The Writing Thread -

darkhorse816

WOOF!
True & Honest Fan
kiwifarms.net
I'm pretty sure a lot of us are great writers (especially whoever wrote my Secret Santa gift--it was amazing).

So I figured we could have a thread where we can talk about (and maybe post if you feel safe) our own writing projects, whether it be stories, screenplays, plays, teleplays, poems, articles, anything.
 

silentprincess

Worry Wart and Likes Provider Extraordinaire
True & Honest Fan
kiwifarms.net
Everything that happens is from now on


Chapter 1: This is pouring rain, and this is paralyzed


In the back sitting in worn leather seat of a dimly lit taxi, in the company of shadows dancing across his features obscuring most of him. Be situated a long dark haired man, still when the cab finally passes a lighted area you notice it's neatly combed, Jackson Rippner a man that likes to look his best. With piercing blue eyes, that in the darkness seem to shine brightly like a 3 million candle torch, around his jaw the makings of 2 day stubble, he is dressed smartly andimmaculately in a dark blue tailoredwell-cut suit, Crisp sea green button-up shirt with the top button undone so you can see a white undershirt accompanies it. Which he looks very comfortable in, almost as if it’s similar to a second skin to him, however it does give him an additional casual elegance and really enhance to his exquisitely handsomeness, he looks to be in his early thirties. You get the impression from him, that his some kind of businessperson or CEO, that by his intense presence in everything he does, it makes him own any room or situation he enters.



With him, also masked somewhat by the dim lighting is Lisa a beautiful,stunningpetite woman in such a way that the man, she is laying against could not help but admire with an elegance about her that requires respect. She has shoulder length thick auburn hair; her facial features are delicate and quite feminine, and clear skin, dotted by the occasional beauty mark, and a full mouth with laughter lines gracefully creasing around her soft cheeks. Wearing a just barely visible exquisitely graceful light pink silk top, with a blue flowing skirt that stops above her knees to show long slender lean legs, and matching dark blue jacket covering it, the style is impeccably simple, yet classy. She is thin, but not rail thin as is the trend of the day,appearing to be quite fit and athletic, she is naturally beautiful and she does not need to cake on a thousand pounds of Revlon to be attractive. They are holding hands with their fingers intertwined, moreover both of them are looking exhausted and drained.



Lisa’s head is lying comfortably, against the man’s sea green shirted chest her eyes closed while her breathing is nice and easy, she nuzzles her head into his chest, pressing her forehead to the side of his chest cling onto him with her arm around his waist and the curves of his body. Through their nearness she is able to feel his warmthand smell the aroma of the expensive and elusive aftershave he’s wearing and his natural raw organic smell mingle like an effortless aura he possesses that is merely for her. His personification that she would like to savor and encapsulate the emotions and feelings, it gives her, of him as if she'd yearns for it so much, in spite of that at the same time, in some strange way, she is also afraid of this too. However, thinking is undyingly a forbidden occurrence this early in the morning, and she is more than contented at the moment with herself, in the midst of the warmth, her head resting comfortably and cushioned against his chest, while his arm draped heavily over her side listening to the air filling in his lungs as he breathes.



Her light breath tickles the skin of his chest, even through the shirt, which coincidently feels as though it is too thin now, excessively too thin, and she can feel herself making those happy little noises, even as she feels as though she could stay there forever, being hugged by this man beside her.At the same time, her left breast is softly pressing aligned with his ribs, whilst her left thigh is touching his right thigh, along with their hips causing abrasion in contrast to the material both of them are wearing like the gentlest of electrical currents passing between her body and his. At this moment, they give the impression of being contented with this level of physical contact that is a completely acceptable act, which does not have to comprise of any sexual suggestion to it at all, they are merely just seeking comfort, warmth, and security from their closeness to each other.



When some loose strands of her hair have fallen ungracefully across her right cheek when she moves her head slightly, concealing her closed eyes, and she sighs somewhat in contentment, drifting into a peaceful light doze, not even bothering with the loose hairs tickling her cheek. Furthermore, her right hand unconsciously slides up to his chest, and with her small nimble fingers, she strokes him, absentmindedly drawing small circles there as they follow the wrinkles of his shirt, and she can sense how hot his skin is, how lean, defined, and fine-toned the muscles are in the side of his torso. While her fingers, with an affectionate, expressive, finely tuned delicacy, and the dexterously of someone who is on familiar terms with the body competently, examining the composition of his muscles.



Watching his wife with drowsy eyes, Jackson places a small but gentle kiss on her forehead, longing that he could fall asleep with her; while letting the fine coarse coppery hairs of the stubble on his chin, scrape against her delicate scalp. At the same time, her thick, tangle of curlspleasantly are, lightly tickling his nose as he breathes in the flowery fragrance of her shampoo that is also causing his nose to itch in the midst of her hair. He wants to forget everything, trying so desperately to stop his mind from drifting as she touches each of his sensitive spots, causing the familiar, but destabilizing and delicious affects of physical and emotional memories and thoughts of her, which produces both pleasure and pain.



He mutters into her hair in a soft, reassuring, and comforting way while letting his soft lips brush against the strands as they dance elegantly across her hair, whispering in a soothing tone as though he is effortlessly, consoling a small sleeping child in the midst of a dream. Instead, he is whispering sweet nothings, while he attentively reaches out, and with his free pale and lean, but at the same time strong hand without thinking and together with a slight intake of breath. Once again, glancing at his expensive platinum Rolex wristwatch, that is real and definitely not a fake or a knockoff purchased on a street corner. Illuminating dazzlingly in the dark, where it is now exposed a little from its hiding place under the cuff of his blue suit jacket, counting down every precious minutes they have like this. The smooth metal of his silver wedding band shining brightly in the synthetic amber glow of darkness from the streetlights, dotted along the street a small but significant symbol of their unity. Faintly, delicately, and tenderly, in the company of a small but perfectly placed affectionate smile as well as a tender lover’s touch, he brushes the loose soft golden-brown strands away from her face to tuck the auburn strand of her hair behind her ear gently letting him see her face once more. At that moment, he moves his head to the side slightly, it causes his dark brown fringe to fall into his eyes, hiding his intense eyes, and causing a small tickle upon his cheeks, however he ignores it and carries on enjoying the ambiance his caress generates in him touching her within the indistinguishable manner in return.



He suddenly shifts his crystalline eyes and steals a glance at the cabs window just beside them, watching their dim reflection in the glass, even as rain is hammering hard against it. To anyone looking inside in, they look like an ordinary young couple, holding hands, cuddling each other, just on their way back to home from a weekend break, much like the couples you see in movies, and that can be said in some ways. From the look in his eyes, you can notice how there is definitely chemistry, undying affection between them, but all is not perfect, and also there seems to be some tension and a certain amount of underlying sadness too between the two of them. However, they are far from ordinary, neither one of them know how tonight is going to change their lives forever.



When the fingers of his other hand, that were resting on her upper arm lightly trails down the curve of her face, sliding with care down her arm, stroking her arm soothingly. She tenses a little and recoils her breathing hitching a bit as well as her face looks troubled, before shrugging him away as if in fright trying to pull her other hand out of his grip. His hand hovers in the air for a moment, before he drops it softly to his side carefully making sure it is not near her enough to scare her. Afterwards though, when the moment of freezing panic passes, she appears to start subtly relax against him again enjoying the warmth of his chest, he feels as though his heart aches so much, it feels as though it is going to split in two any minute in the overwhelming desire and sorrow, that seeing her like this does to him. He then reaches up again; he manages to continue where he left off. Even while he is watching herwith sorrowful, despondent, and haunting eyes, taking in her now returned easy breathing, andhe yawns quietly as he is exhausted himself. At that moment she simultaneously does too, and shifts closer to him like a child’s comforting Teddy bear, or a blanky, demonstrating just how obviously weary and emotionally drained they are both from the day’s events.



The driver a man who was a lively perpetually chatty black guy when they first entered the cab, with a shaved head, medium build, and without doubt has a gun under his seat. Is now unquestionably in necessitate of stress management skills and appears to be 10 second from an absolute WMD chemical meltdown, simply easier to find than the real things that the government obviously knew were hiding. So lock on target, and hold your positions, this could blow any second. He is frustrated, exasperated and keeps yelling at the other drivers who are cutting him up as he speeds up, attempting to get to the airport on time, when the couple only has 10 minutes until check in. The background noise of the windscreen wipers set to maximum is not helping the matter, and they are still laboring to clear the deluge from his vision, sounding more like a squeegee rather than their intended use, making a horrendous squeaking noise, as the rubber of wiper passes across the window.



Jackson is, sitting in the back of the cab and still holding a dozing Lisa in his arms, furrowing his brow, giving the impression he is aggravated along with the small but noticeable tremor in the muscle of his left cheek and he squeezes the woman’s hand to stop himself. Wanting so badly to holler at the driver, for being of no use and quite frankly is getting on his last nerve. So instead, he keeps a stoic professional mask on his face, and glares at him up at the rearview mirror from time to time letting his eyes say it all, as he’s briefly imagining the best way to kill him. Dangling and swinging as if it is a metronome, indicating the tempo and aural of the man’s outburst from the windscreen mirror, hangs a cheap plastic imitation gold cross, decorated with cheap looking beads. This rather seems ironic why he has it there, since his screaming profanities left right and centre. When he is just about to give him another one of his famous death stares, barely at that moment, his cell phone starts to vibrate softly against his hip much to his surprise.



Without looking, and still staring sharp daggers at the drivers head, letting his intense blue eyes do all the work in a state of quiet, seething frustration, his hand unhooks it carefully from the expensive Italian black leather belt it’s attached to. Flipping it open in one effortless practiced flick of his thumb, he checks the flashing I.D, rolling his eyes when he brings the phone up to his face remembering what he told them “I told you not to call me before-”. Before he answers and lets out an exasperated sigh…never mind, he reasons knowing he isn’t expecting any calls at the moment, seeing that he’s too tired and has far more important things to worry about, like the woman next to him to talk to anyone at the moment. As soon as he answers though, it sounds in the same way as he is dispassionate, but it is simply for the reason that he is tired. Almost immediately, he is reminded of the importance of the call in a few concise words from the voice on the other end of the line, and the uninterested, exhausted, exasperated, and his slightly dissatisfied tone instantly vanishes, and is rapidly replaced with his voice softening and then subtly sighing. He commences, on bombarding the person on the other end of the phone, with specifically articulated questions. The man has clearly deals with these kinds of calls on a regular basis; even listening carefully. He moves his right arm a little, brushing her forehead slightly with the material of his jacket, at the same time as he is talking softly, and then being deft, so not to wake the sleeping woman beside him, he begins to smooth her hair soothingly. Delicately playing with the ends, between his long thin fingers, and he lightly twirls a strand of curl around his index finger while watching her out of his peripheral vision.



Lisa leans into him even closer, enjoying the feeling he is giving her, just from that one action. Nuzzling into his chest, and mumbling incoherently, he can hear some of what she is saying something about shoes being in the toaster, making him smile as he tries to stay on the conversation and not drifting his attention to the woman in his arms while his fingers are still tangled in her hair.



Simultaneously out of the blue Lisa’s cell phone rings in her bag, jerking her violently awake with its ferocious vibrating, she stirs opening her big olive limpid eyes, the man next to her being nudged slightly too from the action, and she starts mumbling curses incoherently under her breathe. Her fingers gently brushes his, before running a hand groggily through her disheveled hair slowly, rubbing the sleepiness away, as she thinks of being torn so abruptly from his arms, and suddenly the cab felt cold and uncomfortable again. Even as she’s delving down into the depths of her leather bag, her hand passes through everything you’d expect a mother to have and more, but the kitchen sink. When she reaches her hand onto the cold metal can of pepper spray, she automatically picks up the just as cold, cell phone next to it in her palm and almost drops it because of the coldness, from the bottom. Bringing the screen to her eye line, when she looks down, and checks the blue illumination glow flashing, the large, black bold lettering of the I.D, blinking and vibrating with determination infront of her eyes, she finds out it’s her father.



She on top of that, when she opens up the phone, notices in a tiny box at the bottom, that there are at least 5 missed calls and she smiles wearily. Slightly aware he’s probably ringing updating her like his a rolling news bulletin with things she already knows which are being repeated and each time he does sounding more and more dramatic than the updates really is.On the other hand, she is not expecting an unexpected development, which will interrupt the broadcast and state, whether the terror alert in Florida area, has turned to red or is still ticking along nicely on amber. She then clears that little thought from her mind, and concentrates contemplating on the subject of what she ought to tell him, her mind meaning it a consolation, reminding her that in a little while, they will be getting their normal life back, and decides to go with the almost-truth and after reassuring him, that everything was all right. Even though all she feels, is never-ending grief, however she can tell him everything later, refraining herself from voicing these thoughts, she then unexpectedly feels her thumb pressing the Talk button her heart almost spilling out at the words she wants to say already.



Whilst the man has intuitively moved away slightly, sensing that he needs to give her some space and knowing specifically who is on the other end of the line, but she can even now feel his warmth.



Jackson is still talking on his phone only a little louder now, as the brunette haired woman’s deep big green eyes takes fleeting look over at him. He turns too, suddenly feeling her eyes on him, with green eyes, and blue eyes naturally meeting each other in that instinctively possessive way, which occurs when you have been a couple for a extensive amount of time. They mutually in an natural unison exchange, apologetic smiles afterwards both of them look away, carrying on in the midst of their phone conversations, his whole body is still trembling from both her nearness and the warmth she is producing, and he’s having trouble keeping his mind on the conversation.



Catching a momentary look over again at her dark haired, blue-eyed husband, her loving friend, lover, and soul mate of 8 years, who from the look of him, has a little smile on his face even though she knows he’s pissed with the driver, one of the many smiles she loves from him.While he discusses on the phone, she pretends she is not trying to eavesdrop in on the conversation his having, and only catching one or two words.Presuming that it’s either his manager or an associate of his team, and subsequently shifts her gaze once more out of the window and concentrates instead absent-mindedly at the heavy rain pouring outside.Along with the flickering streetlights, that illuminate the raindrops in an attempt to drop heavily on the windows reflecting the light and looking like teardrops, ones that she would like to shed out her frustrations herself.Being wholeheartedly thankful that the weather held for this morning, and the downpour along with the freakish storm had only started when they got into the cab, she concentrates on the road trying to pay attention to all too familiar voice you catch her name Lisa.



While her father carries on with his uncompromising talking, and she continues to nod along answering automatically with the standard yes and no replies, whilst lightly chuckling back.She thinks about her father Joe Reisert, the ever-perturbing obsessive protective father, and grandfather, even at the age of 34, and married for 8 years, with three children, he is fretful about her trying his hardest, not to sound too frantic everytime he rings her on the phone. Even though they only live 2 doors down, and visits them every day, he likes to makes a lot of calls…checking in at work and with his adult children and young grandchildren, knowing she is the first on his speed dial. Don’t get her wrong, she loves her father, she genuinely does, except he just worries a little too much about them sometimes It's worse now that he is retired, he has more time to worry about her, and she always fears that one day his going to give himself a heart attack. He always worries so much about her, too much in fact, and she never lets him in, she hates his worrying because it makes her seem weak and she refuses to think of herself as weak, as if she is someone for him to be concerned for.



She has always prided in herself and well known for being an independent, strong, practical, patient, no-nonsense, and straight-to-the-point kind of woman, full-time freelance manager, and a mother of 3 wonderful but energetic children. Who is exceedingly good at her job and being a mother, she throws herself into her work enthusiastically, and does not take any shit from anybody well that is unless; of course, these are the offensive, malicious, hypocritical customers with the most idiosyncratic and astonishing requests and complaintsyou would never believe. At the Lux Atlantic Hotel, an upscale, high-class hotel, that is located, near the waterfront in Miami and has beautiful views of the ocean. Even then, there are limits, she likes to imagine that she can tell them to stick their comments on the comment card and stick them up their asses, except corporate have a different initiative to hers that is tending to their every need and encourage them more.



“Hey dad, how are you and the girls tonight?” She enquires with an enormous smile on her face, which could brighten up the whole east coast. She has missed them the entire weekend whilst they were away, and she has been looking forward to getting back to Miami, along with going to the beach with them.



Once they are off the forthcoming flight, unpacked, rested for all but 5 minutes, and had some coffee and pancakes made by the girls, who are completely covered in the mixture. As she and Jackson have a rare day off, which she knows half of it will be used to clean the kitchen, and their daughters. Her mind then is questioning what the house looks like already, it could be either 2 options a scene from a disaster movie, or one of those documentaries on TV that shows how some people leave their houses and apartments and are in desperate need to be industrially cleaned. That she guesses in this case it is probably a mixture of both. Even as she smiles and asks the obvious and inevitablequestion, any mother will ask, even if their children are perfect little angels, which cannot be possible.



“They didn’t cause you too much trouble did they?” Lisa smiles as she asks the slightly, quiet, chipper voice on the other end of the phone. She knows her husband is listening and he can hear what the voice through the phones saying, because he is also wondering the same question in his mind, and is equally, as eager as her to see them again.

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In the early quiet and peaceful hours and the warm and humid climes of suburban Miami Florida, Joe Reisert an older man with a craggy face in the company of more frown lines than smile lines, looking as though his in needs of sleep. He stands by a white door in the ivory decorated walls of the upstairs hallwayvery still and cautiously, so not to wake his grandchildren from their much-needed sleep, while underneath one of his arms holding a cream woven wooden basket in his arms, and the other holding the plastic block of the phone. Appreciatively with fatherly concern, he smiles at the sound of his daughter’s voice as he talks to her, causing the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth to become more prominent. Although you cannot be sure as dark brown and whiskers of white facial hair, obstruct them, while under his glasses with dark brown knowing intelligent eyes shine proudly.



“No Sweetie they’ve been fine.” He says with a sigh and a slight little gruffsounding laugh with his deep intonation, she is continuously asking him that question and every time it makes him smile. Of course, when it comes to Lisa Rippner formally known as and will always be a Reisert is a complicated and unusual daughter, mother, and wife, on the contrary she never falters, especially when answering his phone calls.



When he opens the door quietly, letting in some of the harsh glaring hallway light, flood into the relaxed room, and he peeks at his youngest granddaughter hoping he hasn’t woken her, that smile on his face grows wider, which additionally includes a look of relief in his eyes.The little girl who is thankfully, still sound asleep curled up in an adorable little ball in her soft and comfortable bed, under the sweet pastel butterfly duvet set, her little wrinkled nose and closed eyes barely visible, he knows she is clutching her white bunny, chewing and sucking on her bunny ears.At the same time, he can hear her in the quietness and stillness of the room, her little mumblings to herself, so much like her mother.She looks similar to a small little baby mouse curled up in straw and other materials and seeking warms during the hibernating months of the blistering cold winter curled up next to her doing the same is a tiny little ginger striped kitten called Marmalade her companion in her own little secret world.



As he carefully places a small gentle kiss on her, soft cheek and caresses her long silky, shiny auburn curls smiling, smelling the sweet mixture of the talc and shampoo combined into a wonderful scent that causes him to reflect back to his daughter at that age.



He wonders if she enjoyed her outing to the park with him and her sisters this afternoon, as it was such a beautiful day outside and she looked so contented playing with her friend quietly, her interactions so careful and caring. He knows she has missed them incredibly this weekend, and probably would preferably want her mommy and daddy right now as a substitute of grandpa. Nevertheless, they will be coming home soon, where she will be playing on the beach with her older sisters and with a bit of luck, helping them saturate daddy in the sea.



The room is painted in a light pastel yellow, the wall with the bed painted with butterflies fluttering in a small group in cream and light pink, while beautifully decorated butterflies suspend from the ceiling are spiraling around their wings flutter causing a slight whooshing sound, and a slight cooling breeze from the window being opened a little. Underneath them is her sheeted tent, which is made of all differently multicolored decorated designed layered sheets that has a small mattress inside with sides so that she won't roll out onto the floor at some point during the night.Even as her night light of twinkling stars are floating across the walls producing a dreamy ambiance, you could describe it as a little girl’s dream bedroom. He huskily whispers quietly into the receiver, trying his hardest not to wake the sleeping child occupying the bed. He can practically see Lisa smiling as she spoke, her large emerald eyes lighting up and her smile curling her lipsup. “Their fine honey, their fast asleep at the moment. And I’m fine honey, just pottering around while it’s quiet.”



He takes a cautious seat on the end of the little girl’s bed the duvet providing the soft cushioning his needs for a soft landing, as he is organizing through the laundry and putting the tiny clothing into piles delicately next to him to put away. He is struggling not to pry, not to sound too overly protective and worried, he knows the constant overprotective father thing he has going on has always annoyed her even in high school. Nevertheless, can she actually blame him she is his only daughter after all, and he knows Jackson and her will be the same with their daughters it was only natural. As far as he is concerned, things were never simple; at least not anymore, the family has been through so much, they have been emotionally and physically distressed and he just wants to see themhappy, but life does not always deal you a full house and let you walk away with the poker chips.



He is still stunned by the amount that she has accomplished at her age, but another part of him is more stunned at how things have turned out for her. Working sometimes-long hours when she is needed, being married for 8 years and a fantastic mother to 3 little girls, which of course limits socializing, and alone time with her husband to enjoy one another’s company, and now this.



Are you both okay?” He asks trying not to sound worried, turning to take another quick peek at his little granddaughter still in her peaceful slumber, before turning his attention back to his little girl. Sure to say, the ever so worried father Joe Reisert has little control over helping his daughter and son in law, but he always continues to hope that one day, their lives will be simple again, as it was before.

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If it is crap just tell me, I know that I am not a very god writer and this is probably something an eleven year old could write better.
 

Mondo Zappa

History's Greatest Monster
True & Honest Fan
kiwifarms.net
I have a few things here and there that I'm working on, but nothing that's advanced enough to share just yet.
 
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The Dude

Bro, don't even bro, bro.
True & Honest Fan
kiwifarms.net
I've been writing a zombie story written as a journal of a survivor. If you folks are interested I'll post the first chapter and see how it goes from there. Keep in mind I've never taken any writing classes.
 

MerriedxReldnahc

#1 Wogglebug Fan
True & Honest Fan
kiwifarms.net
My Blade fanfiction
A Very Blade Christmas

Once upon a time in a quaint little cabin in the woods, the Vampire council was preparing for their Christmas party. The important vampire guy, Dragonetti, was overseeing the decoration of the cabin. I don't know hardly any of the vampire council people's names, but let's just say there was a guy named Trevauxio because that's the best name ever, and he was putting popcorn garlands on the tree. A couple other vampires were setting up a happy little Christmasy diorama with the little ceramic shops and people on top of the fireplace (they already had their hand-sewn stockings up!), and Deacon Frost was in the kitchen perfecting his gingerbread recipe. You may be wondering why a council of vampires who worship the blood god La Magra would be celebrating the birth of baby Jesus, and that's because it's my fanfiction so shut your cakehole.
Anyway, while all the preparations were underway, Dragonetti had his eye on the most beautiful vampire of them all. Pallantine was snuggled up in an armchair with his Addi Turbo needles and a couple rolls of cascade 220, counting stitches and making sure his gauge was right. Oh, Pallantine! If only he knew how much the other vampires adored him! If only he knew how they thought about him as they read their vampire romance novels! If only he knew that Dragonetti loved him the most! But alas, Pallantine was unaware of his powers of seduction. However, he was aware that he seemed to be attracting Dragonetti's attention. Looking up from his row, Pallantine met the gaze of his admirer, giving him a pleasant smile. Dragonetti's inner teenage girl was squealing like mad, and his outer adult vampire man self was blushing slightly. The thought to himself that one day, he might tell Pallantine his feelings.
Later on, the pretty vampire was having some thoughts of his own while he tasted some of Deacon Frost's gingerbread.
"I sure hope the ginger isn't too strong!" Frost commented as he whipped up a small batch of icing. "I know you like ginger cookies that have little pieces of ginger in them, but Trevauxio- he doesn't even like ginger, and I like to make my gingerbread strong the way my grandmother used to."

"Mm-hmm." Pallantine mumbled in response as he nibbled on the gingerbread.

"Maybe the sweetness of the icing will balance it out. This is my auntie's recipe, and she loooved her sweets! Dragonetti will like it too, he's got a bit of a sweet tooth, hasn't he?"

At the sound of Dragonetti's name, Pallantine's eyes glazed over, lost in thought. "Certainly he knows! He has to! I always sit right next to him in meetings, I flutter my eyelashes at him, I even shared my lunch with him that time he forgot his! But why hasn't he said anything about it?" "Hey, anybody in there?" Frost woke Pallantine from his daydream in order to shove a spoonful of icing into his mouth. "Don't start spacing out on me, you're my official taste tester!"
"Mmmpf- Sorry, I was just ... thinking about something."
"Aww, don't worry, buddy! Just because you brought the wrong baking dish doesn't mean your cheesy potato casserole will be any less delicious!"
"I suppose so..."
Pallantine kept his worries to himself, deciding instead to focus on the upcoming festivities.

Christmas was swiftly approaching, and all the vampires were eagerly awaiting their big party. They had drawn names for the gift exchange several weeks earlier, and had all the presents wrapped and under the tree. When Christmas eve came around, Dragonetti stayed up late to watch a heartwarming Christmas special on TV. Trevauxio and Deacon Frost had already gone to bed and were dreaming about dried, candied, fruit. The only other person Dragonetti shared company with was Pallantine, who looked adorable in his Hello Kitty jammies! Dragonetti felt shy, but wanted to break the ice.
"So, what do you think Santa is gonna bring you this year?" He asked, trying to sound cute but instead coming off as dorky. "Well," Pallantine giggled "I just might have asked him for a new cupcake pan. Did you ask Santa for anything?" There was a slight hint of nervousness in his voice.
"Well, uh- I have been hoping for a new sweater for a while, but you know I'm picky about color."
"Ah, I see." Pallantine was silent for a while, before declaring, "I'm going to bed now, see you in the morning." As he left, Dragonetti wanted to wish him sweet dreams, but thought that might be kind of fruity.

Finally! Christmas Day! The day was a flurry of preparations for their big Christmas dinner. Deacon Frost made gingerbread vampires, Pallantine prepared his famous cheesy potatoes (having come across a casserole dish of the perfect size), and Dragonetti displayed masterful ham carving skills. The vampire lords had a wonderful feast, sharing good food, good will, and brotherly love. For desert, they each had apple pie a la mode and a gingerbread vampire iced in their likeness! At long last, it was time to open presents! The cabin was filled with the crinkling of wrapping paper and squeals of joy. The majority of the squealing came from Deacon Frost, who was positively delighted over his new ducky apron and matching oven mitts. Trevauxio was oohing and ahhing over a one-of-a-kind hand-painted decorative egg. Santa had fulfilled his promise of bringing Pallantine a new cupcake pan. Dragonetti was grinning ear to ear over how happy his fellow vampires were, as he unwrapped his own gift. Pallantine watched him anxiously. Dragonetti reached into the box and pulled out- a beautiful hand-knit sweater! It was a dark midnight blue, just his favorite shade! He pulled it on and found it to be a perfect fit, as well as being wonderfully soft!
Wait a moment, hand-knit? It became clear as to who the gift came from.
"I hope the color is alright, you said you were picky..." Pallantine said a little nervously.
"Oh, Pallantine! It's beautiful! You made this just for me?"
The lovely vampire blushed and said yes.
"You don't go knitting sweaters for another man unless you like him" thought the lord of all vampires. "If he did this just for me then he must-" Out of spontaneity, he pulled the other in for a hug.
"Awww, how cute!" said all of the other vampires in chorus. Deacon Frost suddenly let out a squeal of excitement.
"Oh my god, you guys! Look!"
"Huh?"
Pallantine and Dragonetti looked up to see Frost pointing at something above them. Some mischievous person had hung a sprig of mistletoe from the ceiling above them!
"You know what that means?"
"OOOOOOOOHHH!" sang all the vampires in chorus. Pallantine and Dragonetti exchanged glances.
"Go on, I don't mind." whispered Pallantine. Dragonetti didn't mind either. The two vampire lords shared a kiss under the mistletoe, unconcerned with the abundance of spectators. Both agreed that it was the best gift of all!
 

MerriedxReldnahc

#1 Wogglebug Fan
True & Honest Fan
kiwifarms.net
Also, I don't remember who it was, but someone said I should post my Wrath of Khan/ Super Mario Sunshine crossover here. It really is quite bad though!
 
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Lil

Turt Protector
kiwifarms.net
I'm stuck but not stuck on a story I'm working on. I feel like my writing doesn't suit the tone or theme I'd like to convey for it. I wrote the first chapter back in December and I'm struggling through the the first few paragraphs of just chapter two lol

I think my main problem right now is that I have mostly everything planned out and I know where I want the story to lead eventually, but at the moment I don't know how exactly I should write the characters going from point A to point B in a way I like. It's frustrating but at the same time I like the challenge of it. Now it's just the trouble of really making myself concentrate on writing.

/end rant
 

Satan

Simply the best, better then all the rest
kiwifarms.net
I'm an aspiring fiction writer myself. My genres are predominantly suspense/thrillers, horror, and mysteries, with the occasional venture into action and science fiction.
Do you do requests too? I want you to write a story in which you and Chris are two Silence of the Lambs-y serial killers who bond over a shared sense of fashion and a taste for pedo-glasses. Make it really funny and include some romance into it. Make your mortal enemy a low-paid, disillusioned mall cop named Paul Blart, a goofy fellow noted for his fondness of fastfood and hefty ladies, who is on a lovequest of his own.

Include in this elements from thriller, suspense and horrifically mysterious novels and make it venture into action-packed science faction too. Could you do this? I want to see more of your original writing skills using some original and not-so-frequently used characters. And put a little bit of your own heart and soul into it by making yourself one of the characters. :biggrin:
 

Connor Bible

Inferior Enfant Terrible
kiwifarms.net
Do you do requests too? I want you to write a story in which you and Chris are two Silence of the Lambs-y serial killers who bond over a shared sense of fashion and a taste for pedo-glasses. Make it really funny and include some romance into it. Make your mortal enemy a low-paid, disillusioned mall cop named Paul Blart, a goofy fellow noted for his fondness of fastfood and hefty ladies, who is on a lovequest of his own.

Include in this elements from thriller, suspense and horrifically mysterious novels and make it venture into action-packed science faction too. Could you do this? I want to see more of your original writing skills using some original and not-so-frequently used characters. And put a little bit of your own heart and soul into it by making yourself one of the characters. :biggrin:
I'll consider it.
 

The Knife

Magnificent Witch
True & Honest Fan
kiwifarms.net
Since I'm between graduation and real job, I've been trying to finish up a novel. Working title is so silly I'm not going to mention it, but it's ridiculous send-up of Victorian novels about a nice little street urchin who ends up being adopted by stately old-world devil worshipers. In spite of that, she survives to adulthood and ends up hunting down Jack the Ripper because whyever not. There are dead hookers and ritual murders. It's a comedy!

It's slow going though, because it requires so much historical research and I'm the laziest researcher ever. I'm trying to plow through to the end now and go back and fix things later because I'm making no headway by stopping every few paragraphs to find out the brand name of a laundry soap from 1877 or something.
 

plautistic

True & Honest Fan
kiwifarms.net
I'm glad I can finally access the Off-Topic forum! I was wondering if I would find a thread like this.

I started a novel in 2011, finished the rough in 2012, and made a few anemic attempts at finding an agent in 2013. I finally gave up. I might classify it as magical realism, except I'm not very familiar with that genre, or literary fiction (as in, fiction in part about books). A ghost story? A love story? I have no idea, and I'm sure this showed when I sent queries to agents.

Now it's time to read what you guys have posted.
 
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plautistic

True & Honest Fan
kiwifarms.net
Everything that happens is from now on
[...]
If it is crap just tell me, I know that I am not a very god writer and this is probably something an eleven year old could write better.
I like a good, slow boiler, but there was little to catch my interest here. I'm always really eager to tell people to cut stuff - like, really eager - and I'm pretty bad at doing so myself. That said, I think you missed the ideal starting place for your story: the paragraph beginning "The driver a man who was a lively perpetually chatty black guy when they first entered the cab...". I believe you could cut most or all of the preceding text, retain everything you need, and give the story a more interesting start.

There's a lot of description here, something my minimalist sensibilities tend to forgo. It would be possible to summarize the story up to the introduction of the cab driver as "Jackson and Lisa relaxed in a cab." (more or less.) I think what you're trying to show here - two busy, engaged, perpetually-stressed-out people enjoying their last moments of vacation while looking forward to seeing their children - comes across much more effectively with the more lively section I've highlighted.

If you:

  1. Pare down the physical descriptions (which I felt were repeated so many times that I wasn't always sure I was reading about the same couple), and for lack of a better word, lolling about,
  2. Clean up grammatical, stylistic(?), etc. errors,
  3. And focus on what I think is the real beginning of the story and onward,
I think you'll be pleased at the result! I'd be glad to help with any of the above, but I can't guarantee doing it quickly.
 

SoniBlu

kiwifarms.net
So I'm a fiction writer too, and I've just started to get short stories published (two in the past year, huzzah!). The problem I've been having is that here, in the middle of Nowhere, USA, I can't get a writing group together for the purpose of critiques. Do any of you folks run in online circles you could recommend? I tried Critique Circle but it lacks the sense of community I'm looking for.
 
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c-no

Duck
True & Honest Fan
kiwifarms.net
As far as writing goes outside of the academic fields of essays, I wrote some fiction. I think my best was writing a fan-fiction that was a take-that to A-Log's World's Luckiest Guy. Having a conversation with a certain user of this forum, I thought of writing a sequel to it. If anyone has interest in reading the fic that took a jab at A-Log's fan-fic, then send me a pm.
 
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plautistic

True & Honest Fan
kiwifarms.net
So I'm a fiction writer too, and I've just started to get short stories published (two in the past year, huzzah!). The problem I've been having is that here, in the middle of Nowhere, USA, I can't get a writing group together for the purpose of critiques. Do any of you folks run in online circles you could recommend? I tried Critique Circle but it lacks the sense of community I'm looking for.
I wish I could give you some pointers. I'm unfortunately about as anti-social as can be when it concerns writing. I was waiting to join a group until trusted peers had given my novel a once-over, but they never did. I took it as a sure sign that the thing sucked.

I did join the Absolute Write Forums a while ago, promising I'd be back after giving up on publication, but at this point I just need to start something new. The Absolute Write people are a great resource, with many professional authors among their ranks. If you haven't checked the place out, I recommend it.

And congratulations on publication! Where can we find your stories?
 

SoniBlu

kiwifarms.net
As far as writing goes outside of the academic fields of essays, I wrote some fiction. I think my best was writing a fan-fiction that was a take-that to A-Log's World's Luckiest Guy. Having a conversation with a certain user of this forum, I thought of writing a sequel to it. If anyone has interest in reading the fic that took a jab at A-Log's fan-fic, then send me a pm.
I've never done fan-fiction but seeing some of the posts in the Voices of Spergatory thread gave me the idea of doing a serious re-write of Moleman's Infinite Film Reel of the Cosmos thing, or at least the first chapter. I don't think I've got the chops to actually make it funny like Asperchu or some of the other lolcow parodies, but I keep coming back to the idea whenever he shows up in the forums.

Also, color me interested in the A-Log fic.
 
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c-no

Duck
True & Honest Fan
kiwifarms.net
I've never done fan-fiction but seeing some of the posts in the Voices of Spergatory thread gave me the idea of doing a serious re-write of Moleman's Infinite Film Reel of the Cosmos thing, or at least the first chapter. I don't think I've got the chops to actually make it funny like Asperchu or some of the other lolcow parodies, but I keep coming back to the idea whenever he shows up in the forums.

Also, color me interested in the A-Log fic.
Considering Moleman's work, I think doing a fan-fic on that could be a challenge. As for the A-Log, check your p.m.'s
 
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Tragi-Chan

Godmaster Reverend
True & Honest Fan
kiwifarms.net
I mostly write plays - I've dabbled in other areas, but the results were generally awful. I've had three plays produced. One was about mental illness, one was about dictatorship and one was a thing about pirates because I like pirates. My stuff is mostly comedy, and usually pretty dark - I have depression, and humour is how I cope with it, so that rubs off on my work. At the moment, I'm trying to write a play that's about religion, and in particular the attitudes people have about it. I've often thought I'd like to write a play about OPL, but I don't think anyone would consider it believable.
 
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