Calling all Demigods! discussion
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Your Writing
message 251:
by
Iviana (The Sign Painter), The Goddess of indecisiveness
(new)
Jun 15, 2011 10:10AM
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My Blog; Terrification.tumblr.com I update it regulary.
The Blog I share with my friend (It's more about random shit): thenartist.tumblr.com
The Blog I share with my friend (It's more about random shit): thenartist.tumblr.com
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The Blog I share with my friend (It's more about random shit): thenartist.tumblr.com"
Love, Anomynous wrote: "http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/5...
The edited, better version."
*likes*
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Trip the Light Fantastic
scratching, wasting, fading, painting,
saving the world, saving my life,
tell me that I’m wrong little bullet,
go away
become a dream of a mere happening or a savoury
tantalizing
chance.
you’re worth
something and a stammer
and a risk at fortunity. destroy my luck.
Airburst force of participation, close-up of a special proposition. There’s nothing better than liquid destruction except maybe you know powder corruption.
you’re my only fetish, honey.
[don't you love the way i knead you]
Ajax is watching every single installation of air
with intent and eager blue-grey brown-green sunfire eyes.
(fire and ice have nothing on us
we’re unstoppable)
Broadcast the elements and lead them into a pipe of war!
Dou BLE you Dou BLE me
into the kaleidoscope we go, out of the smiling girl’s microphone.
Time warp stops the flow of go yes go no go why go STOP go
yeah baby I’m a dreamer.
I can never describe how your poems make me feel, because it's just a mixture of things...
And I mean this is a good way, but I really can't put it words how much I love them.
And I mean this is a good way, but I really can't put it words how much I love them.
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:) I'm really glad, Van. That means so much to me.
D:
No problem. ^^ Your blog is amazing.
No problem. ^^ Your blog is amazing.
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Aw, thank you :D
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scratching, wasting, fading, painting,
saving the world, saving my life,
tell me that I’m wrong little bullet,
go away
become a dream of a mere happening or a savoury
tant..."
That was incredible. Amazing. I can't express my awe, even though I just technically did.
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The Man in the Green Beret
Can you review this: http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/2... ?It's story narration is basically like the Kane Chronicles, except it's 4 charcters instead of 2. I've only got to one character.
There is a certain feeling you get when you read a book and know its good. With professional writing, they magically sew their words together. Professional writing has a certain thing about it. Lots of people love to write stories, but most leave out that thing, its like the soul of the writing. Most people don't know how to get it. Its almost impossible to give that "soul" a name.I am writing a book, or at least starting, and I am trying to capture that soul and put it into my writings.
It is not the words, the grammar, or even the authors talent that makes a book good. What makes a book good, is that when you read it, you feel like you are being told a story of something that happened, you feel like you are watching a play, you feel like the story goes on somewhere in the universe. That somehow the author didn't make this up, the story did not come from the authors mind, but from a mysterious place, that all good stories are happening.
Sorry, I am trying to explain and express the impossible. O.O
Interesting thoughts. I disagree a little, a book can't be good without proper grammer or well chosen words.
I know that, I just said that that isn't the core of what makes a book good. It helps in the long run though, a lot!
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(grammar*)
Disagree with the grammar point. Half of Will Grayson, Will Grayson (from the standpoint of gay will grayson, written by David Levithan) is told without the use of capitalization. And it's my favourite part of the book.
but I disagree with "the author's talent not making the book good." They're the ones who wove the story to what it was by giving the narrator a voice, picking the characters and how they act, setting up a world in which they live, and use images and show the reader instead of tell tell the reader.
And for me, every book is a retelling of a story. And there aren't many stories. Like, you have the greed story, or the jealousy story, or the romance story. But the author decides how they want to retell it in their modern world. (this retelling story was the basis of a forty-five minute discussion in one of my classes.)
((Wow. EPIC FAIL. My autocorrect doesn't seem to be correcting that. ))
In hindsight, Flowers for Algernon does the same thing. But I guess my overall point is that you are allowed to get away with that stuff if you are a good author, and know the rules. Basically, once you know the rules, you can ignore them.
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*per se. It's Latin.
I also enjoyed this. It's great for a first poem. It reminded me of The Walrus and the Carpenter poem from Alice in Wonderland. Especially
“The time has come,” the Walrus said,
“To talk of many things:
Of shoes—and ships—and sealing wax—
Of cabbages—and kings—
And why the sea is boiling hot—
And whether pigs have wings.”
Not saying you copied it or anything. I just think that's why I like your poem so much.
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http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/2...
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(grammar*)
Disagree with the grammar point. Half of [book:Will Grayso..."
Capitalization isn't grammar. Grammar is verb use. Which is extremely important.
I never said that those things weren't important, they are.
My revised version of the prologue of a book I am writing:Prologue:
The city glowed under the light of the noonday sun, above the city lay an ocean of blue called the sky, small wispy clouds lazily floating on the surface of that ocean. Tall skyscrapers reaching toward the clouds, their shiny surface reflecting the light of the sun. Below these tall towers of glass, lay hundred of small buildings, with thick black lines separating one from the next. On these black tarred roads, and along the side walks surrounding them, metal vehicles roamed, people walked, ran, rode bikes, all with a destination in mind. The city was an orchestra of sound, you could hear the wind currents blowing across the sleek surface of the towers, the beeping of horns form the cars below, the buzz of millions of conversations going all at once, the music of street performers, these sounds rang through the sky. The people had now real problem or worries, they just lived there lives with a mundane calmness, no thought of the physical world around them, or of the world they could not see.
The air began to ripple, like a reflection upon the surface of water, being disturbed. The bright circle in the sky began to change, across the sun, a thin black curve appeared along its edge. The sky began to darken, the glorious blue being disturbed by tints of purple. Then the rippling stopped, all was the same as before, except for one thing, below in the city all was silent. There was no wind, not a living creature moved, not a sound, just complete silence. Above the sky scrapers two men stood, they stood there as if the very air held up there weight, between them in the sky the moon was beginning to swallow the sun. The man on the left wore an expressionless mask upon his pale white face. His hair was a lustrous snow white, matching his skin. His suite was a brilliant chalky white, spotless as if the dust, and dirt avoided it gleaming surface. Finally his eyes, they opposed the rest of him, for they were a solid pure black, they were an absence of white, a void of all light.
Across from the man on the right, was another man, who appeared as if he was a mirror image of his brother, so much so that the structure of his face copied his brother's. The difference was in the color. As his brother glowed with a light whiteness, he glowed with a dark blackness. His hair was shone with the color, of pure obsidian. His ashen colored skin , dark as a shadow. He suite was made of dark raven black material, its surface clean of all impurities, as dark as a starless night. His eyes covered with a radiance of pure white, clear brightness, an ocean of light. The two powerful beings floated above the city in silence.
“There are no more doubts brother, we are sure of it now,” said the white one, his voice flat and expressionless. His clear voice filled the city, though, not one of the million people would hear it.
“Yes, for the first time in any reality or time, the boy has appeared” replied the black one, his voice a similar calm monotone. The moon had slowly made its way across a fourth of the sun, darkening the sky, casting shadows across the land. The skies normal bright blue had now transformed to crimson red. The city below them was tinted in red, as it reflected the light of the sky. The air remained still, not even the slightest breeze licking the glass surface of the buildings, all was completely silent under the eclipse.
“He will become curious, and eventually, what has been foretold will reveal itself to him” continued the white one, his face remaining expressionless during the conversations. Cloud were beginning in to form in the sky, appearing in a light purple as they did. They held great controversy between the newly maroon red sky, and the old calm blue.
“There will be a long and treacherous journey ahead for all beings, mortal and immortal alike” the black one went on, they talked as if they were small talking over mundane manners over a cup of tea. The moon had half eaten the sun by this time, a dark rust covering the sky turning it garnet red.
“Yes, but we must remember, we are forbidden from interfering” warned the white one, now every inch of the city below was glazed over with ruby light. The sun now almost a three fourths of the way across, it only had a quarter of the sun left to swallow. The sky was now covered with a foam of dark violet clouds upon the red sky.
“I know brother, they must find the path themselves, BUT, if they don’t, then all the realities will be in peril” calmly retorted the black one. The moon had began to move faster, for now it fully covered the sun. They sky had now turned to a dark black, tinted with scarlet red. Every part of the city below lay in a shadow. The edges of the moon outlined by the bright orange flames of the sun.
“Now we must wait for the boy to find his path...” stated the white one, the sky beginning to lighten as the moon made its way, fleeing from the sun. The sky slowly transforming from dark blood red to a brilliant blue.
“...and for the story to begin” finished the black one. The moon just a sliver upon the sun now. The sky almost completely blue, the clouds retreating over the horizon, the city's crimson glaze leaving it.
A strong wind blew through the city, covering every building of the city. The air began to ripple once more. Once again the sound of the city could be heard, as time retook its course. The eclipse ended, the sky once again clear, and blue, the buildings once again glowing under the sun, humans once again going on with their lives. Around the sun the two men had vanished not a trace of there existence left behind. Life went on in the city, not a soul thought of the strange event, not a mind would remember, not a question will ponder what happened. The world went back to normal, all the humans would go on living, unaware of the event that had just took place among their city.
Tell me if you notice an problems with my mechanics(grammar etc...)
Just be careful with punctuation. Speak it out loud, and where you pause naturally, put a comma.
I plan on doing that later, when I am done with my essay, for English. Thanks!
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An Ode to Solitude
I.
Touch the shiver, silent night,
(reap the shame, sow shattered glass)
Hug the cold—fluorescent lights
Flicker quick, spark, surpass,
(speak susurrus and travel far);
Embrace the ground from a crevice,
Now dig. rest, eyes shut, mouth ajar,
In the safety of a torch
Lit by none other than a star.
Not even starkness can touch
Upon the frailness of breath
That leaves tiredness scorched.
Lying there, languid, in a cleft,
Without tension, but instead rest.
The Rhymes...night lights A A
glass surpass crevice B B B
far ajar star C C C
touch torch scorched D D D
breath Cleft Rest E E E
???
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An Ode to Loneliness
I.
Touch the shiver, silent night,
(reap the shame, sow shattered glass)
Hug the cold—fluorescent lights
Flicker quick, spark, surpass,
(speak susurrus and travel far);
Embrace the ground from a crevice,
Now dig. rest, eyes shut, mouth ajar,
In the safety of a torch
Lit by none other than a star.
Not even starkness can touch
Upon the frailness of breath
That leaves tiredness scorched.
II.
Tensile, rise. Tentative strike—
Fumble, and it flees over (to
who knows where?) dust, mouse like.
Build a sigh so pale, the Shrew
Can’t even see its upset form
distilled in the air, askew.
And now dusk is settling, warmth
Sinking down and down into skin.
Coat in amnion, shield from storm.
(and solitude is no synonym
for loneliness) condensing
lilting body, curled up, limbs tight.
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III.
Starving. starving and abandoned
in its little crevice, rigid.
Devoid of sight and sound (ruined).
Adamant movements (it seemed
perfectly rational then)
work only for the languid--
Nothing more. And so again,
the moving insect thing returns,
this time speaking, but ignored in
in a blatant fashion. It turns.
And leaves. Once more alone,
Swathed in darkness, now yearns.
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I wrote something new, for those of you who'd like to read it."
Oh, Van. That was amazing! I love the style of it, and the way it's kind of flowy, in a floating sort of way. It really captures the moment.
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http://www.goodreads.com/story/list/3...I added new stuff, but figure that they need to be rewritten. If you guys could read, comment, give advice in the amazing way you people do, that would be amazing. Thanks.
No way! You're an amazing writer. :)
Calling all Demigods!
Books mentioned in this topic
Flowers for Algernon (other topics)Will Grayson, Will Grayson (other topics)
