Fan-fiction, short stories, screenplays, poems -- anything text-based really belongs here.
Wed Mar 20, 2013 8:51 pm
Wed Mar 20, 2013 8:54 pm
Thanks, Blood, glad you enjoyed. Is it the first of mine you've read?
Wed Mar 20, 2013 9:04 pm
huh, I remember when you first wrote that and showed it to me. I helped you tweak it just a little bit, too. can't believe no one commented on it before now. I still like it, it's very good.
Wed Mar 20, 2013 9:09 pm
Tuor wrote:Thanks, Blood, glad you enjoyed. Is it the first of mine you've read?
Yes, and I look forward to some more. I'll probably look through your past ones as well.
Wed Mar 20, 2013 9:12 pm
Thanks. Most of my old stuff is poetry, enjoy!
Fri Apr 26, 2013 2:55 am
Here's…something…dunno what to call it, and it's not done
The day is cold, and wet, and grey. It's duck weather; it's weather for sitting inside, cozy, with tea or hot chocolate or a nice warm laptop. That was exactly what Matthew was doing as he reclined on a large couch in his living room, facing a wide window which looked down to the boardwalk. The water seemed alive as it writhed and frothed, slamming itself into the barrier. He watched it for a while. The sky was darkening, he could barely see that it was raining, except when he looked at the cones of light cast by the lamp posts, then he could see. And he could see a figure walking. He had been about to look away until they caught his eye. Bundled against the wind as the leaned into it, head bowed. They didn't slow, they didn't waver. A brave wave hurled itself at the wall and sprayed over, cascading across the figure. They barely flinched. Matthew propped himself up on his elbow now, taking more interest, but they soon passed from view behind some houses. He frowned before shrugging and turning back to the computer
He was halfway through the next episode of the series he was watching when he heard the front door open and slam shut. This annoyed him, so he went to investigate. As Matthew reached the foyer he saw his sister(?), Rachel, shrug out of her slicker and kick off her boots, before leaving them in little puddle and walking past him and into the living room. He frowned and followed. She wasn't in the living room when he got there, but he followed some small drops of water to the kitchen and found her leaning with her elbows on the island.
"Are you just going to leave those there?"
Rachel looked at him blankly for a couple moments before adding three teaspoons of sugar to her tea and stirring it slowly, watching the eddies created by the spoon.
Matthew sighed and approached the island. "Hey, was that you out there?"
"Out where?" She asked, blandly, without looking up from the cup.
"Whaddya mean 'out where?', out there, on the boardwalk." He gestured to the window, and boardwalk beyond.
"Mhmm." It was muffled as Rachel had been about to take a sip and hadn't felt that making a clear reply was worth stopping that action.
"But the rain, and that wave! Weren't you wet and miserable?"
"I just don't let myself, don't let myself feel it. It's just water, why should I care?" She shrugged.
"Just water? Hurricanes and tsunamis are just water too!"
Rachel laughed bitterly. "Jesus, Matthew, why are you so melodramatic all the time?" She braced herself against counter. "Sometimes things just are. Yes, rain is wet, waves are wet, whatever shall I do if some touches my skin? Think 'Oh, that was kinda sucky' and then move past it, don't let it consume you. Fuck." PIcking up her cup she moved into the living room.
Matthew stood stunned in the kitchen for a few second before turning to follow.
Thu Sep 26, 2013 9:42 pm
The moon shone down, pale and cold, silhouetting the naked trees. The boy hunched his shoulders and wrapped his arms about himself. I say boy, but in truth he is within that awkward phase of adolescence where he should probably start to shave but is too proud of his sparse facial hair. His breath streams behind him, a faint trail of mist left in his wake. He adopts a swaggering gait to bolster his resolve; the night scares him, though he didn't let on before. He didn't let on when rides were offered or groups were setting off for other destinations. Now he was alone; now he was terrified. The night was dark, but the moon shone eerily, showing the scape in sharp contrast.
As he walks he has cause to pause. The boy is passing by an area where the forest presses up against the town. Out of the trees he hears humming, sickeningly silky and sonorous. He begins to move faster and the humming follows, crashing after him. The boy turns to look and in that instant his foot catches and he tumbles into the brush. His hands gashed and his knee shredded, he lies still. He's perpetually short of breath, it's caught in his chest and he dares not inhale deeply. The humming is coming. Twigs snap and branches shuffle. Silent tears course down his face as he peers out. His heart throbs in his throat and suddenly his body feels on fire.
The humming is everywhere now. Words now. "The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep."
A big crash comes from behind him and the boy whirls, ready to flee, or soil himself, or both. Nothing.
Then warm breath caresses his ear.
"And miles to go before I sleep."
Fri Sep 27, 2013 10:17 am
I like it, I especially liked the tapestry painted by the light of the moon! My only gripe is the use of "Shit himself" within the story. It seems awfully out of place to me. I mean, I get it, I understand the context and agree, but it doesn't seem to really fit a serious narrative. Otherwise this is really really good!
Fri Sep 27, 2013 1:33 pm
Thanks, man. Hmm, ya, I see what you're saying. Originally I used it because I wanted it to contrast the rest of the story and make that part pop, but I think it is actually too out of place.
Thu Nov 07, 2013 2:27 am
Pale light at tunnel's end,
please be warm.
The journey's been long,
and fraught with pitfalls,
yet none can waylay me.
Onward I stagger,
though my bones are weary.
Forward, forward, unto the light
Thu Nov 07, 2013 6:10 am
Reminded me of all the times I barely made it out a Minecraft cave that I never intended to fall into.
Thu Nov 07, 2013 11:16 am
Ah, the ambiguity of poetry, haha
Mon Dec 02, 2013 9:57 pm
Adding bits that I re-discovered in ye olde Poetry Pub
Lament for the Poets
Where now is the quill and the writer?
Where is the sound of poet writing?
Where is the parchment and the ink, and the brilliant words flowing?
Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
Who shall gather the smoke of the deadwood burning,
Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?
Mon Jan 06, 2014 11:49 pm
Our time together never felt that long,
and when people ask it's an easy number to spit out,
5 years and a bit.
But now when I think about it, that's almost 2000 days.
2000 days of having someone I could count on,
someone who I knew I could see, knew I could be with.
2000 days with someone I could rely on and talk about anything with.
We travelled the world together.
We experienced so many firsts together.
I'll forever be changed because of you
and now you're gone,
seemingly without a backward glance.
Thu Jan 16, 2014 2:57 am
Wow you have a lovely talent for writing!! Keep it up
Wed Mar 12, 2014 5:56 am
Call me uncouth and barbaric but I've never had any love for the interpretive sandbox that is poetry (and certain pieces of Modernist literature, I suppose), so I was very surprised when I found myself enjoying your poems, especially "Worship of Nature." The meshing of all that vivid natural imagery with religious practices and activities was very well done. The vividness of that poem's imagery made me think of Coleridge's "Kubla Khan" or something. You, sir, are amazing at poetry.
Your scribblet (what I call random blurbs of writing) involving Matthew and Rachel also piqued my interest. Those characters have heart and personality, even if they only existed in that one post.
I'm going back a few pages to read more of your work.
Edit: I'm not sure if this is necro-ing a thread since we're only allowed one thread per person's literature in this subforum. Someone slap me with a crocodile if I'm doing this Lit Forum thing all wrong.
Wed Mar 12, 2014 12:08 pm
Wow, that's some of the best feedback I've gotten on my writing on these forums, thanks so much!
I wouldn't consider this necroing since each user only has one thread in here, and so if they just haven't been inspired in a while (such as in my case) their thread will fall a ways down the page. Try not to go back too many pages in the forum index though.
Edit: I might start pulling some pieces from this thread, now that I think about it
Fri Mar 14, 2014 6:13 am
Man, I went back and read more of your stuff. Talk about amazing writing style--your scribblets make every word work for its bread, so to speak. Nothing is wasted, but there isn't a sense of thrifty writing. Rather, reading it feels like every sentence has a world of detail to fall into, and the best part is you don't overextend anything. There's the consistently effective diction and descriptions that always seem to be just long enough to stir the senses, but never longer, topped with your seemingly innate ability to always show and never tell.
If you were to ask me for an example of that writing, off the top of my head, I'd pick this one:
Tuor wrote:...As my front turns damp and the puddle starts to taste metallic, I think of my delusion, and wonder. I wonder if I ever mattered, if my gestures mattered, if my outpourings mattered, or if she had just gone along with it all the while, and then gotten tired of me and found an excuse. The puddle starts to turn salty....
...She wraps herself around me, smelling like mandarine, and bergamot, and fresh soap, and I fall asleep listening to her breathe.
Tantalizing little tidbits. Being able to write around those boring descriptions of "I'm bleeding," "I'm crying," and "She smells nice" is a subtle talent, but immensely enjoyable when employed effectively.
Much creep on this thread now. Much creep on your RP posts. Very writing. Such fancy.
Edit: I know I'm singing the praises a bit much and not pointing out any mistakes to fix and improve, but it's because I'm not skilled enough as a reader to catch mistakes of that level of subtlety (because I don't see any glaring mistakes anywhere), so I can only offer honest compliments. If I do see any issues, rest assured I'd bring it up, not mindlessly parrot "Amazing, amazing!" ad nauseam
Fri Mar 14, 2014 12:51 pm
That's basically the aim of my writing style. I try to be succinct with it c:
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