The Creative Writing Thread (All writers come all!)

[Galatea33]

Hello, I recently stumbled onto the thread and have a poem to share, it's not new- I had this in an online poetry site, but rarely write again now, hope I can gain constructive thoughts from here ^^

Document to Kill

Why do we live in grief?
And regularly breathe in our constant kill

Why do pleasures play men like dogs and bones
Poured on their face, a plague marched asunder

I’ve taste the sensitivity of sin and bliss
Crappy as my bones now ready to croak
And my teeth shrinking off my jaws
I could’ve shrieked like a fool girl!

May I let my ego float over these centric cities?
And meet the very name of
Karma, Karma
Life, she spit me out her breath
Wise as I am
A little girl, a little girl I am

Karma, Karma
Love, she hung me on her neck
Wild as I am
But Mommy doesn’t know her name…

I’m now halfway more to the moon…
Now I’m halfway more to the moon…

Dear citizens, please mark your plate;
Singular verse in every order
Symptoms are for lunatic
Robotic mercantilism

Dear citizens,
You are now reaching an unknown era;
Madmen are flawless
Poets are enchant less
We are the mannequins of our devilish wisdom
The un-admitting widower
Thus we could’ve slept slower
Into the arm of our Hungarian lover
So sleep, sleep late ‘til you dead

Planetarians subsidiary
Directory underwater
Equilibrium Management
Numerous incentives

The fairy is burning
The monument is breaking
The temples are lacking
And dancing us in

Mad. Yes… let’s be mad with
Our sensual harassment consistency…

Kill, Kill

That flavor… that wills us to kill

This Document,
....................is to Kill.


Pity

I Pity

...us for this.



*Author's note :
Since my childhood, I've been very sensitive to what's happening around me. Sometimes I just sit amidst the crowd at let all the emotions pouring in... yet this is what I gaze as I see our Human value..diminished slowly as we enter the world's new age...

[Guernsey]

I am attempting to create a fic where I can deconstruct a genre of anime specifically the mahou shoujo/magical girl genre. I had read Sailor Nothing and watched Mai Hime however I still feel as though I can use more research on the topic of magical girl or deconstruction. I am not trying to create another Watchmen or Evangelion, I am not really all too sure that I create something at that level but I seem to want to subvert, avert and and possibly invert quite a few tropes in the genre. How much research do I need on magical girls, deconstruction or just about any on storytelling? What would be a good idea for magical girl story that takes something and twists it? And do I need all that mind boggling symbolism that I find prevalent in such literature?

[ClockWorkAngel]

I would say it'd take alot of planning.

The first thing you've gotta establish is the message; what are you trying to say about Mahou Shoujous? Once you've gotten a clear message you want to project through your writing, you'll have a much easier path.

The necessary world would depend on the message and the characters I would assume. At the worst case you could do something on the lines of Anti-Heroes.

But hopefully you'll create an entertaining story too; so I would actually recommend reading actiony stories, things with decent combat or something along those lines.

Good luck with brain child, keep at it and so long you don't give up you can achieve whatever's in your head right now

[GuruSharky]

I myself am a very experienced writer. For about 8 years now. I write poetry, novels, short stories, and rants. I'm also a journalist.

I'll post some of my poems and stuff ^^

that document to kill on a few posts up, that's a real beautiful poem.

[Ricky Controversy]

Did a free-writing exercise last night, gave two minutes over to it, here's the resulting dribble.

Seven Ten Ought Nine

One man to another says, "This suits you better than you'd care to admit," gesturing up at the laden clouds. They've not broken yet, there's still time...still time. The other man, putting up a wall of quiet indignation, is nevertheless partaking in a dialogue with his fellow. He knows it, clearly, because the articulation of his silence would still be in quotes. It's a curious notion, he is thinking, that when people say nothing, we are taught in grammar school to note that as if it has meaning all its own.

Another, we shall call him, wonders to himself precisely what sort of wordless statement he has conveyed to his accuser and is baffled by the myriad possibilities lying there until his anxieties compel him to clarify.

"I'm of a rather light disposition today, I'll thank you not to assign me moods."

"Truly? Hm, and yet all of lecture you were biting your lower lip. What does this mean~?" this harasser, this imp seems more a boy as he sings his inquisition. Somehow it only makes the whole process more unsettling.

"Is that where your eyes were at for two hours?" the poor blighted soul retorts, hoping to create distance by offense. It doesn't work.

"You know tension's magnetic to me. It's so delightful watching each set of muscles articulate anguish in its unique fashion. So tell me, that first furrowing of the brow was...?"

"..." In this instance, we should note, the long-sufferer knew full well what that ellipse said. Nothing, and can't you understand that's why?

"Ah!" the jester-like youth drops to the ground, throwing the back of his hand against his forehead and writhing about. More looks come his direction than our victim is comfortable with. He seems taken with a hex, and we all would look on in wonder, of course, at the closest person to the afflicted. That is how a scapegoat is determined; the first thing which comes to mind. "Dear God, it is the melancholia!" the man-boy shrieks.

"What."

"The melancholia," he reiterates, pausing in mid-twist and looking genuinely surprised. "Ah, could it be my love doesn't know? It is the curse of the artiste, the raison d'etre, the wabi and sabi by which we are driven to give birth to that which is called beautiful!" he says with a flourish. Ham acting; amateur player on the streets of Boston. If it is possible for a man to be crafted entirely out of bombast, then Science shall behold that we have found him here. That sentence was ironic, so you should laugh now.

"Get up, get up," the victim grunts, extending a hand to his tormentor and yanking him up too roughly. "It's nothing quite so elaborate."

A long silence is spent, evaluating, perhaps.

"Is that so," the scoundrel murmurs, then nods, satisfied. "Yes, you're right. Something else, isn't it, something shapeless. Yes, yes...that's less cliche, isn't it, but not so much so that you could be condemned as too experimental. So savvy of you, perfect."

The patient drags his hand across his face, feeling the contours of his weariness upon it. They walk on in a sort of silence through the city: not traditional, for the bastard continues to expel air from the largest hole in his face, and sometimes it even sounds like words, but it counts for silence in that nothing true is said. Finally, the victim stops.

"You're just too clever for me, I guess," he says, spinning on his heels and walking the other way. The imp smiles. "I'm going home."

"That's good, my friend, that's exactly right," he whispers. "Sooner or later, all the talking becomes self-indulgent and when that happens you are dangerously close to..." A beat. "Oops."

[GuruSharky]

It's really good!

A teensy bit wordy in some parts but it is an engaging read.

Your imagery is stunning

[ClockWorkAngel]

I have began going back into the dread genre of action for a short long story.

The story could be described as a story about disembodied souls and the lives they are trying to live again.

Spoiler for Ghost Story:

Ghost Story

Chapter 1
The Caterpillar Who Died Dreaming of Tomorrow

It never occurred to me that there was an afterlife.

For the most part, I never once believed that there was something beyond deaths.

But for the longest moment, I wish there was.

“Why?” you ask?

It was because the bullet that was lodged into my 16 year-old chest had hurt so much,

and the regrets that came pouring out from it with the blood;

made we wish there was something after the pain,

something other than the darkness.

My only wish was to live.


Chapter Two
A Change of Colour

Fate is a cruel thing.

Rather the variables that make up fate, are cruel things.

From a human standpoint they seem so cold and impersonal.

Lifestyle, age, sex, and so on.

From a human standpoint, they are only statistics.

Coincidences and happens to be’s.

Really, they’re just spins on the roulette, simple gambits of life and at times; death.

It is a cruel thing to say, but she was simply unlucky.


But it is more of the misfortune one would expect from a person who lost everything in the stock market in a single day,

or someone who slipped on a banana peel and cracked his head open.


In other words, it was misfortune that happened because of otherwise harmless carelessness.

It is this insensitivity and its unforgiving disposition that makes fate so cruel.

It was a cruelty that only humans understood and a cruelty that for all intents and purposes only humans could inflict on one another.


And because it was such a human-like cruelty,

that she can be called unlucky.


The phrase, be careful what you wish for, is truly abused in this story.

And because of that she is unlucky.


To sum it up; she was just an ordinary girl,

she was just an unlucky girl.

Unlucky to be born in the family she had,

unlucky to be born in the world today,

unlucky to be born with the face she had, the figure she had, or whatever she thought it was that made her feel,

so ugly.

She was unlucky to feel the things she felt for a person she knew,

unlucky to have those feelings never come to life,

unlucky to have them bottled up.

She was unlucky to go walk home that day; early,

unlucky to cross the road when the crossing lights said go,

unlucky to get shot, by a deranged man who she didn’t know.

She was unlucky to feel like she done nothing

and unlucky to live her life.

She was unlucky to be born.

But she was so lucky to live everyday.

Lucky to feel the way she did while she could,

and so lucky to be given another chance.


No rather, that wasn’t luck at all.


She stares out into the sky, her body feels light like a feather, and the world she knew once as colourful and bright, had all dissolved into a sea of gray and darkness. She was alone, so very alone in that once busy street of here. The shades of people crowd around the person she who thought was her. She can see some running, and of course; that man.

she tried to cry, she really did.

But the pain was gone, and that man resembled the others; gray shades of people she once saw.

“Am I dead?” she wondered.

“No, I am, but…” she continued on “Yes, I was shot. I’m most certainly dead.”

“But then why am I alive?” she thought, “Why do I still have to be alive in such a world?!”

“Would anyone hear me?” she wondered.

She tried to open her mouth; but nothing came out.

“Nothing? Nothing at all? Why can’t I speak?” those words fluttered in her head.

“That’s right, because I’m dead.” she smiled to herself.

She had finally died in the world she hated, and whom she believed hated only her.

But she was now living in a world that couldn’t love her, and she, herself couldn’t love.

The story however truly begins in Chapter 3

[Galatea33]

Originally Posted by Ricky Controversy

Edit...

"The melancholia," he reiterates, pausing in mid-twist and looking genuinely surprised. "Ah, could it be my love doesn't know? It is the curse of the artiste, the raison d'etre, the wabi and sabi by which we are driven to give birth to that which is called beautiful!" he says with a flourish. Ham acting; amateur player on the streets of Boston. If it is possible for a man to be crafted entirely out of bombast, then Science shall behold that we have found him here. That sentence was ironic, so you should laugh now.

The bold part = my favorite

"That's good, my friend, that's exactly right," he whispers. "Sooner or later, all the talking becomes self-indulgent and when that happens you are dangerously close to..." A beat. "Oops."

b I feel the excitement for sure

@ ClockWorkAngel
I really like your writing => but first, m-m-m- more pages please

[ClockWorkAngel]

Chapter Three, I'll be thinking of archiving this somewhere probably... we'll see :/

Spoiler for Chapter Three:

Chapter Three
The Grass Is Always Greener On The Other Side

Lying there with the clothes she has always worn;

the school uniform that made her a child,

the brown shoes that she never changed

and the red hairpin that had always set her apart.

From who?

Well the others of course.

From who?

Well the past you see.

From who?

From the person she was and the person she is now.

In the colourless world the only thought that came to her mind as she stared out into the infinite gradient of the ceiling above her was how light she felt.


The faceless shades of people around her moved in and out of view.

Really they all looked the same and even if they were to have faces;

they would all look the same.


However in amidst of the shades a gray; one figure was different;

no that’s the wrong way to say;

the figure had of all things glowed green.


Logic usually tells that things that glow in an otherworldly colour shouldn’t be touched at all.

But this world wasn't very logical at all.

And so for a brief moment, she had let go of all of doubts and second thoughts.

If anything, green meant go and perhaps it was way to escape her colourless world.


Really it was too soon,

quite too soon for her to become involved with such a thing.

But without further ado, the story had truly begun for her.


That is because fate is such a cruel thing.


For a moment the pain returned to her,

for a moment the pain of dying had returned to her,

for a moment the pain of living had returned to her.


She stares at her hands, aged and wrinkled; they were without a doubt the hands of a middle age-man.

“W-What?” those words came out of the middle aged man.

“What the hell?! What the hell is this?!” were the words she wanted to say as blood erupted in her throat.

Perhaps she hadn’t noticed it, or perhaps she had simply ignored it; as it was a familiar pain after all.

“S-somebody!” she managed to shout.

“Someone, call an ambulance!” a woman had shouted.

“Just dial the god damn emergency number!”

“This man’s been shot!”

“They’re referring to me… right?” she wondered.

The body was on its knees, holding itself up.

until it could hold no longer and it had fell onto its face.

Staring at the red floor , she rolled herself onto her back.

She rubs her hand onto the source of the familiar pain, and stared at it weakly.

“Hehe… this makes sense…” she managed to breath out

“It makes sense…”

Gasping for air she stared upwards,

the sky, she had finally seen it again.

Was it in vain?

Evidentially not; as she smiled, with the wrinkled face of a man she never knew.

But she would never know how it looked like.

Though he was old and weak, even his eyes could grasp the colour of the sky, as it slowly began to turn into scarlet.

And even though the yelling of the men, the screaming of the women and the crying of the children filled her ears,

she was happy, she was relieved, because


For a moment the pain returned to her,

for a moment the pain of dying had returned to her,

for a moment the pain of living had returned to her.


And then the sky had turned gray once again.

She gasped for air, though at that point she had no use for it.

“Here again, I’m here again.” those words were the first words she had thought, “Back into this colourless world.”

“What happened?” she wondered.

Though she had many other questions, all she could think about was “What happened?”


Did she for a moment, breathed again?

Did she for a moment, became a man?

Did she for a moment, died again?


She pushed herself from the lukewarm ground.

The shade of the man she once was laid in her place, still staring into the infinite sky above him.

Staring into his blank face, she turned away from it, walking towards the gray horizon.


“Am I alone?” she thought.

“I am alone.” she concluded.


And for the longest while, she had wondered where her body was.

[Ricky Controversy]

A humorous poem written when I was 17.

--- --- ---

a letter written upon returning to life

to my most esteemed hostess
the charming, incomparable, generous Lady Dirt

hello, how are you?
you know, your generosity proved true.
you took me in while i slept
you kept me warm within, at such you're adept
i'm sure it wasn't easy in your busy spring state
with other tenants oh so sleazy, you can scarcely bear the weight
of your own sins

the truth is very plain, you are the Wife of Bath
with what weed without a name have you not done some reproductive math?
such dirty dirt, away with you. babylon was built on such dirt.

but i digress

i pray you'll smile and one day see me
not along your tainted mile, but through potted confinements made free
there the chaste soil married me, and again i found the strength to bloom
my true name—you'll learn—is Glory, which i'll show with my new elbow room

i hope you keep your lovers warm
until you're the home of an insect swarm

all due respects, compliments, favors, flatteries, etc.
Sir Morning Glory

[Miko Miko]

Hey! My first ever post in this thread I do believe!

I haven't been writing very long and would like some constructive criticism on this please.



A Broken Feeling
Music CD's skipping,
To the beat of my heart,
Violins playing,
To the rhythm of my tears.

And I curl up in a ball,
I know you'll catch me when I fall,
And I'm sure, We've been through it all..
But now I know..

The trust is here,
There's nothing to fear,
I tell you it all and we'll see,
Is it real or fake?
Will I ever be awake?
Or will I live A broken feeling.

[Ricky Controversy]

in the image of our affections

when we have satisfied mandos
and taken up the reins for our self
when we live solely by choice
and the wheels turn by the blink of the mind's eye

we will set adrift in the infinite sky
a sun, a moon, a sea of days
we will set apart these things
in the image of our affections

that we might look to them when we have nothing more to dream of
and perhaps, in that moment, silence our trembling hearts

[StefDeathNote]

Heya people I've wrote 3 poems,I'll let you read them, tell me what do you think.

Thinking
We are sat on a hill
Looking at the sun
Which lends the sky to the night
We have been thinking
Of what could have been happening,
But the gentle violence of our thoughts
Is infecting our souls.
We have been thinking
Of our deepest dreams,
Sharing the inner meaning of them
With the person we love.
We have been thinking
Of what's wrong,what's right, what's the best,
But the important is what our heart suggests.

A Not Lived Romance
A gloomy day is coming thruough my heart.
I keep asking why.
Why I cannot like my romance.
I want to know the reason why
My breaths can't reach his mind.
Falling in my own world
I just can't stop asking
Why i cannot live my romance.
Do i deserve all this?
Do i deserve to get hurt by a dream?
DrOps of memories softly touch my soul;
And whispers are crossing my spirit.
At last, I hope one day I'll live my impossible romance.


Based On Death Note: Wait.Think.Act.
Justice.Seen in opposite ways.
Wait.
Think.
Act.
This is only a game.
Who is going to lose?
Who is going to leave this world?
This is a challange.
Just one will win.
Take a deep breath.
Chasing events,time,lives.
Playing with death.
Waiting for every move.
Thinking up how to beat the rival.
Acting before it's too late.
No time for mercy.
Wait for the future, Act in the present, Think of the past,
Until the game will last.

[Ricky Controversy]

drop, guest

when she is in freefall
arms, fingers spread
from the peak of the other, silver side
to the concrete floor

plays me a song on bohemian instruments
bowls for percussion
plaintive chords from glass

chance not to sleep
or tomorrow your guest was gone
in two days time (one if it's hot) never was there

the only one who sustains her
after the fall, after the marriage with the ground
is the witness
drop, guest, while everyone's looking

[prometheus126]

I've been Writing on a seven-book series for awhile now. I'm only on book three and still trying to get every little wrinkle out of it. people have told me to publish the damn things but I'm still terrified of the prospect at this time. I've written five short stories on the main character of the books and each and every place I send them to tell me they're too violent so it doesn't bode well with my feelings of publishing the books -_-;

[ClockWorkAngel]

There's a line between tasteful violence and tasteless violence.

You should look at how the violence contributes or detracts from your message and your story. The violence should have some sort of meaning, not something you add in to excite or disgust. It should be something that makes itself important to the story.

I find that the world authors describe are seemingly without violence and cruelty, and sometimes only full of violence and cruelty. Because those things make the setting or do something else other than spill blood.

There's no problem focusing on violence, a lot of books do, but the violence is used more as a plot device than anything.

I wish you luck and I'm impressed you got a lot done, I was never a one to finish long projects and I gotta say you got some real commitment!

[Electric Moon]

THE FOLLOWING IS COPYRIGHT©

http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2586748/1/Ode_to_Cookies

THE ABOVE IS COPYRIGHT©

[ClockWorkAngel]

Originally Posted by Electric Moon

THE FOLLOWING IS COPYRIGHT©

http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2586748/1/Ode_to_Cookies

THE ABOVE IS COPYRIGHT©

It's good to show an interest in poetry at a younger age I think its crucial for creative writing, a big thing; don't let people tell you what's good or bad; they never understand generally XD!

I've finished my preface; its quite self-demeaning :/

Spoiler for Preface & Chapter Four:

It never occurred to me that I would write such a novel. In fact I feel a sort of resentment to it. It is in a way a testament to my progression or lack there of as a writer and a person. Looking at this rather rugged piece of work and a real lack of any true preparation has made me want to dismiss this story more than once. Though I am hopeful that I will finish it with a pace, I’m not entirely sure of that. In fact in a way I’m sure I would learn a lot more from not finishing it than anything. So please forgive my lack of enthusiasm for the first few chapters, it is only because I either lost my composure or because I lost whatever I felt for this story and its characters. However should I finish this, I am entirely grateful for the few hardships I endured to my life, those which I have a distinct unfaltering memory for, as they burden me with incredible guilt and a deep distrust of other humans, but they have allowed me to try to redeem myself through that.

I doubt this story will be at all heart warming or bring out some sort of hidden human revelation to light, even if I try my hardest to do so like with all my other shorter pieces of writing, as I may lose sight of what I am trying to say. However if it does so I must disclaim any responsibility for it, it is all up to your personal interpretation and if anything perhaps putting a little bit of too much thought into it. But under no circumstances should you think that it’s the universal truth, or my truth. Instead you must remember that your heartwarming experiences and your revelations are yours alone and no one else’s.

If you found any deeper meaning to the statement above, perhaps you’re trying too hard to praise the skills of an amateur and a child. If you are sure you’re not however, then we can only leave it at that point.

To those who find this piece of fiction offensive, please read over it again and buy another copy for all of your friends and co-workers so you can all have heated discussions about whether or not this piece of fiction is offensive to particular people.

Overall, this has been more of a disclaimer than a preface but it is good that way. This way I can forgive myself if I do not finish and this way I can forgive myself if I do with delay. Even if you are somehow reading this through Adobe Reader and its equivalences or someone who got a Document file from a guy who for some reason or another, painstakingly re-typed every word from this work, I must thank you for reading up to the very least; this point.


Chapter Four
A Lack of Words

Staring outwards, she saw nothing,
staring inwards, she saw nothing.
A moment afterwards, she tried again.
Staring outwards, she saw nothing,
staring inwards, she saw nothing.

It was a while before she would try again.

When she did,
staring outwards, she had saw something,
staring inwards, she saw herself.

But the “something” she saw was someone like her, a gray imprint of someone who once was,
and the person she saw within was just like him, a gray imprint of someone who once was.

It was a while before she would approach him.

When she did, he wasn’t as gray as she though he was,
but she was as gray as she could only know.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” he said nonchalantly.

Unable to answer that nonchalant statement, she could only tremble.
for what reason, I wouldn’t know.

[ClockWorkAngel]

Live thread, live!

Spoiler for Chapter Five - Say Nothing:

Chapter Five
Say Nothing

“You must be after all.” he continued on.
“You can’t speak, but you can see me.”

He tapped his chin in fascination.

“You’ll be able to tell me apart from others soon enough.”
“For example, I can see you quite well; you’re quite the cute one.”

The figure’s face, if she could see it was smirking.

“You’ve got quite a face, but you know like I do, you’ll never have something like that again, right? Please don’t make that surprised face, you know it to be true.”

It was hard to notice that he was being sympathetic.
It was hard to notice anything at all.

“Here’s a tip for you, green means go!”

Really she had already deduced something similar to that statement.

But she couldn’t believe it.
Why was it so simple?
Was the go, so that she could just die again?
To her, it was almost a game that she didn’t play but participated in anyways.

“Your expression tells me that you don’t believe me. It best if you don’t.” he continued on, his voice trailed but she couldn’t notice it.
“You see there are two ways to die in this world, by doing nothing and by doing everything you can. But by doing everything you can. you may discover something along the way.” he had begun walking away and she followed him hoping to know more.

“Even though you’re following me now, I know you really just want to leave and at best return to your previous life” She couldn’t hear him sigh as he said this.

“Let me tell you now; that’s impossible. At the very most you can only be a mirror of yourself. I’m sure that if you could, you would repeat those words I just said.” he glanced at her and laughed.

“Really, you’re such a useless girl.”
“Such a useless girl.” he mumbled.

They walked through the gray labyrinth of the world.

She stared at the gray outlines of buildings, some of them distinct enough to warrant a feeling of familiarity, and others which only looked like the others.

Figures passed her and she passed figures and this went on.

Passing and being passed.

The silence of the world astounded her.

The grayness of the world astounded her.

Unable to smell anything.

Unable to feel anything.

Unable to taste the air at all.

She was astounded at how empty the world still was, even though she had found something, even though she had found someone.

He was silent the whole way, and she was unable to comprehend the amount of time which passed. Was it 15 minutes? Was it 30 minutes? An hour or two? Though it had occurred to her that it probably didn’t matter at all, she had still hung onto the concept of time. It had made her feel that so much more alive.

Because she didn’t know if she was still human anymore, she had only thought of the concept of bring alive; though in the back of her head she questioned that too.

Unable to make up her mind, she would have seemed incredibly irritating to particularly impatient type of people.

He began to hum a tune, though it came out only as a repeated toneless note, and when he had realized that himself he stopped suddenly.

“You must be anxious, to learn how to speak, I remember the first time I was approached by someone. It was such a long time ago.”

Was he trying to pass the time? She thought, because the destination; whatever it was, didn’t seem close at all.

“Looks like I took a wrong turn.”

“Just kidding of course.”

For a moment he thought that he could hear her chuckle, but that was of course his imagination.

“We’ve walked enough, by now I’m sure you’ve seen a huge amount of things. No? Well that can’t be helped can it I suppose.”

He cleared his throat “Well, I welcome you to my world, and it’ll be yours too eventually. Where are we? I don’t really know, however I do know that we’ve lucked out.” he laughed for some reason.

“You see, conveniently, there are two figures lying in an empty alleyway. By the looks of it they were a couple; and were heartlessly gunned down by an unknown assailant.” he laughed again.

“And now all I have to say right now, is do you want to live forever?” he stared at her intently into her eyes though she couldn’t notice it.

“If you don’t all you have to do is say no right now.” he took a step towards her and smiled “Otherwise, take my hand, and let me welcome you to your new life; Miss Stanfield.” he laughed again.

She couldn’t utter anything at all, and felt that she too wanted to laugh; after all Stanfield wasn’t her last name at all.

And hopefully we'll see more of the rest of the community too.

[whitepearl]

I'm alive!

I haven't posted in this thread since I haven't been updating my story and I have little time and interest to do so because of work.

I was never happy with my story. It's a shame, really, since it had so much potential.