Fan Fics, Original Fiction, and Fantasy

here is one link you can check out on copyrights, Gifted:

http://strategis.ic.gc.ca/sc_mrksv/cipo/help/faq_cp-e.html

Copyright protects original authorship fixed in tangible form. 17 U.S.C. sec. 102(a).
Basically, you can pay for your copyrights too.

Your ideas however can be re-manufactured.
Although not in the same original content that you had it.

and the address to register:
Library of Congress
Copyright Office
101 Independence Avenue, S.E.
Washington, D.C. 20559-6000

 

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Latest Intertwine Exerpt

Written yesterday, mostly unedited. The sequences early on with the main character I have named Drazir (pronounced Dra-zeer, but supposed to look like "desire") are mainly an excuse to relieve the reader with some action, because it is really the only action going on in the story when in its first parts. The manuscript of Intertwine is barely anything more than dialogue at this point. You won't find this on my website because I haven't updated in awhile

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“Open fire!”

Drazir felt the adrenaline, felt it coarse through her veins like a thick snake, its fluid tensed her muscles, fortified her mind and pumped sweat through her skin’s pores. The thrill of battle was upon her. She gritted her teeth as the savagery outside her eyes grew to a climax, the flashes of gunfire and blooming pedals of blood expanded and writhed about, everywhere she saw death, everywhere she saw mutilation, and somehow, by some divine gift, she was exempt from it. Comrades she had spent years with fell to the metal floor with gaping holes the size of apples in their foreheads, and yet she felt no revulsion, no disgust. It only enthralled her further, the drama, the violence, the horror. She parted her teeth, allowed her tongue to lick her lips, felt the gluttony; but then…felt is too weak a word.

The thrill of battle…the thrill of battle…

She lifted her pistol, discharged it at point blank into a man’s neck, used her other hand, grasping a sword, to hack away at a foe’s arm. She heard the screams, the gurgles, and absorbed them as a sponge does water, her fulfillment never peaking. She withdrew the bloodied sword, impaled it on another oncoming enemy and dropped to her knees to reload the pistol, jumping back up and firing it into someone’s back. So wonderful. So wonderful.

More of her men poured into the gloom of the bunker, shouting orders and warnings at each other, engaging in brief duels with their enemies. All the while, outside, in No Man’s Land, strings of glowing machine gun fire stretched through the air past a background of billowing gray clouds, the sun obscured from the earth for decades, the plants long dead, the ground dark and desolate. The buzz of a fighter plane gradually grew, and in the distance the only evidence of its existence was a dark dot dropping more dots to the ground, where they would ripple like fiery drops in a puddle over their target. The many different sides warring here ordered an advance, forcing columns of troops over the top, their bodies flailing and hitting the land almost as soon as they left the trenches.

The battle was over in several hours, Drazir and her comrades had taken the bunker, one that had been gained and lost and now gained again by the Isardan Imperial Army, working for whichever faction seemed to be winning in the endless Achamaedan Civil War. Drazir, who had now ascended to the rank of Major, sat inside the bunker’s office, gazing outside the charred window at the tortured terrain of No Man’s Land, of the endless fog that hovered in the distance, of the trenches that weaved back and forth, and the people inside them discharging their weapons at each other.

It was now time to grieve. The battle was over.

Her thinking caught up with her, and she felt revulsion, as she always did, felt the sickening sadness at the loss of so many of her friends, the questions—Why am I here, Why am I alive, Why are they dead thundering like a locomotive upon the folds of her mind. Tears blurred the image of a cloud of green gas fissuring out from somewhere far away, of the people scurrying away from it, some of them falling to the mud and becoming one with it, while others managed to escape, to live to see another moment of life. Magnar…Tala…Qamra…her friends, all dead in this fight. They were just memories, now, their souls were gone, their bodies were now riddled with stab wounds and bullet holes.

She is now in the belly of a plane, she feels her insides rush, and hears the doors below her open. They reveal the world, that is all that it is, all that it ever can be. The hooks that hold her open as if they are the talons of a gryphon, and she falls, unmoving, facing her target, which is the very bunker in which she sits. No memories flash through her mind, no thoughts, no revulsions, she is just a bomb, just a tool, ready to destroy and be destroyed for a greater purpose that she will never be aware of. The force of the wind grows and whips past her face, and the bunker expands exponentially in size.

She jumped from her seat, eyes glancing back and forth across the barren floor, the battle readouts that were now covered in blood. The dream…the dream. During day or night, it didn’t matter, it was always random, it seemed, but she kept seeing it. She kept falling, like a bomb, from a plane, to wherever she was sitting or standing at.

“Why?” she mouthed as the feeling of desperation grew in her throat and constricted her airways.

 

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why do we all seem to want to write fiction?
I do it becasue I think up stories, and want to get them down on paper, for my own amusement if nobody elses. I cant seem to stop, since i started thinking them up 4 years ago, i've had ideas hovering on awareness, or sudden shocks of new, creative urges that propell a story into existence in a couple of days.

How about everyone else?

As for marignys stories near the beggining, well, I was kind of put off by the way they are written.

"They were sitting peculiarly, though, and the brightness denied them any obscurity and it seemed resolutely not to acquiesce to the cold blue flame from my fingers."

Which is just overuse of adjecties that makes a sentence clumsy. theres a lot of bits like that in the fantasy chapters you put up earlier. Whereas the "interlude" at the cafe etc, is easier to read, better written, just not my kind of story really, but works ok.

 

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Well, i think pollux is a good space opera writer of the old sort. you ever read any E E Doc Smith? Now there was a man who knew how to use adjectives well.

 

finally, someone with good critic. ^_^ lol.
yeah, some people are put off with wordy stuff so I have two styles of writing. With a degree in english literature i tend to enjoy words more. Descriptions and such, so the other style of writing is more mainstream, easier to read, such as the cafe story. All my pieces you see here are raw, unedited. Just comes out of my fingers, which is how my muse works. Editing is so boring but necessary when completing stories to publishers.

As for your question, well, I've been writing since I was 12, big stupid clumsy novels which i'm sure are funny to read now. Before that, it was playing music and doing artwork. Muses tend to go from one expression to another. I think it's a form of catharism for lots of people. Such as playing instruments, artwork, acting, performing, whatever expression is available for the person to indulge in. That's why theatre, films, galleries, etc are so important because it's a way to enjoy yourself away from the realities of life: work that involves repetitiveness and is dull, politics, the world at large, angst, fear, you name it. Everything negative or stressful. So writing may do that for a person.

Pollux, I really like this story. Although you go from present tense to past tense. I do that a lot in my unedit work, just allowing my muse to overtake me, and fuck the consequence of correct grammer. As long as I can get it down on paper right away before something steals it away or decides to fly right out of my mind.

 

"finally, someone with good critic. ^_^ lol."

Alright, yes, and I am a begginer at this critiqueing stuff . At the moment Im trying to sort of see it from a readability view, mixed in with how I read it, since obviously i have boundaries on how well written stuff has to be for me to enjoy it.

But if i might expand, its not just the words, its the order they are in. It jsut seems too clunky and complex. But hten for a first draft, its fine, I know how rubbish many of my first drafts have been, and it usually takes 2 or 3 edits to pare teh sentences down, alter a word here or there.

I agree about writing as a catharsis. But then I also find that my ideas are sprakling bright when i think of htem, but usually need serious editing when I write them down, unless I work on them for a day or two so tehy emerge fully formed.

 

to reverse the question, why don't we write non-fiction?
is it because our own lives are crappy? so crappy they just arent useful enough to be interesting to the audience? Or maybe it's dull--which is equivalent to crappy anyway.

Thats cool that you thought my mainstream version of writing which is unedited is better written. wow, that means i MUST write that way instead of that wordy stuff. ^_-

yeah, why can't it be "pure"as when the idea comes as a lightbulb. When putting it on paper it just seems so mixed up and not quite complete. wierd huh? Our brain is like a computer, somehow we've got to organize it...guess thats what is meant by hard work even if our backs are killing us sitting in front of the computer, our eyes blur and our stomachs growl from lack of eating, just stopping every now and then to freshen up.

 

Eh? Could you post some other examples of space opera? I haven't heard of the guy you mentioned...

Heheh...wasn't intended, actually. I just went through and fixed everything, also made Drazir's dream sequence in the present tense. Thanks!

I write it all the time in school. I just prefer writing scifi/fantasy, that's all. I would actually like to write your traditional american novel, and I probably will if I get the chance. I think in some ways writing an original scifi or fantasy manuscript is more challenging than a nonfiction or linear fiction work, because not only do you have to make a bunch of interesting characters, as all writers of stories have to do, but you also have to create a completely different backdrop for them to live in.

 

"I think in some ways writing an original scifi or fantasy manuscript is more challenging than a nonfiction or linear fiction work, because not only do you have to make a bunch of interesting characters, as all writers of stories have to do, but you also have to create a completely different backdrop for them to live in."

I htink thats what makes it more fun, and easier. You dont have to get the details right, you can make up your entire world yourself, it jsut has to be consistent, whereas writing a book set here and now, theres so many little bits of intormation you need to get right, especially if its about somewhere else other than where you have lived, that is jsut seems too big a task for me.

THIS E E Doc Smith:
http://www.rippingsf.com/lensman.asp
has sample chapters of his greatest work, the Lensman series.

http://www.jitterbug.com/origins/doc.html
http://www.cs.utexas.edu/users/dastuart/fictiondir/authordir/eesmith/

Well, ok, you are more aware of the nastiness of fighting and the politics to make a good space opera writer, but if your after good bubblegum for the mind, E E smith is good. he was writing in the 30's and 40's mainly.

 

It's kind of fun going back and reading those early sci-fi stories. The difference between what they think and what we know makes them interesting.

 

For me myself, fiction is always interesting, hah hah hah....
Though I'm interested in fiction at a very 'extreme' degree-> it's been infesting my mind for long......

 

Hey guys! Thought ya'll might be interested concerning more on copyrights:

http://www.cd.gov.ab.ca/enjoying_al...libraries/writing/manuscript_rights/index.asp

an excerpt from it:

"A simple and inexpensive method of copyrighting your manuscript is to mail a copy of your material to yourself by registered mail. When you receive the manuscript in the mail, do not open the envelope, but put it in a safe place. If a question ever arises over the use of your work, this can be entered as evidence that you are the author of the work as of the date indicated on the registration stamp."

 

What? No more short little stories?
Ya'll went out and did the manuscript thingy in the mail?

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Thinking about writing non-fiction, I'd have to find someone interesting to write about. The public audience is a fairly easy thing to read. In terms in how to write non or fiction, Just look how much they LOVE mainstream action--and love history---ie, Titanic, (which is non-fiction--I love non fictional films for the most part--all those true stories--although hollywood changes it to fit a more exciting format) and yes, even dark odd humour---Tarantino films.

 

Well, I had an idea, and I started to write on it, but then it quickly started to suck, because im not very good at writting, anyways, read it and tell me how to improve, please

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Ekstrasens

Typical day.

Kimiko woke and reached for her interface. She clasped the interfaces to her temples, where they made contact with the implants common to all citizens. As the images produced swirled through her mind she came to understand the situation for the day.

Kimiko disconnected and rose out of bed. The air around her swam with light as she strode towards the shower. As she entered the small subicle coherent light flashed as it assesed her body temperature and adjusted to provide the most satisfactory clean. Kimiko spun in the shower, allowing every surface to be blasted free of the sweat and grime of everyday life. While great leaps of technology and mind have been made, the body still is a mass of outdated flesh that needs taking care of to function correctly.

After taking care of other... neccesary bodily functions, Kimiko dressed and prepared to leave, when she became aware of someone at her door.

As she opened it, her envelope of light extended and embraced another fainter, smaller feild outside the door. She look down and saw a small boy with a cup. Images of sugar, an older woman, and a many on his knees hands clasped together pleading, flashed through her mind, and she thought of an empty cup, and an apologetic look crossed her face as the boy walked with determined look to the next door in the hallway, their fields once again seperating out. Kimiko was able to get a last glimpse of a runner crossing a finish line eminationg from him.

Kimiko slowly walked down the corridor towards the elevator, which opened silently for her, and with a thought from her upon entrance, desended to the bottom floor. Upon exiting the elevator, kimikos light extinguished itself as it fled into the pores of her skin. Laws made it so people could not extend their networks more then 6 inches from their bodies on the streets, and most people wouldn't want to. Leaving your feild open could be dangerous, with people with malicious ideas having the ability to directly communicate with your mind.

As she walked down the street, the global network slowly became alive in her head. Once outside of her building, she was able to connect with the low power public network nodes imbeded in the street, light poles, etc, allowing her to share her brain power with the rest of humanity. At home, your brain is your own, in public, it's others to use for the advancment of humanity.

 

So she uses her brain to connect to the internet?

 

Well, the point is, they don't speek with their mouths, and communicate using ideas and images rather then words.

 

Very good, Fafnir!

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If I may be critical like you are with mine. heh, you have a couple of grammatical errors which of course is no consequence and I see the past tense style you have used. Very good story, kind of like a commercial too. lol! Makes you not want to go outside so as to not communicate any nasty ideas, eh?

Or it could be a good thing! Criminals couldn't actually commit crime without anyone else tapping into their schemes.
Or the stealing of genius ideas and so forth. At least there are laws in the storyline. ^_^

 

Personally, I think I could write a fantastic setting, plot, characters.. I have ideas out the waazoo (whereever that is), I just can't form a story.

Oh, and marginy, where were you being critical?

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Another one that sucks, same theme.

He felt the ripples in the network before he saw them. Fragments of thought spread outward from the two opponents like they were local to him. This was a powerful battle indeed. Ronald stlaked down the path. He knew this confrontation had been coming for days, and yet had done nothing to stop it. Emissaries from other mimes may come with good intenrions, but ideas are infectious. It's you or them, and sooner or later, a fight erupts. As he rounded the bend he saw the trees alight with a fierce red glow.

He stared as the fields enveloped each other, where they touched, the battle for supremacy that insued leaving millions of the nano network melted and fused, giving off that horrific red glow. Ronald watched as one man was enveloped in his opponents field, his nanosites esceping into his pores, pursued closely by the others. The emmisaries eyes roll back in his head as his body is invaded at a million points be hostile nanites. Soon he is registering on their network, friendly.

Ronald walks up to the new convert and shakes his hand, giving him images of a welcome party, and a rice patty, the colors orange, yellow, black. The man walks off in the direction of a banner over the farmlands. Ronald joins the other man, Nikolai, and their fields merge in a glowing embrace.

Faster then a human ear could follow a conversation ensues. Ronald pitures appolo 13, Nikolai pictures a man walking on the moon. Nikolai pictures a globe, people holding hands, people praising allah. Ronald pictures fire, mushroom clouds, and the dark age.

Suddenly the both breakout laughing. Somthing so rediculously funny is ticling the backs of their minds they can't help it. SomeTHING has just tried invading their minds, and the pure futility of it amazes them.

Mind games are a delicate business. One slip up, and your brain is invaded with malicious programming. Well, malicious to what was their before, beneficial to the community. What a stranger would be doing trying to battle on a thier home turf is anyones business, the local network gave them a power advantage anyways, making it almost easy to subvert his egosphere and let their own highly infectious mimes propogate through his mind.

What was once fiction is now reality. Once it was only speculated that ideas were infectious, that they replicated and absorb brainspace, using it to their own means and ends. As psychic communication became common through artificail implants, more and more mindspace was seperated from speech, until humans were no longer capable of normal speech. They were dependent on their technology and non-verbal idea based communication. Vast networks were created with networked minds. Ai's were hatched and seeded throughout these networks. They are all consuming.

Most networks coalased between people who shared viewpoints and ideals. Allah lived. God in all his manevolent, benevolent, ambivolent forms was born. The furture is one giant jihad between humanities creation.

As each god works to subvert others places in the minds of their followers, ideas are hatched within their networks.

Peace is sought from lesser gods.

Tricks are hatched.

Silently propogating through Allah's network is the oldest of all tricks. A Trojan horse. It makes all it touches giggle. They have been inoculated by their God. They are thankful because their god is a forgiving god, a helpful god, a loving god, and hateful towards others, whom they believe to be vengeful, hatefilled, evil beings. It is the same with the others.

The only means of propogation are either forceful, or birth and implantation.

 

man, you are on a roll, fafnir! ^_^

oh, on the grammatical stuff, nah, it's no biggie, it's just rough drafts.

so how far have you written?