LOL at the poem. And the point of writing poetry is not that it's good or bad, it's just that its different to what you would normally write. It's funny how we each have an idea of what is good or bad but that others can have a totally different idea. :P
I don't think Ama's biased Sionainn, I really like the poem too. ;D I wish I could write free form like that, but unfortunately I am a slave to my meter.
I love it! I think that is really awesome! And I don't see your good reason in not writing poetry :nod:
lol sionainn i loved the poem! It is totaly Ariel (not that I would know |:|) You should definitely put that up in fanfiction.
And I get your point about editing too. I don't think it would apply to me though, I just get to frustrated with myself editing and it can ruin the whole thing for me.
I feel really awkward writing poetry. I guess it's just not something I have really enjoyed that much. With my writing I tend to 'go with the flow' I guess you could say. It all just comes rolling out in waves but poetry I have to sit and think for long periods before I can write a line. So yeah I don't like it too much because it feels forced or something. [act]shrug[/act]
Anyway long time no update -- my writing habits have eroded since starting Uni again and, even though I've started my second novel, I've pretty much writen nothing, which makes me sad so :( I'll post some rubbish I don't like to try and motivate myself to get going again and fix things and . . . yeah stuff :P
So yeah, random scene that I feel is all over the place and I pretty much want to cut out of existence but I like some of the descriptions -- or at least some of the ideas for such -- so I kinda still want to do something with it, [strike]even though it's so emo. Why oh why characters do you insist on being so emo?[/strike]
I don't know? Ideas/suggestions/kill with fire?
Her feet were trailing in the water, sending ripples moving daintily across the otherwise smooth surface; encircling her in her own sorrow. He almost feared to approach her, feeling as if those ripples were spreading out some barrier that would only push him back and bring him harm.
She spotted him then and drew her feet out of the water so she could hug her knees to her body.
“What do you want?”
He started: he hadn’t been thinking again. He did not know what he wanted anymore – everything was so different now.
“Why do you keep wandering off by yourself,” he asked, now trying to sidetrack his own mind.
She pulled her eyes away. “I just want to be alone.”
Anger bubbled up in the stomach gripping kind of way as Rick sat himself next to the girl, his face already contorted into a scowl. “Stop wallowing in self pity. I found that stupid necklace of yours you know! Believe it or not the world hasn’t ended.”
Narrowed eyes that would have sent smarter men running for the hills turned on him, but Frederick was so unwise that he would not even appease the girl with a flinch, as he fished through his pockets for the pendant.
He chucked it into her lap.
Suddenly she snorted, throwing the tension off them both to go splashing into the calm water in the form of rage which drenched them in bitterness and disgust. If she had believed in hate she would have felt that way about him in that moment – he probably would have deserved it too.
“What?” he snapped.
“What do you care about this?” she snarled, shoving the pendant back into his hands. “You thought I was mad! That everything was just rubbish! You’re such a hypocrite!”
He shrugged, pushing her shaking hands back. “I still do. If anything you’ve gotten crazier,” he said as stonily as he could manage.
There was no denying it. She had always been odd in every sense of the word plus the senses of its synonyms. Now though she had drawn every bit of herself inside with anger and grief and ultimately self loathing was all she had now – twisting inside of her, making her cruel and dull and even dangerous.
“Are you going to kill yourself?”
Her face twisted up again, eyes wide with horror. “What?”
“What do you mean what?”
“Why would I do that? That’s just”---she stalled, words slipping away into the water, flowing smoothly along the path of the river. "I'm not that crazy."
Sionainn, I love your writing. It doesn't have that sense of being in fairyland that sometimes writing has. It's great and original, your characters seem so real!
(I'm sorry for sucking at critiques, haha.) After reading your first couple of stories, I was going to point out/reinforce the fact that all your sentences were so long and that you should have more varied sizes of sentences...But that was too long ago and your newer pieces don't have that problem...So...Good jorb! [/end Coach Z reference]
I actually really like that Sionainn. :D The character interaction are real and substantial. It feels as though it's a conversation between two real people, rather than fictional characters. Also, their emotions seem complex, which is always good (rather than just feeling 'anger', 'sorrow', etc. for no apparent reason :P ). :nod:
And I definitely don't think it's too 'emo'. ;P The best characters go through bright moments and darker moments in their lives. Of course there might be a time in the book when the main character feels depressed and filled with self-loathing. It makes them seem more real. As long as the character isn't like this throughout all of the book (ie it's balanced with a few lighter moments, etc.), and there is a good explanation as to why the character is feeling like this, then it's not 'emo' at all. :nod:
Anyway, I really like it Sionainn. :) I'd love to read some more of this story.
Reading that passage makes my head buzz with all the hate/anger and depression of the characters. (or maybe that's just my fridge making excessive buzzing noises). I choose option C: :D KILL WITH FIRE! Because it is a cool option. Just kidding. I don't know what the necklace scene is all about, but it sort of reminds me of Katara and Zuko from ATLA. |;) Yes I have nothing to add, constructive or otherwise :)
By the way, I like the Ariel poem from earlier on. SWEET :D That should be the epitaph on his gravestone (if there ever will be one) OR it should be the wedding speech Elf makes to Ariel :-"
Hey look, DUST! :D
Have I really not written anything since March. Ye Gods depressing. Oh well I seem to have started again so . . . yay? Anyway just a quick post, much for the same reasons as before: depressing characters are annoying me.
I just want to know how annoying the narrator/protaganist is here. At the moment she is annoying me, but I'm not sure if that's just because I automatically depsise writing in first person. Also tense. I don't know what tense I actually want to use for this novel yet so . . . yeah. For now it is past tense, so I can chuck some foreboding elements in. Not sure if it works or not.
So effectively just a quick test run at style, for a sort of side project that I poke at.
I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror -
The wide brown land for me!
My Country - Dorothea Mackellar (1885 - 1968)
I have no idea if this country is sunburnt or not, I’ve never really left the Valley which, as drought stricken as it may be, still manages to parade at least a yellowy kind of green – but what I did know was that I was certainly sunburnt. Red, blistering and itchy, all the more aggravated by the crunchy dry grass beneath me stabbing me in every tender region. I stupidly sat roasting myself all the more by the blazing bonfire, watching an unfortunate scarecrow sort of creature convert into ash.
Idly I rubbed at my arms thinking of moving but having no real intention of doing so. Soon the fireworks would be let off, and then everyone would go home because the Showgrounds were not nearly entertaining enough to sustain peoples attentions for all that long a period of time. It had long ago lost my attention, and I honestly had no idea what I was even doing there: I had always hated Bonfire night, but since moving into town I had found that there really wasn’t a whole lot to do anymore. So there I was, pretending it was fun.
Okay, so it wasn’t really that bad. Maybe I am just trying to justify my decisions for that night.
“. . . but to be honest I don’t think it’s all that good. I mean sure, I’m a sucker for romances but I don’t see what all the fuss was about.”
[censored], she was still talking – this was a thought that quite often entered my head around Stacey.
I turned to look at the nattering blonde beside me, narrowing my eyes at her curls glowing in the firelight. Allowing myself a few seconds of jealousy -- which included mental imagery of aforementioned hair catching on fire and dishevelling to nothing -- I made appropriate throatal noises, before nodding my head like I had been listening all along. She knew I hadn’t been; she always did.
“Well since I’m obviously boring you, what in the world should we talk about then huh?” she said, crossing her arms.
I simply grinned up at her. “How about Adam?”
A noise rather like that of a feral cat came from her, and suddenly Stacey became very interested in the fire. I can’t remember what she said next or how the conversation went at all, but of course it always led to the same conclusion.
“Do you think he likes me?”
Her eyes pleaded me to say yes, but I was cruel and at the time quite enjoyed enforcing misery by any means, so I shrugged and laughed, “Nah.”
A punch in the arm, caused me to shriek as my burnt arm exclaimed its dislike for such an attack. “Hey, watch the sunburn.”
“Stop teasing then,” she said, poking her tongue out afterwards.
“Well if you already know the answer, why are you asking me?” I replied, lying back and rolling my eyes towards the stars. “Just go ask him out already!”
“What? You know you want to.”
She began prattling on again, so I focused my attention on the brightest star and let my eyes shift in and out of focus, causing darkness to surround my shining star. I had spent too much time staring at the sky, wasting hours on it and yet not ever thinking of anything. I wasn’t sure if it was the best way to cope, but at the time it relaxed me so I wasn’t going to go detox myself any time soon.
The sharp intake of breath was more than enough to alert me that Adam was amongst the group that had blocked my view of the star.
“What do you want Rohan?” I drawled, responding to the shortest and quite possibly the most devious of the bunch.
“We got booze,” he announced proudly. I had already guessed this from the smell.
“Well I guess that would explain why we saw Aaron getting escorted by the police before,” I said sitting up with a bored smile.
“Yeah he got caught sneaking out lot in, but we bumped into some folks who got a whole stash in somehow and they’re sharing.”
Stacey hauled herself to her feet, and glanced down at me with a timid kind of grin as my stomach squelched about slightly. Numerous things rushed into my brain telling me how stupid it would be, but what did it matter: I was female, I blend for a week every month, it would only be one time, it wouldn’t affect me that much and it wouldn’t be for awhile anyway.
“Mum won’t notice,” Stacey said, her eyes now pleading with me. “She’s on night shift, won’t be back till dawn.”
It was only as colours boomed over our heads, hiding our departure from the more populated areas of the grounds, that the usual worries one would associated with underage drinking in at alcohol free event decided to interrupt my thoughts – but in comparison, none of them seemed to matter.
Oooh, Shonks, I love it. :) I'm hooked and I really want to read more. :)
Forcing myself to write in an attempt to break my writer's block.
Here's just one of the silly little things I write as warm ups. Not really sure what it's trying to be.
She said nothing . . ..
She never would; certainly not now,
Death had that unyielding quality.
Everyone made such a fuss.
They always did, but it never mattered.
Reactions varied: some angry, some sad.
They believed it ruined everything,
Even those that claimed it did not matter.
Always so silly:
Getting worked up over such small things,
Yet things moved on, they had to.
What other choice was there?
Only Time seemed to understand:
Death just didn’t like parties.
LOL! That was super funny! So death isn't meant to be all humorous and stuff, but that last line got me laughing, hard! If that is just a warm up, ii would love to see the actual work.
I can see why you were laughing at the last line Beth. lol. I'm also not sure what your poem is trying to be as well Sionainn. But, I sort of need titles as I like to categorize things.
I found this poem evocotive of many times in my life. I didn't find it funny, I found it touching and true. Nicely written.
I really like the idea of writing this type of thing as a warm-up. I've actually never tried any type of warm-up before, but it sounds like a great way to get started.
I really like the poem/thing itself. It's easy to relate to for anyone who's ever lost someone or even just considered death from a somewhat objective standpoint and/or as a natural phenomenon.
Also, is it from Death's point-of-view? Because I could view it that way also (I loathe certain types of parties and when I'm forced to go to them, I become extremely awkward and incapable of human speech). If it is from Death's POV, then I oddly find myself relating.
Very interesting :nod:
[act]does some more dusting[/act]
Why hi there.
This is part of the first chapter to the second novel in a series I'm slowly writing. I think the first part to the first chapter of the first one was my first post in this thread actually . . . but anyway this is actually the unedited version 'cause I'm currently too lazy to get the edited one off the computer which lacks interwebs, so there some errors and things that have been changed but the general gist is there :P
Philip Stall was going bald. This was not a particularly surprising occurrence, but the manner in which he was doing so seemed to surprise anyone who ever noticed – including the man himself.
It was not a simple manner of thinning out on top, or at the temples, or even just everywhere and all over. Disjointed would probably be the simplest manner to describe the way in which Philip Stall had decided to start losing his hair. Clumps here; patches there. A maze could have been set up in what remained of the preciously fine strands but as a result – perhaps a rather fortunate result – one could not even really notice that the man was going bald unless one also happened to get a bird’s eye view of the labyrinth that made up the top of his head.
The boy who was happening to get a bird’s eye view of afore mentioned head, automatically found himself running his eyes through the trenches left by the lack of hair, hoping in vain to find some end to the twisting circles they were running. It would be a never ending task.
Philip Stall’s lack of hair however, was not important – at least not to anything other than the man’s self confidence but he had plenty of that anyway. So instead, it was in that moment that the man decided to look up.
Frederick nearly fell out of the tree, both startled and astonished.
Nobody ever looked up. It was simply how the world worked. Not even the Mowgli or Reaper’s, who knew very well that Frederick and the other’s spent a major proportion of their day in the canopy of the trees, ever bothered to look up. Even the wind stirred uneasily around them, rustling dried leaves as if it too sensed the whole wrongness of the situation.
“You’re going bald,” the boy said having simply latched onto the first thing that stumbled into his shock induced brain.
Philip blanked slightly, not expecting the comment, before sharply feeling indigent.
“I am aware,” he said stiffly as he managed to compose himself – self confidence or no, no man needed to be reminded of such a fact.
“You should wear a hat or something,” Frederick continued, feeling now that he may as well go with the flow. He did not have anything better to do that day, after all.
Philip’s face scrunched up with a mixture of annoyance and something else that was a little more spicy, before settling into the usual expression of anger. “Get down from there. We need to talk!”
Frederick dragged his eyes away from the balding head, gladly finding himself no longer lost in a maze, but suddenly finding himself bored too. “You always say that,” he drawled, the boredom evident in his tone.
“And you never listen. Get down!”
The boredom increased.
“You really ought to give up.”
The man narrowed his eyes, considering on climbing the tree and then dragging the boy down himself, but he pushed the thoughts aside, knowing all too well that such actions would only cause more problems. Besides, even if he could manage to get himself up the tree in the first place, there was little chance he could be able to get himself down again – let alone drag Frederick down along with him. Well, at least not with breaking bones in both of them.
“This is not a game you know,” he snapped pointlessly instead. “Do you have any idea what you are risking?”
Boredom now caused deafness.
Frederick pulled his bag further up his shoulder and peered through the surrounding tree branches for a good escape route, wishing all the while that there were Tarzan vines to swing away on – perhaps knocking his Uncle to his knees in the process.
Meanwhile Philip was still talking and making quite a chore of it in the process. He had been doing it a lot lately. So much so that one would think he would have taken the hint by now.
“---I swear that if this continues I’ll”---
The deafness also happened to be selective. Of course, it generally always is in such cases.
“You’ll what?” Frederick suddenly shrieked, also just as suddenly enraged, “Kill me?!”
Philip’s mouth snapped shut instantly, his face paling in its stead.
“Would you have done it? You were thinking it back then, I know you were.”
The Elder gaped slightly, guilt marring his features. “Don’t be preposterous. Who do you think I am?”
Fired up now, the boy dropped from his perch, somehow managing to land steadily on his feet, which was probably only possible at that moment because he was too distracted to have noticed how high he had just jumped from. Usually he probably would have broken his leg or at least twisted an ankle.
“I don’t know who -- in any world -- you are!”
Philip opened his mouth to say something, but quickly shut it again lest it be filled with shoe for such had then come screaming towards his face with quite a lot of force behind it. Of course by the time Philip had managed to dodge aforementioned shoe and straighten himself up, his nephew was already lost to the myriad of gums and ferns that the boy had claimed a home in.
He sighed: the ominous crackle of dread and foreboding crawling itself up his spine. Sadly recognising that it was perhaps a good thing that he had never had children of his own, Philip Stall then turned and made his way back to the darkness from which he had come, pulling unconsciously at the hair atop his head, creating yet another track in the maze.
Wow, Sionnan, I really liked that piece! I also like your style of writing, too. It's very detailed, but not too much to divert the flow of the story. The starting line also caught my attention, a great setup to the rest.
I also think doing a warm up/something to divert writer's block is a great idea. Your poem about death was really interesting, true and to the point. Nice work. :)
Thanks Fate, I always worry that I'm actually not putting details in. Guess I was wrong. :)
Another start to a novel in the same series as the last piece because I seem to be obsessed with starting things but never finishing them :P
Mrs Aurora VanLykie was a most hideous woman. That wasn’t to say she was ugly of course, in fact she was rather the opposite. Mrs VanLykie could be compared to a summers day, and she quite often had been since she was simply so stunning. Of course beauty is always a matter of opinion, but it seemed that anything with an opinion had the opinion that Mrs VanLykie was very enchanting at the least.
Currently she was looking rather more dazzling than usual as she made her way down the bustling street, her lips curled up into a full wide smile, for today she was in a very good mood. The reason for her very good mood, of course, was why Mrs VanLykie was a most hideous woman.
Today was such a good day, because today Mrs VanLykie was on her way to a very important meeting – a meeting in which she would be hiring an equally hideous man to murder her exceedingly rich husband. Perhaps somewhat needless to say, this was not the first ‘good day’ Mrs VanLykie had ever had. Mrs VanLykie was a very beautiful woman after all, and beautiful woman tended to need rather large and exorbitantly priced wardrobes.
With such exorbitantly priced shoes however, one would think they would not do what they were just about to do as Mrs VanLykie turned a corner to begin heading down into the less reputable part of the city. Fortunately it was actually a very lucky thing that the heel to Mrs VanLykie’s exorbitantly priced shoe snapped right below her foot -- not only for Mrs VanLykie but even for Mr VanLykie too.
As the now somewhat less dazzling Mrs VanLykie stumbled back in a dire attempt to regain her balance, an antique couch landed on the pavement right in front of her and crashed into an innumerable number of pieces, raining her hair with splintered wood. She squealed like a banshee, and continued to stumble back right onto her backside, her heart beating more times than it had already previously done for that day.
Pulling herself shakily to her feet, her hands gripping at her chest she gazed blankly at the remnants of the couch in shock, as the people around her did the same, all wondering why anyone would do something to such a perfectly expensive piece of furniture.
Needless to say, Mrs VanLykie didn’t make her meeting that day.
Meanwhile, thirty-two floors above the startled crowd, the red-haired boy squinted down at the street below, and thought mildly to himself that maybe he ought to try the piano next.
Oooh I like these, especially the Phillip Stall one, love the description of the baldnes...just fab
Fun and intriguing. I'd like to read more.
More random bits I randomly write when I can't be bothered writing chronologically.
“Hey. There’s grey matter all in my drink.”
How he could even notice the grey matter was miraculous, for now the drink composed almost entirely of haemoglobin, and as such was a very sharp shade of red. The original owner of such gazed blankly at aforementioned drink from the place in which his head had been deposited on the table.
Needless to say, it was hardly a pretty sight.
Fortunately for the owner of the drink, he was much too inebriated to fully comprehend what had just happened around him -- the same could not be said for Clarissa.
Backed up against the wall so far as to leave an imprint, her pale face flashed horror and fascination at the two patrons before her. She knew them, she had known them all her life and all of their lives, and as well as she had known them all those years ago, she would have never expected this.
The blonde had been loathsome back then, but looking at him now, Clarissa could only find herself town between pity and horror. He was emaciated, as far as she could tell, tired, dirty, and yet strangely happy looking, and lastly he had just killed a man in front of everyone.
Everyone had left, there were only the three of them now. Well them and the unconscious man under table number five.
Between gasping breaths and darting eyes, Clarissa could not help but extend her gaze beyond the decapitated head of her now former employer and the other boy, younger again, and even less concerned about the situation than the killer himself. He had been her fiancé – a betrothed, an arranged to be more precise.
He hadn’t changed. He looked almost exactly as he had some four years ago. Just taller.
Everything about it was obscene.
The other looked down into his drink again.
“I’m going to need another. Where’d that surly barman go?”
His eyes darted about, until they fell onto that of the barman -- or at least the barman’s head. The body was still behind the counter.
“Oh. You know that wasn’t very nice Alex,” he said to the blonde.
The blonde didn’t react. He was devouring his nails at an exceptional rate, yet was seemingly no closer to actually being rid of them.
Clarissa’s eyes darted about once more. She had to get out of that room.
“Hey ‘Rissa. I think I need a new glass.”
She gaped, astounded that he could be so unconcerned, so unafraid.
“He just killed him,” she stammered.
The boy swivelled his head back around to face Alex, at whom he frowned slightly, before turning back to Clarissa with a slight grimace.
“Hmm, yeah he does that a lot. You get used to it.”
I like the idea, and where the piece is going. I just started reading through and BAM there was a head lying on the floor; so I got a small shock. But other than that, I'd be really interested to find out more about the characters. Who they are (this Alex in particular), what they are doing in that particular place and why there is a head on the floor. :P Nice work, Sionainn.
[act]“Hmm, yeah he does that a lot. You get used to it.”[/act] Love this line.
the screaming cries
heard by all above
pulled down their pockets
tore down their souls
but soon forgotten
the white noise
brung new tides
no disaster comparing
to their own lives
They keep making me write poetry. I hate it.