Here is a thread dedicated to my work as a writer. This thread will mostly be filled with my poems which vary in theme but I try to fashion myself after my favourite poet T.S Eliot, who I believed captured human nature in his words. I aspire to do the same. Please feel free wo citique and review my work. However, simply saying "I like it" is not good enough, as a writer I must grow and develop so I beg you readers to give me a reason as to why or why not you liked the poem. To start off I shall provide you with one of my personal favourties.
These Are The Boring Bits
Call life what you will, A joke, A curse, A gift, An adventure. Take from it what you will, Joy, Sorrow, Love, Hate. Lose yourself in it Find your purpose Or, Find nothing at all.
A man asked, "What is the meaning of life?" A woman told him, "Whatever you make it to be." A child asked, "Is god real?" A parent told them, "Only you can decide."
Personal opinion is what we use to guide us, The opinions of others are what lose us. We can never be certain That we are certain of anything Because of change, And because things stay the same. What makes sense one day, Will confuse us another, And so it goes on. People tell others to: Get in line, Grow up, Get our lives straight, Who told these people these things? And why tell us the things that broke them?
Is it human nature to be unhappy?
Two men sit on a bench, In a park, Under a tree. They talk about family and friends They talk about work and dreams. One man says, "It is a waste of time to dream," The other says, "Yes, but to have dreams is not." Dreams are what the world is made of Bad dreams, Good dreams, Lost dreams.
Hope is never far off, As the old die, The young are born, The young grow, They become old, The old die. But while they are young, They change the world. Some for the better, Others for the worse.
Inspiration is a dream.
The only inspiration in life is life: What to do? How to do it? Can we change the world? How to change the world? Is there purpose? Are we real? Or a figment of imagination? All questions do not need answers.
Call life what you will, These are the boring bits.
Not how I write. My characters are described by others who observe them, and I never give too much detail. I enjoy my readers to have some imagination. I refuse to spoonfeed and write for the status quo.
Volfvie. Details create the book. If you ever want to be published You have to spoonfeed them.
Read the following authors:
Brent Weeks Steven Erikson R. Scott Bakker
This is where I've developed a lot of my writing style aside from personal development and experimentation. Bakker is especially notorious for lacking physical character details unless they are necessary such as hair colour, scars, ect. I focus on the personality and their actions. Of course I add physical traits however, I don't over elaborate on such things. I'm not Tolkien. I give you what you need, the rest is up to you. If you want me to specific look to my plot and scenery. And yes I am very much aware the prologue needs work.
Thanks for the update on your blog. But I want to know what they look like, why not draw an actual map of it? Or ask Fallen to read it and draw a character for you or something?
I'm working on a map. I just lack a scanner. I also lack proper drawing ability. I may put up some cover art someone did for me, but I'm also having a friend of mine work on a different cover art as well.
I stand in front of countless paths. Each leading into chains. None that await me shall see be free. Unbound. I am to be The King of High House Tragey. And from the empty hall I shall walk. My chains clinking in solemn prayer My worshipers awoken. All sin and trangression laid bare. I am not the one to punish. Such transgress. No. I will Reward for every misdeed they confess. I will shower victim And assailant in the bounty due. I am the god who shall Allow these woes to continue. For they bind me in chains And bring me to weep. Their sins I shall take, and my heart They will keep. I am King of High Tragedy. Here my broken plea.
Nella morte si deve raggiungere. Altro che le ossa E sciolti tendini. Siamo Per sempre dannato. Lonely girovaghi Delle strade imprevedibili. Non c'e pace Deve trovare la nostra anima. Nella morte si deve raggiungere. Altro che le ossa.
In death we shall rise. Naught but bones And loose sinew. We are Forever ****ed, Lonely wanderers Of these wayward roads. There is no peace. None shall find our souls. In death we shall rise. Naught but bones.
**The itallian was translated through Google Translator so it's obviously imperfect and flawed.
I liked that last one very much indeed. - I think it would be a good idea to keep character descriptions breif. It leaves room for imagination, and it also gives a wider range for actors when books that are turned into movies.
I doubt my work will EVER be published let alone made into a movie. I don't think I'd ever give rights away to make a movie anyway. I despise what they do to books when they put them on film. Anyway, I prefer the more sublte and vaguer descriptions of characters because I involve a lot of characters and to describe them all to a tee would be too much of a hassle. Honestly you should see my notes on some of my characters, I swear for one of them I have scratched down "big, bearlike, likes beer"
Shadows haunt the doorways. I am lost within, A nightmare of my own making A catastrophic whim. I'm on the edge of breaking. ...The pieces cannot hold. Whoever said to hang on Has not faced this cold. Let the words' echoes fall. Let them reach deaf ears. I'm running out of room To escape my fears.
Where is the embrace I seek? The warm comfort where my Fears are starved, shattered, weak. I'm ready to let go. I cannot continue speaking To a crowd that does not hear. All words Fall on deaf ears. I am the silent speaker.
