hey now!!! are you writeing storys , and getting stuck well im suure one person here could help you out alittle.. so here's a threas to knok the ideas around in.
not getting stuck-but I've been writing scifi since I was eight, right now I'm 14. I hope to publish me first book by the time I'm out of high school. I've posted parts of the two books I've been working on but not too many people looked at them. If you want to know more just tell me. P.S By the way, don't think automatically that since I'm 'just a kid' that my writing is inferior to real works like Arthur C. Clarke or Michael Crichton. I assure you it is much the opposite.
Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image! Whoa! Cool off, little sister. I assure you, Pollux, Arthur C. Clarke would be mighty proud at that brash display of self-pride. Good for YOU! Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image! Honestly, I never saw the value in writing 'stories'. maybe it's because I can't do it, that I can't stay in the little confined box of narrative that a sotry demands. I like to write essays, poems, things of that nature. I get a lot from reading novels and books, but I can't imagine myself writing one, or even trying. I'd end up looking like a buffoon.Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image! Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image! iced-earth, you're definately the story guy. You have the patience to focus on the comprehensible I sadly have not. I'll put up a little excerpt from an essay I wrote about rebuilding Lower Manhattan anyway: I envisioned the rebuilt WTC, right from the plans drawn up in the 1960’s. A cold, unforgiving structure to begin with, it was the child of the same school of New York architecture which produced the massive housing projects along the Hudson river, plans for freeways to bisect Manhattan, and the general consensus that the grid pattern, the one defining hallmark of American ideals, was dead. I then envisioned how people would react to this outdated structure: first with reverence and awe, then with contentment, and then with all-out horror for the mistake we had made. While the general public is massively in favor of rebuilding the twin towers, I choose to be a heretic and say no, absolutely not. The general public, which supports this idea, does not understand the scope of the 9-11 disasters. The general public is in denial. When you look up at the new twin towers, you will see vast walls of steel, thousands of windows, and equally belittling amounts of people scurrying about on the ground. You’ll also see two passenger jets crash into the sides; the towers erupt in flames, and then ultimately collapse. If you’re lucky you won’t see someone jumping from the sides, but if you stare too long and resist the animal urge to duck and cover, you probably will. You might not see these things with your eyes, but it will be very easy to imagine them happening. These are the same buildings we are talking about. They are in the same alignment, the same height, and the same environment. It would be far too easy to superimpose death onto them. We might not admit it, but we will be afraid of these new buildings. We will say, “Let’s show the terrorists who’s boss. We’ll show them they can’t scare us.” But in reality, we will have to find a deep well of courage just to step foot in the shadow of these monsters. No one in his or her right mind would rebuild a crime scene and expect people to live in it, not knowing whether their office was the place someone burned to ashes in. Not knowing whether the old office had the same color walls or who worked there. The people working in the twin towers would feel a retching sense of guilt that they had been the ones who took away the freedoms of 3,000 people, and that’s a terrible thing. The survivors or the victims’ families would see some sort of memorial inside the complex yet would not be able to reach it for fear of seeing someone who looked just like their son and asking “ Is that him?” Of course it isn’t him, of course he is dead and gone, but it still hurts. It hurts more because the place he would have died in is there, standing tall and indifferent like nothing happened. He went down with the buildings, but the buildings came back. They came back without him. Although on a smaller scale, the general public would experience similar thoughts, along the lines of “Aren’t those people supposed to be dead?” and “shouldn’t I be watching my head?” They’d catch themselves, of course. We all would. Then they would think, “I’ve got to get out of here” and leave. They certainly wouldn’t come back. They’d be embarrassed and sickened just thinking about what they thought. People are disturbed, mainly, by seeing images of dead people. How about seeing images of dead buildings that have received the personification of 3,000 dead people? You would be stupid, cold, and unfeeling to say that people want their buildings back, and that’s it. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust the people want it now and we’re getting it quick? People are going to have feelings we cannot readily comprehend now, and we shouldn’t rush to pave over them. We cannot doubt that money is one of the major drives in the rush to rebuild the twin towers, all 25 million square feet of them. The owner is already involved in rebuilding his land with his plans, and he is not exercising his moral obligation to consult us. That simple fact, that the Ground Zero site is being treated as a big hunk of tasty real estate ripe for the picking, is shocking and degrading. Any attempt at creating something moving would be lost in that initial liquid rush of greed. If we follow our financial instincts to the bone and max out our square footage potential, we will have maxxed out our potential of creating something worthwhile on the most important piece of land in the history of our nation. That would only fuel the feeling of fear within these buildings, and would inject a feeling of horrific nausea into those walls. The fact that we failed at these buildings simply by following our own capitalist instincts would put in stone a victory for the terrorists. We would be left with the feeling that yes, our own way of life was the reason they attacked us, and we are all at fault for being American. America would not only be the failure for these buildings, but it would become the failure of 9/11. It’s a big understatement to say that we should try to steer clear of these feelings. We would fail ourselves to think them. I'm definately one more for the abstract, but how's that? It isn't a story, but I liked it. Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image!
this is some of my work im working on right now , Anathema INTRO AS HIS TIME COMES TO AN END , THE GRAINS FALL AND DRIFT HIS BLOOD AND SOUL NOW FLOWS OUT OF HIM, HIS GIFT ITS WATCHED, WITH HORROR OF HIS END BUT MAN AND KNIFE ARE NOW FRIEND HE SEES HIS LIFE ONLY HOW HE COULD PERCEIVE WORSE THEN ANYTHING HE COULD IMAGINE OR BELIEVE HIS TORTURED LIFE, NOW WILL FADE, DUST AND PLAGUED HE SEES NOTHING AS HIS EYES LOSE ALL LIFE, AND RENEGED (RENOUNCE) EVERY THING HE ONCE KNEW, FADE OUT , A EMPTY MIND HIS THOUGHT AND THINGS, WHAT’S TO BE, WHERE TO HIDE HERE, IN THE PLANE, WHERE THE STORY’S OF HIS HELL TAKES PLACE IN THIS, FOREVER ETERNAL, SPACE SYBIL (DARKNESS) NOW MY FRIEND I’LL BE YOUR GUIDE YOUR ESCORT , THE LEAD , THROUGH YOUR HELLS AND TORMENT FOR YOUR DEED YOU WILL WALK THROUGH ALL OFF THESE , NOW CAST TO DARKNESS YOU ENTER YOUR NEW “LIFE” ETERNAL, AND WAITING FOR THIS HELL IS MANS BROADEST OF ALL HIS TERMS YOU WILL SEE WHY, AS YOU LEARN THE DARK WILL TAKE AHOLD YOUR BODY APPEARS ON THE ROAD, AND LET HELL UNFOLD DARKNESS ALONG THE PATH OF COBBLE STONE, RED AS THE BLOOD , THAT I BLED I SWIM IN THIS, THE DREAMS OF DEATH, NEVER AGAIN LIVE, I DWELL WITH THE DEAD THE SKY, SET TO DARK WITH NOTHING UPON IT , NO STARS TO SHINE , JUST LONELINESS THE STARLESS SKY REFLECTED BY THE POOLS OF BLOOD, ON THE PATH THE NEVER ENDING REMORSE OF MY THOUGHT, NOW FACED WITH ITS AFTERMATH THE FOREST OF DEAD STAGNANT THINGS, OVER LAPSE THE WILLOWS AND THIS INTENSE NOTHING, IN THE PRESENCE OF ME, IN THE SHADOWS CREEP BENEATH, NO GROUND JUST VASTNESS OF DEPTH, AND FEAR THE SILENCE IS KILLING, DEAF TO THOUGHTS AROUND ME, NOTHING ALIVE IS NEAR ONCE AGAIN TAKE A TURN TO WHAT’S ABOVE, NOTHING IS THE SKY YET DARK, BUT NO STARS, NO LIGHT, NO BEAUTY TO VIE THE GROUND WARM OF WHAT I FEEL, THE PASSING OF THE BLOOD OVER MY TOES THE NEVER ENDING, SILENCE TAKES ME, MY MIND IS LOST IT SHOWS WITH NO SOUND ALL I CAN HEAR IS MY SELF THINK OF THIS THE DARK , THE ALMOST COLD FEAR ERUPTS, FROM THIS NOTHINGNESS I’M ALONE WITH MY THOUGHTS, IN THE DARK, AS I WALK WITH THE BLOOD IN MY MIND THE THOUGHTS SCATTER, AND I CAN’T SEPARATE THIS FLOOD THOUGHTS, RABBLES, PRATTLES, I CAN’T HEAR THE STREAM WHERE IS THE NOISE I’M CONTEMPT TO SCREAM BUT , I CAN’T HERE MY VOICE, THE SOUND, THE ACOUSTICS, FROM THE WOODS WHERE IS IT, YOU TAKE IT SO I’M ALONE, WITH MY SELF, TO THINK OF FALSEHOODS AND I WALK DOWN THIS STREAM OF BLOOD VIVID TO MY LOVE THE ONLY THING THAT TIES ME TO LIFE IS THAT , MY LOVE, BUT WHAT HAVE I DONE , THE HATE WILL RIFE (RISE) THE DARKNESS IS FADING ITS FAILING, THE SKY STILL DARK BUT TURNING TO LIGHT WHAT IS THIS AFTER A MILLION MILES IN THE RIVER OF BLOOD A NEW SIGHT? I CAN SEE SOMETHING DIFFERENT A COLOR A HUE AND THEN HIM AGAIN, YOU!
Wonderful, beautiful writing iced. It's very....dark. Why don't you write happy poetry about bunny rabbits? Here's a looong quote: Guonomo sighed and knelt to the ground, aiming his rifle at the door. Sparks began to fly wildly from its edges as the drones precisely cut through, the horrifying buzz of their antigravs almost deafening by now. Soon enough the huge door fell forward with a clang, allowing the insect-like machines to speed towards him. Guonomo unleashed a barrage of eerie green bullets towards them, causing them to maneuver erratically, dodging every one of his shots. He ceased his assault and waited until they came closer. Kile could see the tiny motors whirring away as they maneuvered the crafts into position around him. He desperately sought out a plan to defend himself, looking around to find something that would help him in any way. His eyes caught the closest mainframe, and in the blink of an eye he had seized the white monolith and hurled it towards the nearest drone, knowing that it was not possible to dodge such an attack. The rectangle crashed onto the metal hull and shattered the components in a fiery explosion, the other drones backing away warily as their counterpart was destroyed. He had felt a tractor beam projector before, felt its icy cold grip and the weight of a boulder pushing at him from all sides. He did not want to relive the experience ever again. It appeared that Guonomo had run out of trump cards, if he threw another mainframe the drones would foresee his move and dodge it before the machine was in the air. All he could do was shoot at them. And that’s all he did. Thick torrents of las bullets pummeled the air and created a deafening thunder, each shot was precisely aimed but always missed its target due to their incredible maneuverability. As the long tube gained in warmth the inferno flaring into the air abruptly ceased. He pressed the trigger to the enormous weapon again but heard only a steady click. He was out of ammunition. He was finished. After hours of intense pain brought on by the tractor beams he would be hauled in to the nearest imperial garrison and tortured until he either exploded or told them everything he knew. If he survived he would be forced into slavery for the rest of his life… He wasn’t going to do that. He had worked and toiled through the mines of countless worlds as a slave before being rescued, had felt hopeless and worthless. He would rather die. In one last futile effort he heaved his weapon at one of the drones and back flipped out the window, feeling the breeze grace his cheeks and the warm sunlight heat his clothes. He was so high up it would likely be minutes before he reached the bottom. Windows flew by in a blur, it was almost surreal for Kile, he knew this was the end, knew the Domare would only find out what happened to him on the evening news transmissions. He gazed towards the fading top of the starscraper, lost in all of its beauty, his eyes roaming the heavens where thousands upon thousands of large and small ships frolicked and sped. He noticed that one of them, shaped like a staple, was floating outside of the window he had fallen from. It was busy launching explosives into the building before it pulled away and began to dive directly towards him. Smoke billowed out of the window; it appeared that they had to fire quite a few torpedoes into the structure. Kile sighed. There was no way in hell that they could reach him. He was falling very, very fast, and now he could only pick out the windows as they flew by if he moved his head in unison with their blur. A bright, fiery eruption of blue flames licked the air behind the craft as it screamed toward him, the cockpit glinting in the morning sun. On one of its thin wings a chain gun retreated into a compartment to be replaced by a grappling hook launcher. A thin cord of rope shot out of the weapon and snatched Kile’s torso, its spidery appendage grasping him firmly. The Domare banked away from the building and began to lift its nose back into the yellow-blue sky. From the other side of the structure a volley of bright red light streaked towards its hull, striking it and shoving the craft back towards the ever-nearing surface of the world. Three light Sparrow-class Imperial interceptors stormed overhead of the Domare, coming around for another pass. This was way too much for Kile, and he began to feel dizzy and within moments he had become unconscious. Adriana Blake cocked her head to push a thin wisp of her black hair out of her eyes as she maneuvered the Domare into a corkscrew, avoiding the bright las bullets that peppered the sky around her. The ship’s elevators had been hit, and it would take a dangerously long time to pull the ship out of its incredible, spiraling dive towards the scattered buildings of the city. She typed furiously into her console, ordering what remained of the shields to be angled towards the rear. Her eyes caught a tiny speck in the distance and realized that it was Kile, still attached to the grappling rope. One of her hands strayed to the edge of the console where she ordered the weapon to reel itself in, her other gripping the flight stick. Red warning lights flashed all around Adriana and klaxons chuckled in her ears. The situation looked hopeless. The tops of the buildings were becoming larger and already she could make out tiny markings and outcroppings on the surface, even some crowds watching the dogfight. Her craft was still hurtling straight down at almost the speed of sound, and as she jimmied and yanked on the control stick she found it to no avail. Her view surpassed the top of one of the shorter buildings, and she prepared to draw her last breath as she heard a distant clank sound across the hull of the craft. Kile had finally returned to the ship. She reversed the throttle and activated every braking system the vessel came with as a small transport banked out of her way. She pulled back on the flight stick with everything she had and noticed a slight incline. The red las bullets that had continuously surrounded her were now smashing into the road and blooming bright, fiery explosions. She could also see hundreds or even thousands of people scattering the pavilion that she had landed on only minutes before. The craft had turned only slightly and Adriana was about to give up as another blast hammered the craft. Instantly the ship whirled upwards as the sound of screeching metal blurred her ears. She had actually touched the ground. Adriana accelerated and tore out of the atmosphere of the planet, activating the tachyon drives as soon as the gravity well of New Decimes had dissipated.
its extreamly good, but id like to see your handlingas in dialoge this part seemed wrong "There was no way in hell that they could reach him. He was falling very, very fast," the very very fast kinda takes away for me Kile sighed. there was no way in hell thed reach him, for he was falling with incressed acclaration, and now he could only pick out the windows as they flew by if he moved his head in unison with their blur. sounds better to me but its up to you can't wait to see the book, i'll buy a copy.
your welcome , glad i could help, this is part 5 of my poem , mentioned above , what do you people think this is part 5 of a poem i've wrote , tell me what you think FIRES AND DAMNATION THE CONFLAGRATION, BURSTED INTO ALL AROUND ME, DAMNATION FILLED THE AIR, WITH THOUSANDS OF SOULS, BITING, TEARING AT EACH OTHER, AND THE SMELL THAT BURNED WITH THE PROCESS OF INHALATION LOATHING, DESPAIR FILLED THE LAND, THE LEDGES OF ALL THE HELLS FILLED MY MIND, GUSTAVE DORE IN THE BACK WITH WINGS FLAPPED, THE COLD WINDS OF COCYTUS, FILLED THE AIR, AND TEMPTED TO LORE THE WAILING THE LETHE, I ALMOST FORGOTTEN LIFE, I HELD ONTO IT WITH ALL I COULD. BUT THE PAIN OF FIRE, ANGUISH AND SHOCK TOOK ITS FORM, AND BEAT ME TO SOMETHING LESS THEN A MAN SHOULD IT WAS REAL, THE PAIN I COULD FELL, THIS WAS HELL, AND WHAT IS THIS HE WALKS ALONE NOT A WORD TO ANY, THAT WAS DIS HE STOOD AND FROWNED AS THE TORTURING OF SOULS BURNED FOREVER. I WAITED IN LINES OF MILLIONS OF SINNERS, ACHE AND TWINGE AT EVERY SIGHT TELL MY EYES FACED WITH NO FEAR, I LAUGHED SOMETIMES, TO MY SELF AS I COULD NOT BARE, THIS WOE, AND MY ENDEAVOR MY BODY WAS TENDER, HEALTH HAD LOST , MY SKIN GONE AND ALL BUT LOST, I STOOD ORGANS EXPOSED, AND ALL TORMENT I KNOW. I BEGGED TO THE WHAT I THOUGHT WAS THE SKY.. ARE YOU THEIR FATES, CAN YOU HEAR ME SCREAM IN THIS TORMENT, AND THE STIGMA SHOW I AM NOT A MAN, AS IT MELTS AWAY A SHADOW OF NOTHING, ECHO’S OF THINGS NO ONE SHOULD HEAR ALL THIS WAS A RENEWED AND EVER PRESENT FEAR PIERCING METALS THROUGH WHAT WAS LEFT OF ME, THE PAIN DISTRESS DID HELL NEED THIS I FINALLY MOVED UPON THE LEDGES, ONE BY ONE, TIME TICKED ALONG, BUT NEVER SEEMED TO MOVE IN THIS ADVANCING PAINS CRAWLED ON TO ME , MAGGOTS AND BLOOD RIVERS FLOWED, GORE AND BONE SHOWED THE LACK OF , ALL BUT IF YOU LOOKED TO THE SKY, A HEAVENS GATE OPENED EVERY TIME TO TAKE SOME ONE HOME. I CRIED A DRY TEAR EVERY TIME SOMETHING FLOATED ABOVE, AND THEN REMEMBERED IT WAS NOT ME IT WAS SOMEONE ELSE I SEE THROBBING PAIN ENTERED MY WOUNDS AS BUGS AND WASP’S PICKED AT ME, IN FAMINE AND DISEASE I STOOD IN A SEA OF MISERY, WITH OTHERS AS FAR AS THE EYES COULD SEE, THE DAMNED AND ME EXPLOSIONS TO VOLCANOES AND MAGMA ERUPT TO THE SKY, BLOCKED BY ASH, WAS THE STARS ALL WHO DARED TO LOOK WERE IN THE PAINS OF ALL THAT CHARS I AWAITED THE END SURELY THEIR WAS ONE FOR ALL. THE TORTURE MUST BE DONE, AND EVEN SCREAMS FILLED HORRID TONE I WAS NOTHING LEFT BUT SOUL AND BONE HE WALKED THROUGH WITH NO HARM THE FIRES WERE NOTHING TO HIS CHARM SYBIL I SAID, HOW MUCH MORE AND HE STOPPED, AND GARBED MY ARM, AND TOOK ME TO A DOOR this is copy written, thanx you very much , but what do you peoiple think
I'm blown away. Your use of description is admirable and rivals even my own (students at my school in this voluntary writing class I have always say 'whoa' when they read what I've said, but yours is extraordinary). Tell me, iced_earth, do you write a first draft and spend a week hammering it and forging it into a final copy or longer or just write out something once and draft it only a few times? For me I usually do the latter.
i well just go, then when i'm done and the dust settels i go back through it and read it a couple of time and change the words if i misinturpetted it when i wrote it , then thats really it.
Yeah when I'm in 'inspiration mode' I whirr through pages and pages of writing in minutes and then days or weeks later I look back and realize I used the word 'explosion' eight times in a paragraph.
Since I'm kinda bored now I think I'll post a very basic plot of my story. Called Evolution Starting when humans invent the tachyon drive-a device that sort-of works like a podracer, using a tractor beam to hold onto subatomic particles that would pull a ship around the universe very, very quickly. The first part deals with when humans start to genetically engineer themselves to be extremely acrobatic and able to speed through the air at incredible speed amongst many other things. They use guanine to enhance their DNA every time they want to go into the matrixy-like mode. During this period the Union, a democratic nation governing most of the explored and colonized galaxy, has its beloved Praetor (leader) overthrown by military generals after he cuts military spending significantly because the military in a peaceful galaxy is illogical. The Empire takes over for several months but the leader of the Lexau organization, a contingent of mercenary gene warriors overthrows its capital, a dyson sphere orbiting the star Aldabaran. This leaves only the military to terrorize the galaxy, which results in total anarchy for the milky way. The second part deals with the integration of machinery into humans, creating cyborgs and eventually transplanting human brains into hologram projectors that simulate a human body but are actually just floating spheres with sensory equipment. I haven't really worked out a plot yet but unlike the first one it will be very calm and will take place in the outer reaches of the universe. The third and final part will involve an archon, or a powerful psychic entity that is the last human in the universe and sports the most powerful mind in the universe. It descends to help a burgeoning civilization on the brink of nuclear war, and then dies. So ends the story of human evolution.
Hey iced u never showed me that poem send it to me. As for your story plot pollux V i think it is very intresting i would love to hear more of what u got.
Well what more would you like to know? I still have to really forge the second and third parts and would be willing to post more exerpts of course. I could also chat with you two buddies if you had the msn instant messenger. If you do when it asks you for my name and nickname type in shrike116@hotmail.com then just this guy, you know?
Origianlly posted by Pollux V: Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image! Ahem...? Since when was writing a self-gratification party? I don't mean to sound like a critic (and holy christ, haven't I recently...Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image! ) But in a thread for writing, I must say that i feel writing has not much to do with ability, or knowing, or having the patience to write. It has to do with creating meaning, and that comes not from analytical, length-based creativity but rather from the heart. Try Mulism. That comes straight from the heart, and it certainly isn't long. But does it have meaning? Sure, it has plenty. Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image! I'm sorry, I just can't control myslef. We just must have very different views of writing, that's all.
