I'm glad to hear you got good marks for all your pieces BM. I loved your poem from ages ago called Dragon Heart. But I do agree witht he others. There are several typos in your work. (Not that I can talk cuase I always have typos in my work) I'd love to read the rest of your work in the future.
I have to write short stories for english next term so I'll post them up here and see what you guys think.
13 years ago
Fri Aug 13 2010, 07:44pm
Hey guys. It has been soooo long since I have written in this thread, but I really hope to start again, because I do enjoy writting.
This is the start (maybe) of a new piece I hope to take somewhere. We will see where it turns out, and if I have the time to do it. My last one is still on a bit of a hiatus, damn rl.
Here it is, I hope you like it. Tell me what you think.
[ligne][/ligne]
The shadows are clouding my mind, pulling me down to the depths, calling me, compelling me, dragging me. I go willingly, anything to get away from the danger I feel, to escape from the pain that gags me. The emptiness calls, with offers of freedom, and I embrace it gratefully.
But... there is something holding me back. I struggle, I scream. I don’t want to go back, I want to go forward to this bright light that promises release. I am scared of going back.
It’s to late. I am suddenly very aware of my small body, the pain dragging up my side, drowning me every time I breathe. I cry out in pain... but even that hurts, almost drawing me under again.
And then I feel a small, wet object rub against my face, the soft furs that barely brush my cheeks. I shudder at this feeling that I don’t know, and yet are so familiar to me. My eyes shoot open, and I almost scream again at the small, triangular face that appears above me, covered in the same soft furs that I can still feel, echoing on my cheek.
The thing hisses as I shudder again, trying to scramble back, to draw into myself, anything to get me away from this small, unfamiliar figure. But the refreshed pain is a sharp slap to the face that all but disables me, and there is nothing I can do, but try and figure out where I am, and what this unknown face above is.
Cat, my mind whispers through the pain, cat. I try to process the strange word, to remember why it sounds so familiar, but give up when I find the fog that clouds my mind is to strong, and is hurting my head to sift through.
Slowly, ignoring the cat still next to me, I left my mind shift, taking in my other senses in an attempt to figure out where I am. New information crowds me, begging to be let in. I take in the repugnant smell of urine and damp, musty mould, the dust that clogs my mouth, hanging over everything.
My ears pick out the distant sounds coming through the slight crack in the small, filthy window, and I hear jumbled words, strange noises, and a weird, unnatural hum that wouldn’t go away. Under my bruised body I feel smooth wood, and the weight of many stares.
I shift my attention to my eyes, and panic a second at the darkness I didn’t take in before. It is pitch black, and for a second, I am scared, but then it is gone, and I realise that the dark is good, is right.
Looking further, I see again the face peering down at me in aloof assessment. Dark yellow eyes study me critically, and I stare back determinedly, before my attention wanders to the creatures behind it, and my eyes turn away.
Many pairs of eyes stare back at me, ranging from curiosity to wariness, all of them different colours. Something tells me to be scared, but I cannot fear these strange things. They are too beautiful, to full of grace and strength. Still, their unwavering focus is making me shift uncomfortably, and it hurts to much, so I will ignore them, I decide.
[ligne][/ligne]
I am having a bit of a problem with this piece. It is supposed to be a young girl, no older than 7 or 8, but I'm not sure I am getting that through. I don't want to dumb down the language to much, because I hate it when authors try to dumb down their pieces for the general public because they think they won't understand (one of the main things i love about IC is that she doesn't do that). But at the same time, I am really struggling to depict a young girl. She sounds older to me in that piece, though I don't mean for her too.
Any suggestions?
Yeah... I reckon she sounds older. Don't worry about dumbing down the language BM. I like the concept but maybe the imagery and description needs to be changed to more suit an younger girl if that's whom you wish to depict. Just my suggestions though.
Mystic Ward
13 years ago
Mystic Ward
Twentyfamilies Gypsy
I don't think its a matter of dumbing it down. I think you might need to find simpler words and metaphors so that it sounds like a young child. This piece is a thought train and those words would not be in the mind of a child who is injured, scared or in pain. I'd think about making the child older rather than the language younger...if that makes sense.
You have a bit of repition of words, pain in particular, in a couple of paragraphs. Just my opinion, but I think maybe you need to look at how many times you use the same word in a sentence or paragraph.
I loved the start and I think you can imporve the whole by having another read over it and making a few tweaks.
13 years ago
Sat Aug 14 2010, 06:01pm
Agreed with deb. This is not the language of a young girl, and I'd suggest making her older rather than change the language. It's a nice piece and I think expressing it through a younger narrator would cause it to loose some of its impact.
Of course it all depends on where you want tp push this. It could be adapted well but I think it would be a lot harder if you were to continue with a young girl as your narrator.
Thanks guys. I've been really worried about this piece, and it's good to get some advice on it.
Deb and Sionainn- yeh, I agree that changing the language to make it younger will lessen the piece, but unfortunately, the plot I had in my head needed her to be younger. However, I was a bit stuck as to where to take that plot, so I've thought of another one that will work with her being older, and that I can do more with. So thanks for that advice.
Just a question though, how old do you imagine her to be? I still want her to be reasonably young, and I want to see what sort of image I have created.
I imagine her to be late teens, maybe mid teens.
Mystic Ward
13 years ago
Mystic Ward
Twentyfamilies Gypsy
Mid teens sounds about right to me as well.
Yep... I also see her as mid to late teens. Yep... and another I didn't mention was about the repition of words. The repition of words can be good but maybe use a thearus to find some synomyns for the repeated words. Just be careful to make sure you then choose the words appropiate for the context of your story.
Thanks, that's what I was hoping, that she would sound to be in her mid-teens. My plot line might work now. :-}
VC- yeh, I always have trouble with repetition. I write in the moment, I guess, and tend to forget what exact words I used. Thanks for pointing that out though, I will go back and change a few of them like you suggested.
Well glad you have it sorted. You could switch to third person narrative if you wanted to keep her about 7 years old though. That could work, but some people have difficulty with third person/don't like it. :)
13 years ago
Sun Aug 15 2010, 12:13am
Yeh, I'm not so sure about writing in 3rd person. I can get into it easy enough when I am reading it, but I find it easier to write - and much more personal and interesting to read - in 1st. But I think the story line I have now is a better one, and she would be best as a mid-teen in this new plot. Now I just have to expand on the idea. :)
Wow I have the exact opposite use when it comes to first and third person :P My first person pieces are always more formal and serious while my thrid person stories always seem to take on a satrirical note. I think that may be because I still try to add personality to my narrator despite the fact that they are not a character so to speak. :)
Interesting :)
Sorry for rambling.
That's an interesting thought, adding character to the narator. I have never really considered that before. Is it sort of like in A Series of Unfortunate Events?
This is a really short poem I wrote today in 7 minutes about love, the topic of which was given to me by the poet who came to visit our class today.
caged
blinded by desire,
stripped of sense,
bound,
imprisoned,
beautiful pain,
tortured love.
i have another one coming (hopefully) and we shall see how that works out
i like it BM. :) I can't wait to see your other one. :)
thanks vc. the poet didn't give us any warning, just said 'ok, you have 5 minutes to write a poem that is 6 lines long about love. get to it', so i was a bit surprised that it turned out ok.
this other one i have written is actually a sonnet. it didn't take me that long to finish, but it sure gave me grief. one of the versus just would not come to me, as you might be able to tell, and i don't have a name as of yet. but oh well, it's done now. so without further ado....
Vanity, be my closest friend,
But as my lover? hesitate yet,
For to my heart this lust does tend,
Whilst love does bind in Satan's net.
Imprisoned within this deadly hug,
Henceforth, I march Death Row;
Towards my grave, already dug,
By Cupid's hand alone.
Black beauty, poisonous prayer;
Sanity lost in a constricting vice.
Purest pleasure a dark nightmare;
Temptation at it's purest price.
To my fate, written in stars above,
Dare I barter life with love?
I liked it BM. :D I think I might of been able to see the verse that was out of place but I'm not that sure. ;P
haha i thought you would. which one do you think it is?
*dpm* yeh yeh yeh sue me...
i have another poem for you all. what do you think?
Fear:
In my mind, I see them well,
the Demons of the dark,
cruel, deadly, relentless,
my pain, my Demons.
Oh, Hell, they are everywhere,
so vivid in my eyes,
I am wide awake in,
the middle of my nightmare.
Fear strikes, a poisoned dagger,
left behind, a familiar wound,
harsh and unforgiving,
to my ever fraying sanity.
I scream for an escape,
I surround myself with life,
my safeguard, my shield,
my moment of peace.
But life plays its own cruel games,
of which I know too well,
for with life, there comes society,
and in society, I am bound,
we are all bound,
bound and masked,
our identity stripped from us,
to make us one of Them.
They are the shadows that destroy,
my Demons come to life,
They seek to control us with our fear,
but I will not be caged!
the price is too high, too much,
I cannot, will not, risk myself,
my heart, my soul, my innocence,
to be one of Them, one of You.
There's a really good image and feeling to this poem, BM. I really like it! :-"
thanks fate, that's what i aim for with poetry, so i'm glad you got it.
Mystic Ward
13 years ago
Mystic Ward
Twentyfamilies Gypsy
I like Fear BM. It mostly has great flow but you could probably fix it a little by having another look at your punctuation.
I also liked your sonnet and I figure the 'By Cupid's hand alone' line is the one that doesn't fit.
Yeh, I thought about that, what with the line not quite rhyming and such. I guess, in the end, I just figured that it was exactly what I wanted to say, it just worked so well with what I was trying to get across. It was actually one of the first lines I came up with, and one of the reasons I wrote this poem. Also, I am not too strict about my rhyming. It doesnt matter to me if things don't rhyme perfectly, so long as they are similar enough, and says exactly what I want it to say.
I have another one for you guys, and hopefully a couple more on the way...
Untitled
Here return the stories,
Of a long lost thread,
A broken heart, a shattered mind,
A proud wolf lying dead.
Here are the cold, cruel knives,
The pain amongst the wreck,
The intense storm of emotions,
That keep reality in check.
Here are the elaborate lies,
That mask us in our doom,
And terrible, bloody wars,
That lead us to our tomb.
From where comes the courage,
To brave a thousand men?
From where comes the fear,
To kill a crippled wren?
No more the tales of warriors,
Of the hero, of the prince.
Gone forever the happy endings,
The dark we now evince.
Watching as the night unfolds,
The deadly storm ignites.
A whirlwind of black hatred,
To which there is no light.
A scorching jet of red,
A proud and furious cry.
Surging out of darkened cloud,
To cut across the sky.
Rising on wings streaked with dark,
The creature raises its head,
High above the shredded land,
It watches daily bloodshed.
Far below the starless sky,
A land that swims in tears,
Monsters stalk the open streets,
Playing on people’s fears.
A child killed without remorse,
A mother screams her pain,
A helpless father watches on,
Bound in figurative chains.
In the centre lies a black magic,
To which there is no name,
No control, no boundaries,
Pure evil set to maim.
Here return the stories,
That best remain untold,
Locked away with delicate care,
Never to behold.