'kay. I can wait. I don't have another writers club meeting for two weeks. whole week next week is off 'cause of Thanksgiving so the wednesday after next one have it done. :< I need examples of the 2nd part bad.
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The WHOLE story.
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The Girl
Eyes closed, pen flying across the paper was the way to go.
It was called "Freeform Writing", and it's closing your eyes and just writing. Even if it's scribbles, it was supposed to mean something. For her, though, it wasn't scribbles. She'd written one word over and over again on the sheet of paper without even realizing it. Love. Love, love, love, love, love. It was quite puzzling why she wrote that word; her life had been quite lacking in that aspect as of then.
She DID have her heart set on a boy. It was wonder why they weren't already together: they laughed together, cried together, sang together... They even stared quite lovingly into each others eyes at one point or another. She didn't get it, though. She was gorgeous, he was average. She deserved much better, he didn't even deserve her. Something, just something, guided her attraction and desired toward him, and she didn't understand why. As such is love.
She had reason to believe it was really love, too. There were no butterflies when he was around. No, no, they were gazelles stampeding. This was far more than a simple attraction. It was love at it's most refined, and she needed it. Fourteen long, lonely years were lived out, and she needed someone. Someone to hold. Someone to kiss.
So, she lived. Everyday, with the hoped that they would finally be together, and everyday another disappointment. One day passed, and they were simply talking.
"So, what high school are you going to?" She asked. Oh, how she wanted so bad for him to go to the same school as her.
"Tech."
"But I'm going to St. Mark's..."
"So, is this goodbye?"
"I guess."
How badly she wanted to say what she felt, how badly she wished that they would meet again, even once before fate tore them apart. Sadly, it was not so. He was wisked away before her very eyes, never to be seen again.
Oh, how she missed that feeling of love.
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The Boy
Damn. He’d let her go, without even a second thought.
He felt so strongly for her, he loved her so, and he let her go. Just like that. He was filled with immense regret. She was the closest thing to love that he’d ever had in his life, and she was gone. He didn’t even try to stop her. Not to say that he didn’t want to; he wanted to with all his heart. But what was he to do? The situation was helpless, and he knew it as much as anyone.
But he couldn’t help but wonder. What if I had asked her to be with me? As quickly as the thought came into his head, he shook it away. She didn’t care for him. Sure, they were friends, but nothing more to her. She was everything to him: he dreamed about her, thought about her all day… He even had a notebook of love notes he never sent to her. He always wrote them and, at the last moment, didn’t give it to her. He would only be making a fool of himself if he gave it to her.
They were from different sides of the universe, too. She was popular, he wasn’t. She knew everyone around, he didn’t. If he was together with her, who knows what it would have done to her. The ridicule, he imagined, would be far too much. He would never do that to her. She had too much going for her, and he had nothing. Who was he to subject her to the incessant ridicule that High School was to bring?
He wondered if he had made a mistake. He thought about her all day and night, he dreamed about her, his entire life was about her. He didn’t even know if she felt the same for him, but it wouldn’t matter anymore. Wordlessly, he reached over, and fit the headphones over his ears, and slowly pressed the Play button on his MP3 player.
“But there’s something about us I’d like to say…”*
---
*Note: These lyrics directly precede the lyrics on the very first post I posted in this thread.
So, what do you guys think?
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The Girl
Eyes closed, pen flying across the paper was the way to go.
It was called "Freeform Writing", and it's closing your eyes and just writing. Even if it's scribbles, it was supposed to mean something. For her, though, it wasn't scribbles. She'd written one word over and over again on the sheet of paper without even realizing it. Love. Love, love, love, love, love. It was quite puzzling why she wrote that word; her life had been quite lacking in that aspect as of then.
She DID have her heart set on a boy. It was wonder why they weren't already together: they laughed together, cried together, sang together... They even stared quite lovingly into each others eyes at one point or another. She didn't get it, though. She was gorgeous, he was average. She deserved much better, he didn't even deserve her. Something, just something, guided her attraction and desired toward him, and she didn't understand why. As such is love.
She had reason to believe it was really love, too. There were no butterflies when he was around. No, no, they were gazelles stampeding. This was far more than a simple attraction. It was love at it's most refined, and she needed it. Fourteen long, lonely years were lived out, and she needed someone. Someone to hold. Someone to kiss.
So, she lived. Everyday, with the hoped that they would finally be together, and everyday another disappointment. One day passed, and they were simply talking.
"So, what high school are you going to?" She asked. Oh, how she wanted so bad for him to go to the same school as her.
"Tech."
"But I'm going to St. Mark's..."
"So, is this goodbye?"
"I guess."
How badly she wanted to say what she felt, how badly she wished that they would meet again, even once before fate tore them apart. Sadly, it was not so. He was wisked away before her very eyes, never to be seen again.
Oh, how she missed that feeling of love.
---
The Boy
Damn. He’d let her go, without even a second thought.
He felt so strongly for her, he loved her so, and he let her go. Just like that. He was filled with immense regret. She was the closest thing to love that he’d ever had in his life, and she was gone. He didn’t even try to stop her. Not to say that he didn’t want to; he wanted to with all his heart. But what was he to do? The situation was helpless, and he knew it as much as anyone.
But he couldn’t help but wonder. What if I had asked her to be with me? As quickly as the thought came into his head, he shook it away. She didn’t care for him. Sure, they were friends, but nothing more to her. She was everything to him: he dreamed about her, thought about her all day… He even had a notebook of love notes he never sent to her. He always wrote them and, at the last moment, didn’t give it to her. He would only be making a fool of himself if he gave it to her.
They were from different sides of the universe, too. She was popular, he wasn’t. She knew everyone around, he didn’t. If he was together with her, who knows what it would have done to her. The ridicule, he imagined, would be far too much. He would never do that to her. She had too much going for her, and he had nothing. Who was he to subject her to the incessant ridicule that High School was to bring?
He wondered if he had made a mistake. He thought about her all day and night, he dreamed about her, his entire life was about her. He didn’t even know if she felt the same for him, but it wouldn’t matter anymore. Wordlessly, he reached over, and fit the headphones over his ears, and slowly pressed the Play button on his MP3 player.
“But there’s something about us I’d like to say…”*
---
*Note: These lyrics directly precede the lyrics on the very first post I posted in this thread.
So, what do you guys think?
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Even though it's a tad different than what I imagined...
I love it.
Would you mind if I used it as an example in the binder for writers club, Melons?
I love it.
Would you mind if I used it as an example in the binder for writers club, Melons?
Go for it.
What'd you imagine?
What'd you imagine?
Lack of communication.
Some of the most important things are sometimes never said when they should be shouted across a room.
...ya know?
Some of the most important things are sometimes never said when they should be shouted across a room.
...ya know?
My own two cents on the idea (I'm not great at giving critique myself, considering I'm not a very good writer.):
The concept is good. It's an excellent exercise for people to practice different writing styles to portray emotion within their text instead of having it feel bland, monotone, etc. Basically as if it's an emotionless recollection of events.
Not only that, but it's a way to possible come up with an idea to cure the infamous 'Writer's Block' (for those of you that may be new to the word, it means that the writer/author cannot think creatively and/or is having trouble showing what (s)he wants to portray in their writing. They want their writing to be good, but cannot think of anything to make it as such, if that makes any sense to you.)
I strongly suggest that people try this out, at least once. Whether it's in this thread or else where is up to you, but the practice should (cannot guarantee satisfactory results) help with your writing style.
To some of the more 'experienced' writers: critique. If you see an error, point it out and give ways to improve. Try not to provide destructive criticism, such as "that's absolute trash not worth even being posted." Although that's an extremist situation, I believe it gives you the idea I'm trying to give you. Granted, you shouldn't be overly nice either. No one is going to progress better if they aren't hard pressed by others to do better. Posting that it's 'EXCELLENT' or just plain 'AWESOME' dissuades some to practice more, and thereby making it so that the errors that are in their writing recur. Provide the pros and cons within their little segment, and give tips where appropriate.
And that's that. My little insignificant point to this thread.
The concept is good. It's an excellent exercise for people to practice different writing styles to portray emotion within their text instead of having it feel bland, monotone, etc. Basically as if it's an emotionless recollection of events.
Not only that, but it's a way to possible come up with an idea to cure the infamous 'Writer's Block' (for those of you that may be new to the word, it means that the writer/author cannot think creatively and/or is having trouble showing what (s)he wants to portray in their writing. They want their writing to be good, but cannot think of anything to make it as such, if that makes any sense to you.)
I strongly suggest that people try this out, at least once. Whether it's in this thread or else where is up to you, but the practice should (cannot guarantee satisfactory results) help with your writing style.
To some of the more 'experienced' writers: critique. If you see an error, point it out and give ways to improve. Try not to provide destructive criticism, such as "that's absolute trash not worth even being posted." Although that's an extremist situation, I believe it gives you the idea I'm trying to give you. Granted, you shouldn't be overly nice either. No one is going to progress better if they aren't hard pressed by others to do better. Posting that it's 'EXCELLENT' or just plain 'AWESOME' dissuades some to practice more, and thereby making it so that the errors that are in their writing recur. Provide the pros and cons within their little segment, and give tips where appropriate.
And that's that. My little insignificant point to this thread.
Thank you Guile.
Still a bit shocked that you think it's a good idea.
And kairifan...It's going to take a lot of my strength to not blow up at you but this isn't the thread for that. If you're going to post here, say some comments on what people have written (and mine too. ._.) or participate with your own writing.
This isn't the place to look for friends. Also, asking for friends isn't always the best thing to do. You form those by being yourself. 'kay?
Still a bit shocked that you think it's a good idea.
And kairifan...It's going to take a lot of my strength to not blow up at you but this isn't the thread for that. If you're going to post here, say some comments on what people have written (and mine too. ._.) or participate with your own writing.
This isn't the place to look for friends. Also, asking for friends isn't always the best thing to do. You form those by being yourself. 'kay?
sorry im new on this page and do u like kingdom hearts too...
Not the place, kairi. Please go somewhere else if you want friends. Please read the first post.
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2007
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My thoughts on the story? It was pretty good, it had that distinct feeling of insanity coming from the girl and if it weren't for the climatic build-up, the story would've been thrown to waste. Other than that, it's a good story.
Keep it up.
^Message to Ninja Usagi.
Keep it up.
^Message to Ninja Usagi.
Thank you, Tori. :< Would you mind commenting on the stuff the others have written though? Mine isn't the only one here and I'm sure everybody would love some critique.
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2007
- Messages
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I'll check them out tomorrow and give everyone feedback.
^Message to Ninja Usagi.
^Message to Ninja Usagi.
i like it i had to think at first
Me. As in, my point of view. My feelings.
Pretty serious. Really, the most out of my personality I've let out in a long time.
A few weeks, I wrote fantasy storys , but I haven't been feeling it lately.
(it was for kids) So, yeah. What do you think?
Pretty serious. Really, the most out of my personality I've let out in a long time.
A few weeks, I wrote fantasy storys , but I haven't been feeling it lately.
(it was for kids) So, yeah. What do you think?
This isn't just writing stories, Spad. This is your story. Your feelings portrayed through pen and paper...or in this case fingers and keyboard and monitor....
you get what I'm saying.
Anyway.
Whatever you are feeling right now at this moment you let go onto a ragdoll. You get it now?
you get what I'm saying.
Anyway.
Whatever you are feeling right now at this moment you let go onto a ragdoll. You get it now?
I'm mostly bumping it right now since it's on the 3rd page of death.
I want the people who said they'd post something to post something. ._.' promises are getting me nowheres.
I want the people who said they'd post something to post something. ._.' promises are getting me nowheres.
T
Tyler Durden
Guest
The crunch of the branches beneath his feet was exhilirating as he ran through the forest. The leaves smelled of autumn, and the ground was nice and firm. The thick canopy above provided shelter from the blistering sun, and there was plenty of water to partake of. Pausing at a small stream, he dipped his hand into the smoothly flowing water and took in a cold drink. It was refreshing, new, something to be enjoyed. This should have been a sign that something bad was going to happen.
As he heard loud crunches behind him, the teenage boy rose to his feet and whirled around. He pulled the knife out of his sheath, the blade whisting through the air as it was released. But steel could not protect him from this threat. No, for this ailment there was no cure. God knows that he had tried everything before. Placating, allowing, ignoring, confessing, listening; none of them worked on this particular being.
To call the one behind the teen a foe would be inaccurate. Indeed, they were very close to each other, and each shared his living space with the other. But the intruder could never decide what he wanted to be; from the scorch of the sun to the frigid cold of the ice, and of the cool grass in between, the intruder couldn't decide who he wanted to be. This made the teen wary, and he backed up a few steps as the intruder stared at him, and the teen couldn't help but feel intimidated by those eyes, so much like his own...
As he heard loud crunches behind him, the teenage boy rose to his feet and whirled around. He pulled the knife out of his sheath, the blade whisting through the air as it was released. But steel could not protect him from this threat. No, for this ailment there was no cure. God knows that he had tried everything before. Placating, allowing, ignoring, confessing, listening; none of them worked on this particular being.
To call the one behind the teen a foe would be inaccurate. Indeed, they were very close to each other, and each shared his living space with the other. But the intruder could never decide what he wanted to be; from the scorch of the sun to the frigid cold of the ice, and of the cool grass in between, the intruder couldn't decide who he wanted to be. This made the teen wary, and he backed up a few steps as the intruder stared at him, and the teen couldn't help but feel intimidated by those eyes, so much like his own...
It was like the rain was falling.
The tiny prin-picks against my skin in the darkness as the breeze blew against my face. I was aware of everything, every movement in that immediate space.
A flutter.
It pinged against my brow for a moment before sliding down my face.
“Seems like I got you a bit deep there, hmm?”
I opened my eyes and while I feared to move the muscles of my face into a frown.
The needles upon the bridge of my nose were distraction enough.
Something random I came up with in the past few minutes. I hope to post something other eventually.
The tiny prin-picks against my skin in the darkness as the breeze blew against my face. I was aware of everything, every movement in that immediate space.
A flutter.
It pinged against my brow for a moment before sliding down my face.
“Seems like I got you a bit deep there, hmm?”
I opened my eyes and while I feared to move the muscles of my face into a frown.
The needles upon the bridge of my nose were distraction enough.
Something random I came up with in the past few minutes. I hope to post something other eventually.
:< DK's scares me.
not really. But I love it...I wanna see the 2nd half.
And Flu's is good as well....but not really the ragdoll activity. More of just random thoughts.... ._.' There has to be a 2nd character.
And still, the only one to actually do the 2nd part is Melons. Grawr.
not really. But I love it...I wanna see the 2nd half.
And Flu's is good as well....but not really the ragdoll activity. More of just random thoughts.... ._.' There has to be a 2nd character.
And still, the only one to actually do the 2nd part is Melons. Grawr.
It was him again, she told herself as she woke from her deep slumber. Her dreams had once again, for the third night this week, been haunted and plastered with that boys face. How could the girl describe this boy who haunted her so? Belying the calm nature of his face, and the smoothness of his words was a disgusting creature. A festering evil, completely self-absorbed and intolerant. And that evil disgusted the girl. He was friends with everyone and no one, held himself in such a high regard.
Whenever she saw that face she saw collectively everything that had haunted her her entire life. The blind conviction, the army of cronies that would blast her with insults and blows to her ego whenever he sicked them on her, whenever she stood up for others or herself. The girls father was a homosexual - she was adopted, and at age eleven, she had witnessed her father die at the hands of the homophobic men at his work as they beat him to death outside of her school. Bounced around from foster home to foster home, every where it was the same - if you didn't openly hate homosexuals, you were just like them as well.
And this boy. This horrible, wretched boy, who had feigned friendship on their first day of school then spit in her food at lunch, this boy, who had turned the girl's only friend against her when he told her that she was just 'uncool', this boy, who had everything he wanted and more and still felt the need to discriminate against others who were even remotely related to anything 'foreign' to them.
As the girl drew out the knife from her back pocket and followed the boy to school, she spoke underneath her breathe. "He'll pay."
Whenever she saw that face she saw collectively everything that had haunted her her entire life. The blind conviction, the army of cronies that would blast her with insults and blows to her ego whenever he sicked them on her, whenever she stood up for others or herself. The girls father was a homosexual - she was adopted, and at age eleven, she had witnessed her father die at the hands of the homophobic men at his work as they beat him to death outside of her school. Bounced around from foster home to foster home, every where it was the same - if you didn't openly hate homosexuals, you were just like them as well.
And this boy. This horrible, wretched boy, who had feigned friendship on their first day of school then spit in her food at lunch, this boy, who had turned the girl's only friend against her when he told her that she was just 'uncool', this boy, who had everything he wanted and more and still felt the need to discriminate against others who were even remotely related to anything 'foreign' to them.
As the girl drew out the knife from her back pocket and followed the boy to school, she spoke underneath her breathe. "He'll pay."
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