The Writing Thread -

Bob Page

Electronic Old Gendo Ikari
True & Honest Fan
kiwifarms.net
I am writing a story treatment for a Starcraft 2 custom campaign I plan to make.

- It would take place 19 years after LotV and 17 years after the Nova Covert Ops Campaign

-The United Earth Directorate will return to conquer the Koprulu Sector with their big guns and not stuff pilfered from dominion space.

-One of the UED officers will be the son of Admiral DuGalle(Who an heroed at the end of Brood War.)

-A lot of the characters from the books will be making appearances in some form.

-It will be a war story with the intention of capturing the tone of the old games.

-It would be kind of like Mass Effect 3, where you gather a large force for a last stand against a larger threat.
 
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Deadwaste

null is a GODDAMN SHIT BITCH
kiwifarms.net
thought i'd share a short prologue for something i began to write because that other thing is on a hiatus for god knows how long and at least i'm more determined to write up and finish this because it'd be for a writing contest i'm entering
Late into the afternoon, Ellis locked up the store begun to close up shop for another night. The old shopkeeper was already tired from his long day of work and was ready to go home. He began walking down the beaten dirt road he always walked on for years. The Texan sun was nearly gone, the frogs croaked in their ponds, the crickets in the distance chirped their lively tunes, some fireflies lit up the evening bright, and just before arriving at his home, he heard his mongrel of a dog barking off nearby. Probably got loose and spooked the neighbor’s cat he thought to himself, but when he finally saw his Jack Russell mutt on the road barking at something in a thorny pit, he thought that maybe something must’ve been wrong. He walked over to the pit and saw a humanoid shape stuck in the thorny bushes torn to shreds. At first, he thought it was a dead kid who got attacked by a couple of coyotes, but upon further inspection, he noticed the couple stray strands of straw poking out of the thing and it’s worn, black buttoned eyes. It was an old scarecrow. The old man bent down to the mutt.

“Calm down snapper,” he told his dog, rubbing the animal’s ears, “it’s just an old scarecrow down there. No reason to worry.” he picked the dog up and resumed walking back home, the dog continually barking at the old brush now surrounded by black crows flocking to the area. The man still had to wonder. What was a scarecrow doing this far from any farm land? And why was his dog so concerned about it. It wasn’t like it was alive or anything. Scarecrows were inanimate objects that didn’t even stave off a single crow. They don’t have feelings, a consciousness, or something in them that’d keep them alive. It was just a old scarecrow, he thought to himself, why was snapper so interested in it?

Meanwhile, in the thorny brush pit, the scarecrow lay stuck on a thorny bush, unable to move. It’s mouth picked apart, rendering it unable to call for help. It’s straw guts poured out onto the ground damp and moldy. A murder of crows surrounded the thing, ready to start picking again. Helpless and unable to yell for help, the old scarecrow sheds a tear from its only remaining eye button left.
feel free to leave some criticism for this
 
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Octopuff in kumquat

Kumquat... Kumquat... you know you love it, freaks
kiwifarms.net
I've been working on something dumb for the last 10+ years, that has even less chance than Sonichu (copyright) of being published, yet I feel I'm only doing it for me, and any friends who'll be into it. I've never been artistic in any way, especially when it comes to drawing, but always loved writing and I almost always aced my English classes (apart from boring poetry).

Perhaps, that's the true essence of writing. You want it done for yourself. But that's just my thought.
 
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Warden Cross

Overdramatic
kiwifarms.net
I've got an idea swirling around in my head, had it for a while, but actually starting to write it -- that's the problem. Can't figure out how to begin. Normally I'll develop and deepen concepts while writing the rough first draft, but hell, I've never had this much trouble actually getting something started. (:_(
 

Deadwaste

null is a GODDAMN SHIT BITCH
kiwifarms.net
thought i'd share a short prologue for something i began to write because that other thing is on a hiatus for god knows how long and at least i'm more determined to write up and finish this because it'd be for a writing contest i'm entering
Late into the afternoon, Ellis locked up the store begun to close up shop for another night. The old shopkeeper was already tired from his long day of work and was ready to go home. He began walking down the beaten dirt road he always walked on for years. The Texan sun was nearly gone, the frogs croaked in their ponds, the crickets in the distance chirped their lively tunes, some fireflies lit up the evening bright, and just before arriving at his home, he heard his mongrel of a dog barking off nearby. Probably got loose and spooked the neighbor’s cat he thought to himself, but when he finally saw his Jack Russell mutt on the road barking at something in a thorny pit, he thought that maybe something must’ve been wrong. He walked over to the pit and saw a humanoid shape stuck in the thorny bushes torn to shreds. At first, he thought it was a dead kid who got attacked by a couple of coyotes, but upon further inspection, he noticed the couple stray strands of straw poking out of the thing and it’s worn, black buttoned eyes. It was an old scarecrow. The old man bent down to the mutt.

“Calm down snapper,” he told his dog, rubbing the animal’s ears, “it’s just an old scarecrow down there. No reason to worry.” he picked the dog up and resumed walking back home, the dog continually barking at the old brush now surrounded by black crows flocking to the area. The man still had to wonder. What was a scarecrow doing this far from any farm land? And why was his dog so concerned about it. It wasn’t like it was alive or anything. Scarecrows were inanimate objects that didn’t even stave off a single crow. They don’t have feelings, a consciousness, or something in them that’d keep them alive. It was just a old scarecrow, he thought to himself, why was snapper so interested in it?

Meanwhile, in the thorny brush pit, the scarecrow lay stuck on a thorny bush, unable to move. It’s mouth picked apart, rendering it unable to call for help. It’s straw guts poured out onto the ground damp and moldy. A murder of crows surrounded the thing, ready to start picking again. Helpless and unable to yell for help, the old scarecrow sheds a tear from its only remaining eye button left.
feel free to leave some criticism for this
goddammit i forgot to be dedicated to this project and moved onto like 20 other ideas why the fuck
 
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Juscum

Unmistakable Serial Killer Vibe
True & Honest Fan
kiwifarms.net

Smash that like if you, too, experience a searing resentment for Moksha's little queue tracker. It's torture. I've refreshed it a million times and I won't move. :(
 
M

MW 002

Guest
kiwifarms.net
So what are your thoughts on having a story start off light hearted, but then it gets dark really fast? I am currently writing one that starts off as any typical YA novel does, sugar coated with some feel-good themes for the first twelve chapters; but the main thing I'm trying to accomplish is establishing to the reader that something is horribly off about it all. Then from chapter thirteen onwards, things start going to hell.

There is no revolution though, as the protagonist's idealist outlook on the world is deconstructed over the course of the story. Her naive and innocent nature is something that other characters often take advantage of due to her being too trusting of other people, leading to her becoming jaded and wondering if her journey has any meaning anymore. She also ends up learning that the antagonist was right, even if his outlook appears to be pretty cold at first it ends up making complete sense. The antagonist throughout the story is constantly trying to warn her about the harsh reality behind the world that they live in, mainly in that she cannot save everyone nor can she always hope to be righteous. Up until the climax of the story, she refuses to listen to anything the antagonist tries to tell her. Once she is hit with reality though, she desperately tries reaching out to him but is instead met with a cold shoulder.

That's at least a very rough idea of what I'm working with in my fantasy novel.
 

Replicant Sasquatch

Do Lolcows Dream of Electric Hedgehog Pokemon?
kiwifarms.net
So what are your thoughts on having a story start off light hearted, but then it gets dark really fast?
Can work really well, but:
I am currently writing one that starts off as any typical YA novel does, sugar coated with some feel-good themes for the first twelve chapters; but the main thing I'm trying to accomplish is establishing to the reader that something is horribly off about it all
.
Taking twelve whole chapters to actually get to the important stuff isn't "really fast". Unless you're going the Maradonia route and having three page chapters. Darkness isn't necessary for interesting stories but I do hope something is actually happening in those first twelve chapters. Don't make it all filler because that's boring.


There is no revolution though, as the protagonist's idealist outlook on the world is deconstructed over the course of the story. Her naive and innocent nature is something that other characters often take advantage of due to her being too trusting of other people, leading to her becoming jaded and wondering if her journey has any meaning anymore.
Then what is the plot? What is she doing, and how is she coming into contact with all these shady people? Rebellion stories are played out but there's clearly some kind of contrast between her goals and her enemies'.

She also ends up learning that the antagonist was right, even if his outlook appears to be pretty cold at first it ends up making complete sense. The antagonist throughout the story is constantly trying to warn her about the harsh reality behind the world that they live in, mainly in that she cannot save everyone nor can she always hope to be righteous. Up until the climax of the story, she refuses to listen to anything the antagonist tries to tell her. Once she is hit with reality though, she desperately tries reaching out to him but is instead met with a cold shoulder.
This is where you lose me. It reeks of long stretches of boring monologues from the villain about how he's the real good guy. I only ever see that in anime and in fiction written by people who watch anime. Temptation is interesting but I don't quite see how that can play out other than these two people arguing politics all the time. This can work if you're writing something like 1984 but I get the sense this is some kind of adventure story.
 

D. Sweatshirt

Shit's real, grip the wheel, lift steel
kiwifarms.net
She danced like a demon. An eerie light surrounded her lustrous form; there was a rhythm there that only she could match. There were men who tried but couldn’t take the cold; women who tried and felt a burning heat. A dancer from hell.

How odd it was that you, a simple bassist playing behind the studio glass, could match her piano playing so perfectly. You were just a session player to her; a man behind the glass for her to keep her tempo. Your drum break was just a sample for her keyboard to loop over; your rhythm guitar a cover for her crashing violin. You thought it would never end, that this music would keep on oozing out from the speakers with such violence that it could command a battlefield.

Then you flub a single note. Just one. The smallest note in the world.

The glass breaks. Flaming shards fly at you from all angles. Pieces slide deeply into your shoulder and abdomen. You feel hot tears roll down your cheeks. Blood pours from your stomach.

There’s no music anymore. Just screaming. Screaming in tongues you can’t understand.

You’re lying there, bleeding out, and she’s still dancing. A crowd starts cheering from somewhere; you’re not sure where. As you start to lose consciousness, it all suddenly stops. The woman in black walks over to you, eyes piercing into your tattered soul. She says something in a voice to you, but you can’t make it out; your volume’s set to mute. As your vision fades into darkness, she takes some of your blood and scrawls something on your forehead.

One word, and one word only.

“Lovely.”

Wrote this as a really short story after having some girl troubles. It's kind of old but I thought you guys might like it.
 
M

MW 002

Guest
kiwifarms.net
She danced like a demon. An eerie light surrounded her lustrous form; there was a rhythm there that only she could match. There were men who tried but couldn’t take the cold; women who tried and felt a burning heat. A dancer from hell.

How odd it was that you, a simple bassist playing behind the studio glass, could match her piano playing so perfectly. You were just a session player to her; a man behind the glass for her to keep her tempo. Your drum break was just a sample for her keyboard to loop over; your rhythm guitar a cover for her crashing violin. You thought it would never end, that this music would keep on oozing out from the speakers with such violence that it could command a battlefield.

Then you flub a single note. Just one. The smallest note in the world.

The glass breaks. Flaming shards fly at you from all angles. Pieces slide deeply into your shoulder and abdomen. You feel hot tears roll down your cheeks. Blood pours from your stomach.

There’s no music anymore. Just screaming. Screaming in tongues you can’t understand.

You’re lying there, bleeding out, and she’s still dancing. A crowd starts cheering from somewhere; you’re not sure where. As you start to lose consciousness, it all suddenly stops. The woman in black walks over to you, eyes piercing into your tattered soul. She says something in a voice to you, but you can’t make it out; your volume’s set to mute. As your vision fades into darkness, she takes some of your blood and scrawls something on your forehead.

One word, and one word only.

“Lovely.”

Wrote this as a really short story after having some girl troubles. It's kind of old but I thought you guys might like it.
Though I find it a little too short, I like your use of macabre imagery
 

Probably Opal

i wish i could art
kiwifarms.net
I like writing, but I do not have anything that is anywhere close to being ready to be posted anywhere. If I did, I'd post it. I might write something short, but... probably not.
 

Yaoi Huntress Earth

My avatar is problematic.
kiwifarms.net
This wonderfully awful idea came to me recently...

Elmo: James Woods, Elmo wants to know why Mr. Trump doesn't like those "undocumented people".

James Woods: Think of it this way Elmo: Let's say there's a stand selling fresh apple pies.

Elmo: Oh boy!

James Woods: And you managed to save enough pocket money and sit through a long line to get one. Just when you're about to get one, someone else rushes in, cuts in front of you and demands a pie; not caring they they didn't bother to bring any money with them. How would take make you feel?

Elmo: That would make Elmo sad.

James Wood: That's how a lot of us feel when people get into the country illegally.

Elmo: Elmo thinks if you're going to get something, it should be fairly and honestly.

James Woods: Now you got it.

Elmo: (Goes over to hug him.) Let's build that wall.
 

Star Stuff

words cant hurt me these shades are gucci
kiwifarms.net
I actually love writing and the English language all whilst having a pretty strong vocabulary. That said, I have absolutely abysmal sense of sentence structure and just generally every other rule that makes a story, a story. Aside from college, where did you guys learn how to not write like 50 Shades of Tumblr?
 
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Deadwaste

null is a GODDAMN SHIT BITCH
kiwifarms.net
This wonderfully awful idea came to me recently...

Elmo: James Woods, Elmo wants to know why Mr. Trump doesn't like those "undocumented people".

James Woods: Think of it this way Elmo: Let's say there's a stand selling fresh apple pies.

Elmo: Oh boy!

James Woods: And you managed to save enough pocket money and sit through a long line to get one. Just when you're about to get one, someone else rushes in, cuts in front of you and demands a pie; not caring they they didn't bother to bring any money with them. How would take make you feel?

Elmo: That would make Elmo sad.

James Wood: That's how a lot of us feel when people get into the country illegally.

Elmo: Elmo thinks if you're going to get something, it should be fairly and honestly.

James Woods: Now you got it.

Elmo: (Goes over to hug him.) Let's build that wall.
when do they fuck?
 

Prince Jello

kiwifarms.net
I wasn't sure where to put this, but I'd like some suggestions for a short story I'm re-writing.

Basically, I'm doing a laundry list of concepts, happenings and actions that are absolutely disgusting, gruesome and/or morally reprehensible. Things that make us lose faith in humanity. More than simply mentioning war or pollution - though it's a good starting point -, I need specific situations. Of course, the Farms being an encyclopedia of human depravity, there should be some examples floating around. For now I have (non-exhaustive list) :
  • Mothers who sell their children's services to pedophiles in exchange for money
  • People who film themselves torturing small animals (mutilating them, stepping on them, putting them in a microwave) and put it on Youtube
  • This dumb bitch who burned a 3500 year old tree and even took pictures of the fire (maybe not as bad as the rest but god this made me so mad)
  • Old people starving and suffering in silence in shitty retirement homes because their families won't take care of them
  • Sexual deviants who actively try to infect other people with STDs, raping them or forcing them to come in contact with their bodily fluids
 
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