ForumsArt, Music, and WritingWritten Nothings

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Gantic
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Gantic
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King

An Introduction

He hadn't written anything in nearly a year. No. That wasn't entirely true. He had written something. Many somethings. Many somethings tantamount to nothing. They were no more than writing exercises. He would start with an idea, a wonderful idea, a brilliant beginning and it would go nowhere after a day. His flirtatious romance with inspiration was just that. His obsession with her kept him in withdrawal when she left and his sense of direction deteriorated. In his languor, he wondered why he kept to such deleterious circumstances. And then, she returned.

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Strop
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Strop
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Herald

You may be more interested in robotics and microengineering, KR.

Gantic
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Gantic
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King

This is partially from one line of one character I created some time ago. "I hate nice people, because they make me feel obligated to be nice."

From Darkness

--I hate nice people.
--And why is that?
--They make me feel obligated.
--Obligated to do what?
--Be nice. It seems so forced to say thank you.
--And you don't say thank you?
--Not unless I mean it. Then I'm a blathering idiot. Saying things like 'You don't know how much this means to me.' You know? I've seen a grown man cry one time from the kindness someone showed him. His gratitude was overwhelming. I teared up too.
--How would you normally react to kind people?
--I just want to be cynical and not have to like anyone around me and have them leave me alone. It's the nice people that get you.
--Have you ever committed an act of kindness?
--Yeah, occasionally. Someone needs help, I help them. They don't have to thank me either, but they do and just can't react to that.
--Do you remember an instance, any instance of someone committing a kind act toward you?
--Yeah. One time. A year or two ago. Some guy in an MMO just ran up to me and gave me a bunch, maybe ten, free uncommon gems.
--What was so significant about that?
--The thing was, I was 30-40 levels higher than he was. He knew he was giving me uncommon gems, probably because he figured I could do something more useful with them than sell them. But the oddest thing was he followed me halfway to another town just to give me those gems.
--And what did you do with those gems?
--I don't really remember. But I remember thinking that it came out of nowhere. I didn't do anything in particular to deserve them. I mean I was ignoring him the first few moments when he followed me. I didn't know how to react.
--Did you thank him?
--I... I don't think so. He ran off before I realized what happened. I couldn't find him afterward.
--So you couldn't thank him. Do you remember any instances in which you could?
--Yeah. One time... I... um...
--What is it?
--I've got to go make a call.

--Hello?
--Hi, Mom?

Destor
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Destor
708 posts
Peasant

--Hello?
--Hi, Mom?


Nice ending. It was slightly hard to understand at first, but I sorted it out.

Wow, you're a good writer. I really like all that you have written in this thread.
kingryan
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kingryan
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Blacksmith

You may be more interested in robotics and microengineering, KR.


Maybe...maybe...

Interesting Gantic...almost in relation to Zophia's Art Skills entry....
LiL_GaNgSta_BlAzE
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LiL_GaNgSta_BlAzE
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Scribe

DAMN this stuff is good, screw school, stiing here till the sun don't shine no moe!


WAnt more, please give me more!

Gantic
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Gantic
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King

The thing with good writing or something well-written is that if it's written well enough, it is easy to get pulled into a story you don't like and be unable to stop reading it. True evil. Like some of the contemporary writers. *cough*

The Weatherman

INT. SMALL WIRELESS STORE
WEATHERMAN walks into the store.

Cellular phone rings. WEATHERMAN answers.

WEATHERMAN: Hey, Sarah.

Sarah's voice is projected to audience.

SARAH: Hey, Weatherman. Are you busy right now?
WEATHERMAN: Not really.
SARAH: Could you do me a favor?
WEATHERMAN: Sure. What's up?
SARAH: Could you take a step outside. I've got a surprise.
WEATHERMAN: (surprised) You're in the city?
SARAH: I don't want to ruin the surprise.

EXT. FRONT OF WIRELESS STORE
WEATHERMAN exits the wireless store. A few people are passing buy in long coats.

WEATHERMAN: I'm outside. Now what?
SARAH: Turn to your... right.

WEATHERMAN turns to his right. He looks around but does not see SARAH.

WEATHERMAN: I don't see you.
SARAH: Sorry, I meant turn to your left.

WEATHERMAN turns to his left.

WEATHERMAN: Alright. What now?
SARAH: 3... 2... 1...

Rain pours down. SARAH is laughing. WEATHERMAN is soaked. He looks at his wristwatch.

WEATHERMAN: I hate being right.

kingryan
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kingryan
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Blacksmith

hahahahahahahahahah!

Very Clever Gantic...very clever....

I didn't quite understand this bit:

Sarah's voice is projected to audience.


What does that mean?
Gantic
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Gantic
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King

The audience can hear her voice. Otherwise I'd probably have someone asking why we can hear the other half of the conversation (even though some people have the sound turned high enough for everyone to hear).

Strop
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Strop
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Herald

Hm, how that would be presented would depend on the medium and genre, wouldn't it?

If it were a play, for example, then I imagine there would be a split-stage. If it were TV, either a split-screen without the need for the audience, or if it were a reality prank show (like "Punk'd&quot then yes, Sarah would presumably be addressing the studio audience.

kingryan
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kingryan
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Blacksmith

Ahk...I understand now...I did understand the format to begin with...

I hate it when you can hear people phones...it gets annoying....

Gantic
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Gantic
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King

As far as I am aware, INT./EXT. is only used for screenplays to show where the camera goes. (The literal fourth wall doesn't work as well for plays.) If the first scene was EXT., the camera would be outside showing Weatherman inside the store. But it's not entirely properly formatted, which might add to the confusion given the limitations of the boards. The body of appears as if it is a play since there is not centering of text.

I'm probably not using the right words here for clarity. "Sarah's voice/half of conversation can be heard over Weatherman's phone." would be much better, but I got lazy and wanted to use fewer words, which didn't work out so well.

Gantic
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Gantic
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King

Meta Four

He dragged a large pen sunward along the asphalt. The ink bled into the streets that ran through his heart, the yellowed streets he walked upon when the rain would stop. A figure stood at the end of the road with its back to the sun, a figure no doubt etched in the mind of every child since an early age. It was his moon landing and he was Armstrong. He lifted the oversized pen with its nib pointed at his shadow and charged with a simple battle cry, dreading the day he created the mutant chicken.

kingryan
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kingryan
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Blacksmith

O....K....

This remeinds me of the time in Pirate Tales when Pirate meets a Druid that is crazy...and so he hits him over the head...

Strop
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Strop
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Herald

Ah, makes more sense Gantic. I meant your penultimate post, of course. I also don't know the proper formatting of each type of script (and have never attempted to write a play), so that hadn't previously crossed my mind.

As for the last one...are you channeling Chomsky? No...there's more sense to the narrative than "colorless green dreams sleep furiously" haha, but it's simply surreal. Maybe channeling Dali!

Gantic
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Gantic
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King

Surrealist battles is what preoccupies cognitive processes everyday. (Meaning daydreaming.) With a few mental manifestations, it becomes a metaphor. Of course, it can also be weird because who lives in a surreal world? (Ironic rhetoric alert!)

I've only ever written one (still-unfinished-after-two-years and poorly formatted) play for a friend in theatre, but I suppose I'm the only one who reads a movie's script instead of watching the movie. The only major difference is INT./EXT. I think plays can adopt the centering format of screenplays, though.

"Colorless green dreams sleep furiously" makes absolutely no sense. Then again, I believe Finnegans Wake has a story to it.

Conversations #2 - In Bastang

"Unpaved roads. Sheet metal walls. The place looked like a Hooverville. I hadn't never seen one of those, but everyone knows what they look like. The people wore cheap hand-washed, air-dried clothes and I was being a stupid priss trying not to get dirt on my pant legs. My shoes were a loss already. I have been to disaster areas. I have seen the homeless. They weren't as bad as this place," he said, flailing his arms around as if he couldn't describe the place well enough.
"It's not like we can do anything about it," I replied. "We can help the homeless. Bring aid to disaster areas. We can't do anything about this."
"Yes we can. Yes we can." He paused for a moment. "You know why I was there? Someone won the lottery. The stupid lottery. Just to sponsor four people to live in the city. I still remember his name: Eduin Smith."
"Smith?"
"Yeah, Smith." He looked at me like I was a moron. "They only had this one room without a door. He was lying on a pallet covered in sweat. I ask, 'Eduin Smith?' He just looks at me, so I say 'Congratulations, you've won the lottery.' He turns his eyes up to look at the far side of the room. There were seven pairs of eyes watching me curiously."
"****."
"That's what I said. I threw the papers away and reached into my wallet to pull out $250."
"That's a lot of money."
"You weren't supposed to do stuff like that. If anyone else saw the money, it would've started a riot. I gave him the money and left."
"You know what happened to them?"
"Two became successful doctors, one a lawyer."
"And the others?"
He turned his head away to look out the window.
"Oh."
"The mutant chickens got them."

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