The Writing Thread

[GaryCXJk]

You mean like Samuel L. Jackson's character in Unbreakable?

[WarpSpeed]

Well, Guybrush Threepwood would be no match for him, anyhow.

[Alcoremortis]

I guess it would be a bit like that, but it's not like he'd be able to heal naturally or anything. He'd have to, like, glue himself back together. And hammers would be his worst nightmare.

But yeah, he ever goes against Guybrush, I think we all know who's winning that one.

[Avistew]

Reminds me of that character in Amelie that doesn't leave his house and has padded everything up because his bones are so brittle.

[Friar]

Glad to see this thread has made a resurgence.

After a five month hiatus of my novel after I finished college (my man writing time was on the bus to college, and work meant and still means I have little time for it), I tried to go back to it and found that I couldn't. The characters weren't that great, and everything felt a bit rushed, as a result of poor planning and wanting to go through everything too quickly.

So after 70 pages, I made the very painful decision to delete the whole thing and start afresh. I'm keeping the same title (The elementals) but I'm completely changing the core mechanics and storyline. It's now based on a sort of game my friends and I played as kids. We used to pretend we had powers. I had Ice, my friends had water, fire and electricity.


The book is aimed at people just finishing primary school and starting secondary. It's a kid who uncovers one of these powers and he and his friends have to find the rest to fight an ancient darkness that threatens the land. All whilst balancing school life.

I'm doing it properly this time. A detailed plan certainly helps a lot. Even so, I've. Decided already to rewrite the first chapter (It is intended to be a prelude, a back story to the origins of the powers, but I found that I was giving too much information , and making it seem that it WS the story. I'm going to swap to that chapter being narrated, and made a lot less detailed.)

My original novel idea isn't gone forever. I'm still toying with the idea of writing some sort of doctor who fan-fiction around it. It would convert nicely, I think.

[Alcoremortis]

Originally Posted by Avistew

Reminds me of that character in Amelie that doesn't leave his house and has padded everything up because his bones are so brittle.

Yeah, it would be something like that. Though from playing with porcelain dolls, it's not a completely fragile substance. You don't want to smash it against something, but it can take a little punishment, especially if it's thick. But being dropped or any great force would be a bad thing to have happen.

[DAISHI]

Originally Posted by Friar

Glad to see this thread has made a resurgence.

After a five month hiatus of my novel after I finished college (my man writing time was on the bus to college, and work meant and still means I have little time for it), I tried to go back to it and found that I couldn't. The characters weren't that great, and everything felt a bit rushed, as a result of poor planning and wanting to go through everything too quickly.

So after 70 pages, I made the very painful decision to delete the whole thing and start afresh. I'm keeping the same title (The elementals) but I'm completely changing the core mechanics and storyline. It's now based on a sort of game my friends and I played as kids. We used to pretend we had powers. I had Ice, my friends had water, fire and electricity.


The book is aimed at people just finishing primary school and starting secondary. It's a kid who uncovers one of these powers and he and his friends have to find the rest to fight an ancient darkness that threatens the land. All whilst balancing school life.

I'm doing it properly this time. A detailed plan certainly helps a lot. Even so, I've. Decided already to rewrite the first chapter (It is intended to be a prelude, a back story to the origins of the powers, but I found that I was giving too much information , and making it seem that it WS the story. I'm going to swap to that chapter being narrated, and made a lot less detailed.)

My original novel idea isn't gone forever. I'm still toying with the idea of writing some sort of doctor who fan-fiction around it. It would convert nicely, I think.

Too long a break really hurts your ability to keep up with continuity of your Story, so sometimes it hurts it to leave it for too long.

[GaryCXJk]

Unless you're autistic / have Aspergers like me

[Alcoremortis]

I still remember all the plots, characters, settings, and motivations of every book I've never written.

I think it really depends on how much of yourself you put into it. For myself, whenever I come up with an idea for a story, I can't stop thinking about it for weeks, sometimes months, or even years. Sure I can do other things since I'm a decent multitasker, but it's always at the back of my mind, sometimes several at once. When you spend that amount of time thinking about something, you don't forget it easily.

[DAISHI]

Reposting my pitch for feedback. Adequate, not adequate, at delivering the overall plot in a few sentences?

"I'm looking for maps of worlds that don't exist."
Maxwell Douglas was a dreamer, an underachieving high school student who preferred to focus on his art and fiction writing. It wasn't until an laboratory accident left him capable of opening a portal to another world, simply by looking at a map drawn from an old fantasy book, that he was able to live out the adventures he'd only read about. Aided by the science of his best friend Heidi, and the protection of a blue fire wielding princess named Katherine, he embarks on an epic sea voyage to arouse an ancient alliance of dragons. Armed with the blades of knights and the fantastic weapons created by the science of his own world, Max and his friends hope to drive back an awakened sorcerer whose ties to the dragons seem to reach beyond the borders of the dimensions. Along the way, he learns that war is far more terrible than anything he has read of in books, and that the greatest weapon he possesses is the affection he has for his friends.

[Alcoremortis]

Affection for your friends doesn't sound like a very good weapon. Unless it's a verbal one ("I love my friends more than you!").

Now I'm just remembering the comic where the heroine's primary attack was kissing her demon buddy to give the demon superpowers for a limited time. So I guess that could work.

As for the science, is it just "science!" or would they be in a specific field? I'd suggest something with big machines (but not an electron microscope because it lacks star potential. But a diffractometer looks like a ray gun and has a cool name)

[DAISHI]

Originally Posted by Alcoremortis

Affection for your friends doesn't sound like a very good weapon. Unless it's a verbal one ("I love my friends more than you!").

Now I'm just remembering the comic where the heroine's primary attack was kissing her demon buddy to give the demon superpowers for a limited time. So I guess that could work.

As for the science, is it just "science!" or would they be in a specific field? I'd suggest something with big machines (but not an electron microscope because it lacks star potential. But a diffractometer looks like a ray gun and has a cool name)

It's not hard science fiction. It's young adult fantasy.

[Noname215]

I’m thinking of doing a western set in gold rush-era Alaska.

[RetroVortex]

Originally Posted by Alcoremortis

Affection for your friends doesn't sound like a very good weapon. Unless it's a verbal one ("I love my friends more than you!").

Now I'm just remembering the comic where the heroine's primary attack was kissing her demon buddy to give the demon superpowers for a limited time. So I guess that could work.

)

That kind of reminds me of an idea I had once about a regular guy who's best friend has ungodly powers that could destroy the universe.
However since this friend has to put so much concentration into controlling his power subconsciously, his concious state has been reduced to that of a blithering idiot. One that only responds to said protagonist, making him duty bound to this raving loonatic.

(I always thought it would make a good manga. (I wish I could draw sometimes... ))

[Secret Fawful]

Started writing a Batman story I had in my head, in comic book script format. I recognize it's not going to be ultra-professional, I just wanted to get some ideas out of my head. Hope somebody out there enjoys this, if I even stick with it. Sticking with things isn't my strong suit, but I would appreciate feedback.

BATMAN - SUPERSANITY
BY MICHEAL CROSS

PAGE ONE

PICTURE ONE
EXT- ARKHAM ASYLUM - DEAD OF NIGHT
The night is still, and crickets are chirping. Musical notes drift from the large, stone structure. There is nothing sinister about the place for perhaps the first time in it's existence. It is completely serene.

PICTURE TWO
INT - ARKHAM ASYLUM - DEAD OF NIGHT
A record spins on a gramophone, letting some odd measure of beauty flow throughout the walls, into the ears of people who can't understand it. Under the gramaphone, a record titled "Ennio Morricone - Finale" rests.

PICTURE THREE
A long panel on the left of the page, under the previous two. The notes of Morricone's work drifts throughout corridors, soothing uneasy guards. The guards are armed to the teeth, in large armored uniforms, carrying batons, stun rifles, and pistols.

PICTURE FOUR
A guard sits at a security station, dozing off in his chair. Coffee sits on a counter, and papers are scattered around file cabinets. Each security monitor, glowing with bright-white static, is trained on a cell.
CAPTION - "MAXIMUM SECURITY"

PAGES TWO - THREE
SPLASH PAGE
Musical notes drift over the cells of Arkham's "finest". Two-Face. Riddler. Scarecrow. Hatter. And Joker. They all sleep soundly, in uncomfortable positions on their small bunks. Except for one.
Joker.
Joker doesn't sleep. Joker never sleeps. He lies on the floor of his cell.

PAGE FOUR

PICTURE ONE
A closeup of Joker's face. Drool escapes the corner's of his mouth. Tears form in his frozen eyes. His body can't keep up with his mind, and goes into a catatonic state.

PICTURE TWO
A small spark ignites in Joker's mind, and air escapes from his throat in a sickening wheeze.

PICTURE THREE
His bony-white arms move upwards in an arc around his head, and his legs follow suit.

PICTURE FOUR
His arms and legs move in the opposite direction. Snow angels.
NARRATION - I GET MY BODY INTO A PATTERN SO I DON'T HAVE TO CONSCIOUSLY CONTROL IT.
WEEEE. THE MOVEMENT AND THE BEATS OF MY HEART SLOW MY MIND AND ALLOW IT TO CALCULATE. WOWEE.

PICTURE FIVE
The view switches, putting Joker on the left, upright, the floor a wall, and the wall a floor.
NARRATION - THE WHITE CEILING MAKES MY EYES GLAZE. I CAN PAINT ANY PICTURE THERE. I KNOW IT'S TRUE FACE...ITS TWO FACE...TRUE FACE....TWO FACE...AND EVERYTHING FALLS AWAY.

PAGE FIVE

PICTURE ONE
Joker leaps out of his body, ballet-style, in what looks almost like an out of body experience.
JOKER: I'm free!

PICTURE TWO
Joker dances through the walls of the mentally-constructed cells of the other maximum security inmates, stopping at the end of the panel to blow a raspberry at a mental projection of Edward Nygma.
JOKER: Free to plot and plan and scheme to my little heart's content....and not even you with all of your gray cells can pull this off, can you?
Can you?

PICTURE THREE
Joker walks through Edward's transparent cell window and down the outside corridor toward the secure iron doors.
JOKER: What am I saying? Of course you can!

PICTURE FOUR
The wrought iron door in front of Joker disappears down another long corridor, this one made up of strong brick and rusty, iron fence. There are balloons everywhere, and plastic sheets hang down throughout the halls. The pale, blue light that shimmers and floats throughout the area is eerie and unpleasant to behold.
JOKER: Not that you would. You're too busy dreaming of conundrums for this sort of fun to interest you. But you're not the only one who dreams.

PAGE SIX

PICTURE ONE
From the viewpoint of the Joker, plastic sheets part around the man. Red light glows behind them, shining like a demon beacon. In front of his eyes is displayed a gurney, with a black, cloth sheet draped over it. Behind the gurney, the wall is a giant record with the label "The Strong - Ennio Morricone". The record is spinning, but the label is legible. A projection of the music that is being played over asylum loudspeakers in the real world.

PICTURE TWO
The Joker's face leers down at the gurney, red light reflecting on him, shadows from the record flickering across his harsh crimson skin. The music is loud, and would be unbearable for any normal man. Joker's hand pulls away the black sheet, and everything else begins to fade slightly, so intent is he on the subject underneath.
Joker: What do you dream about, Batman?

PICTURE THREE
The corpse of Batman lies across the gurney, spread naked, a Batman symbol carved into his chest. There is a frown carved across his face, and his head has been sliced down the middle, his nasal cavity shaped cruelly to look like the nosepiece of the Bat-cowl. His brain matter is splayed out above the crater in his skull, arranged to look like a flattened cowl behind it.
Joker: Oh, I hope it's me!

PICTURE FOUR
A pale brow wrinkles in an emotion quite the opposite of glee or anger. Instead, the eyes that behold the sight show terror and horror. They gleam, reflecting what's left of the face of the man below in their sickening pools of red.

PAGE SEVEN

PICTURE ONE
Commisioner Gordon turns away from the gurney, his hand over his mouth to stop any flow of vomit that might come forward. His eyes are squeezed shut, his brow wrinkled, and his facial skin deep red from the pain he shoots into his own forehead to shut out the image of what he has just seen. Red reflects off of him from behind, and green reflects off of him from the front.
Thought Bubble: NO! NO!

PICTURE TWO
Joker walks by the construct of the Commissioner, placing a reassuring hand on his should as he passes by.
Joker: Don't worry, Commish. If you don't like that corpse....

PICTURE THREE
Joker walks into an intersection covered in Batman corpses. Mutilated, decapitated, stabbed, shot, poisoned, and more all litter the walls and floor.
Joker: I've got hundreds more!

PICTURE FOUR
A larger image shows the intersection from another angle, in green lighting. Batmen and Joker fight on all sides, some Jokers dying and some Batmen meeting their end. Others are discovered by the Bat's allies. Gordons and Robins lament over Batmen dead and gone. There is blood everywhere.
NARRATION: EVERY SINGLE WAY I COULD KILL OR HUMILIATE HIM...I'VE THOUGHT OF THEM ALL. I'VE LITTERED MY OWN LITTLE WORLD WITH THEM. I CAN RELIVE THEM OVER AND OVER AND OVER. IT'S GLORIOUS.
MAYBE I HAVE. ON NO. I CAN'T REMEMBER. WHO CARES?

PAGE EIGHT
SPLASH
Joker stands amidst gargoyles and stone, outside the Asylum, hands raised toward the dark, stormy sky. The courtyard before him is like a battlefield. There is also a pink demon rabbit that is feeding on corpses.
NARRATION: I consider each and every scenario. Some way to get him to see the joke. To give up his moral code. To take a pie in the face. He never changes. Maybe that's why this is so easy.
I have days...weeks.....months...years to discover new eventualities. Sometimes I test them out on the real thing, if the old football injury isn't hurting the next day. Heh heh! I can recreate this asylum and every scenario that could occur within its walls.

(next to the rabbit) Sometimes I embellish a little.

[GaryCXJk]

Since you guys asked nicely (read: Since I'm basically an attention-seeking person) I've decided to let you read (read: I'm posting) the sample chapters (read: the sample chapters) here (read: on this link: [Download]).

Note that it's not in any way the final version so anything can change (for example, I might rewrite the beginning of chapter three, and add stuff to chapter two), and, since I'm using lean publishing, I can publish the story while writing. Until I send it out to print.

EDIT: BEEEEEEEEEH, the download link isn't that clear.

[Download]

[DAISHI]

I'm heading out for Fat Thursday but I'll give it a look. Uh, did you want feedback?

[GaryCXJk]

Of course, it's why I posted it, and why I like the lean publishing idea.

[Noname215]

Ok, I’ve begun plotting my western story. This is what I got so far.

It is essentially about a man named Walter Shackler, who was once a gunslinger known for specifically carrying a Colt Patterson, which he lost in a gunfight long before the story began. After he reaches the age of 35, he hears that gold is being found by the plenty in Alaska, so he travels up to the mountains there and builds a cabin outside a large lake surrounded by stones. He heads into the nearby town of Red River one day and stops in the Dawdson Saloon and Cathouse, where he almost gets into a fight with a drunk named Big Johnny Jameson. Jameson intimidates Walter to the point of where a brutal fight ensures between the two of them, in which Walter gouges one of Jameson’s eyes. Walter comes very close to killing him before he is stopped at gunpoint by Deacon Miller, the sheriff of Red River. Deacon’s brother, Osias Miller, is the leader of a group claim jumpers who have been killing anyone who refuses to cooperate with them, and Jameson happens to be one of his cronies. Walter rides out of town to find Osias waiting for him on his front porch. Osias offers Walter money for his land if he gives it up and moves elsewhere, but Walter refuses. Osias throws a tantrum, threatens to come back with his gang and force him off before Walter pulls up a shotgun and tells Osias is he doesn’t get off his property, he will kill him. Osias then rushes out the door. The next day, Walter is mining by a creek leading from the lake and discovers a large amount of nuggets in the river. He rides into town to buy new clothes and equipment when an outlaw recognizes him and challenges him to a duel. Walter reluctantly agrees, pulling his old Colt Navy 1861 revolver out his saddlebag. Walter kills the outlaw in the duel, and a deputy comes along and gives him a reward for killing him. Shackler then places his revolver in his side holster and walks into the General Store, where he goes to buy supplies. A young man, who also recognizes Shackler, comes in and starts asking him about what he did when he was a gunslinger. Shackler humors the boy by telling him of a time he was in Dallas, Texas and how he killed three men in a gunfight after one of them brutally beat a child in the streets. The boy is mesmerized, and reveals that he works for a newspaper, and offers to write a story about him in a later edition.

That’s all I got so far.

[RetroVortex]

So I've been reading my book on creative writing some more, and mulling over the activities, and at work I thought about Jack some more. Specifically his past

I concluded that Jack was the son of who he believed for a large part of his life to be a trader.
He learned the way of life from his father as they travelled around the galaxy doing business.
(Which explains his good knowledge of the various species and cultures that inhabit the galaxy, and of trade routes and other transaction stuff (though he doesn't think too deeply about it))
He did not really bond well with most children. Only the children of certain traders they came across more often.

The major turning point in his life was when he was about 14, where he got his first taste of fighting when he wondered a little to far into the back allies and got into a fight with some older teens.
Naturally he was scared at first, but was exhilerated like a dog unleashed at a park, and fought unhinged and dirty, badly hurting one of the youths.

He then realised after the battle his dad would be furious with him and he took a long time getting back.
His father had already heard what happened and was waiting for him.
But instead of anger, he saw for a brief moment a look of disappointment, and then a laugh.

You see, his father revealed to him that night that he was one of many fighters in his family, and that the man he had thought to be a simple trader, had once been a soldier in the war.
(Who he later found out had been a general)

The next day he wakes early to a serious stern face, and some clothes are thrown at him.
"Hmmph... I promised your mother the night she died that I would keep you safe. Its a promise I intend to keep till the very end. If youre going to go out there and fight, then we need to make sure you good enough to get to that point"
And for the next few years they trained when the time was spare.
Well... Until the old man died from choking on a nut.
(Something his father loved to eat all the time.)

A death that could have been recovered from even then, but despite Jacks frantic scrambling, he couldn't get the money together to pay for the revival, and it was too late.
(You see certain deaths can be prevented as long as the body is still fresh and enough brain and nerve tissue is there for the augments to work. However its a luxury for the rich, and particularily more difficult for humans)

So with his father dead, and the trade being hard without him, Jack drifted from place to place, and often drowned his sorrows in bars.
And one day he met a man that reminded him a little of his father, and with a fellow trader friend who itched for action, signed up for bounty hunting.

Thats just off the top of my head. Needs loads of refining but its a good sign Im making some progress.

Also I've been thinking of alien species and I came up with two interesting ones.
OK so the first isn't so interesting. Like a kind of cowardly and sly kind.
(That's all I got)

But this one is very interesting.
So it plays on the idea of humans being an invasive species.
We have throughout time accidentally tampered with nature and this time we interacted with a species that have thrived in this galactic scene.
OK, so they are humanoid, usually sleek, and dark. Not exceptionally intelligent but some have become very sly due to human influence.
You see their DNA is very malleable. They can shape shift and hybridise with other creatures and of course exposure and encrouagement from humans caused a rapid change inthem.

They became cultured within two generations, (which are shorter than humans, about 40-50 years), and unlike humans operate on a more basic need level.
They make for good labourers, but even better criminals, and espionage.
Some have even learned to overcome their imperfect speech with neural augments.
His old man taught Jack to always be cautious around people and aliens with neck augments, because there's a good chance its a very sly Doppler in disguise.
(Doppler is a temporary named BTW. All of these are...)