The Creative Writing Thread (All writers come all!)

[Nervous Venus]

I'm better at editing than writing. I used to edit for our school gazette. I'd post a piece of a story I wrote here, but I'm really not that good.

I understand the meaning you're trying to convey now. I just thought it sounded odd at first. But after re-reading it and on further thought, I think your choice of word was actually fairly accurate. Apparently Random House thinks so too :

–verb (used with object) 4. to drop or set down heavily: She plopped her books on the desk.

[Claude_Desravines]

Editing can be an art in itself, heh. I did a brief stint as an editor for a regional magazine, and I was shocked that even people who had English and Journalism degrees could have such a stunted grasp of their own language. The perennial it's/its, not knowing when to use who vs. whom, even things like forming relative clauses....soooo many errors. Not to mention the insidious thesaurus addicts...

I think editing becomes an art in itself when the editor has a piece in front of him so riddled with errors and crap that all he can take away from the piece is maybe a vague sense of the overarching idea. So the editor can take that idea, use his knowledge and abilities, and turn a slab of marble into a David.

How do you deal with trying to delineate between a writer who uses ungrammatical constructions as a stylistic aspect? I sometimes struggle to figure out when stylistic errors are acceptable...and when they're just errors. In high school, I had a huge argument with an English teacher about a paper I wrote; he gave it an F because his policy was that at that level of school even one sentence fragment was inexcusable. I used one stylistically, and he proved loyal to his policy. That was one hell of a bad day. The argument ultimately turned into one of critical and literary theory, and I called him an anal retentive prescriptivist...that got me a trip to the principal. Though he acknowledged it was a fairly intelligent act of disrespect.

Sorry, I've been going off on tangents all day. You should share some of your writing. How can you know if you're good or not if no one else sees? Besides, it's clear even from your posts here that you've an ability with words. I understand the feeling completely though; writing is such a personal thing, letting others read it almost feels like admitting to something shameful, or if it's received negatively it can feel insulting or humiliating. So even though I'd definitely be interested in reading your work, I won't bug you about it if you're so unsure.

And I'm stopping now before my train of thought veers off yet again, heh.

[Nervous Venus]

How do you deal with trying to delineate between a writer who uses ungrammatical constructions as a stylistic aspect?

Instinct, lol. I've read a lot of authors who've used this style: Some to their benefit, others are just pure fail. I know enough so I could spot it right away. (I'm more of the pure PHAIL category, lol).

I tend to write in that style also, especially in high school. I've gotten away with it a lot of times on essays because instead of fragmented sentences, I made use of commas, colons and semi colons - enough to drive our professor crazy. He'd use the red pen on me. You can never get away with fragments though, but sometimes they'll let excessive commas slide.

Too bad he gave you an F. I'm pretty sure if it was done in Creative Writing class, you'd have a different outcome. Oh well, you have to play by the rules, even though it's really no fun.

I haven't written anything in the past few months. I made a bonfire with some friends and threw in some of my stories from freshman year of college. I actually wrote a story called "Bonfire" , which I tried looking for all of three minutes ago, and am now lamenting over probably have tossed them in the flaming pit during that time :/

I'll post something once I stop being finger lazy and type things up into WORD. Probably will do it sometime this weekend. In the meanwhile, I'm looking forward to seeing more of your work.

[WanderingKnight]

writing is such a personal thing, letting others read it almost feels like admitting to something shameful, or if it's received negatively it can feel insulting or humiliating.

Hmm, I see it differently. Writing in itself is a way of putting your thoughts in perspective, of ordering them so that a "third party" is able to, at the very least, know of its existence. Even if that party is only comprised of your own self.

There can't be a writer if there's no reader.

[Cake-kun]

This is my favorite story that i created. I have posted this in my blog, infact . :]

Hope you'll enjoy it.

Spoiler for title:

Eternal Love

a short story created by mine.

(names and places mentioned are not on my intention, it's just a co-incidence that i used it.)

Rina, a stage-4 cancer patient had only had one week life span. she's really depressed when she knew about it, but she knew that she couldn't do anything about it, so she accepted it fully. while her boyfriend, Paul couldn't accept the truth, that her girlfriend will die after one week.

One monday afternoon, while Rina is on the garden, watching the butterflies touch the flower's beauty, and smelling the flower's sweet scent, and singing with the nature, under the shade of a sturdy oak tree, Paul came, brought some chrysanthemums, Rina's favorite flowers.

As soon he entered the garden, he heared Rina singing a song, titled over it by Katherine McPhee.

"Wanting you to be wanting me, no that ain't no way to be. How i feel, read my lips, beacause i'm so over-" She suddenly stopped, knowing that Paul's presence is near her.

"Come on Paul, i know you're there. come here." As soon as those words came out of Rina's mouth, Paul came. "How you'd know i'm here?" he asked. "Your scent is unique, it's one of a kind. It's easy to notice." As soon as those words start to enter Paul's mind and ears, he handed over the chrysanthemums to Rina, then followed by a kiss on the cheek.

"You brought this again. Thanks." then she smiled. Then, a silence occurs on the two of them. After a minute of silence, Paul break the silence, then said, "You're just going to accept it like a gift came from someone?" Then a sad expression follows. Rina stood up from the the giant roots of the oak tree, that's full of trimmed grass, with a good soil, good enough to touch someone's body when they die;and said, "Yes. I'm going to accept it like this, like a gift came from someone. Fate is unchangeable, no one can oppose it, no one can fight it, but everybody has to accept it, even though it's hard. So, i'll answer yes. I'll accept it, and i accepted it before. I accepted the fact that i'll die."

Paul, on the other hand, couldn't resist anymore what his girlfriend is saying, so, he speak and said, "No, you won't die. If i have to, i would use all my gold and shares, just to cure you. So, we-" Rina touched Paul's lips, and hushed gently, and said, "I don't want to suffer anymore. Do you want me to suffer? I know, you wouldn't like it. See me suffer is very hard for you, right? So i'll end it."

Rina released her index/point finger on Paul's lips, then hugged him. Paul, who's teary eyed already, said, "But i just-" Rina hushed, then said, "I don't want to leave here, leaving you like that. I'll be restless. I'll be a haunting soul, looking for someone who can soothe you. I don't want you to suffer too, so please, don't be sad. Just erase my illness on your mind, and visualize me as clear as the blue sky, as clear as a sanctuary under the sea. Would that be okay? Would that be favorable?" Paul, who got his tounge and mind stunned, just nodded. She added, "Let's make my last minute memorable. Let's meet on the park where we met before, under the big mapple tree, on the bench. Can you fulfill it?" Paul, regained his voice back, said, "Yeah, i will." They did the pinky-finger promise, to prove that it will be a promise. "Okay, then, it's a promise."

Days have passed. Rina became weaker and pale, pale as a vampire. However, she strives and fights harder, just to meet up at the meeting place, to fulfill what she promised. Friday evening, she wrote a letter for Paul, a letter of thanks and goodbye. On the letter, it said:

My beloved Paul,

"I'm so happy you came into my life. I'm so happy that our destinies crossed, followed in meeting each other, and became lovers. You're my answered prayer. You're the greatest gift i ever had. A girl could ask for to a man. You have everything. Stunning good looks, a big heart, heart that loves, and shows great affection."

On the day of the meeting, when Rina came, she saw Paul on the bench, singing. "You'll always be a part of me, I'm part of you definitely, girl don't you know you can't escape me, oh darling 'cause you'll always be my baby. And we'll linger on, time can't erase a feeling this strong, no way you're never gonna shake me, oh darling 'cause you'll always be my baby.." Upon hearing that, Rina decided to approach Paul.

"Am i late? " She asked. "No, i just came here by now." Then, she sat beside Paul, then laid down on Paul's shoulder. Then, Paul held Rina's hands. He felt it's kinda cold, coldness that surrounds him. Then Rina spoke, and said, "Thank you Paul. Thank you for everything. I have no regrets." Then Paul said, "That's nothing. I also want to thank you too. For loving me and being there for me. I love you." Rina replied, "I.. I.. I..." She held her last breathe, and died. Paul knew that this would happen, and he's now prepared for it.

Nights of sadness and depression have passed, and the funeral had gone. Paul recovered from what happened, he finally moved on.

On a monday afternoon, Paul visited at Rina's house, then headed directly to her room. As he entered, a sudden blow of wind followed.

"Nothing has changed, it's quite simple, but elegant". As he entered inside, he noticed a letter on Rina's study table;with Paul's name in it. He slowly grabbed it, and opened it.

Paulo reads.

My beloved Paul,

"I'm so happy you came into my life. I'm so happy that our destinies crossed, followed in meeting each other, and became lovers. You're my answered prayer. You're the greatest gift i ever had. A girl could ask for to a man. You have everything. Stunning good looks, a big heart, heart that loves, and shows great affection."

"Your affection had made me strong all through this years, strong enough to face anything and everything. So i want to thank you for all of that. "

"Goodbye Paul, goodbye. Don't worry, I'm still on you, all of me is still in you. Only my body had passed away, but not my soul, and our memories."

His voice changed as he read the last part.

"Paul. I love you, and that will be..


He smiled but a bit teary and whispered, "For eternity."

[shelter]

@Cake-Kun:

Good effort! A romance short story tinged with a bit of sadness, and then a kind of bittersweet ending... Not my kind of story, but it was worth the read

You need some work on your grammar & tenses, though. It slips in & out of past & present tense, which is confusing to any reader. If you're going to write another story or continue with this one, just keep everything in the past tense. It's easier to handle & easier for the reader to follow too.

Also, other more specific comments on the story:

Spoiler for More Comments:

I try my best not to be too picky when it comes to what happens in a story, but I felt that the timing for Rita's final breath was a bit too convenient? Understood she's saving for her meeting with Paul, but - well - perhaps your intention of allowing her to finally pass on in Paul's arms is there.

Lastly, this phrase caught my attention -

"Yes. I'm going to accept it like this, like a gift came from someone. Fate is unchangeable, no one can oppose it, no one can fight it, but everybody has to accept it, even though it's hard. So, i'll answer yes. I'll accept it, and i accepted it before. I accepted the fact that i'll die."

Philosophical? Your take on life? A bit ironic, I felt: for someone willing to struggle against her fate & wait till she sees Paul before she dies, Rita is doing the exact opposite of what she accepts.

But I think I'm reading too deep into it Don't take it too seriously.

Again, good story.

[Cake-kun]

@ shelter:

Thanks. :] well, i'll admit, i'm not too good at english. (unlike before.) But well, i'll try to correct my faults next time i create a story.

Thanks for the comments and compliments. ;]

[whitepearl]

Originally Posted by shelter

Also, other more specific comments on the story:

Spoiler for More Comments:

I try my best not to be too picky when it comes to what happens in a story, but I felt that the timing for Rita's final breath was a bit too convenient? Understood she's saving for her meeting with Paul, but - well - perhaps your intention of allowing her to finally pass on in Paul's arms is there.

This has little to do with the story but more with the point you brought up about "convenience."

Spoiler for an anecdote that relates to said "convenience":

A former neighbor of mine (a very elderly man) died a few weeks ago. He was driving in his car on his way back home where his wife was waiting (she doesn't know how to drive). Just as he pulled into his driveway and put his car into "park" was the moment of his death. It made me wonder if other forces were at play, whether he actually made sure to live long enough just to make it home safely one final time.

So I guess it is possible for people to squeeze out a few extra seconds or minutes to be with the one person they cherish one last time? Just speculating, as I don't know of any other examples of this taking place. It could also just be a coincidence.

[whitepearl]

I took the advice of Mystique and revised what I had written. I see myself changing things again since I'm never satisfied with what I write.

Spoiler for I don't know what the title should be:

Chapter 1

There was something about Hayden Black’s first day of high school that made it very... memorable. It wasn’t the unseasonably mild weather or the fact he ran back home twice to get his wallet and binder. No, what it made it memorable was the fact a girl Hayden had never seen before actually approached him and talked to him.

The girl was named Heather Grey. She was not a big-name celebrity; she, like Hayden, was just a student looking forward to her first day of school at Benjamin Bradford High School.

Just what made Heather so special? In reality, nothing really made her that special. But how they first conversed with each other was quite comical; they only talked to each other because Heather had mistaken him for someone else.

Hayden was just minding his business, worrying that he might be late for class, when he felt someone tap his shoulder. He turned around, unsure who it was.

“Braden? Is that you?” she asked, simultaneously displaying utter shock and awe. “I thought you moved. Why are you here?”

Hayden, nervous like a newly-bought puppy and confused like a chicken seeing its reflection, responded to Heather by asking her how she knew him.

“You don’t remember me from junior high school last year? I’m Heather, Heather Grey? We took Earth Science together?”

Hayden shook his head. “My name is Hayden, not Braden. I don’t know who you think I am and I don’t know who you are.”

It took Heather a couple seconds to realize what her mistake was. “Oh, my God! I am SO sorry!” she uttered aloud, all while hiding her blushing face. “I really thought you were someone else. I’m sorry, please forgive me.”

“Uh, it’s fine,” Hayden said, timidly. He didn’t think there could’ve been anyone that looked just like him, with the same short, black hair or with the same pale skin complexion. Maybe she thought he was Braden because of the eyes? Hayden had no idea, and was left feeling completely awkward. Heather then darted off into the crowd, hoping that she could forget everything.

“Wait! Wait!” Hayden called out desperately, but to no avail. She was already gone.

While Heather was hoping Hayden could forget the whole thing, she didn’t know that Hayden never forgets.

He stood on the sidewalk dumbfounded. He couldn’t think clearly and all he could think about was Heather. He thought her light blue eyes and flowing blonde hair complimented each other well. She did have a retainer on, which added a slight lisp to her voice. Hayden didn’t care about that, though. With her fairly decent physique topped off with a very above-average face, Hayden thought it was love at first sight.

Suddenly, he felt someone’s hand being planted firmly on his right shoulder. “Hayden! What are you staring at?” called out a voice.

Hayden was left feeling disoriented once his train of thought about Heather was derailed. “Jocelyn?” he asked aloud before realizing she was standing right behind him. “Oh, it’s you. Nothing, just some girl who walked past.”

“How could you say it was nothing?” asked Jocelyn incredulously just before giving him a light slap on his forearm. “I saw you talking to that chick. Kinda cute isn’t she?” she asked, while jabbing Hayden’s sides with her elbows.

“I guess she is,” Hayden said, albeit reluctantly.

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to downplay it because I am here, right?” Jocelyn laughed. “That’s what makes you so cute, Hayden!”

“I guess so,” Hayden replied, with his voice slightly trailing off at the end. He let out a sigh afterwards.

“You guess? C’mon, don’t be so glum! It’s the first day of school! We’re finally freshmen! Aren’t you excited?”

Hayden gave no answer.

Jocelyn looked away and then stared back towards Hayden with squinting eyes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought someone just ran over your dog, even though you don’t have one,” she remarked while putting on a sneering a face.

Jocelyn White was a girl that befriended Hayden during junior high school. They became good friends as they had class together during all three of their junior high school years. With the both of them starting high school together, Jocelyn was hopeful she could have classes with Hayden again.

She decided to change the subject of conversation, in order to cheer up Hayden. “So, Hayden, do you notice anything different about me?” she asked, while she spun herself around, hoping that Hayden could pinpoint every physical difference.

“No,” Hayden replied back, sounding as if he were completely uninterested.

Jocelyn pouted. “You didn’t even look! C’mon, it’s easy!”

Hayden unwillingly stopped to glance at Jocelyn. “Your hair looks a little different,” he said indifferently. “I guess that’s it?”

“Your observation skills suck,” remarked Jocelyn, “but at least you noticed my hair. I got it cut over the summer. Did you not notice my teeth?” Jocelyn then smiled for Hayden. It was only then did he realize that Jocelyn no longer had braces. “They got taken off, like, a couple weeks after graduation,” she said, still smiling and showing off her pearly whites. I wished they took ‘em off earlier so that I could’ve had my smile. Now I gotta live with my graduation pics looking like I got steel in my mouth.”

“You still looked pretty that day, though,” said Hayden. “You really did.”

“Thanks, Hay!” Jocelyn then wrapped her arm around Hayden, clinging to him as they continued to walk to school. She grinned, knowing that she was going to go to the same school with Hayden once again. She glanced over to see if his face; he still had on his pensive look. She took her arm away from his shoulder and then decided to hold his hand. “Are you nervous, Hay?” she asked, out of concern for her friend.

“A little,” he mumbled while letting go of Jocelyn’s hand. “And I don’t know what was the deal with that girl who thought I was her friend.” Hayden then sighed again. “Why do I always get into these weird situations?”

Jocelyn tried to reassure him that he didn’t. “You’re cool, you don’t get into anything weird,” she said, evoking that typical glowing optimism of hers. “I think you’re a cool guy—doesn’t that mean anything?”

Hayden hesitated to respond. His shoulders moved by a fraction of an inch—a small excuse for a shrug, if anything. He remained tentative with his answers to anything Jocelyn asked during the rest of the time they walked to school.

“C’mon, you big baby...everything will be fine. Lighten up and enjoy your first day of classes, man!” She then gave him a somewhat forceful pat on the back. “Watch us end up in the same classes!”

Jocelyn indeed predicted the future—she and Hayden were in the same homeroom class to start the day. And because everyone in homeroom classes takes the same classes together, they were going to be classmates for the entire year.

Hayden smiled wryly at the news but he was masking his disappointment that Heather, the mystery girl from this morning, was not in his class. He then ordered himself to get over it and to forget about the whole thing.

During breaks in between classes, Jocelyn got Hayden to befriend some of his classmates. There was Andrea Fekete, the self-proclaimed “athlete extraordinaire” of the class. She fit the niche of a tomboy, evident with her wearing a loose-fitting t-shirt with cargo pants featuring cuffs rolled up to her shins. There was also Colin Brown, who had aspirations of joining the boys’ volleyball team. He was a jock, but he was surprisingly very humble and soft-spoken with Hayden and Jocelyn. Hayden noticed that he did seem to talk to Andrea more often than he did with him or Jocelyn. I guess there’s nothing wrong with that, Hayden thought to himself. If he likes her, that’s cool. But then again, if only Heather was in this class...

Of course, Jocelyn took the time to introduce herself, too, making sure to exaggerate her positive qualities. She also introduced Hayden on his behalf. She knew he was still a mess mentally so she made sure to embellish everything about him, as well. Hayden didn’t mind it at all.

“You seem like a cool guy, Hayden,” said Andrea. “You play sports, too? Jocelyn says you play tennis.”

“He does, but I sometimes beat him from time to time,” remarked Jocelyn, who then had a little laugh. Andrea and Colin laughed a little, too. Jocelyn sensed that she was bothering Hayden and thus, she told Andrea that Hayden was still a good tennis player “with a pretty sick serve.”

It was a pretty positive meeting for everyone involved. The boys and girls parted ways because they had gym class. Colin took the time to get to know Hayden a little more. He chatted it up with him during the many moments of down time during the first day of gym; the first real physical activity wasn’t going to take place until Monday.

“Quick question: how long have you known Jocelyn?” he asked. “You two ever date?”

“Date? What?” Hayden asked, while feeling repulsed at the thought of him dating his junior high school friend.

“I would,” replied Colin candidly. “She’s got a nice face, she seems pretty cool—and she’s pretty cool with you, you know? She’s a nice person to hang out with, I think.”

Hayden didn’t want to answer him right away. He was feeling humbled that Jocelyn received so much praise. He also couldn’t fathom himself actually going out with—as well as kiss—someone he only regarded as a friend. Could he really be intimate with her? Hayden didn’t even want to think about it at that point in time nor did he want to discuss it with a stranger.

“Well, if she’s just a friend, that’s cool,” Colin said, retreating from his stance on what he thought Hayden should do with Jocelyn. “I dunno what I’m saying,” he said, while forcing out a light chuckle. “I mean, you’ve seen me talking to Andrea? You think I have a shot?”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed you and her,” said Hayden, finally breaking his silence. “What do you think of her?”

Colin snickered. “Where do I start?” he asked, as he tried to buy himself some more time to formulate a response. In the meantime, his face was slowly becoming more flushed. “I kinda like how she’s an athlete, like me. She wants to make it on to the volleyball team. She also plays softball and basketball. I mean, she can do it all...I’d do it with her.”

“You’d do it with her?” asked Hayden, seemingly slightly appalled at both Colin for his willingness to engage in sexual intercourse with her and his frankness about it. Hayden didn’t know why Colin would be so willing to do “it” with her if he didn’t really know all that well. “You really would?” he asked, still stunned.

“Would you?” asked Colin. “Would you do it with your friend?” he asked, referring to Jocelyn.

“I...I don’t know...I never thought of her like that,” Hayden said, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“A girl that cute...you should at least try to hook up with, don’t you think?” Colin asked. “How about this: maybe you can try to hook up with her and I’ll hook up with Andrea. Sounds like a plan?”

“I don’t know about this,” Hayden said, expressing his doubts.

“Hey, it’ll be cool. If you never had a girlfriend before, don’t sweat it. I never did, either,” said Colin, trying to lull Hayden into feeling more comfortable. “Because, you wanna know something? I don’t know a whole lot of people here. I don’t know about you, but, like, I don’t have a lot of friends. You’re a quiet dude, but you seem cool. We can kinda help each other out, you know what I mean?”

Hayden had some vague idea of what Colin meant. “I think I get it,” Hayden said, albeit reluctantly. “But what do you want from me?”

“Like I said before, you can try to hook up with your friend Jocelyn while I try to hook up with Andrea. We’ll see who gets who first,” said Colin.

Hayden gave himself some time to absorb everything he heard. “So, what do you mean? You want me to try and get with Jocelyn while you go after Andrea? It’s gonna be like a...race?” Hayden asked.

“Exactly! Yeah, I guess it’s a race, or something. But, we could give each other tips, and see what works with the girls and what doesn’t. It’ll be fine,” Colin replied.

“How does one...win?” Hayden asked.

“Simple: whoever can hook up with the girl and snag first as a girlfriend.” Colin took some time to think, and then spoke again immediately. “How about we decide this before Christmas break? Whoever is dating by then or before then wins and the loser has to owe the other guy money.”

There’s gonna be money involved? Hayden asked himself. He then asked Colin the same question, this time aloud.

“Yeah, but not so much. I’m kinda broke myself, so...how about we make it 50 bucks?”

“Fifty?” Hayden asked, as he couldn’t believe that was the price Colin settled on.

Colin knew he was reaching too high and then suggested a more manageable prize of 35 dollars for the victor.

The amount of money was more reasonable for Hayden but now he began to feel more worried. As he worried, there was a feeling of uneasiness in the air; accepting Colin’s terms was like selling his soul away. Colin grinned while Hayden deliberated with himself. Colin’s smile just didn’t feel reassuring one bit.

But, for whatever reason, Hayden agreed to Colin’s terms.

“Okay, I guess we can do that,” he said.

“Nice,” replied Colin. “Good luck.”

They shook hands. Colin's firm grip made it difficult for Hayden to wriggle his hand free; as if he wanted to prove to him that he couldn’t wriggle his way out of this agreement now.

With that handshake, the “race for love” officially began. There was no starter’s pistol, but Hayden still imagined hearing a loud bang in his ears—he had no idea what he just got himself into.

[Arceon]

Well seeing as I had positive feedback for Part One I thought I'd write another part. Though, I do suppose the initial line could use something.

Anyway:

Spoiler:

Chapter One ~ Part Two ~ Eternity

An imposing aura of might, or rather existence lay upon the skyline of this great city in the midst of this cold barren world. It was the only thing that seemed to stand on these cracked grounds and the only thing that stood under the bloodied skies. It was dark and forbidding and the small insignificant blue lights that the buildings threw off were instantly engulfed in this maze of metal, and above it all loomed the tallest tower which seemed to touch the heavens. Or rather scratch the surface of Hell.

Atop the tower, in its center layed a small room. A vast circular and empty room with a lone desk in the middle, and a man who sat in the middle. This man, covered in a shroud of darkness as the only lights glowed a bare dim blue, sat with his head rested on the backs of his interlocked hands leaning on the table seemingly in deep thought. He sat there forever like this until the door to this chamber was opened, at which he lift his head up very slightly.

"Sir. There has been another runaway. He's the fourth one of this week. Our records say his name was "Jathiel Jacobs", spoke a slender figure standing in the doorway, "These increasing rates are starting to worry the people, sir."

The man sat as ever still as before, any facial features were masked by the darkness surrounding him.

Finally, he spoke, "It was only time after all, it seems. . . .some of them are learning of the lie of an existence they live. We cannot stop them. . . . . .however, send this matter to the councils.", he spoke in a lamenting tone, with wisdom impressed in his words, "They, already know my decision."

The figure turned, the doors emitting a soft click as they shut. He resumed his pose of deep thought, staring blankly at the door. Thinking.

Sorry if it seems rather short. They always look longer in the reply composition.

[Mystique]

Just a reminder since its 1st Aug today that the http://100words.com/ - challenge begins! Write 100 words in a day for the month, i sent off an email to asking bout what happens if you mis like 2 days (get disqualified) - but im going to be offline for a spell this month, so waiting for a reply to see if there's a way around it else i'll try it and see how far i can get, lol.

The latest batch of stories peeps have posted here are saved on word, i'll finish reading/commenting on them sometime in the next week ^^

keep em coming!

[Nocturne]

Love those writing challenges, Mystique. I'll have to check that one out.

[Nervous Venus]

Regarding 100words.com, the site doesn't actually keep track or disqualify people automatically. They have no possible way of knowing that you cheated. Some people prefer to write their entire entries offline and fill them in later (before the deadline). It's just more fun to split brain cells over cramping for 100 words a day, rather than doing it whenever. But either way, it really helps to keep the creative juices flowing.

[Mystique]

Originally Posted by Nervous Venus

Regarding 100words.com, the site doesn't actually keep track or disqualify people automatically. They have no possible way of knowing that you cheated. Some people prefer to write their entire entries offline and fill them in later (before the deadline). It's just more fun to split brain cells over cramping for 100 words a day, rather than doing it whenever. But either way, it really helps to keep the creative juices flowing.

I was referring more to the fact that I'll miss two days to post an entry. They said we're allowed 1 day of missing and backdating, but I wasn't sure about 2 or more, hence i was concerned.
Nonetheless I've started it, 2 days in, so will see how it goess ^^

Next post to follow is in response to the latest batch of stories posted, prob will end up a DP, hence warning in advance.

[Mystique]

Right, here we go again!
Each person's stuff is spoilered within a spoiler and goodness knows what other bb code tags i've overdosed on, lol. Because spoilers place text in a box the same as quotes (grr), I've bolded+italic my comments in the middle of your stories, so you know it's from me.
Going in order of post, so let's begin

First off is Arceon

Spoiler for Arceon's part one:

really have no idea, I've been roleplaying a lot for the last three years so my writing style borrows from a lot of people, it can be quite chaotic at times. And only when I feel like it, which means I don't write often but I get comments saying my stories are sometimes. . .different. This is just a rewrite of one of my older ones.


Chapter 1 ~ Part One ~ Their screams die off in the distance.

I ran.

I ran until my legs were sore,and my breath and hope were both lost. I ran from that place until it was well out of my view only to regret running here in the first place. I came from a death stricken place and only arrived in a new one. This is a never-ending wasteland. . .no, this is just pure hell.

The fates have casted me here, to be born on this planet, for which reason I do not know. This. . .place, in which nothing thrives, and where our only star is swallowed by the blood stricken sky that looms over us. What did I do in a past life to deserve this? Why God?

"No. . .there is no God."

Those words escaped my lips solemnly as I looked over to the horizon, as I looked at the corpses that lay just past the city from which I fled. The countless battles to take the only piece of land that seemed habitable, until we were few in number, and until finally we secured it.

For what?

We destroyed that land like many others, and I watched it become abused, mined, and die along with the rest of this forsaken planet. . . .

I remember tales of this place in its past, when buildings reached up and touched the heavens, where people talked about an everlasting era of peace. . .and prosperity, and where everyone thrived and lived an existence nothing like my own. If only they could see us now. . .

"Now, I see it's hopeless to run. . .there is no escape. . no, there is one. . ."

With those grief stricken words this lone man, slowly walked to one of the many bullet stricken corpses that lay in the old battlefield below. He picked up one of the weapons strewn about and slowly pointed it toward his head.

That shot rang out, only to die out in the streets of a city that had already forgotten him.

Ooooh, delightfully tragic, usually customary from post apocalyptic stories. The only thing that slightly confuzzled me was your use of person. For most part, it looked like you were writing from 1st person (I, me) portraying your thoughts to us the audience of the desolate world that you live in.
But then you go into

With those grief stricken words this lone man, slowly walked to one of the many bullet stricken corpses that lay in the old battlefield below. He picked up one of the weapons strewn about and slowly pointed it toward his head.

And I lose sense of who we’re looking at now. Is this the same person whose thoughts we had just been reading or another character near the protagonist.
Aside from that it’s a good start for the scene that’s set up and the sense of hopelessness and death of the land that the character is in.
Gonna post anymore?

As it turns out, you posted a part 2 anyways , so this is my reply to your part two about 2 weeks after I read the initial one. ^^

Spoiler for part 2:

I don’t have much qualms with this. It keeps with the similar tone of part one and relates to some kinda authority figure who’s very cool amd composed for the moment, brings this air of mystery as to just how much of a bad guy he is (or could be, lol)
Short and sweet, keep em coming ^^

K, next is Usuratonkachi's girl in the bar story

Originally Posted by Usuratonkachi

@Mystique:
Meh, we don't have local libraries that offer English novels around here...I live in remote Switzerland.... So I usually just buy the books. ^^;

- Ah I see
I guess since I live in a capital city, libraries are a dime a dozen, so I take for granted that we have lots of resources here compared to peeps who may be in the countryside >.>
In that case, if you have any particular favs of romancey novels of hers (did I link you to her website I wonder) I can give you a rough rundown on each story, character and general feel to see if you like it before you actually go spend money on it ^^;;
Whenever you’re ready, come bug me on my profile or PM or in the “dead poets society” club and I’ll try to get you started.
For now (hurray) more “girl in bar” story for me ^^

Spoiler for bargirl tale:

Hum, well, I don't have anything new that's readable as a stand-alone...so I thought I'd upload the next little tidbit of that girl entering the bar story. Timeline is wonky, it pretty goes back in the past when compared with the bar sequence...hope you'll be able to understand it.

By all means, this is definitely no final draft, so I'll probably keep changing words/numbers/details and whatnot. I'm just not too satisfied with this chapter...it seems to be too superficial in a sense. But I'll wait and see if any of you have opinions on it.

Spoiler for No Title Yet!:

Spoiler for Chapter One:

They chose a spot several hours by car from the city where many farmers resided with nothing more than endless fields of rice, wheat and vegetables. Barely six trains stopped at the local station during the day and the only cars were those that chose to stray from the motorway to drive through the small villages on a street that really looked too narrow for two cars to be lined side by side.

Walking slowly along that road were Hoki Tomoe and Matsudaira Rena, dressed in long skirts and heavy jackets and each carrying old rucksacks on their backs. Tomoe walked in front with both hands stuffed into her skirt pockets, more out of habit than anything else. Behind her followed Rena, her short, brown hair easy caught and tossed by the occasional wind. Every few steps, she half turned and looked over her shoulder.

“I can’t believe I agreed to do this,” Rena growled after being met with an empty road once again. “Since Ken dropped us off three hours ago, only four cars have passed; three of which were going in the opposite direction! What if no one picks us up by night?”

Tomoe rolled her eyes and reached up to tuck her long hair behind her ear before stopping and turning around to confront her seething counterpart.

“Complaining isn’t going to get us the money we want, Rena,” she said firmly, meeting Rena’s dark glare with her own sharp look. “Just in case that squishy brain of yours has forgotten already – “

“Hey, hey, you picking a fight, huh?”

“ – I’ll explain once again, so someone even with your infantile IQ can understand,” Tomoe continued unflustered, absently pushing away the hand that had grabbed a fistful of her jacket at the collar. “We chose this area exactly because there aren’t many cars that drive by. It serves several reasons. One, because if no one else is around to help us, the people in the car feel that they are the only ones who can, which increases the probability that someone will let us hitch-hike with them. Two, when we demand the money off the driver, there won’t be people to whom the driver can call help for.”

“I know that, dumbass, I didn’t need you to tell me,” Rena spat, throwing her a last glare before sidestepping her and walking on.

“There are, of course, other reasons, but they’re a little too strenuous for those too fatuous to comprehend,” Tomoe said offhanded and followed a few strides behind.

There was a moment’s pause that stretched unnaturally before Rena glanced over her shoulder with a scowl. “I’m not fat, dumbass.”

Tomoe just shrugged, and when her companion turned back around, she laughed silently at the poor, pitiful girl walking in front of her. People like her who did not have enough vocabulary to understand a sentence with a few unusual words, and could do nothing more than repeat several swearwords. Tomoe’s everyday life had very recently been filled with these intelligently-challenged delinquents of the city alleys.

It wasn’t that she hated her life, not exactly. She was just…bored.

In her opinion, her life so far had been ridiculously simple and almost disgustingly perfect.

The large Hoki family had, for the past two generations, produced a number of outstanding individuals, and were fairly well known in society. Tomoe’s father, for example, was currently the Senior Vice-Minister of Defence, and was rumoured to be taking over the position of Minster of Defence soon, since the current Minister was already in hospital due to an illness. Her mother had always worked as a school teacher, and was now the headmistress of the elite Kouran All-Girls High School. Other than that, her uncle was one of the top five lawyers in the country, and her second uncle was a famous architect.

Being the only child, her parents seemed to be expecting a lot of her. They had placed her in only the best of schools from kindergarten to high school and had already selected a number of universities, to which she had sent in her applications the previous spring. In two months, she was scheduled to take the entrance examinations.

But she was sick and tired of it all. She was tired of pretending to be the obedient daughter who studied hard and earned top grades all for the sake of meeting her parents’ expectations. Because she wasn’t obedient, and she felt disgusted each time she put up a false smile. She didn’t want to hear their praise anymore and didn’t want to see their looks of pride.

Her patience had snapped several weeks ago when her father had announced he would start looking for appropriate men to whom she would marry once she graduated university. Arranged marriages that were to happen five years from now! Was it not enough for him that he had already dictated her life up until this point? What was she, his puppet?

If that was how he saw her, she was out to prove him wrong. She would not sit still and let her family pull the strings. She would go as far as disgracing him and rubbing dirt on the Hoki name, no matter how low she had to stoop to achieve her goal.

Blackmailing money off people was nothing compared to what she was prepared to do. But, well, at the moment, her delinquent friends were not yet willing enough to downright break the laws, which was why Tomoe had settled to volunteering for this role. In time, things would start to work in her favour.

Smiling slightly at the thought, Tomoe threw a quick glance backwards and then turned around fully.

“Hey, Rena, Rena!” she said in barely concealed excitement, reaching blindly behind her to snag her companion’s jacket. “Look!”

Rena quickly came to stand next to Tomoe, and their faces broke out into sincere smiles at the sight of a dark car heading towards them under the afternoon sun. As one, they stretched out their arms as the car drew closer and waited with held breaths.

Even though she wasn’t extremely knowledgeable with cars and mechanics, Tomoe guessed this black one approaching them was not an expensive model. It certainly didn’t look expensive or even new for that matter. The black surface lacked any gloss and was flecked with dirt and the windows were covered with dust or dried water stains.

“Bet you it won’t stop,” Rena mumbled into Tomoe’s ear.

“2000 yen if it does, then,” Tomoe replied, though she was beginning to feel she had already lost that money since the car didn’t appear to be slowing down at all. She pursed her lips and waved her outstretched arm and even tried to bow politely.

All for nothing, however, as the car drove right on and both Tomoe and Rena lowered their hands with slumped shoulders. Tomoe sighed and threw her head back to the innocent sky – only to snap to attention and spin around at the sound of wheels breaking against the concrete.

The two girls stared at the stationary car and then at each other in silent disbelief. Tomoe was the first to grin and she immediately jogged over to where the car stood. The front window rolled open and she paused for a second, curious as to why the steering wheel was place on the left side. Was it foreign made?

“Where to?”

Pulling away from pointless musings, Tomoe focused on the man sitting behind the wheel. He looked young, possibly still in his twenties, with black hair that was tied at his nape. His eyes were covered with dark sports sunglasses.

A polite smile came easily to Tomoe’s lips as she bent down a little to be eye level with the man. “We’re heading to Tokyo city, but anywhere close by is fine. Please, sir, could we hitch a ride with you?”

The man regarded her for a moment and then turned to face the front with a nod.

“I’m on my way to Kawasaki,” he said. “I’ll drop you off in Tokyo.”

Tomoe smiled and bowed low. “Thank you very much!”

The two of them quickly opened the back door and Tomoe got in first. As she ducked, she whispered quietly into Rena’s ear, “I win.”

For a while they drove in peace with Rena and Tomoe sharing small talk and exchanging polite conversation with the driver. At least, they tried to converse with him, but he hardly gave answers that were more than three words long. So far they had found out his name, Hashibara Jun, that he liked to drive and that the car was, indeed, foreign made.

“What sort of job are you doing, sir?” Rena asked, trying to keep the conversation alive. “Forgive me, but you don’t look like a local farmer.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Then you work in the city?” Tomoe asked. “In Tokyo or Kawasaki?”

“No.”

She decided to change the subject. “Why were you driving along this road anyways, sir? It’s much quicker to Kawasaki if you use the motorway.” Then she grinned playfully and leaned forward. “Let me guess, is it because you’re pretty picky about money and want to save the motorway fees?”

Briefly, Hashibara’s lips quirked upwards at her comment and Tomoe laughed, shifting forward a little more, resting her forearms on her legs, so that her face was between the two front headrests.

“I knew it! But you know, if you weren’t stingy, we would never have met you and we’d probably still be stuck back there. Thank you.” She pitched her voice low and soft. Hashibara merely nodded.

“But!” Tomoe chimed, her light-hearted grin back in place. “Please don’t try to get money off us for the car trip, sir! There’s a reason we were hitch-hiking after all.”

Again, that half smiling quirked lip, and then, “I know.”

“In fact,” Tomoe continued, silently drawing a knife from where it was strapped to her leg, and the merriment disappeared from her voice and face. In one smooth motion, she lifted the knife and placed the tip of the blade against Hashibara’s bare neck.

“Keep driving,” she ordered as soon as the man’s shoulders went tense. “You see, in fact, we were wondering if you could be so kind as to lend us some money, Mister Hashibara.”

“You…” the man began, but then paused and bit his lower lip in what seemed to be anxiety. Tomoe passed it off as a normal reaction. “I…I don’t have a lot of money.”

“That’s alright, we aren’t planning on bankrupting you of your pocket money,” she replied smoothly. “We just need around 50,000 yen. Surely you have that much.”

“No, no, I don’t, I – “

Rena cut him off just then with a few buttons of her mobile phone. Within seconds, someone picked up on the other end.

“Hey Ken, it’s me, Rena. Yeah, we’ve got one. His car’s license plate is Nerima 540, sa 34-82… yeah, let us know when you’ve managed to hack into the data… alright, make it quick.”

“You know, I’m surprised you managed to memorise that,” Tomoe commented as soon as Rena snapped her phone shut.

“I typed it into my phone memo when he stopped. See, I told you I’m not stupid.”

Tomoe simply shrugged and then returned her full focus to Hashibara. Just as she was about to start talking to him again, however, he beat her to it.

“I see. Wait in the country for a lone car to pick you up, threaten him and then track his identity with the license plate, and steal money with some blackmail.” He smirked. “Not bad for a bunch of pranksters.”

Tomoe frowned. “Careful Hashibara, your life is in my hands,” she warned quietly. But on the inside, she was becoming worried. He was suddenly behaving too calm compared to his previous stuttering. It could have been a bluff, but his tone alone made her feel strangely uneasy.

“I have a few questions, if you would allow me so much,” he went on, seemingly undisturbed with the knife that was practically resting against his skin. He sat still and drove the car steadily as if nothing was wrong with the situation.

“Go on, I’ll answer if I feel like it,” Tomoe replied. She saw Rena throwing her a frown, but they had to wait a while for Ken’s return-call in any case, and to keep him talking would prevent him from thinking up ways of escaping.

“Since when were you walking around on that road?”

“Noon.”

“So no one picked you up in three and a half hours? No other cars drive by?”

That was the longest string of words Tomoe had heard him say, and that small revelation was disconcerting. Something was not quite right, but that something was eluding her, hovering just beyond her reach.

She heard Rena answering the questions, but Tomoe was busy looking around the car. He wasn’t a cop, was he? Or a lawyer? There was nothing that indicated his occupation. In fact, there were hardly any personal belongings at all. Not even a bottle of water or some snacks, which were bound to be in any car during long trips. It was almost as if –

“Too slow.”

The words jarred Tomoe out of her thoughts and she frowned, trying to make some sense of them. But before she could do anything, something seemed to strike her square in the back of her head and her entire body lurched forward without warning. He hit the brakes! she thought for the span of a heartbeat, and then her mind went frighteningly blank when her head collided painfully against the front seat.

It must have been just seconds, but it felt like eternity by the time Tomoe had fought down the nausea and blinked away the bright flashes of light on the back of her eyelids.

Everything was now still and Tomoe tried to push herself away from front seat. It was then that she realised her physical discomfort wasn’t entirely from being slammed forward. Her right wrist was trapped in front of her and was twisting her whole body into an awkward angle.

As if waking from a bad dream, everything came back to her. She snapped her head up and was greeted with Hashibara smiling crookedly at her, her wrist held firmly in his large hand. Furiously, Tomoe attempted to yank her hand back and when that didn’t work she tried to twist her wrist enough to be able to harm him in any way with the knife.

“Let go, you bastard!” she snarled, almost managing to slit his forearm, but she grimaced as his fingers tightened into a bruising grip and she lost her hold on the hilt with a gasp of pain.

“You really shouldn’t be playing with these,” he commented casually, snatching the knife by the blade. Without taking his eyes off Tomoe and not relenting his grip on her either, he tossed the weapon lightly into the air and caught it again by the hilt.

“Who are you?” Tomoe asked, since that was the only phrase that came to her lips. There was no way he was a normal businessman.

“Your Devil and your Saviour.”

“What?” Was he serious?

“I wouldn’t try that, if I were you.”

Confused, Tomoe glanced to her side and saw Rena frozen in the act of trying to slide a smaller pocket knife through the gap between the head rest and the seat. Under any other circumstance, Tomoe would have been fairly irritated by the foolish act, since there were clearly many more subtle and effective ways of catching the man off guard. Yanking on his seat belt or snaking an arm from the window side and getting his neck were two of the most instantaneous ideas. But now, she was feeling vexed only because the plot that could have given them their freedom had failed.

Rena hesitated for a moment, and Tomoe swore that glint in her companion’s eyes wasn’t good a sign.

“Rena, don’t – “ she found herself warning, but it was fractions too late.

Everything in the next several seconds was a chaotic blur.

With an animalistic war-cry, Rena lunged forward with the short blade, intent on attacking anything that came in its way. Hashibara was forced to release Tomoe so that the knife didn’t plunge into her elbow. Tomoe immediately threw her entire weight backwards but the blade still clipped her along the forearm.

Then Hashibara suddenly had a gun in his hand and no sooner had Tomoe realised this than the car was filled with a deafening bang mixed with a horrified shriek.

And after that, there was only a ringing silence.

<random side thought #1>
the extensive use of ‘dumbass’ from rena, made me think of her as really young/immature – although you did break down the reason why she uses such limited vocab. I couldn’t help but think and smile to myself, since you’ve based the characters with Japanese names with Japanese lives (tomoe being sole child in prestigious family, going to best schools and entering entrance exams and getting arranged marriages) that you just translated the common use of ‘baka’ for rena speech. It works in Japanese, but in English…well she isn’t meant to be bright so I guess it serves it’s purpose
</end random thought>

Tomoe just shrugged, and when her companion turned back around, she laughed silently at the poor, pitiful girl walking in front of her.

Then we get a lil background on Tomoe’s frustration of her perfect life, which then continues to this:

Smiling slightly at the thought, Tomoe threw a quick glance backwards and then turned around fully.

Be careful of the position of your characters

*reads the rest of story*
mellow
More. Now. *remembers her manners*
Please. >.>
You have pretty awesome bait, I’m hooked.

Next person is Claude_Desravines

Spoiler for between pathetic and charming:

This was a part of a short story assignment for some class, and it seemed to totally polarize my classmates; some were offended, others loved it. I've edited it slightly for this post--replacing a couple of f-bombs with ****. I think I caught them all, so...I swear like no one's business...if anything needs redacting, let me know. I'd rather not rock the boat so soon after joining.

Between Pathetic and Charming

You look at me from across the table, your hesitant, smoky grin flashing along the rim of a glass filled with a wine whose name you mispronounced only minutes earlier. Your face flushes with the same burgundy wash that falls in drops onto the white linen tablecloth, and I can't help but smile.

You are at once wide-eyed and self-conscious, but stare at your surroundings with an assuredness that comes from apathy; you say you'll never meet any of these people again, so, you muse, what does it matter what they think? Yours isn't a blatant kind of rudeness, simply a naivete you could never let go of. I warn that that makes you vulnerable, but you shrug it off, saying vulnerability is nothing shameful.

Admittedly, I am bored. Any attempt to elicit an opinion or conviction from you is met with the same blase relativism, the kind no one can effectively argue against without becoming infuriated. At some point you melt away into the art nouveau ambiance, into the rest of the bistro, your voice simply a note in the greater movement of the scene.

But you tap my leg with your foot, and make silly, out of place faces, and it's then I realize that you're not wearing Abercrombie and Fitch; that your hair isn't cropped up into that ubiquitous faux-hawk, bleached at the tips, hair shining like the goddamned lighthouse of Alexandria. Your relativistic attitude makes sense to you, because what meaning or sense the world has belongs to you.

We're surrounded by so many people, but I feel a kind of isolation; all around us is black, the only light reflected in the dinnerware and glasses. In time with your foot against my leg, I realize how ridiculous it all is; that we've tried to follow a meaningless route to each other, that we play a game of no rules by some arbitrary, irrelevant standards. The bill is coldly plopped onto the table, and I notice we both roll our eyes.

We're thinking the same thing, apparently, because I can feel my lips move in the same devilish direction as yours. I offer a strategy, and you augment it with whatever strategems you've devised throughout your own travels. We agree silently, a yes replaced with a knowing wink, and a "ready-steady-go" with the adagio movements of our arms.

You say that the food wasn't so good, and I concur, adding that our bill shouldn't put too big of a dent in the waiter's pay. Satisfied, justified, we exit arm-in-arm, and like Lot, fight the urge to look backwards.

The street is bathed in the orange light of the city coated in fog, the brick sidewalks shining in the chance silence of 11pm. I ask you where we're walking. You ask why I need a plan. I don't reply, opting simply to follow you. You playfully try to match your footsteps with mine, knowing how that irks me; and for that you get a slap on the arm and a string of epithets ending in "bastard." You laugh inaudibly, your breath's evaporating wisps the only indication of your voice.

The air is calm. Nothing seems appropriate to say. Your coat seems heavy, and I want you to take it off. I don't say this, because I don't like to share my desires, but you reach out and place your cold hand on the back of my neck, and I forget what I had only seconds earlier wanted.

That moment arrives, where I'm stuck between not wanting to feel lonely for the night, but not wanting the attachment that people wake up with in my bed, next to me, the next morning. You say you'd kiss me goodnight, but you'd rather spend the night. I feel sick to my stomach at this, fearing that four letter word that's seemingly been at the crest of your lips all night.

Love. Ridiculous. Love is what people call the resolution between the primal instinct to reproduce, and the socially enforced notion of shame attached to that instinct. I invite him in nonetheless, because anything's better than loneliness.

He seats himself on the couch, trying to conceal his laughter at my attempts to be a good host. The cup of coffee I offered, shakes with my hand as I extend it to the table in front of him. Turning away, I don't notice his arm whip out with cobra-like precision and grasp my wrist. I pivot back to face him, a slight scowl already taking shape across my face.

He says simply that he wants to f***. I sigh in relief. He says he doesn't believe in love, and I smile in agreement. We f***.

When I wake up, I catch myself thinking, trying to make a choice. My neighbors upstairs are playing a sonata on their piano while the pre-dawn shades of violet and grey pour in through my window. He's asleep next to me.

I want him to leave and never come back. I want all of that for myself. The dinner, the pretentious bistro, the fog and light, the cold hand on my neck, the sound of the ceramic coffee mug against the glass table, the light through the window and the distant music--I want it all for myself.

He smiles gently as he gets dressed, and without a word, slips out the front door. I watch from my window as he fades into those ephemeral frames of morning. Closing the blinds, I can still smell him, and I smile.

Wow Claude, I had to concentrate a little for this, and don my English literature glasses on, cause this is the kind of writing that it feels that it’s for. Very meticulously written in vocabulary and ambience, it’s not something that’s easy going and flows well, the vocab and cultural references in there are not commonplace for it. It’s not so much a criticism, so don’t fret, I’m simply describing the feel of the story by its structure, theme and pace.
For some reason from the paragraph you wrote about having no confidence with posting this, I had you pinned as a guy and thus read half of this with the speaker as a male (it seemed to fit)
So when I came across this paragraph (which I adore)

Love. Ridiculous. Love is what people call the resolution between the primal instinct to reproduce, and the socially enforced notion of shame attached to that instinct. I invite him in nonetheless, because anything's better than loneliness.

I was kinda like ‘woah’ – The speaker is either a woman or is gay.
Safe to say maybe… it’s a woman? And if so, wow she’s very very very pragmatic and non whimsical, what happened to her for her to view life as she does and to feel about love the way she does? Kinda fuelled my curiosity there as to what you were thinking when you wrote this. Was it reflected of your own thoughts or your mood or did the character just come to you as she was?
I’m not sure where the offence may have come from when others read this. The use of expletives is apt, very very apt. The tone of the entire story and the description of the scene and the analysis of her thoughts and view of life already sets that ‘I don’t want the frills and spills and mushiness, I just want things simple, uncomplicated and done and let me move on already.’
I was kinda expecting it as the four letter word instead of ‘love’ – but that paragraph as I’ve quoted is the key to it all for me, it kinda was the turn to clarity on an unsure path I was on when I began reading it.
It’s the first instance of gender description of the person she’s looking at and it clearly states what she’s looking for, if the night should it come to that.
For a woman though, it seems kinda sad. She’s not an action person, shoving her feelings to the side to play with the boys and fight with them, she’s not a politician having again to be that pragmatic to stay atop there, there’s no real struggle or fight which may shape a human as such, it’s just a random calm night and for some reason I assumed it was the thoughts from a man, lol.
(Yes, the one night stand based of the feelings of the character as described, instinctively I’d have associated to a man as a writer myself)
Certainly keeps us on our toes either way, very nice piece of fiction. Give yourself a break and up the self confidence a little, okay?

In regards to this:

Originally Posted by claude

Hm, only my second post. I'm exceptionally secretive and insecure about my writing, so I'm surprised I'm even going to share.

It’s more a case of having to let your creation, something spawn from either your or deepest recesses of your subconscious and imagination to expose to the rest of he world. In a sense, it’s a piece of you and any kind of reaction to a sensitive person is positively nerve racking, lol.
This isn’t limited to writing, it’s to most creative arts, be it playwriting, painting, fiction, composing music, writing lyrics and so on.
Just think of stripping naked and having to stand in the park, bare to all. (Short of being an exhibitionist)
It’d most likely be embarrassing, nerve racking, or to personalise things a little, think of it as the first time of stripping naked for the first time to someone you care about.
To some artists, they can never be so objective about parting with their work to pass to others, but it is part of the process of having to grow and mature in our crafts. We're our own worst enemies/critics, so a pair of eyes that isn’t our own is always valuable

Right continuing on, next is Cake-kun!

Spoiler for cake-kun's tale:

a short story created by mine.

(names and places mentioned are not on my intention, it's just a co-incidence that i used it.)

Rina, a stage-4 cancer patient had only had one week life span. she's really depressed when she knew about it, but she knew that she couldn't do anything about it, so she accepted it fully. while her boyfriend, Paul couldn't accept the truth, that her girlfriend will die after one week.

One monday afternoon, while Rina is on the garden, watching the butterflies touch the flower's beauty, and smelling the flower's sweet scent, and singing with the nature, under the shade of a sturdy oak tree, Paul came, brought some chrysanthemums, Rina's favorite flowers.

As soon he entered the garden, he heared Rina singing a song, titled over it by Katherine McPhee.

"Wanting you to be wanting me, no that ain't no way to be. How i feel, read my lips, beacause i'm so over-" She suddenly stopped, knowing that Paul's presence is near her.

"Come on Paul, i know you're there. come here." As soon as those words came out of Rina's mouth, Paul came. "How you'd know i'm here?" he asked. "Your scent is unique, it's one of a kind. It's easy to notice." As soon as those words start to enter Paul's mind and ears, he handed over the chrysanthemums to Rina, then followed by a kiss on the cheek.

"You brought this again. Thanks." then she smiled. Then, a silence occurs on the two of them. After a minute of silence, Paul break the silence, then said, "You're just going to accept it like a gift came from someone?" Then a sad expression follows. Rina stood up from the the giant roots of the oak tree, that's full of trimmed grass, with a good soil, good enough to touch someone's body when they die;and said, "Yes. I'm going to accept it like this, like a gift came from someone. Fate is unchangeable, no one can oppose it, no one can fight it, but everybody has to accept it, even though it's hard. So, i'll answer yes. I'll accept it, and i accepted it before. I accepted the fact that i'll die."

Paul, on the other hand, couldn't resist anymore what his girlfriend is saying, so, he speak and said, "No, you won't die. If i have to, i would use all my gold and shares, just to cure you. So, we-" Rina touched Paul's lips, and hushed gently, and said, "I don't want to suffer anymore. Do you want me to suffer? I know, you wouldn't like it. See me suffer is very hard for you, right? So i'll end it."

Rina released her index/point finger on Paul's lips, then hugged him. Paul, who's teary eyed already, said, "But i just-" Rina hushed, then said, "I don't want to leave here, leaving you like that. I'll be restless. I'll be a haunting soul, looking for someone who can soothe you. I don't want you to suffer too, so please, don't be sad. Just erase my illness on your mind, and visualize me as clear as the blue sky, as clear as a sanctuary under the sea. Would that be okay? Would that be favorable?" Paul, who got his tounge and mind stunned, just nodded. She added, "Let's make my last minute memorable. Let's meet on the park where we met before, under the big mapple tree, on the bench. Can you fulfill it?" Paul, regained his voice back, said, "Yeah, i will." They did the pinky-finger promise, to prove that it will be a promise. "Okay, then, it's a promise."

Days have passed. Rina became weaker and pale, pale as a vampire. However, she strives and fights harder, just to meet up at the meeting place, to fulfill what she promised. Friday evening, she wrote a letter for Paul, a letter of thanks and goodbye. On the letter, it said:

My beloved Paul,

"I'm so happy you came into my life. I'm so happy that our destinies crossed, followed in meeting each other, and became lovers. You're my answered prayer. You're the greatest gift i ever had. A girl could ask for to a man. You have everything. Stunning good looks, a big heart, heart that loves, and shows great affection."

On the day of the meeting, when Rina came, she saw Paul on the bench, singing. "You'll always be a part of me, I'm part of you definitely, girl don't you know you can't escape me, oh darling 'cause you'll always be my baby. And we'll linger on, time can't erase a feeling this strong, no way you're never gonna shake me, oh darling 'cause you'll always be my baby.." Upon hearing that, Rina decided to approach Paul.

"Am i late? " She asked. "No, i just came here by now." Then, she sat beside Paul, then laid down on Paul's shoulder. Then, Paul held Rina's hands. He felt it's kinda cold, coldness that surrounds him. Then Rina spoke, and said, "Thank you Paul. Thank you for everything. I have no regrets." Then Paul said, "That's nothing. I also want to thank you too. For loving me and being there for me. I love you." Rina replied, "I.. I.. I..." She held her last breathe, and died. Paul knew that this would happen, and he's now prepared for it.

Nights of sadness and depression have passed, and the funeral had gone. Paul recovered from what happened, he finally moved on.

On a monday afternoon, Paul visited at Rina's house, then headed directly to her room. As he entered, a sudden blow of wind followed.

"Nothing has changed, it's quite simple, but elegant". As he entered inside, he noticed a letter on Rina's study table;with Paul's name in it. He slowly grabbed it, and opened it.

Paulo reads.

My beloved Paul,

"I'm so happy you came into my life. I'm so happy that our destinies crossed, followed in meeting each other, and became lovers. You're my answered prayer. You're the greatest gift i ever had. A girl could ask for to a man. You have everything. Stunning good looks, a big heart, heart that loves, and shows great affection."

"Your affection had made me strong all through this years, strong enough to face anything and everything. So i want to thank you for all of that. "

"Goodbye Paul, goodbye. Don't worry, I'm still on you, all of me is still in you. Only my body had passed away, but not my soul, and our memories."

His voice changed as he read the last part.

"Paul. I love you, and that will be..


He smiled but a bit teary and whispered, "For eternity."

Awww….
Sweet. Simple. Sentimental. And very poignant.
It is difficult when someone loses someone to illness, especially when engaged in a budding relationship that shows no sign of wavering. Your sentimentality and description carries that sweet, innocence usually captured in youth (probably a reflection of yourself and your age)
The only thing I can say is to give some advice on the structure aspect of your writing, so your thoughts and feelings that are reflected via the character flows through to us the readers clearly.

Rina, a stage-4 cancer patient had only had one week life span. she's really depressed when she knew about it, but she knew that she couldn't do anything about it, so she accepted it fully. while her boyfriend, Paul couldn't accept the truth, that her girlfriend will die after one week

I have been guilty of this many many a time, and sometimes have to refer to any fiction novel to remind myself how to express different perception of time in one tense
- The first is past.
- The second is present (she is – she’s is not she was or she has)
- The third is past.
- The forth is future tense.

Generally with storytelling, we tend to speak in the past progressive or past simple, but generally in the past tense. Sometimes present and future is used, if for example the character is written in 1st person (I) and they’re contemplating future thoughts or something at that present time in the story.
But for a number of scenes such as this, try to aim to write all verbs in the past tenses. As always look and analyse novels that you may like for your age group or genre and see how the verbs are written, even in the simplest of tales
But a genuinely heartfelt piece of writing, thanks for sharing ^^

Last but not least, is Whitepearl's re write of her earlier tale ^^

Spoiler for Hayden and Co story:

Wow, hayden has a heart! xD
When you said you re wrote it, I thought you were just gonna embellish the scene you had started with, so this time I was ready for his crudeness (or maybe he evolves into that)
Eitherway it’s nice to see a more calmer, fleshed out piece of writing from ya, things seem to be getting interesting already.
The only thing I wanna question is the time scale. Will demonstrate inside the spoiler.

Spoiler for I don't know what the title should be:

Chapter 1
Let’s call the red part 2.30pm that day he was in class.

There was something about Hayden Black’s first day of high school that made it very... memorable. It wasn’t the unseasonably mild weather or the fact he ran back home twice to get his wallet and binder. No, what it made it memorable was the fact a girl Hayden had never seen before actually approached him and talked to him.

The girl was named Heather Grey. She was not a big-name celebrity; she, like Hayden, was just a student looking forward to her first day of school at Benjamin Bradford High School.

Just what made Heather so special? In reality, nothing really made her that special. But how they first conversed with each other was quite comical; they only talked to each other because Heather had mistaken him for someone else.

Hayden was just minding his business, worrying that he might be late for class, when he felt someone tap his shoulder. He turned around, unsure who it was.

“Braden? Is that you?” she asked, simultaneously displaying utter shock and awe. “I thought you moved. Why are you here?”

Hayden, nervous like a newly-bought puppy and confused like a chicken seeing its reflection, responded to Heather by asking her how she knew him.

Sense of time lost here. Was he sitting at 2.30pm thinking back to earlier in the day when he met heather, thus his day was made memorable? To have said that, means that his first meet event had to have already happened.
If you’re showing the event to us, as part of his memory within that day, then use of past perfect tense is needed (a past in the past situation)
Something to indicate that he was thinking back to the scene or something like ‘hayden had been minding his business’ rather than ‘was just minding his business’

It makes it sound like the meeting happened at 2.35pm – a little after, rather than him looking back to what had made his day memorable.
Hope you kinda get what I mean, lol. If you’re unsure, feel free to ask me to elaborate more.

“You don’t remember me from junior high school last year? I’m Heather, Heather Grey? We took Earth Science together?”

Hayden shook his head. “My name is Hayden, not Braden. I don’t know who you think I am and I don’t know who you are.”

It took Heather a couple seconds to realize what her mistake was. “Oh, my God! I am SO sorry!” she uttered aloud, all while hiding her blushing face. “I really thought you were someone else. I’m sorry, please forgive me.”

“Uh, it’s fine,” Hayden said, timidly. He didn’t think there could’ve been anyone that looked just like him, with the same short, black hair or with the same pale skin complexion. Maybe she thought he was Braden because of the eyes? Hayden had no idea, and was left feeling completely awkward. Heather then darted off into the crowd, hoping that she could forget everything.

“Wait! Wait!” Hayden called out desperately, but to no avail. She was already gone.

While Heather was hoping Hayden could forget the whole thing, she didn’t know that Hayden never forgets.

He stood on the sidewalk dumbfounded. He couldn’t think clearly and all he could think about was Heather. He thought her light blue eyes and flowing blonde hair complimented each other well. She did have a retainer on, which added a slight lisp to her voice. Hayden didn’t care about that, though. With her fairly decent physique topped off with a very above-average face, Hayden thought it was love at first sight.

Suddenly, he felt someone’s hand being planted firmly on his right shoulder. “Hayden! What are you staring at?” called out a voice.

Hayden was left feeling disoriented once his train of thought about Heather was derailed. “Jocelyn?” he asked aloud before realizing she was standing right behind him. “Oh, it’s you. Nothing, just some girl who walked past.”

I’m guessing here, is now the present back at 2.35pm or so (so 5 mins of hayden thinking back about his first meet with heather)
I couldn't quote the rest of your tale, broke the word limit per post >.>

But the rest is fine, just keep tabs on your tenses with the different aspects of time within your writing, so there’s no chance for ambiguity. ^^

Just a general note, as I’ve noticed in a few posts (and something I’m just as guilty off from time to time) – keep note of your tense use. It generally is written in the past, but I’ve caught a few verbs written in present tense causing inconsistency, so just something to note when you guys write or proof check yourselves ^^

*phew~*
I actually broke that 50,000 word limit per post (as i was suspecting I would for quoting everyone's stories in one post) and had to start cutting.
Don't think the admins will consider slightly increasing it for this thread, lol - nonetheless, they were awesome to read, thank you for your efforts for writing them. ^^

But a lovely batch of work, as always keep those virtual quills scratching and the stories coming. ^^

[whitepearl]

Sense of time lost here. Was he sitting at 2.30pm thinking back to earlier in the day when he met heather, thus his day was made memorable? To have said that, means that his first meet event had to have already happened.
If you’re showing the event to us, as part of his memory within that day, then use of past perfect tense is needed (a past in the past situation)
Something to indicate that he was thinking back to the scene or something like ‘hayden had been minding his business’ rather than ‘was just minding his business’

It makes it sound like the meeting happened at 2.35pm – a little after, rather than him looking back to what had made his day memorable.
Hope you kinda get what I mean, lol. If you’re unsure, feel free to ask me to elaborate more.

Oh, I got what you meant. You're right, it does read ambiguously...that's the byproduct of writing late at night with many distractions. lol

The meeting with Heather was supposed to have been in real time, along with Jocelyn getting Hayden's attention (both were supposed to be in the morning). Now I might consider having it as a flashback during the afternoon...I'll figure out something.

BTW, my avatar may have deceived you but I'm a male

[Mystique]

Originally Posted by whitepearl

Oh, I got what you meant. You're right, it does read ambiguously...that's the byproduct of writing late at night with many distractions. lol

The meeting with Heather was supposed to have been in real time, along with Jocelyn getting Hayden's attention (both were supposed to be in the morning). Now I might consider having it as a flashback during the afternoon...I'll figure out something.

got your note, still waking up for the day, but will reply later on.

BTW, my avatar may have deceived you but I'm a male

What gave me away? *laughs* I am curious now.
(edit: i caught the mistake i made, oops~~)
Lots of guys have female avvies, but yeah i had you pinned as a girl via your writing (and prob nick in addition) - this is probbaly the first writing thread i've been in that'll be male dominated just cause there's so few lil girls on this forum ratio or percentage wise, but i gotta confess - high school drama and relationships is something i typically read from the female lot, but nice surprise eitheway ^^

Strike 2 for gender confusion, i think i mixed someone up in my last post as well, lol.
No wonder the IRC lot tend to think I'm a guy x.x

[Cake-kun]

Thanks for the corrections. :] I'll try my best to correct my faults, so it will be better next time.

and by the way, thanks for the compliments. ^^

[Amray]

I used to enjoy planning out and writing stories, although eventually I gave up. It did prove a lot harder than what one would think. I did hear that it was hard to write books from the words of authors, but I did not expect t'would be as hard as the way I found it. Their is a lot more to it than what one would assume.

I started writing two stories that caught my main attention, although after some planning and starts to the chapters I found myself quite...stuck as it were. I also have two more ideas for novels although it is too hard to put what I think and the actions in which the people are to take, into words. Two wonderful storys that I imagine all the time, but cannot type out due to my struggling of thoughtful phrases and words. I ditched the previous two ideas that I posessed and thought of two new ones. Ones in which were influenced by many things and I imagined to be wonderful, yet I have not started to type up or plan properly. One in which is mainly based on war, betrayal, a little romance, a 'lot' of drama, and revolves around one certain individual, an adolescent male, that is living through these certain events. I am always thinking about new parts and chapters in which would be great and add to the story.

If anyone actually reads this then thankyou. If you have any ideas in ways in which to help me then that would be greatly appreciated too. I have the basic plot anyhow, of the one I like the idea of best.

[Nervous Venus]

A piece of a novel I wrote about a young couple living the suburbs. This is not the beginning. I was working on this novel for five years until I lost my back up file and this was what I could recall from memory, though I made some of this stuff up on the spot half an hour ago . :/

I am in the kitchen stirring a skillet of Uncle Ben's Spanish Rice when Will shuffles in. He hovers over my left shoulder for a second, waiting, but I don't turn to greet him. Disappointed, he sags into a chair at the kitchen table, and unfolds the newspaper.

" It's just a story, you know, " he says suddenly. " No reason to bear a grudge."

I sigh. " Well, I can't kill Othello. You keep trying to make me kill him off for no apparent reason," I say.

" How about Marsha? " he offers.

" No!"

" Well, why not?"

" For what purpose?" I cry.

" I'll tell you why. Marsha's a goddamned magazine cut-out. She's cardboard. Why are all your women so easy?"

" Because they're all beautiful!" I say, jabbing the spatula into the rice.

A lump of silence passes between us, and I'm already feeling sorry. I turn off the stove and turn to him.

" I apologize," I say, but Will is no longer paying attention.

He is busy scowling over the sports' section of the newspaper. Probably another mortifying loss for the Rams. I lean over him from behind and drag out the edges of the newspaper. On the front page, the winners - not the Rams - are doing a victory dance at the edge of their field: They are doing the jig, the worm; sagging faces from the losers. This time around the losers are very bitter, seeing as they have yet to win in the Nationals. Will swipes my hand away. He hates it when I take the paper away from him while he still has it, even if he's no longer reading the paper. He says it's an infringement. Once I told him to think of it as the intermission during the football game.

"Where are all the cheerleeders?" he had said. " Where are the beer commercials?"

"I'll be your cheerleader," I had said, shaking my hips. " You want some rah, I'll give you rah," which embarasses him to no end. But that was before he lost his job, and I don't joke around so often anymore.

"Let me see that after you're done," I say.

"Oh, I'm done. I'm done all right," he says, shoving the paper aside. It sags off the corner of the kitchen table and falls to his feet. I bend over, tuck in the advertisements for lace bras, silk underwear, and - what was that? - a coupon for fifteen percent off a bag of chicken breasts. I fold in the corners over the crowd doing The Wave after Barajas scored his touchdown - the touchdown - and drops the stack on the counter near the stove.

Later I will scour, much later. Not in front of Will though. He complains that the scraps fall all over the place, and he's the one that ends up sweeping them into the trash, not me, and that he can't for the life of him understand my compulsion to collect junk. By junk, he means articles on catastrophes: Earthquakes, mosquitoes carrying the Nile Virus, tsunamis in some nation or other. To him they are like finger nail clippings. After the initial first few seconds he will have lost interest.

"Someone should die in the end," he says.

"The Rams or the Hawks?" I say, thinking he wants to discuss the game. He doesn't.

"In your story," he says. " That would make it more interesting. You should get rid of Marsha. I don't like Marsha."

"Why are you so bent on killing someone? Is there a point?"

"Not just someone."

I sigh. " Does Marsha have to die in the end to make you happy Will?"

"If that's what it takes," he says, " then yes."