Writers' Corner

[Tilia]

I like to write, especially when I was younger. I used to come up with stories in my head and it was a challenge to remember every detail (tallness, hair colour, age, interests, etc etc) about the characters. Eventually, I realized the fun part was in fact to make up the characters. I also wrote poems, and if any of those was in English, I would share them with you guys. I don't write as much now, apart from the mental thinking about my WL 2.

[biochem]

Writing is always a good outlet for me. I sue to to cast things aside so I can move on with study, and also to help me get into the framework of a analyzing literature.

Here is a little something I wrote fro Biology class I won the contest.

We are the cerebrum, with complexity lost function

a biological disjunction

Bright colors here in vain,

rustelling feathers stripped of fame.

Blue-cock green circles lost and fade,

none of the choices do we raid.

Size germane with confusion,

we care not for a contusion.

In the end we adulturate fidelity,

live lives with an aura of duality.

little and low does this complexity prevail,

let us ask Him to vail

a chemical firing we cannot explain,

caused us fire and even pain.

Let us pluck at the emerald green,

the fibers fabricate a halcyon scene.

This is the only poem that rhymes that I ever wrote. I dont like rhyming, but at the time it was accidental, and I love how such a coincidence produced this fluid poem.

I Loved reading the writing you guys posted it was extremely well written! keep posting

[Mattias]

Do any of you guys have experience with publishers?

I was just wondering, since I will soon finish my book, and will try and get it out there.

[Haney]

this is a poem i wrote when i was in year 4. I forget which book i based it on, but it got a prize in the local paper. Well, here goes:

Within the pine trees tall

within the pine trees tall,

I heard my sweet love call,

awakening the passion lost,

deep within the winter frost.

I lay my head upon the stones,

which cruelly hid her darling bones

the wasted tears flowed uncontrolled

past lines where hatred had long patrolled

I begged the pity long denied

for all the time that I had lied-

for the selfish days that will not fade

and the countless wounds that I had made

it was a moment soft and sweet

her burning lips soon mine would meet

and as I kissed the frozen ground

the world had ceased to own a sound.

and within the pine trees tall,

I had heard her sweet voice call,

the voice of my lost love found

beneath the funeral mound.

By Haney

[biochem]

Do any of you guys have experience with publishers?

I was just wondering, since I will soon finish my book, and will try and get it out there.

I had a poem published in a collection of poems book. But nothing like my own book. I would suggest talking to an already published, but new author.

[Dark Matter]

W00, just found this thread and it is awesome. I have always like writing stories and stuff when I was younger, and I tried to continue when I got older, but I always find that my work sounds childish and that my plots go random places (plus you know the crappy grammar I have, blah.). Then the book ends up sitting in a file for about two years until I look at it again. I have been trying to work on this current book that I actually got the idea form an English poem we read in English. I can't remember the name of it or the author, I will try to remember that, but it talked about Death as a person. So I just wanted to post a little excerpt from it. See what people think, if they want. Either that or I will just let it sit here for a while.

Anywho, here it is:

The moment I looked into her deep, consuming eyes I knew that my world would never be the same. Thinking back I don’t even know what colour her eyes were, or if they even had a colour. If they were simply colourless portals into the soul of the universe I wouldn’t be surprised. Though it didn’t matter anymore; her eyes may haunt me forever, but it made no difference. If anyone should be allowed to live forever it would’ve been her.

Death can break bonds or form them. Death holds the power to look deep inside someone and know what things to twist and break, or to mend and create. Unfortunately though, Death can die. I never used thought about living and dying, though now it is all I think about. How is it that one person, who only took a moment’s breath of your life, can make such an impact?

The room felt different the moment I stepped into it. It was like the world had changed and I hadn’t noticed. I stood in one spot for a moment swaying slightly. My buddy walked into me and I staggered forward.

“Whoa jeez, don’t stop randomly like that!” He said while trying to recover his own balance.

“Sorry, I just ...” my voice failed me as I tried to figure out what had just happened. He slapped me on the back in a friendly gesture and simply shook his head.

“You need more sleep.” He laughed, and walked to his desk.

I walked to mine and noticed a girl was sitting in the seat that had been empty for the entire year. I felt slightly annoyed; I always used that empty space to put my stuff and rest my feet on. As I approached the desk I tried to pretend I didn’t even notice her; maybe she would move to a different desk then. That’s when it happened.

The girl in my once claimed spot for storage turned in her seat to face me. The entire world froze. No, not froze, more like it had never existed. For a few seconds it was like it was just me and her in an eternity of time. Though soon my eyes looked into her eyes, really into them. The world swirled before me I saw the perspective that she saw. It was like the world expanded and the possibilities became endless. I saw life and death. It was as though the entire soul of the girl in front of me was exposed. I couldn’t catch my breath and I felt like I was choking. The soul in her eyes shifted and the images flooded through me in a violent storm. And then it broke off, in an instant. A giggle filled the air as I gasped for air. I sank into my seat and looked into the eyes of the girl again. This time the eyes mocked me as though they knew a secret; a deep, dark secret. I trembled in my seat as though a blast of cold air had just past right through my very soul. I quickly broke the link that formed when our eyes met, but it was like a magnetic force had been placed within and would never allow me to forget this mysterious girl.

[Addy]

this is a poem i wrote when i was in year 4. I forget which book i based it on, but it got a prize in the local paper. Well, here goes:

Within the pine trees tall

within the pine trees tall,

I heard my sweet love call,

awakening the passion lost,

deep within the winter frost.

I lay my head upon the stones,

which cruelly hid her darling bones

the wasted tears flowed uncontrolled

past lines where hatred had long patrolled

I begged the pity long denied

for all the time that I had lied-

for the selfish days that will not fade

and the countless wounds that I had made

it was a moment soft and sweet

her burning lips soon mine would meet

and as I kissed the frozen ground

the world had ceased to own a sound.

and within the pine trees tall,

I had heard her sweet voice call,

the voice of my lost love found

beneath the funeral mound.

By Haney

This is absolutely beautiful. It creates such a quiet, longing feeling. The fact that everything rhymes too is amazing.

You should share more of your writing.

[DeStijl]

Eugh. I have another one to share. It's mediocre as anything, and I daresay it's extremely lame. But I do liket the flow, and it's a pretty good expression of how I'm feeling.

Go Ahead.Get Dirty

By: DeStijl

Fill me with your loathing

And I'll fill you with my own

Speak of faulty loving not

Our caring overthrown

Differences aside, our qualms

Prying at the door

You thwarted with your abhorrence

Behind I hear the roar

Of the rich words we spoke too soon

But cherished all the same

No one hears the laugh I sound

Of derision, of dismay

Begin to hear the consequences

Ringing in your ears

Reverberating off the walls

Of dear, secluded years

Your soul once burnt like energy

Our souls were linked like chains

Your metaphors were juvenile

But never were they vain

So cleanse my mind of memories

That keep my company

Erase my only source of warmth

A source you used to be.

[Flippy]

Haney, you wrote that poem in Year 4? That's pretty amazing. Good job!

I love writing poetry. Head over to www.fictionpress.com/~andrealotte if you feel like checking any of it out. Write a review if you'd be so obliged (You can write one even if you aren't a member.) I'd recommend that website to anyone who'd like feedback on their writing, btw.

This is a poem I wrote in May...it's my favourite one that I've written so far. It's about the universality of emotion across time and space.

My Journey

I wish these words to live a hundred years,

Or maybe more. To print upon a page,

And mottle much with age, and found by one

Reflective heart, echoes thundering its cage.

And when that pensive hand makes thoughtful turns,

Abandoned in a time not fit for them,

They seek a solace in forgotten words,

For fiery eyes of Progress fast condemn.

But here inside the library! Or where

Ever you choose to read and shyly see,

What magic could induce your hands to take

The page and hear the words once wrought by me!

My skins of skeletons once sleeping,

Rendered when my world was weeping!

There is a romance to forgotten things,

Like songs that pass through time elapsed

Are fingers reaching for your own to hold

Until your palms are safe within their grasp.

A maid some hundred years ago is torn,

A man bereft when shying from her hand…

These stories leave your wretched soul forlorn

For though much time has passed, you understand.

There lies the beauty! For you understand.

So oft I wonder at these harmonies,

Continuing as all my words grow older.

Perhaps, my friend, you’ll realise by now

My spirit whispers at your lonely shoulder.

Hoping, though through time I am not near,

My hushed undertones you may somehow hear,

A bridge between us crafted. I beseech you

Wherever you may be in Time, I’ll reach you!

A ghost of me is in these mores and measures,

Though I am apt to never see your face,

May all my troves of trifles and my treasures,

Visit you through soundless time and space.

[Taigan]

I know I'm one!

lol, what novels inspired people to write???

For me, there were a few. CS Lewis' The Chronicles of Narnia was one!

So what does everyone do to satisfy their need to write? Fanfiction? Poetry? What is it?

[Ruan Chun Xian]

Hang on there's a thread for it. I'll find it and merge it.

And yes, me.

Anyway. I read lots of fanfics (well, used to anyway) and I write fanfics and poetry mostly. But my poetry very very rarely get read by anyone except me. Then I manage to surprise myself (twice now) by sticking with fanfic projects have have grown to 100,000+ words.

When I write I have a tendency to over-plan the details and under-plan the plot, though I have gotten better at it. Like with the one I'm writing now, I've just spent two hours (procrastinating on uni work of course), writing a timeline of all the character's birthdays. In lunar and solar calendars (because it's set in ancient China, hence the lunar calendar). And the reason I'm doing that is because I'm stuck on how to get the story moving so that I can end it. So now I still don't know how to end the story but I have all the characters' birthdays. Sigh.

[Taigan]

Yes I have the same issue most of the time. Sometimes, out of lack of motivation, I just stop writing altogether. But I recently started a Bartimaeus fanfiction (hence my obvious current obsession with it). Am I allowed to post a link here or would that be breaking any rules?

I've also started writing my own novel. It sounds cheeky, right, especially considering I've been writing my own novel for years now. But this idea is fresh and this is the furthest I've ever gone. Hopefully, I won't slack off...

I used to write poetry, but it's nothing compared to the stuff on here!

Edited August 24, 2009 by taigan

[Ruan Chun Xian]

You can post a link . As long as it's not advertising anything illegal .

One of these days I will get around to inventing my entirely own characters. Fanfics I'm writing now are novel lengths (well, 100,000 words would be a novella in real life I think) and while they do verge off the original work pretty widely, they're still based on something.

[Taigan]

Cool then, I'll post the link: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5317249/1/A_Golden_Fire

Here is my fanfiction for the Bartimaeus Trilogy. It's called A Golden Fire and I've made up a few of the characters. It is divided into chapters. You can switch between chapters near the top of the page on the right. I'll also appreciate any reviews if anyone reads it. To review the chapter, the button is near the bottom of the page.

Do you have anything posted that I could read?

[Ruan Chun Xian]

I have a few things posted but I'm trying to think of something that wouldn't overwhelm you with 100K words and that you would actually understand. My fanfics are Huan Zhu Ge Ge fanfics so if you're not East Asian you probably have no idea what that is .

http://avodyssey.net/fanfic/viewstory.php?action=printable&textsize=0&sid=201&chapter=all

Try this. I wrote this around 2006 and it's deliberately short. It's got Dumbledore in it .

http://avodyssey.net/fanfic/viewstory.php?action=printable&textsize=0&sid=380&chapter=all

This was my first venture into real-people fic. Was fun to write.

The thing about reading fanfic is there is assumed knowledge. So to be honest I'm very lost in your story . Though I do have one suggestion. I find the *1 footnotes a bit distracting and annoying.

[Taigan]

Here is a piece of fanfic I've written. The fanfic was a Bartimaeus one so all fantasy-haters clear away! It also happens midway through the fanfic so I'll have to brief you a bit. The whole thing is a flashback from the boy's (Clark Bell) past. Him, his master and a djinni were venturing into a grotto in search of a sacred article, when they were attacked. Tell me what you think, it's an action sequence :

Clark was surrounded.

Everywhere he turned he found the smirking creatures advancing towards him. His heart pumped agonizingly in his chest. He was vulnerable; he could do nothing to fight off these monstrous beings. Like a cub with its mother, he turned towards his master, who observed the creatures with a fascinated expression; almost as if he wanted to study them; almost as if he wished to understand their presence. Anger erupted inside of Clark, blazing in his blood. He kicked himself into gear; it was time someone took action.

“We need to do something!” he called, jerking his master out of the untimely trance.

“I told you this would happen,” Septoria turned towards her master, a fierce expression on her face. Without warning, she sent a Detonation towards the fleshless beings. The magic made contact and a deep gurgling sound resonated as the power engulfed the water, bursting several skeletal figures and sending limbs hurtling in all directions. With a satisfied smile, she sent several more Detonations, a few of the energy orbs only missing Clark’s head by a few inches. He was impelled to the ground as the Detonations created a bubble of pressurized air where they flew past him. His master pulled him up, retrieved a few Elemental Spheres, handed a couple over and tossed the rest into the crowding attackers. In swirls of fire and earth, they were consumed, knocking against one another and buried underneath a hurricane of energy. The majority of the undead assailants were destroyed; battered beyond recognition.

If only it were that easy.

For a moment, happiness and relief washed over Clark. They had done it; they had destroyed the monsters and were free to leave the grotto. The world didn’t feel like such a bleak, precarious place.

All of that changed when the placid waters began to swirl once again. Dexterous hands of water drew the bones together, reconstructing the limbs into a different assortment of creatures, into an army that appeared more horrific than the last. Exultance was replaced by humiliation. How could he think that he could kill what was already dead? These soldiers were invincible, and he would perish here trying to ward them off. He felt sick just thinking about it.

His master and Septoria did not lose hope, however. He turned to her with sheer purposefulness; a fire gleaming in his eyes; an intention behind every action. Clark knew he would be safe as long as his master was around. But for how long would that last?

“What are they?” Clark asked.

“Ghuls,” his master answered, “Ancient protectors of the underground Arab Tomes. They’re supposed to be extinct.”

“Well, didn’t someone tell them that?” Clark asked apprehensively.

Septoria continued on with her barrage. Through her impressive willpower and endurance, Clark could already see she was drained, which meant that they didn’t have much time left until they would be overtaken. From her hands a thick Smog, smelling distinctly of petroleum, emerged, and snaked around the skeletons, enveloping them in an overpowering cloud of darkness. The Ghuls paid no attention and drew even closer to the trio. Now, they were only meters away, and Clark was certain they would reach him. His master pulled out an Inferno Stick and tossed it into the sea of enemies. Once it activated, a tall pillar of flame materialized, and with a deafening crackle, the oily smoke was ignited and the blaze consumed everything in a dazzling flash. Only Septoria’s protective charm, cast seconds before the explosion, prevented Clark from burning to a crisp.

The explosion did nothing but blacken the persistent corpses, their wails continued to reverberate throughout the sullen grotto.

“What the heck is wrong with them? Why won’t they just give up?” Clark yelled in panic, his voice trembling wildly.

“They weren’t programmed to give up, Clark” his master said, “Their job is to protect the Ring.”

“Well then just give it back!”

“I can’t do that,” he said guiltily.

Now it was their turn to make a move. The leading assailant lifted its skull upwards and released a high-pitched shriek, which ricocheted off the walls of the caves and rang mercilessly in Clark’s ears. His head suddenly felt heavy, and his vision dimmed. The next thing he remembered, he was on the floor. The emaciated Ghuls had already reached him, and were dragging him into the lagoon. He screamed in terror and dug his hands into the dirt in resistance. It was to no avail, he wasn’t strong enough. The Ghuls had seized him by the legs, their frosty fingers numbing his skin as they tightened their murderous grip. He felt a warm trickle of blood from the wounds on his feet; the creatures eyed it hungrily.

[Brom]

Hey.

I've been reading this thread a bit, and i think you guys are extremely talented. It would be cool if it could get going again so im going to post a poem i made in grade 9:

Never change

Because nothing is wrong

but everything

so change.

[thinkgreen95]

I saw all these posts and so I wrote a poem...

Two strands of life

once vibrant, now forgotten,

grey wisps upon the green

spirit lost, time past

drifting sadly

hinting meaning

Entwined once,

but gently separated

cast adrift

never to find

that which was dearest

side by side

joy embodied

apart,regretful grey

what could have been, but never was

what never was, but would have been

fanciful flights

whimsical pains

o'er a bleak expanse

regret filled land

parting strands

losing life

sadly sighing goodbye

goodbye goodbye

I'm doing NaNoWriMo too! I have an idea and characters and general plot outlined, and have started writing it...just have to finish...

[Sparkling]

You all write so beautiful poems! I love to write, though mostly fiction. I finished my first novel('s 4th draft) may 2008, but it's crap. I wouldn't ever show the whole thing to anyone because of the major plot holes, but it was a great learning experience! I believe the next novel will be better since I pretty much know what I'm doing now. I've started it, but I decided that I would put it away and start writing it some other time when I noticed that not only was it hard to get myself to sit down and write, I didn't enjoy it at all when I did.

If anyone has tips on what to do to find writing enthusiasm again feel free to share them! It would be greatly appreciated.

Also, for you who write poetry; why do you write? I write poetry sometimes (and when I do it's always in english, wonder what one could analyse out of that?) when I need to express my feelings in a concrete way to "get them out of me", while a friend of mine who writes poetry all the time does it because she thinks it's fun.

[Center Field]

This thread is cool. Secretly when not doing school stuff I write poetry and I on and off write a novel about a troubled priest! If i can find my notebook I will put up anything that is good (Not much...)