http://forums.writersbeat.com en Wed, 20 Aug 2008 08:16:32 GMT vBulletin 60 http://forums.writersbeat.com/images/chestnut/misc/rss.jpg http://forums.writersbeat.com http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14269&goto=newpost Wed, 20 Aug 2008 04:42:38 GMT I have always had trouble with this punctuation. It's a mild question but it has always confused me. Could you guys tell me when the appropriate time would be to use something like this. ]]> Danny Darko http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14269 http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14267&goto=newpost Wed, 20 Aug 2008 04:10:25 GMT The challenge was to write a 100-word sentence. I wrote three! I know, I know, but I couldn't stop!
-------------

Dear Sir,
Your stern countenance upon our last meeting, and the way you threw me out of your house, did cause me no little trepidation, and would, indeed, have prevented my penning this letter but for the intelligence that you have not discharged your most estimable daughter to a nunnery as you so intemperately threatened to do; therefore, the kind lady being still in society, I write to inform you that my overhasty approach of her, or rather of my hand to her maidenly breast, in no way means that I am the sort of abominable adventurer you must imagine.

On the contrary, Sir, I take all good men to witness that my character is irreproachable, excepting only a certain imprudence which I endeavor earnestly to correct, and which, though it has had an unhappy result in our dealings, at least reflects a lack of deceit in my manner that must be greatly desired in any relation, particularly the sort of relation I hope to be: a son in law who brings his mother’s name and father’s living to the marriage and who, despite your current suspicions regarding him, eventually becomes an honored and profitable addition to your noble family.

I am, Sir, your most humble servant, and sign this missive in hope of a reply as swift in coming as my heart was in going out to your daughter, as warm in affectionate assent as she was in her response to me, and as commensurate with my fair offer and the prestige of both our houses as can be-- nay, indeed, I am sure of such a reception, for I have ever thought you the most reasonable of men (the whispers about your stinginess in business notwithstanding), and I have faith in my own excellent ability to judge character.

Hapless Suitor. ]]> HoiLei http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14267 http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14266&goto=newpost Wed, 20 Aug 2008 01:52:01 GMT Hey nice to meet everyone. I am excited to share my song lyrics and look at yours mostly. See you around. Hey nice to meet everyone. I am excited to share my song lyrics and look at yours mostly. See you around. ]]> Introductions andrew17 http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14266 http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14265&goto=newpost Wed, 20 Aug 2008 01:25:23 GMT *It’s soaked up here.* *An average mountain, at that, * *Of countless tendencies and rage.* *I am the mountain.* *Admire my wet red hair.* *I am... It’s soaked up here.
An average mountain, at that,

Of countless tendencies and rage.
I am the mountain.

Admire my wet red hair.
I am a morbid beauty

That reaches the peak.
Can you see the lines of my veins?

For I have none.
Blue lines have nothing to do with it.

It is all about the blood
That signifies our sorrow’s end.

Clamor and clash with the black ghost
At the bottom of my feet.

I rise in misery cloaked
In blankets of red rivers.

Ruby ribbons, string, and thread:
Braids of a red death.
Mastering macabre.
The floods, the floods.

Strip the sheets of skin.
Streak the red lines.

Find what makes us peel mortality away
And toss it to God.

Claw to the peak with no nails
And see them shout, “Hail! Hail!” ]]> Poetry Danny Darko http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14265 http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14264&goto=newpost Wed, 20 Aug 2008 01:21:59 GMT *The sun’s luminary light,* *The water colored air, * *A child’s merriment,* *The mocking bird concerts,* *The “smile” the earth gives:* *I am immune... The sun’s luminary light,
The water colored air,
A child’s merriment,
The mocking bird concerts,
The “smile” the earth gives:
I am immune to it.

The sun’s sharp rays
Hurt me and burn me like swords of flame.
The ocean blue
Chokes and drowns with its salty nails.
A child’s mirth is no child.
It is the hysteria of only an abandoned wind.

The mocking bird does not sing.
Its neck is broken and lies dead with the wind’s hysterics.
Instead, a chorus sings
A lament accompanied by organs.
And the smile, the smile.
It is the smile of the Devil.

I am losing her
And a far off memory that will shine like a gold trophy.
The sun looks down at this and continues to mock.
It has betrayed me all along. A hellish light that only taunts me.
A whine of wanting love of him as if I have ignored her.
I have almost lost a friend

Pacing in this black abyss. I felt nothing.
Now I know what true hell feels like---
It is being alone, forgotten, lost
And still living. Rolling in a wheel of razors you insisted on building.
The roots of the elm tree beat me down, down, down.
I fear the flames the fire feels.

I fear the sounds of the corrupt.
The lust for suppression of the light.
The selfish bastardies in me.
The burden of only wanting to scare.
This feeling of being immune to life
And allergic to the air.

What have I to sorrow?
The bombs of Hiroshima drop onto me
Like guilt from a feeble-minded madness.
I have chosen this death.
Knocking on the walls of my sanity
Have led me here -into my own hell.

Now I am left with it, ball and chain
Accompanied by my laments and false griefs.
And yet the sun still breathes until nightfall
When I am haunted by the white thing that sleeps next to me.
He knows my terror. He was born from it.
He is the ghost that whispers inside my head.

He tightens the noose, tells me to jump.
He says the body does not sink
Because it is filled with air.
And he says to me, You will sink.
You will sink to the brink of despair where there is no air.
And they will always, always find you there. ]]> Poetry Danny Darko http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14264 http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14263&goto=newpost Wed, 20 Aug 2008 01:13:56 GMT I'm sure a good deal of you may know what Manga is but for those who don't, it is a Japanese animation graphic novel that usually are set in many volumes continuing the story. I love these books. They are very addicting and that is to say the least. The term most would be familiar with is Anime which is the Manga put into television.

I always find it a bit funny when I'm walking the halls of Borders or the local library and see people crowding over the Manga section and sitting on the floors just devouring them. Most could probably read an entire series in the store without even buying any of them.

Once while I was in the library studying and doing homework that was due the next day, I came across a very chipper manga reader. While reading the history of Adolf Hitler and Mussolini, I would occasionally hear this, "Hee! Hee! Hee!" I'd look up and there was an intelligent looking Asian man with glasses who appeared to be near his twenties with his nose driven in the crack of the manga, Initial D.

Maybe it's just me but it appears whenever I have a manga in my hand, I seem to always get some sort of attention from a complete stranger. Another time, I was returning home from a trip to Universal Studios on an airplane with the manga, Demon Diary, glued to my hands. I couldn't put it down. Halfway during the flight, I couldn't help but notice some one a seat behind and diagonally from me with their eyes fixed curiously on my book. It was a bit awkward especially since I had dropped a few things under his seat just before the plane had taken off.

"Hey," a voice said and tapped my shoulder. I turned around and finally got a look at my supposed stalker. He looked as if he'd be in some type of metal band with a blonde buzz cut and a large tattoo come up from his shoulder all the way onto the top of his head where it was lightly cover with hair. I turned and looked.

"I was looking at your book," he began. "And noticed the writing on some of the pages. I was just wondering, is that Japanese?" I'm a very shy person and was rather stunned and caught completely off guard for this as dramatic as I seem. I had started taking Japanese that year and don't know why I just didn't say yes. Instead I relplied dumbfoundedly,

"No, it's just exclamation marks."

"Oh." His head rested back in his seat.

Later on when the flight had descended, one of his friends sparked up a small conversation about the anime, Trinity Blood. He was a tall skinny guy with long brown hair like that of a hippy. All in all, they were cool people. I'm just too bashful. ]]> The Library Danny Darko http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14263 http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14262&goto=newpost Wed, 20 Aug 2008 00:33:06 GMT Here is the latest challenge, a tough one suggested by then she said: Write a sentence of _precisely_ 100 words. Although this will obviously be a... Here is the latest challenge, a tough one suggested by then she said:

Write a sentence of precisely 100 words. Although this will obviously be a run-on sentence, try to keep it as grammatically correct as possible; and remember, it must make sense.

So let’s get those creative muscles flexing and have fun!




Remember, challenges are primarily for fun. No critique is necessary, but a hearty "Hey, this is great!" would probably be most appreciated. Good luck! ]]> Q Wands http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14262 http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14261&goto=newpost Wed, 20 Aug 2008 00:14:42 GMT I loved this book. I just recently had finished it a few days ago. I'm the type of person that will always see the movie and then HAVE to go out and buy the book which, in my opinion, seems to have spoiled everything. But nevertheless, the book still remains a masterpiece.

After I read, The Shining, and watched the movie for the 25th time, I realized that the movie butchered the book. Does anyone else agree? I'm talking about the version Jack Nicholson was in. My aunt would tell me countless times, "You're not going to understand the movie if you don't read the book!" She's a huge Stephen King fan and has most of his first edition novels in hardback.

I'd say the book really made a logical sense of why Jack Torrance fell into insanity as of the movie makes him look like he just had PMS. Although, in the late 90's a remake was shot. It was a made-for-T.V. film with Stephen King as the screenwriter. This fell into the cracks of the book which was pretty well done with it being the author writing the screenplay.

I devoured the book within a week after I read Rosemary's Baby. All and all, of course I would say that the book was better with its unedited gore and horror that couldn't be shown on televison. What are your guys' thoughts? Sorry, I'm rambling. ]]> The Library Danny Darko http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14261 http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14260&goto=newpost Tue, 19 Aug 2008 23:53:42 GMT Hey everyone. I'm new on the forum and thought I'd introduce myself. I'm Danny Darko. I guess I would say I am a very picky reader. If I'm not interested within the first two pages, I will simply set the book down and never think of it again. This is a habit I'm trying to lick though.

As of writing, I love it but I realize how much work is put into it. I guess I'm a pretty picky writer as well. I rarely finish prose but can always whip up a poem. I've been writing, seriously I'd say, for about 3 years. Poetry is my background but I would love to broaden my horizons with future short stories and even an occasional novel.

Just this year (2008) I was involved in the state wide competition of Poetry Out Loud. I came first runner up of California reciting:

Fever 103 by Sylvia Plath

A Boat beneath a sunny sky by Lewis Carroll

Mr. Edwards and the Spider by Robert Lowell

It was a good experience for me, emotionally draining, but gave me a good sense of what I am getting myself into. The two literary heroes I'd say I look up to are Sylvia Plath (author of The Bell Jar) and Elizabeth Wurtzel (author of Prozac Nation).

My friends say, according to my rather dark influences, I'm a gloomy type but I hope to reach out to the world like nobody ever has in the grimmest possible way. ]]> Introductions Danny Darko http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14260 http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14259&goto=newpost Tue, 19 Aug 2008 23:10:17 GMT and I haven't got a clue why. I will probably get the boot for my clumsy attempts at telling my short non-fiction stories. ]]> Introductions Sunny http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14259 http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14257&goto=newpost Tue, 19 Aug 2008 12:36:41 GMT Hi,
For as long as I can remember I wanted to be a writer, Over the years I've written contless plot lines, many just stuffed away but not forgotten.I am my worst critque.
I left school at 14 at the insistance of my parents " you'll go out and earn some money we've kept you long enough" they said.
Now at 52 with my 4 kids all grown up and doing very well, I think it's time for me to "have a go"
My grammar is not great, but I will try my best.;)

jake ]]> Introductions jake bartlett http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14257 http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14256&goto=newpost Mon, 18 Aug 2008 21:45:16 GMT Why are there moderators? they do, literally nothing... Why are there moderators?
they do, literally nothing... ]]> papere http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14256 http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14255&goto=newpost Mon, 18 Aug 2008 18:49:30 GMT Second Chance



Jeremy stared numbly at the wall and murmured “How could I have let this happen?” He heaved a broken sigh as he collapsed in the chair, recalling the broadcast of the winning lottery numbers that appeared on the local news just minutes ago. Those were my numbers he remembered, frantically rubbing the temples of his forehead, drilling his memory to recall when he might have lost his ticket.


Jeremy retraced the steps in his mind of the night before, remembering he took everything out of his pocket, including his wallet, keys, and the lottery ticket, before his shower and then laid them on the dresser. I just can’t remember what I did with the ticket after that! Jeremy thought, pounding his fists together repetitively.

Jeremy got up from his chair, folded his arms tightly, and paced sullenly back and forth across the room racking his brain to decide what to do next. Dragging his feet to the bedroom, he picked up the trash can and held it firmly, rummaging through every piece of crumpled paper before tossing them on the floor. Within seconds, he hurled the empty trash can at the wall.


“Jeremy? What’s wrong?! Claire shouted running into the bedroom. Jeremy’s face turned pale wanting desperately to elude confrontation with his wife. Unable to regain his composure, Jeremy appeared visibly shaken when his eyes met Claire’s.

“I can’t talk about it right now, Claire.” Jeremy muttered leaving the room.

“I’ll be back later! “Jeremy yelled, before slamming the front door.


Claire puzzled by Jeremy’s bewildering behavior, made several phone calls to Jeremy’s colleagues at work, for any possible problems that may have occurred earlier that day, but to no avail. Returning to the bedroom, Claire noticed the trash can lying on its side with trash strewn around the room. Now, her curiosity was piqued more than ever. He’s lost something, Claire thought, but what?


The hours passed by, but still no word from Jeremy, when finally Claire heard footsteps as she lay in bed reading a book.


Jeremy walked into the bedroom and knelt beside the bed tenderly grasping Claire’s hand.
“I’m sorry, Claire.” Jeremy whispered.


“What happened? It’ll be alright what ever it is, Jeremy.” Claire responded, smoothing Jeremy’s hair.

“You don’t understand. I lost a winning lottery ticket! I always play my same numbers and they finally came in last night and I can’t find my ticket!


Claire’s eyes opened wide as she gave a gasp. ”Oh, Jeremy that’s awful! Maybe you were mistaken and it’ll turn up somewhere else?”


“No, I’ve checked everywhere, it’s gone! I don’t know how I can live with myself!” Jeremy’s eyes welled up with tears as he searched Claire’s face for answers.


“Jeremy, we have each other and our baby on the way. There’s a lot to be thankful for. We can’t let this ruin our lives.” Claire replied hugging him tightly.


Suddenly Jeremy leaped up, kissed Claire’s hand in hopeful anticipation, ran out of the room and flung the back door open racing to the alley, anxious to retrieve the trash bag he had taken out the night before. Stopping abruptly, Jeremy froze in place at the sight in front of him.


The muddied, green, trash truck screeched loudly, pulling away from Jeremy’s house, leaving him standing in horror watching the last glimmer of hope fade down the street. $50 million dollars gone forever! The reality of those words running through his head dropped him to his knees, as he bowed his head and wept endlessly.


Jeremy lay motionless in bed the next morning, listening to the monotonous ticking of the clock and Claire’s rhythmic breathing, realizing it was time to get ready for work even though his mind and body wanted to lay there forever. He begrudgingly made his way out of bed, dressed, and grabbed a small bite to eat.


Claire peeked through the kitchen door before slowly approaching Jeremy. “You can’t go on like this, Jeremy. “She whispered pleadingly.


“I know. “ He nodded, tenderly kissing her cheek. “I’ll be okay; I just need to delve into my work to occupy my mind.” Jeremy uttered out the door.


Fumbling with the keys, he finally managed to unlock the door. Jeremy, driving somewhat dazed, decided to take the next exit and pull off the highway into the nearest gas station. Blinded by the sudden onset of sunlight through the windshield, Jeremy reached for his sunglasses from the visor, freeing loose a piece of paper that floated down and landed on the car seat next to him. Jeremy’s mouth dropped open in bewildered shock. He picked up the lottery ticket in his trembling hand and felt the surge of life pulse back through his body. Throwing his arms up in the air, he screamed out the window in unbelievable joy.


The End ]]> Fiction suomigirl http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14255 http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14254&goto=newpost Mon, 18 Aug 2008 16:39:15 GMT On this earth my life is frail My body’s weak, my mind has bailed. What can I do to stop it now? I see the sun is full of doubt. As it slowly ducks... On this earth my life is frail
My body’s weak, my mind has bailed.
What can I do to stop it now?
I see the sun is full of doubt.
As it slowly ducks to the ground,
It’s leaving me, as it once did,
As it jets down I give a bid.
I see the light.
I feel the sound.
As the stars come up to carry me,
They have sprouted up to set me free.
As the moon comes above.
I see we’re all losing sleep.
If only the moon could hear my voice,
Just listen to me…
Don’t worry, you are free,
Shine up upon this fantasy.
Without you, it’d be dim and black
I couldn’t live with that, that’s a fact.
And these stars are with me,
I stop to think how I could be free.
Look into the starlit night sky
You may see them flying by
I look up and wonder how.
How are you doing on the moon now?
Do you have pain or sorrow?
I wish I could but I can’t go,
I can’t go up to space, no.
And I can’t take this pain I found.
]]> Poetry papere http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14254 http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14253&goto=newpost Mon, 18 Aug 2008 04:17:41 GMT *Rock Fall* Rocks fell - rumbled to the ground, silence broken by the sound; hiss of sliding shingle followed as I quickly looked around, to see...

Rock Fall

Rocks fell -
rumbled to the ground,
silence broken by the sound;
hiss of sliding shingle followed
as I quickly looked around,
to see the mountain
through a cloud of dust
that rose -
to block the setting sun
which turned
the desert sky to rust,
while the rattling thunder
of the rockslide lingered on.

Mountains seemed to breathe,
cough and spit – to heave and send
a warning echo carried through the ages;
songs sung by living stone
in a time long past -
when humans were unknown.

Earth cried so clear,
to the listening ear,
that freedom
will reside in this place
even after those men disappear;
deep truth abides from
shadows of the past and hides
in voices that rejoice
and are only heard in the silence
between the sounds around,
by one who silently waits
to hear the words come
trickling down
with the pebbles. ]]> Poetry Baron http://forums.writersbeat.com/showthread.php?t=14253