, not to mention Agatha and her father, were assaulted by the savage wind of the helicopters rotating at enormous speeds. Dust was swept up and got in John eyes but nothing could tear his gaze from his daughter. 
It was as if the whole world had slowed down and lost all brilliance. He heard the dull “thud, thud, thud” as the helicopters blades spun but nothing of the words that the paramedics said to him. What did it matter if the sun kept shinning when his daughter was gone.
He succumbed to grief and through a curtain of tears; he saw a vibrant pink on a background of green. He wiped his eyes, and saw that the flowers that had refused to bloom in the last 10 years had finally done so. They were a soft pink rose bush, totally out of place in the bush but seemed to fit at the same time. 
How he wished that Agatha could have seen it, and with that thought, it was as if the bubble that was blocking out all sounds popped and he finally heard the paramedics.
“We are so sorry for your loss. If you would let us, allow us take your daughter’s body to the hospital.”
John looked down at the frail form in his arms before and felt the temperature leaving her pale skin.



Neural Network
(This was a highly experimental piece of work that I wrote for a portfolio. It will be interesting to see how you guys like it, if you read it that is)


Spoiler



C:\Operator\James>access root memory
Root Memory:\
D:\Memories
E:\Instincts
F:\Emotions
Access D:\Memories
Places
People	
Anonymous
D:\Memories\People
Family
Friends	
Enemies
Acquaintances
Lovers
D:\Memories\People\Lovers
Elizabeth 
Shannon
D:\Memories\People\Lovers\Elizabeth
Betrayal.txt 
Confession.txt
First date.txt 
First meeting.txt
Love.txt
Pain.txt 
Second date.txt
Third date.txt	
sort (D:\Memories\People\Lovers\Elizabeth\) most recent
D:\Memories\People\Lovers\Elizabeth
First Meeting.txt
Confession.txt
First Date.txt
Second Date.txt
Love.txt
Third Date.txt
Betrayal.txt
Pain.txt
D:\Memories\People\Lovers\Elizabeth\First Meeting.txt
Why do I even bother? I will never find anyone that will accept me. It hasn’t happened in the last 24 years and I doubt it is going to happen now. I guess I will just wait and hope something falls into my lap because I am not going to find anything unless there is divine intervention.
Wait. Who’s that? I need to meet her now. She is so beautiful... but why would she ever look at me, I mean, what do I have?
She’s coming over. Oh no! I forgot to use deodorant this morning. I am going to ree...
Her voice is beautiful. Damn it Mark; focus on what she is saying! Ah, ah something about writing and books... Did she just say Matthew Reilly? She is amazing.
End .txt file. Returning to previous directory.
D:\Memories\People\Lovers\Elizabeth
First Meeting.txt
Confession.txt
First Date.txt
Second Date.txt
Love.txt
Third Date.txt
Betrayal.txt
Pain.txt
D:\Memories\People\Lovers\Elizabeth\Love.txt
Oh my god, I think I love Elizabeth. She is the most amazing person I have ever met. She is beautiful, smart, funny and perfect in every way. It has only been 2 dates but I know I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I am probably rushing into this but I can’t help how I am feeling.
End .txt file. Returning to previous directory.
D:\Memories\People\Lovers\Elizabeth
First Meeting.txt
Confession.txt
First Date.txt
Second Date.txt
Love.txt
Third Date.txt
Betrayal.txt
Pain.txt
D:\Memories\People\Lovers\Elizabeth\Pain.txt
I just can’t believe it. I never understood why people said they were heartbroken but now I do. My chest hurts so much and I can’t control how I feel. I go through anger, love, envy and hatred. I can’t stop crying and I wish I could just turn off and stop my feelings. To feel nothing right now would be a blessing.
End .txt file. Returning to previous directory.
D:\Memories\People\Lovers\Elizabeth
First Meeting.txt
Confession.txt
First Date.txt
Second Date.txt
Love.txt
Third Date.txt
Betrayal.txt
Pain.txt
D:\Memories\People\Lovers
Elizabeth
Shannon
D:\>rmdir Elizabeth
D:\Memories\People\Lovers
Shannon
D:\Memories\People\Lovers>access root memory
Root Memory:\
D:\Memories
E:\Instincts
F:\Emotions
Access F:\Emotions
Anger
Envy
Happiness
Jealousy
Love
Sadness
F:\>rmdir Love
Access F:\Emotions
Anger
Envy
Happiness
Jealousy
Sadness



I hope no one minds me putting up a couple of my stories. I have many more short stories, for anyone that would be interested in reading them.


----------



## Shinigami357 (Jun 9, 2011)

<!--quoteo(post=3702290:date=Jun 9 2011, 05:20 PM:name=Edgedancer)--><div class='quotetop'>QUOTE(Edgedancer @ Jun 9 2011, 05:20 PM) <a href="index.php?act=findpost&pid=3702290"><{POST_SNAPBACK}></a></div><div class='quotemain'><!--quotec-->I have been writing for years, but its only recently that I have started taking it seriously. I love the stories I am able to write and my minor in University is in creative writing. My writing it a bit odd, considering that I enjoy reading action and fantasy novels, yet I find that I almost exclusively write about emotional love/loss stories, but I like doing it. 
Here are a couple of my stories.

Agatha
(this is an old story that I have been meaning to get around to actually editing one of the these days)


Spoiler



Agatha always loved nature. Her earliest childhood memories were of sun streaming through a window with lush plants and trees lying mere centimetres away from her, on the other side of the glass. 
As a young child, she loved to walk barefoot around the yard. She could feel the earth caking on her bare feet and smell the rich scents of the seasons.  Her days were spent with long picnics under the sun with her mother and bush walking with her father on the mountain that their property back on to. 
A distinct memory was of when her father first took her to the summit of the mountain. It was the most beautiful vista she had ever seen and she remembered asking her father, “Why aren’t there flowers on that bush daddy?” while pointing at a bush that looked just about ready to flower, and in a voice filled with love and a gentle smile on his face, he replied, “They will flower soon. Just give them a little while.”
But they never bloomed. Not once in the 10 years since her first visit to the summit of Buckle Mountain, across hundreds of trips, did Agatha see what flowers would bloom. It was one of the mysteries that all fascinated her.
She could name a million things that she loved about nature and never wished to be parted from it. 
But fate is a cruel trickster and a parting from nature is indeed what happened to pure, sweet Agatha. On the eve of her fifteenth birthday, she was assaulted by a vile disease. She had a fever that raged for weeks. One instant, she would be too hot, throwing the sheets off her and sweat beading on her forehead, while the next instant would result in chills that caused her to pull the sheets close around her in an attempt to gain their meagre heat.
Agatha slept through most of those terrible weeks, waking occasionally, sometimes with her mother sitting by her, stroking her hand or moistening her forehead. In those instances through, any effort beyond parting her eyes slightly were out of her reach and usually slept through such ministrations. She knew it was her mother though as she recognised the lavender soap that she washed herself with. Usually though, she woke with the room empty, save for the lonely, ravaged girl in the bed.
Many weeks passed and she eventually recovered. Her fever subsided and she regained her lucidity. She began to eat and drink, talk and listen, move and watch. While she regained her strength, she was confined to her room and would spend countless hours gazing out of the window at the world. She yearned to return but knew that her health came first and satisfied her desire by gazing out the window for countless more hours.
Thus a schedule was established for weeks, with tests still being done in an effort to keep her healthy. It was a rainy Wednesday when her life came crashing down again. Agatha had always been adept at discerning facial expressions and knew something was wrong when her mother came in to check up on her. After much persuading, Agatha’s mother finally succumbed and told her everything.
“Your latest blood work came in and I have some bad news for you. Did you wonder why you were still having regular blood tests? Did you wonder why we didn’t allow you to leave your room? I don’t know how to tell you this but the fever you had destroyed your immune system. Even the slightest infection could be life threatening. I am sorry but there is nothing that can be done. You will have to stay in this room for now. We are looking at ways to fix it but it doesn’t look good. I am so sorry.”
There was no response Agatha could give. She could see the sincerity in her mother’s eyes and she knew that she wasn’t lying but the idea of never being allowed outside mortified her. She had never understood the idea of being heartbroken but she felt it. A deep throbbing hurt that refused to go away. A stake had been driven through her heart and she had no idea what she could do. 
Agatha simply got up, sat on the window sill and cried. The hurt was unimaginable and although she knew it would not help, she shed tears in the vain hope that they would cleanse her mind, body and soul; just wash away such a deep pain.
In her pain, she felt a spark of anger burst into existence. It nourished upon her hurt and pain like a fire is nourished by oxygen. And in this red rage, she bore her head back and screamed to the god she had always relied upon.
“I am only fifteen! How dare you take away the one thing I love most of all! I have no idea where else my heart could be but out there! I placed my trust in you and in nature but it has been stolen from me and my heart will never be still! No more! I will not stand by while you claim to love me but have thrown me away! I denounce you, oh humble lord and swear that not even divine intervention will trap me in the destiny you have deigned upon me!”
And with that tirade finished, Agatha collapsed, falling unconscious. Her parents were on the other side of the door during the whole session and managed to get into the room in time to see pure, sweet, innocent Agatha collapse. She was breathing evenly and her face was pale. They put her into bed and locked the door not taking any risks that she would attempt to make a fateful trip outside. They knew that something was different about Agatha as they left the room, letting the lock softly click into place as they closed the door. And although they loved their daughter dearly, they were dreading what would wake up.
The parents had expected possibly an aggressive daughter or a depressed daughter but what they got was far worse.
Agatha was unconscious for 2 days and during that time; her parents were busy retrofitting the house so no diseases could afflict their daughter. They purchased sterilisation equipment and disinfected the whole house. But what they feared the most was that Agatha would attempt to escape and they both knew that it would have disastrous consequences if it was allowed to happen. They locked her door from the outside and replaced the glass in the window with plexiglass that blocked out the images from outside, fearing that seeing nature would re-ignite her rage and prompt an escape attempt.
No one heard Agatha say a single word after that. Not the slightest sound passed her lips. When she awoke, it was as if the fragile substance of her soul had been shattered. She responded to sounds but not words, she could eat but couldn’t prepare it, she could drink but couldn’t pour a glass. It was as if Agatha had just given up. 
She had no worries at all, but nothing also to look forward to. She simply existed. It was as if someone had snuffed out the flame of Agatha, leaving only a husk. Her body and mind seemed to be detached with her essence retreating into the depths of her psyche in an attempt to lessen the shock and pain she had received. Inside her head, it was a cold, frozen wasteland that refused to thaw.
Countless physicians and physiatrists visited, after being sterilised of course, but nothing they did could register more than a blank stare in their vague direction. Her parents were in despair. They had lost the daughter they loved so dearly and wished for nothing more than a smile or a single word but she was lost in a world that no one but Agatha could visit.
This proceeded for a many months. Agatha made no attempt at an escape and it seemed that nothing could extract Agatha from the shelter of her body. Toys, friends, games and videos did nothing. Only one action of Agatha remained throughout this whole ordeal. She would always sit on the window sill and although she couldn’t see outside, she would sit and stare blankly, registering nothing, not the lack of vision or the touch of a hand on her shoulder. This was the only act that the parents had that would remind them of the daughter they had lost.
One night, many months after Agatha had retreated inside of herself; her parents forgot to lock the door. With some sixth sense, Agatha was roused and moved to the door. She turned the handle and she was free but there was still no reaction. She walked down the stairs in her nightdress, oblivious to the many objects that she once walked past daily.
But despite her oblivious nature, she knew exactly where she was going. She stumbled through the living room and into the kitchen and opened the door to the outside world. It was a mere 3 o’clock when she left the house for the first time in nearly a year. 
As she walked barefoot through the backyard and up the mountain that backed onto their property, something stirred in Agatha. It was as if the frozen fingers that that had taken hold of her mind were slowly loosening their vice-like grip, returning her mind to her body and making her whole again. Every step she took and every smell she registered pushed back a little more of the cold.
“Tree” she whispered as she touched the rough bark with her fingertips, voice croaky and low with lack of use. “Rocks” she uttered as her fingers slipped over the boulders. “Water” she muttered as she waded through the shallow creek. Agatha was slowly waking up but it would take more to return Agatha to who she was.
Unregistered by Agatha though, was that she was countless scratches and cuts she was receiving on her palms and feet, allowing numerous infections into her system. Though relatively innocent by themselves, in her weakened state, they could ultimately be deadly.
Agatha made no conscious decision but she was walking a path that was well used in past years. Of course in that time, the walk would take no more than an hour but do to the fever that had ravaged her body and her subsequent detachment from herself, her energy reserves were low and she could not maintain the pace needed to finish it in such a time.
By the time Agatha reached the mountain top, the kookaburra’s we laughing and the bush had started to wake up also. During the trek, she had slowly remembered everything but I important fact. She did not know who she was. 
She had memories that she did know if she owned. She saw faces that she did not recognise and heard voices she did not know who they were addressing. 
Her palms had started sweating and Agatha had chills that she could no dispel. Her stomach churned and head throbbed. The various virus and infections that she had encountered upon in her trek were starting to take effect.
Her legs buckled, losing their strength and she pulled herself into a sitting position underneath a tree on a cliff that overlooked the valley below, the sun rose from its hiding place tucked beneath the hills. She saw it rise and burst to flames, the warmth it provided dispelling the last frost that clouded her memories and she uttered a single word.
“Agatha”
Like a dam breaking, all her memories came back. She remembered her family, friends and all of her possessions and keep sakes. But with the good memories came the bad, like the day her dog, Sandy, died and the memory of the last thing she could remember, the news her mother had told her, “...the fever you had destroyed your immune system. Even the slightest infection could be life threatening. I am sorry but there is nothing that can be done. You will have to stay in this room for now...”
Despite this memory though, she felt a sense of calmness descend over her. She wouldn’t know it at the time, but she had just lost consciousness.
Back at the house, the clock had just ticked over to five o’clock and the parents were just stirring as the cold draught from the kitchen door had finally pervaded their sub-conscious. “Close the door, Honey” said the mother and as he got out of bed to close the door, he saw something that should never have happened. 
Agatha’s door was open.
This shock woke him up instantly, removing any traces of drowsiness he’d had moments ago. He walked over to her room and looked inside to see an empty bed and no trace of his daughter. “Martha! Wake up!” he shouted as he pounded into their room, pulling on trousers over his pyjamas and buttoning up a shirt.
“What’s going on?” she replied with her head still rested on the pillow.
“She’s gone!”
“Who’s gone?”
“Agatha’s gone!”
“What!” That got a response out of her, causing her to bolt upright and jump out of bed to check Agatha’s room for herself. She could scarcely believe her eyes, and as she stood resting up against the door frame, she felt the cool, crisp breeze feather the back of her legs. She walked downstairs and into the kitchen to find the door was left wide open. 
She darted back up-stairs and proceeded to put on clothes as well, saying through tears, “She has left the house. We have to find her now before it is too late.”
Martha called the police while Agatha’s father, John, proceeded to follow her tracks up the side of the mountain, torch and first aid kit in hand. It was lucky that she seemed to be shuffling for most of the way as it made her easier to follow but as he saw her tracks proceed further and further up the mountain, a sense of dread began to envelop him. If she went too much further, it would be nigh impossible for the police or paramedics to get to her in time if anything were to happen, so he kept telling himself, “Just around the next corner. The next corner definitely.”
He eventually arrived at the summit as the sun was still rising, and to his despair; he found his daughter slumped underneath a tree overlooking the valley. He approached here with a cry of “Agatha” and as he embraced her, he noticed that her forehead was hot and moist with beads of sweat running off, and she had multiple abrasions all over her feet and hands. It looked like she was trying to fight an infection but her vastly weakened immune system was not going to manage. She was still breathing, but barely.
He called the paramedics on his mobile. “My daughter is on top of Buckle Mountain. We need a helicopter here as fast as possible. She is unconscious and barely breathing” he said in a hurry, hoping that the phone operator would understand his panicked tone.
“We will be there as fast as possible” the operator replied curtly and hung up, mobilising the helicopter as fast as possible.
John then dropped the phone, surrendered himself to grief and cried, “Oh Agatha!” His tears pattered down upon Agatha’s soft, pale, almost translucent skin and she stirred. Maybe it was the call, maybe it was the warmth of his body, or maybe it was the tears falling down upon her.
“Dad,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, “I am so sorry.”
“Don’t be. Just don’t go Agatha, my sweet. Please. Just don’t go!” he pleaded with her as he was the sparkle in her eyes slowly faded.
“Sorry” she uttered, “I am so sorry.” After that final phrase, her body gave a great shuddering sigh as it gave up the fight and she passed away.
Minutes later, the trees and plants on the summit, not to mention Agatha and her father, were assaulted by the savage wind of the helicopters rotating at enormous speeds. Dust was swept up and got in John eyes but nothing could tear his gaze from his daughter. 
It was as if the whole world had slowed down and lost all brilliance. He heard the dull “thud, thud, thud” as the helicopters blades spun but nothing of the words that the paramedics said to him. What did it matter if the sun kept shinning when his daughter was gone.
He succumbed to grief and through a curtain of tears; he saw a vibrant pink on a background of green. He wiped his eyes, and saw that the flowers that had refused to bloom in the last 10 years had finally done so. They were a soft pink rose bush, totally out of place in the bush but seemed to fit at the same time. 
How he wished that Agatha could have seen it, and with that thought, it was as if the bubble that was blocking out all sounds popped and he finally heard the paramedics.
“We are so sorry for your loss. If you would let us, allow us take your daughter’s body to the hospital.”
John looked down at the frail form in his arms before and felt the temperature leaving her pale skin.



Neural Network
(This was a highly experimental piece of work that I wrote for a portfolio. It will be interesting to see how you guys like it, if you read it that is)


Spoiler



C:\Operator\James>access root memory
Root Memory:\
<img src="style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/ohnoes.png" style="vertical-align:middle" emoid="D:" border="0" alt="ohnoes.png" />\Memories
E:\Instincts
F:\Emotions
Access <img src="style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/ohnoes.png" style="vertical-align:middle" emoid="D:" border="0" alt="ohnoes.png" />\Memories
Places
People	
Anonymous
<img src="style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/ohnoes.png" style="vertical-align:middle" emoid="D:" border="0" alt="ohnoes.png" />\Memories\People
Family
Friends	
Enemies
Acquaintances
Lovers
<img src="style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/ohnoes.png" style="vertical-align:middle" emoid="D:" border="0" alt="ohnoes.png" />\Memories\People\Lovers
Elizabeth 
Shannon
<img src="style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/ohnoes.png" style="vertical-align:middle" emoid="D:" border="0" alt="ohnoes.png" />\Memories\People\Lovers\Elizabeth
Betrayal.txt 
Confession.txt
First date.txt 
First meeting.txt
Love.txt
Pain.txt 
Second date.txt
Third date.txt	
sort (<img src="style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/ohnoes.png" style="vertical-align:middle" emoid="D:" border="0" alt="ohnoes.png" />\Memories\People\Lovers\Elizabeth\) most recent
<img src="style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/ohnoes.png" style="vertical-align:middle" emoid="D:" border="0" alt="ohnoes.png" />\Memories\People\Lovers\Elizabeth
First Meeting.txt
Confession.txt
First Date.txt
Second Date.txt
Love.txt
Third Date.txt
Betrayal.txt
Pain.txt
<img src="style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/ohnoes.png" style="vertical-align:middle" emoid="D:" border="0" alt="ohnoes.png" />\Memories\People\Lovers\Elizabeth\First Meeting.txt
Why do I even bother? I will never find anyone that will accept me. It hasn’t happened in the last 24 years and I doubt it is going to happen now. I guess I will just wait and hope something falls into my lap because I am not going to find anything unless there is divine intervention.
Wait. Who’s that? I need to meet her now. She is so beautiful... but why would she ever look at me, I mean, what do I have?
She’s coming over. Oh no! I forgot to use deodorant this morning. I am going to ree...
Her voice is beautiful. Damn it Mark; focus on what she is saying! Ah, ah something about writing and books... Did she just say Matthew Reilly? She is amazing.
End .txt file. Returning to previous directory.
<img src="style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/ohnoes.png" style="vertical-align:middle" emoid="D:" border="0" alt="ohnoes.png" />\Memories\People\Lovers\Elizabeth
First Meeting.txt
Confession.txt
First Date.txt
Second Date.txt
Love.txt
Third Date.txt
Betrayal.txt
Pain.txt
<img src="style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/ohnoes.png" style="vertical-align:middle" emoid="D:" border="0" alt="ohnoes.png" />\Memories\People\Lovers\Elizabeth\Love.txt
Oh my god, I think I love Elizabeth. She is the most amazing person I have ever met. She is beautiful, smart, funny and perfect in every way. It has only been 2 dates but I know I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I am probably rushing into this but I can’t help how I am feeling.
End .txt file. Returning to previous directory.
<img src="style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/ohnoes.png" style="vertical-align:middle" emoid="D:" border="0" alt="ohnoes.png" />\Memories\People\Lovers\Elizabeth
First Meeting.txt
Confession.txt
First Date.txt
Second Date.txt
Love.txt
Third Date.txt
Betrayal.txt
Pain.txt
<img src="style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/ohnoes.png" style="vertical-align:middle" emoid="D:" border="0" alt="ohnoes.png" />\Memories\People\Lovers\Elizabeth\Pain.txt
I just can’t believe it. I never understood why people said they were heartbroken but now I do. My chest hurts so much and I can’t control how I feel. I go through anger, love, envy and hatred. I can’t stop crying and I wish I could just turn off and stop my feelings. To feel nothing right now would be a blessing.
End .txt file. Returning to previous directory.
<img src="style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/ohnoes.png" style="vertical-align:middle" emoid="D:" border="0" alt="ohnoes.png" />\Memories\People\Lovers\Elizabeth
First Meeting.txt
Confession.txt
First Date.txt
Second Date.txt
Love.txt
Third Date.txt
Betrayal.txt
Pain.txt
<img src="style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/ohnoes.png" style="vertical-align:middle" emoid="D:" border="0" alt="ohnoes.png" />\Memories\People\Lovers
Elizabeth
Shannon
<img src="style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/ohnoes.png" style="vertical-align:middle" emoid="D:" border="0" alt="ohnoes.png" />\>rmdir Elizabeth
<img src="style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/ohnoes.png" style="vertical-align:middle" emoid="D:" border="0" alt="ohnoes.png" />\Memories\People\Lovers
Shannon
<img src="style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/ohnoes.png" style="vertical-align:middle" emoid="D:" border="0" alt="ohnoes.png" />\Memories\People\Lovers>access root memory
Root Memory:\
<img src="style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/ohnoes.png" style="vertical-align:middle" emoid="D:" border="0" alt="ohnoes.png" />\Memories
E:\Instincts
F:\Emotions
Access F:\Emotions
Anger
Envy
Happiness
Jealousy
Love
Sadness
F:\>rmdir Love
Access F:\Emotions
Anger
Envy
Happiness
Jealousy
Sadness



I hope no one minds me putting up a couple of my stories. I have many more short stories, for anyone that would be interested in reading them.<!--QuoteEnd--></div><!--QuoteEEnd-->


Wow... Um, give me a moment to compose my thoughts here... You're clearly good at this, and as you say, you love the stories you write, so that's important.

The first story was more descriptive, direct to the point; everything is story, and that's good. What grips you though is the emotion. Most stories mix their emotions with something else [idealism, mostly], but you take the story's emotion by itself and put it in the reader. I was happy when the story was happy, sad when the story was sad and brokenhearted when the story was brokenhearted; beautiful. I think you can edit it a bit, polish it as you wish [dammit rhymes, gerrof me!!!] and you'd have a heck of a short-story.

The second... Well, I'm a bit split. On one hand, I think it's not finished yet, but that's only because, on the other hand, you've got my interest piqued. The premise is complex, and yet it's presented in a way that's vague enough to hold you attention; it's enigmatic to a point. As a big sci-fi fan, I identify with the idea of the mind as a computer. Like the first story, you've isolated this one thing and gone with it. There's too many questions, though: whose memories are these [who is James?]; is James human; if not, are these memories real [obviously if he was human, then the memories are real]; who is accessing them; and I think most important: do the emotions go with the memories or are the memories just memories [like a roll of film or a .txt file as illustrated]?

Yeah, I think too much, eh? Great work, man.

PS
Sterling will prob recruit you [I certainly think he should], but I'll  try to get you to sign up for our newly-formed writer's guild [we're undermanned as of posting time] anyway. Consider it. And keep writing, man.


EDIT:
Just re-read it... Holy shit... He removed Love from the Emotions directory... Damn...


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## Sterling (Jun 9, 2011)

@EdgeDancer: I knew you were good, but damn. That first story had me reduced to tears. So stirring, and moving. 

@Shinigami357: Actually, when I first made the guild, as I was posting, I said to myself, "How long until EdgeDancer shows up?"


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## Shinigami357 (Jun 9, 2011)

Snap him up, right now, LOL.

PS
Love your outfit...


Ok, ok, I poached that from Hannibal Lecter... Anyway, what I was originally gonna say was we should all prob get a tag like the one in your sig. Anyway, can't stay too long, off to write [I'm behind schedule, I think].


PPS
Ok, I've added one to mine.

Btw... Wots a wiki page??? [it's the writer's guild challenge I think]


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## Sterling (Jun 9, 2011)

Shinigami357 said:
			
		

> Snap him up, right now, LOL.
> 
> PS
> Love your outfit...
> ...


Below your posts have a link to a user wiki page. You have to register to make it, but a good example is a link to KB's wiki. He did a great job on his.


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## Edgedancer (Jun 9, 2011)

Shinigami357 said:
			
		

> Wow... Um, give me a moment to compose my thoughts here... You're clearly good at this, and as you say, you love the stories you write, so that's important.
> 
> The first story was more descriptive, direct to the point; everything is story, and that's good. What grips you though is the emotion. Most stories mix their emotions with something else [idealism, mostly], but you take the story's emotion by itself and put it in the reader. I was happy when the story was happy, sad when the story was sad and brokenhearted when the story was brokenhearted; beautiful. I think you can edit it a bit, polish it as you wish [dammit rhymes, gerrof me!!!] and you'd have a heck of a short-story.
> 
> ...


Seriously? O.o I had no idea anyone on this site really knew me well enough to (accurately) make that prediction. Not complaining though.


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## Shinigami357 (Jun 10, 2011)

I've finally caved in and continued on with my horror story. What I did was write the love story bit-by-bit, and put in frequent breaks to instill the horror element in between. Think of it kind of like a ladder, there are spaces where you can only grip the frame itself, and then there are narrow hand-/footholds where you can get a solid grip. It's working so far, so I've no cause for concern. Whatcha guys think?

PS
@Edgedancer - Hm... I should consider trying to find a girl then... Oh, right, I already spent 4 poems on that idea... 
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	




 Well, anyway, keep writing, you're doing great [EPIC, even].


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## Edgedancer (Jun 11, 2011)

Shinigami357 said:
			
		

> I've finally caved in and continued on with my horror story. What I did was write the love story bit-by-bit, and put in frequent breaks to instill the horror element in between. Think of it kind of like a ladder, there are spaces where you can only grip the frame itself, and then there are narrow hand-/footholds where you can get a solid grip. It's working so far, so I've no cause for concern. Whatcha guys think?
> 
> PS
> @Edgedancer - Hm... I should consider trying to find a girl then... Oh, right, I already spent 4 poems on that idea...
> ...


Its good to know that you have continued with your horror story. I am interested in reading it when its done. s for finding a girl, its not entirely necessary. I didnt have the girl at that point and was stressing over how to make her mine, which lead me to doing some pretty awesome/corny stuff. Hit me up with a PM if you want to see what I did. 
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	




 Its all about finding something you are passionate about and then drawing on the feelings and turning it into a piece of writing. Most of my writing starts with a single image or phrase, and then working from there. Examples are "Life is like a game of Russian Roulette" and "The sun rose from its cradle behind the hills and burst to flames." Simple phrases like that give me a setting/mood and then I start to fill in the context. Thats at least how I work with my writing.


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## Shinigami357 (Jun 11, 2011)

I've been thinking for like the whole day, and written a total of 2 sentences after last night. I think I've got the chapter down, now, though. Might still take a while to write it down, though [that's what happened to chapter 6]. At least I know I can write it down now.


EDIT: Now the naming is getting weirder, though... Sigh...


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## Sterling (Jun 11, 2011)

@Shinigami357: Good to know some progress has been made. What did you think of my short story I posted in the Guild topic?


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## Shinigami357 (Jun 11, 2011)

Sterling said:
			
		

> @Shinigami357: Good to know some progress has been made. What did you think of my short story I posted in the Guild topic?




I'm still digesting it, actually... [I think too much, as you can see]


EDIT: Wow, comma fail there...


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## Sterling (Jun 11, 2011)

Thinking too much is better than not thinking at all.


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## KingdomBlade (Jun 11, 2011)

Really weird.

I was listening to some music and I suddenly got an idea for a story about a woman who helps finds her rapist's murderer.

Huh. I'll think about that for a bit.


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## Sterling (Jun 11, 2011)

KingdomBlade said:
			
		

> Really weird.
> 
> I was listening to some music and I suddenly got an idea for a story about a woman who helps finds her rapist's murderer.
> 
> Huh. I'll think about that for a bit.


Sounds interesting. Perhaps it isn't by choice. Maybe she is a police officer or detective that has to finish this case. A couple plot twists later and bam! Instant read.


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## Shinigami357 (Jun 11, 2011)

KingdomBlade said:
			
		

> Really weird.
> 
> I was listening to some music and I suddenly got an idea for a story about a woman who helps finds her rapist's murderer.
> 
> Huh. I'll think about that for a bit.




Intriguing... Update us with the progress. Best of luck and keep writing.



---

Mind seems to be functional despite only 5 hours of sleep wahaha. Chapter 8 is unfolding in front of me bit-by-bit, which is how I like my ideas: slow but straight to the point.


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## KingdomBlade (Jun 12, 2011)

Posted this in the other thread already, but whatever.
60 SECONDS​


Spoiler: 60 SECONDS



1 Flashing images.
2 A baby in a stroller.
3 A burning apartment building.
4 A worn down motel.
5 Police sirens.
6 A detention center where everyone screams.
7 A reform school.
8 The street, with blood rolling on my face, and cowards running away.
9 My father touching me.
10 Mutilating myself.
11 Losing weight.
12 Losing my virginity to the wrong man.
13 Going out with a friend.
14 Drinking all night.
15 Getting into a car accident.
16 Spending 5 days in jail.
17 Being offered coke.
18 Trying coke, and trying another, and another.
19 Gambling my money.
20 Looking for a job.
21 Obtaining a job as a cafeteria lunch lady.
22 Losing the job.
23 Mutilating myself.
24 Desperately looking for a job.
25 Picking up a piece of paper on the floor.
26 Winning the lottery.
27 Immediate success.
28 Buying a condominium.
29 Buying a car.
30 Going into rehab.
31 Starting a small business.
32 Finding more friends.
33 Being set up on a blind date.
34 Hating the blind date.
35 Meeting a woman on the street and became friends.
36 Realizing what I really am.
37 Kissing the woman.
38 Marrying the woman.
39 Adopting a child.
40 The child going to school for the first time.
41 The child winning his basketball game.
42 A vacation to Japan.
43 A plane crashing.
44 A funeral.
45 Business failing.
46 Drugs and alcohol.
47 Shutting down business.
48 Gambling all savings.
49 Losing hope in everything.
50 Going to the top of the building where our office was.
51 Stairs.
52 More stairs.
53 Clouds in the sky.
54 A bird shitting on next to me.
55 A picture in my pocket.
56 A window.
57 More windows.
58 Screaming people.
59 The sidewalk.
60 Darkness.


COMMENTS? INSPIRED BY SOMETHING I CAN'T REMEMBER.​


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## Shinigami357 (Jun 14, 2011)

Yay! 100 pages [letter-sized], 35k words and almost 8 chapters. Never even once thought I'd be able to write a story like this. Still not done, though, so I'll have to keep working on it... Right now, though, I'm happy...

[back to writing]


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## Shinigami357 (Jun 19, 2011)

Double-post but... Meh.

Anyway, want to ask you guys, what time do you prefer to write? Which part of the day allows you to spin the words out seamlessly? Or do some of you just write when you feel like it [like a boss]? Are there specific pros/cons to whatever time you prefer write?

Personally, I write better at night, especially when it's past midnight.  Less distraction, more time, and there's less chance of someone coming up behind me and going all critical on what I'm doing. Of course, there's the little payoff that I spend most of the morning asleep, but since I've not many friends [they're all busy with college] and all the cool shows on TV are usually at night, it doesn't really bother me.

The ease of writing I experience during that time frame is almost scary. A while ago I went through 2000+ words in less than 3 hours before I had to stop [don't ask; it's a story I'd rather not tell]. Of course, when it happens that my head is refusing to cooperate, it just means one night of staring at a monitor and being grumpy in the morning before I inevitably fall asleep.



PS
My short story for teh Writer's Guild doesn't look like it'll finish in time... Hm...


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## Sterling (Jun 19, 2011)

Yea, my preferred time is midnight as well. If you can't finish the short by next Wednesday, don't sweat it. All that you'll get right now is a spot on the recognized member list.


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## Shinigami357 (Jun 25, 2011)

Update again [no, I don't care if no one's reading - writers write just to write... right?].

So, after a bad day [read my latest blog if you've a mind to do so; misery loves company right?] I've got my writing groove back on. I might finish Chapter 8 before I sleep -which is realistically 8 hours from now. The initial plan [a love story, yuck] wasn't quite working out, so I kinda shifted it a bit to make it more like a twisted drama/slice of life thing... Except it's still horror, of course... However, I will be making one out-and-out love story part toward the tail end of the chapter, because it's absolutely needed to tie up loose ends. The setup is just begging for it.

In other news, my other story is doing fine. I've been doing it when the main one isn't clicking in my head, and factoring in that it's more of a side-project at this point, it's reached 12k words already, and I'm pretty sure there's more to come.

Now if only this flu/cough would go away...  
	

	
	
		
		

		
			





  Hard to concentrate if your lungs are emptying themselves forcefully every few minutes.  
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	




Anyway, back to writing.


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## Sterling (Jun 25, 2011)

Hey, I read this every time there is a new post. I do have a question though... Will you get your stories published?


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## wrettcaughn (Jun 25, 2011)

Shinigami357 said:
			
		

> Anyway, want to ask you guys, what time do you prefer to write? Which part of the day allows you to spin the words out seamlessly? Or do some of you just write when you feel like it [like a boss]? Are there specific pros/cons to whatever time you prefer write?



I tend to write whenever something comes to mind.  In all honesty I write poetry simply because I don't have time for prose...  Between my job, yard work, and a newborn my freetime has ceased to exist.  The only writing time I get is my hour break at work.  I try to spend between 30 minutes and an hour playing guitar around 10pm after I give my son a bath.


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## Shinigami357 (Jun 25, 2011)

Sterling said:
			
		

> Hey, I read this every time there is a new post. I do have a question though... Will you get your stories published?




I want to. Right now, though, I'm just happy to write.


@Old8oy - Enjoy it, man. Kids grow up too fast. Maybe he'll take after you and write poetry, too. All the best.


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## Shinigami357 (Jul 13, 2011)

Double-post again... But I haven't updated this for almost 3 weeks now, anyway...

...

Finished Chapter 8. 45k words now, surprisingly. I won't be able to finish this in my target date, from the looks of things. [I hate rushing. It makes for bad fiction, IMHO]

Anyway, will probably re-read and re-edit the whole story before doing Chapters 9-11. My head's already hurting from the prospect of all the mistakes and narrative errors I'll find, but it has to be done. After that, it's just a matter of finishing up.


...

On a slightly different matter, I've just switched over to backing up my documents online. If your work is all digital, I think it's a must to back it up. It would really suck to lose all that hard work from one effed up PC glitch, right? Thankfully it's never happened to me before [and hopefully never will]...


Anyway, am off to a long, long, LONG rereading.


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