Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company! discussion
Brainstormin' Help
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Get to Know Your Character(Popcorn Served)


Kyra: (grabs bucket of popcorn) I never get sick of eating this stuff. Nicky, Sara, you've gotta try this!
Nikara: Uh-uh. Last time you told me that was during your Nikara and Nightshade sequel, and I nearly died.
Kyra: Blame JJ, she's the one who came up with Sola.
Sara: Excuse me if I'm remembering wrong, but doesn't Sola end up adopting you, Nikara?
Nikara: SHE DOES?!!! Good God, Kyra, why'd you put THAT in?!!!!!!!!
Kyra: (licking butter off fingers) Hey, that was BEFORE The Short Story Series. Now she's got three other daughters to worry about.
Sara: It's Nikara she should worry about, if anyone.
Nikara: (glaring) Well, we can't ALL be descended from royalty, Miss All-Powerful-Heir-To-Two-Thrones.
Kyra: Okay! That's enough.


Nikara: (snorts) Show off.
Kyra: Be nice, Nicky. Besides, thought you had somewhere to be. With Nightshade, perhaps?
Nikara: And where would that be?
Kyra: Sola just escaped from prison.
Nikara: WHAT?!!! The evil dragon lady? That Sola?
Kyra: Who else would have a name like Sola?
Nikara: How'd she escape?
Kyra: I let her.
Nikara: WHAT!!!!!!!!
Kyra: Well, SOMETHING needed to happen. I'm still waiting for Al's script to be posted. (Hint, hint!)
Nikara: Argh! I should never have trusted you! Now Sola's on the loose... Again! And your sequel STILL isn't done!!!!!!! (running off) I'm coming for you, Sola!!!!!
Sara: (reappearing) Well, SOMEONE'S got issues.
Kyra: Thought you left.
Sara: See, that's the great part about being a mysterious character. I can go wherever I like, whenever I like, and all I get are the odd glances and the occasional, "Oh, there goes that kook Sara again."
Kyra: (headdesk)

After she is sure he is long gone, she turns around, but runs into a shadowy figure. She looks up from the ground into the figure’s face, then screams.
Just a couple posts up.



Squirrel: I can’t say I’ve got a good feeling about this. (He takes out his Parker pen, twists the barrel, and extends it into a miniature telescope.)
Spades: About what?
Squirrel: About blindly going out there. (His whiskers twitch as he looks out over the field, then at the shadowy, wooded hills to the right.)
Spades: You got a good feeling about going back to the cottage?
Squirrel: (Considering his words.) No. But I don’t think we can get back to where we started simply by retracing our steps and trying to cast that silly spell of Penelope’s.
Spades: (Smirks.) You have to admit, it got us out of that mad doctor’s operating room. (Looks at Squirrel, who grunts.)
(They sit silently for a few moments.)
Spades: You think we might end up in a sitation far worse than this.
Squirrel: (Glances at Spades.) I imagine Nightmare’s men would love to get their hands on me. Nightmare would gut me alive and roast me over a fire. (He turns the barrel on the pen, focusing.) Besides . . . (He hesitates.) Unless I misunderstand things, you won’t get very far.
Spades: What do you mean?
Squirrel: (Sighs.) Oh, let’s just say I have a feeling you’ll contract a bad case of homesickness.
(They hear Penelope’s voice calling them frantically from among the dunes. A few seconds later, she emerges, running, but stops when she doesn’t see them out in the field. Spades and Squirrel sit quietly in the shadow of the dune, watching her as she stands there with her hands on her hips, her back to them. She turns, her worry and fear apparent in her face.)
Spades: Looking for somebody?
(Penelope, seeing them, exhales a long sigh of relief. Then her eyes flash with fury and she strides over to them.)
Penelope: Were you just going to leave us here?
(Spades merely looks at her, overcome by a sense of helplessness.)
Penelope: (To Squirrel.) I thought you said the only happiness you’ve known was with us.
(Squirrel stares at her, then looks beyond her guiltily.)
Penelope: Nightmare’s dead, and he isn’t coming back, and neither is Tavy’s father. (She turns her ire on Spades.) The man Tavy loves has left, and she’s in the house crying her eyes out.
Squirrel: (Gestures toward Spades.) Why isn’t she using her magical powers on him, to make him come back?
Penelope: (Shaking her head.) She just isn’t like that. She wouldn’t do that to someone. (Emphatically.) She certainly has the powers.
Squirrel (Collapsing his little telescope and putting it away.) How do you know Nightmare is dead?
Penelope: Because characters don’t have nine lives in this story, and I killed him dead as a doornail.
Spades: Now wait a min--
Penelope: Shut up.
Spades: (Opens his mouth to object, then has second thoughts.) After Colleen and what happened in Mer Desesperee, I didn’t think I could ever be happy again. (He looks at Penelope.) I’ve been happy with you.
Penelope: (Her face suddenly wet with tears.) Don’t you think I know that?
(Spades looks at her defeatedly.)
Penelope: Don’t you think Tavy knows it?
Spades: Then why would she--
Penelope: (Shakes her head.) There may be things at work that we don’t understand, and that she doesn’t, either. (She hesitates.) She has no one but us, and she’s terrified we’ll leave her. I would be, too, if I were her.
Squirrel: Uhm hmm. It’s a safe bet that if her stepmother knew where she was, she’d have Tavy in her clutches in no time.
Spades: That’s Moira?
Penelope: (Nods.) Her father brought her here to hide her, but she has no father to protect her anymore. (She hesitates.) And Tavy knows what she’s heard about Trevelyan women. Once something deep down inside one of them decides it loves a man, she becomes his and he becomes hers. She merely has to find a way to seduce him.
Spades: (Groans.) The consummation is the catalyst.
Penelope: (With a brief nod.) But this was an unusual circumstance.
Spades: How so?
Penelope: She has too much to lose if we leave, and she knows how you feel about me. (Reflectively.) Strangely, she doesn’t seem at all jealous of that. She just seems glad I’m here.
Spades: (His head in his hands.) What do you want me to do?
Penelope: I don’t know, but I don’t think running away is the answer.
Squirrel: I guess I start getting nervous when I get too comfortable in a place. That’s when bad things start happening.
Penelope: Not that it matters, but squirrel isn’t one of the things she likes to eat.
(Spades gets up and turns to go back to the cottage. Penelope grabs him by the hand and pulls him to her. Spades kisses her.)
Squirrel: Sometimes I really wish I were back in North Africa.

Alison: Can't talk now I'm busy.
Me: Why what are you doing?
Alison: I can't talk. I have so many people coming tonight I have to think.
Me: Did you get plenty of good stuff?
Alison: Stop it!!! Quit it, you, I can't concentrate!! I must get this all done.
Me: Man. . . just shoot me down like a turkey!
Alison: The turkey?!!!!
Me; What?
Alison: You reminded me. . . @#$%. The turkey.
Me: What about it.
Alison: Please. . . about fifty or so people are coming.
Me: Okay. I'll just use this for a second. . . want some?
Alison: You're making something NOW?
Me: Uhhhh. . .
ALison: While I am in the kitchen I have stuff to do. . . you want to do that now? What is this some strange tradition.
Me:(Pause) Kind of. It happens in my family all the time.
Alison: Quiet.
Me: It's a phenomenon that happens to people in my family and not that are over my house. :P
Alison: Are you done?
Me: Not for three more minutes I'm not.
Alison: Just sit in the corner. . .
(I sit in the corner. She is probably hungry).
Microwave goes off. I run to it.
Alison: What now????
Me: Want some popcorn. . .?
Alison: (Pause) Is it all-natural. . .?
:D

I could not stop laughing while writing. . . I took time in developing this character in its short-story. . . it became so fun to make fun of it and the situation it faced.
In this case the character a "she" with control issues (OCD-type stuff).


John: You talking to me?
Me: Yeah you. . .
John: What?
Me: Sorry. . . I just wanted to talk to someone.
John: You don't want to talk to me.
Me: Why.
John: Does everyone have to question me? That lady at the diner. . . the cops. . .
Me: Whoa. . . cops talked to you. . .?
John: I did nothin' wrong.
Me: Really?
John:Yeah. . . . .
Long pause.
Me: Um. . . could I go to a convenience store and get some popcorn?
John: Well I am headed to a hotel. . . want to go get some popcorn on the way. . ?
I am scared. I can't move.
Me:(Like guy in Safe Auto commercial) Ummm. . . y-yea-ahhhh??
John: You look uncomfortable. . .
Me: (I shrug).
John: I am not gonna hurt you.
Me: I am probably a virgin.
John: What?
Me: No means no. . .
John: what in the world is your problem. . .
Me: I guess I'll go with you. . .
(We drive for a while. . . .)
Me: (Smile) This is nice.
John stares forward like he is trying to avoid something.
I look over. . . he looks like he is in the "zone." I smile a slightly uncomfortable smile. "Can't bug him while he's working. . ."
Me: well uhh. . . say. What is this motel called anyway?
John: Bates.
I lose consciousness. . . .

Nightshade: *eyeroll* You? Nervous? What on EARTH is going on to make you NERVOUS?!
Ducky: Talent show tryouts. I'm a pretty good singer, but am I really THAT good?
Nightshade: I know what'll cheer you up. Just ask Kyra.
Ducky: I would prefer not to see Kyra right now thanks. She'll probably try to steal my popcorn.
Nightshade: But at least she'll give you those peanutbutter crackers at lunch.
Ducky: That's not going to help me right now, is it?
Nightshade: Well, no, I was just trying to distract you! Sheesh!
Ducky: Forget it. I may as well forget about the Talent Show.
Nightshade: *facepalm* Seriously, Ducky. You'll ace it.
Ducky: If you say so...

That effect was honestly not intended. Truly. You were supposed to say I really should not worry so much.

That effect was honestly not intended. Truly. You were supposed to say I really should not worry so much."
Alright, well, you shouldn't have.

That effect was honestly not intended. Truly. You were supposed to say I really should not worry so..."
[modestly] Thank you.

I hoped it would be an NC-17 movie. Nah. . . not a good idea. . . so I might ditch it and never do it ever again. It would be on here a long "Short-story" and then be made into a screenplay.
Then it might cause people to not get the point and see it for inappropriate reasons. Better ditch the idea.

There is a story unrelated to what I said earlier that people I hope will read. It is not finished but I hope people will read what is in here so far.
This story I know some are waiting to read. . . but it is long and will be done in 15 chapters. Okay. . . it is long but it is fantasy (not like Narnia. . . more closer to reality but contains a world where a sun is black and the sky is red). I hope people will read it. If ANYONE is interested they can go to my profile (I don't know if I set it for anyone to look. . . if not. . . you can be my friend and then you can find it through the profile). It is on the eleventh (11! Yay!_) chapter.
I hope people will read it as of what is on there yet.

I started laughing when Hannah said, “That man is impossibly stupid. He tripped over a bush, fell flat on his face, got a mouthful of sand and wet himself.”

What? Can't write more???!!!!!!!!! Noooooooo.......
But I do agree with the second part. Haven't been seeing much of good ol' Putnam lately.

Alison: (To self_)Then I have the casserole. . .
I walk in.
Me: Hi.
Alison: You again. I thought I saw the last of you!
Me: Eh. I got bored.
Alison: Just. . . leave me be.
Me: You married?
Alison: You KNOW I am!!!
Me: Just. . . startin' conversation.
Alison: Do you want to stay and eat at my party.
Me: Hmmm. . . (Long pause)
Alison: It's not a trick question.
Me: Nah.
Alison sighs.
Me: But I do feel like bugging you.
Alison: (Huffs) I gotta. . . get my chicken casserole ready.
Me: Ooh. Can I have the recipe. . .?
I "learned" from "Alison" a new recipe on making a chicken casserole. I have yet to try it out. I technically haven't made it. . . but writing this story a while back inspired the recipe.
Writing fun. :P

SEX SCENE????????!!!!!!!!!! Whatever happened to making this group PG13?????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Lol...actually no 'lol' tonight. I'm not in the laughing mood."
That really sucks. I love laughing. Seriously, though, who doesn't???

That is hilarious, I think I will use it in my next story.

Kyra: Hey, Sara, I need help.
Sara: Yes?
Kyra: You know Al, right? From Goodreads? Well, she desperately needs a mocha and Frank.
Sara: Do those have any relation to each other whatsoever???
Kyra: Please! It's life-or-death matter!!!!!!
Sara: I'm IN your HEAD, Kyra! I can tell you're lying. But nevertheless, I will help. A mocha is easy enough, but I'm not sure if I can get to Frank.
Kyra: What? Why not???
Sara: Cuz he's in Al's MIND!!! Honestly! I'm your creation, Kyra! If you cannot get into Al's mind, neither can I.
Kyra: I don't know how to mind-hop yet! Still working on it...
Sara: Well, then. Al will just have to make do with a mocha right now.

Sara: No. He's also in Al's mind.
Kyra: Dang... I really need to learn how to do this mind-hop thing.
Sara: I recommend getting lessons, then.
Kyra: Is Fredricks really mad at Al?
Sara: ...Maybe... Is he, like, her boyfriend or something?
Kyra: Sshhh!!!!! Don't let Al hear you!!!!!!!!!

Soup: Yes, but they get shot down so I can eat them.
Albert: Why would you eat a duck?
Soup: They taste good.
Jene: I guess that makes sense.

What? I get blamed for everything. I think somebody’s getting our little group here confused with its dark version, the Weekly Seduction Story Contest and Company, that has a mysterious, unverifiable existence in the no-man’s-land of over-eighteen groups, where our dark side writes stories we would hardly recognize as our own.
By the way, I like Fredericks much better than I like Putnam.
In our age of fear-based and irrationally applied logic, the norm is to bifurcate discussion. Again look at the state of Amrican political discussion: you are either for America as a right right right republican or you are anti-America if not evil. Even Rush Limbaugh's castigation of the law student is a similar kind of bifurcation: you are either a-sexual, married or a slut. I see in the wide acceptance of that kind of social intercourse a kind of canary in the mine: it speaks to a decivilizing or anti-socialization pattern.