32 replies to this topic

[Barakon]

I know this forum section is about Literature, but original Literature still counts as Literature, right? So if there's anyone else here that likes to write, feel free to post stories or snippets of some of your work. I'll break the ice with a snippet of something I'm working on.
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“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Johnny boy!” A loud voice called out in English. From around the truck walked the Red Pole of the Osaka area, Toguro. “Wow, I remember you from when we were little kids. You were so scrawny and quiet. Now look at you! The Bullet Samurai, hahaha! Well I got news for ya, fucker! This is my town! I run this city and I’m not about to let you come play Batman with my fucking money!”

Toguro was not a small man. At least 6”5 in height and no less than 240 pounds, he was a hulk of a person. This freight train was now running full speed at me. I raised my gun to shoot, but was greeted by a hollow Click!. Oh, fuck me…I thought, just in time to be rammed by this Yakuza bull. He ran into me shoulder first, slamming me into a dumpster. Before my body could even bounce off the dumpster he went to work with punching me in the midsection. Left, right, left, right, damn this guy punches hard.

With the last of my strength I cocked my arm back and pistol whipped Toguro across the face, aiming for his nose.


“Fuck!” He yelled out, backing away from me for a minute. Blood was gushing out of his surely-broken nose and he grabbed it, twisting with his hand until there was a solid Craaack!. “I’m gonna fuck you up now, Johnny!” He said, squaring up and throwing a wide left.

I prepared myself for his attack and ducked under the first swipe, punching him in the abdomen. It was like punching a wall. He swung a right hook and I grabbed his arm, using his momentum to toss him over my shoulder.
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Tips would be welcome too. Personally, I have some problems with writer's block and laziness when it comes to consistently writing.

[Thick Thighs]

what the hell did i just read

[Henry Krinkle]

I'm not going to read this, but I do write. In a few hours (after I try and get some sleep) I'm actually picking up my first printed book; which is a collection of my poetry and two short stories. In any case, I dislike most writers I meet as they have a tendency to take themselves way too seriously and feint intellectuality as if they were some kind of reborn Oscar Wilde.

[Barakon]

I'm not going to read this, but I do write. In a few hours (after I try and get some sleep) I'm actually picking up my first printed book; which is a collection of my poetry and two short stories. In any case, I dislike most writers I meet as they have a tendency to take themselves way too seriously and feint intellectuality as if they were some kind of reborn Oscar Wilde.

That's awesome, man. Local print, or will I be able to check it out where I am?

what the hell did i just read

What you just read was a bit of a story I'm devloping about a vigilante/assassin dubbed the Bullet Samurai. That specific part deals with him averting a drug trade in Osaka, when he crosses paths with the Red Pole (Yakuza enforcer) of the city.

[Henry Krinkle]

That's awesome, man. Local print, or will I be able to check it out where I am?

Local print, all on my own pay and all of my own work. I'll be getting a hundred copies so if you really want I suppose I can send you one (free of charge, though a fee for a bottle of vodka would be greatly appreciated as I really do need it). Depending on where you live and how much shipping would cost, I could manage.

[sm123]

I'm definitely an amateur, but i'd be happy to post some of my work in a bit.

[Barakon]

I am too, sm123 . I was just taught early on that you can't be afraid of criticism. You just gotta have a balls-out attitude when you showcase your work. S'all a part of getting better.

[Barakon]

Local print, all on my own pay and all of my own work. I'll be getting a hundred copies so if you really want I suppose I can send you one (free of charge, though a fee for a bottle of vodka would be greatly appreciated as I really do need it). Depending on where you live and how much shipping would cost, I could manage.

Very cool. Yeah, I'd definitely be into it. If you've got a paypal, when I get paid, I'd love to check out your work and send you something for your trouble.

[Numbat]

Tips would be welcome too. Personally, I have some problems with writer's block and laziness when it comes to consistently writing.

tips:
-Stay away from adverbs as much as you can
-Stay away from passive voice
-Be careful with commas. Sentences with a lot of twists and turns can be hard to follow at times. Try reading what you've written aloud and if you're running out of breath that probably means a sentence is too long/could stand to be cut down to a better size.
-Only use slang in dialog and first person narration.
-Less is more. If there's some big, flashy ten-dollar-word you want to use when you could use some smaller word, the smaller word tends to be the right choice. For instance: use path instead of promenade.
-Be concise. This goes hand and hand with Less Is More.

[Numbat]

As for the excerpt of your story.......

The first thing that comes to mind that you might want to keep an eye on is how you use profanity, especially the word fuck.

The excerpt above is only, what....around 230 words? Yet the f-bomb appears five times.

Now, this might just be a high-octane arc in the story, but don't overuse the f-bombs or their effectiveness and jarring connotation will be decreased. A nicely placed f-bomb can be shocking.

[Electrics]

I'm not going to read this, but I do write. In a few hours (after I try and get some sleep) I'm actually picking up my first printed book; which is a collection of my poetry and two short stories. In any case, I dislike most writers I meet as they have a tendency to take themselves way too seriously and feint intellectuality as if they were some kind of reborn Oscar Wilde.

This

I spent a portion of my time on the internet on a writing forum, I love to write, I used to do it a lot, now just on rare occasion. It all started with fan fiction, I can't seem to write poems though, they don't feel right. I just write short stories but writer's block is always around too.

[Phobia]

I'm not going to read this, but I do write. In a few hours (after I try and get some sleep) I'm actually picking up my first printed book; which is a collection of my poetry and two short stories. In any case, I dislike most writers I meet as they have a tendency to take themselves way too seriously and feint intellectuality as if they were some kind of reborn Oscar Wilde.

Ditto, except for getting my shit published. How'd you get published?

[Henry Krinkle]

Ditto, except for getting my shit published. How'd you get published?

I met a girl and she brought me in touch with all the right people. It helps that printing is very cheap in Serbia, of course. I don't really know about the cost wherever you're at. Try finding a printing office (or send your stuff to various publishers then they can do it for you) or whatever and look into that.

[Phobia]

I met a girl and she brought me in touch with all the right people. It helps that printing is very cheap in Serbia, of course. I don't really know about the cost wherever you're at. Try finding a printing office (or send your stuff to various publishers then they can do it for you) or whatever and look into that.

I live in Murrica. I feel like it'd be incredibly hard to get shit published and sold here.

[BCH]

I wrote some Glee fanfiction once.

Oh, and I was in a novel contest in school like 5 years ago... I didnt win.

[Lou]

When I was in 3rd grade I wrote the greatest story about me playing "Hide n' Seek" with my siblings in the woods next to my house then going too far and finding a monster... It was actually the greatest thing ever.

Pretty much this happened:

Woke up. Eat pancakes. Was asked to play Hide n Seek with my sibs. Hide in the woods. Found cyclops-like monster. Take it back to my house, into my room. Almost get caught multiple times, but don't because of his special powers (invisibility, shape shifting, etc...) that I had no knowledge of him having. Monster becomes hostile. Attacks me. Wake up. It was all a dream. Go downstairs. Eat pancakes. Asked to go play Hide n Seek.

God damn. I lost the story, but I remember how awesome it was.

I also wrote a story in 1st grade about a pirate searching for treasure. Pretty much in that one he is sailing around the world and getting into many different experiences that end up trashing his boat. His boat sinks as soon as he finds the island with the treasure. Gets treasure. Just has enough money to buy a new boat. The end.

Those were great.

EDIT: Most recent story I wrote was in 6th grade. It was about a dragon that stole some princess. Don't remember the specifics though... but I do remember that I got in trouble for using the word "hell" to help describe the dragon's fire... That teacher was a cunt anyway...

Imma start writing some stories. Those were actually fun.

[zexon]

what the hell did i just read

[Solid]

i write

[Venom]

I have good ideas for stories. Can never write them though, idk how to start :/

[Barakon]

I have good ideas for stories. Can never write them though, idk how to start :/

Yeah, I have that problem too sometimes. What I do is start writing the part I already have developed and then backtrack.

What you said.

Thanks for the criticism! And yeah, I see what you mean about the cursing. I don't want it to appear too sophmoric but at the same time, I wanted some realism. Like, gangsters don't really say "gosh darn", y'know? Also, I do think I have some problems with commas. Overusing them and whatnot.

Dude, why say "What the hell did I just read?" Okay, the story might not be that good but it's plain fucking English text. If you don't like it then give me some constructive criticism, post something you wrote that's better, or kick fucking e-rocks. Or just tell me it sucks, y'know that's an option.

[Narkwolf]

I have written some stuff but only in icelandic I'll post it if i feel like translating it.

[Narkwolf]

Post it bruh and I have written articles on some complex mag type Shit

Yeah atleast i want to have the translations correct

[Numbat]

Thanks for the criticism! And yeah, I see what you mean about the cursing. I don't want it to appear too sophmoric but at the same time, I wanted some realism. Like, gangsters don't really say "gosh darn", y'know? Also, I do think I have some problems with commas. Overusing them and whatnot.

Who knows. Maybe the gangsters are very polite and proper.

Keep it simple with commas. That's all I can tell you. I prefer using the word "and" instead of splattering the page with a comma.

Good short sentences can be tense and build action. They can be like bullets, but you have to be aware not to get too choppy.

Command of the short sentence and knowing when to throw one in there, especially to break or change the pacing of anything, is important.

[Venom]

Yeah, I have that problem too sometimes. What I do is start writing the part I already have developed and then backtrack.

Will try that, thanks.

[Barakon]

Finished my book the other day. 218 pages. Now to do shitload of editting

That's awesome! What's it about?

[Numbat]

Um, that sounds almost just like Naked Lunch, dude.


edit: talking to hobodog^

[Phobia]

Spoiler

The elaborate Viet Cong base that had been pain-stakingly carved out of the top of a hill and fortified to blend in with the environment was just an ash-filled hole in the ground. Burnt human corpses were littered around the area like a child’s forgotten play-things. The heat from the sun had caked the mud, ashes, and human flesh together across the area, making the clearing feel like a big piece of burnt flesh. Bishop tried to ignore this as he crossed across the clearing with his Ak-47 halfway raised.

*Crunch*
*Crunch*
*Crunch*

How long had it been since Bishop saw a Flamethrower in use?

*Crunch*
*Crunch*
*Crunch*

When was the last time he smelt Napalm in the morning?

Smoke billowed out from the ground in thick waves, hiding most of the area in a shroud of gray, burning fog. Bishop rubbed at one of his eyes from behind his shades while keeping the AK-47 raised with the other hand. With each step he took, his boots continued to crunch through the revolting layer of crusty debris. He stepped over the burnt corpse of a Viet Cong and tried not to look at it. Images of black little dried nuts of human bodies passed through his mind, victims of horrific deaths by fire.

It was as if he had walked through Vietnam and into Hell.

But, in all honesty, was their much of a difference between the two?

Through the smoke, a single man sat on a bullet-riddled crate at the edge of the clearing with his MAT-49 at his side. The man’s back was to Bishop and he seemed preoccupied with watching the Jungle ahead of Bishop. Bishop raised his AK-47 and tried his best to approach quietly.

*CRUNCH*
*CRUNCH*
*CRUNCH*

Trying to sneak up on the man was damn near impossible with the crunchy ground. Already the man was alarmed and reaching for his MAT-49. Bishop quickly ran forward and thrusted the butt of his AK-47 into the man’s back, knocking him to the ground. The man shot his hand up, desperately clawing for the MAT-49, but Bishop quickly kicked the gun aside and slammed a foot onto the man’s neck. The man, clearly a Viet-Cong in his cheap garbs and unshaven face, cried out in pain. He whipped his hand over to his side to grab for a knife when he saw Bishop point his AK-47 in his face

“Touch it and you’re done. Now, pull your hand back and lay it flat against the ground.”

The Viet Cong pulled his hand back and laid it flat against the ground, his fingers gently touching the dusty ground.

“Good. Now, who the hell are you?” Bishop coolly asked.

The Viet Cong stared back, gawking at the large weapon pointed directly at his face. Bishop sighed and hit him in the face with the butt of the gun again, prompting a cry of pain.

“Now then, who are you?” Bishop asked.

The Viet Cong whimpered. “I sent by Viet Cong. We have two men. They die unless Special Forces leave Shipments and Bases alone.” The man cried in broken English. His young, tanned skin was turning into black on his cheek where the AK-47 had hit. He looked like he was only 20.

Bishop pushed this out of his mind as he grabbed the Viet Cong by the throat and yanked him back up on his feet. Bishop pushed the AK-47 into the man’s stomach and lifted him up off of his feet, then backed him up and slammed his back against a tree. Bishop looked deep into the man’s eyes, his face expressionless and hidden by the folded bandana and shades. The Viet Cong squirmed and whined, but was instantly silenced when Bishop tightened his grip.

He chose his words deliberately and let them slowly emerge from his mouth, where they slowly drove into the man’s soul like steely, freezing knives.

“You go back and tell whoever’s in charge that if he sets a single hand on either of those men, I’ll pull each and every one of his goddamned teeth out of his head and make him eat them.”

If they were in civilization, Bishop would’ve sounded like he was making small talk, as if he was just discussing the weather. But this was Vietnam.

He loosened his grip on the Viet Cong and let him drop back down to his feet. The Viet Cong’s knees shook violently and he collapsed, terrified. The Viet Cong gasped for each breath, pulling them in and holding onto them as if they were his last. He sat on his knees and hands like a dog, then he quickly scrambled for his MAT-49. He jumped to his feet like a dog that got scared awake, and he frantically waved his gun back and forth.

Bishop was gone.