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[Evan Balster]

Ye Olde Writing Topick

Only seems natural our shiny new writing forum ought to have one of these.

Consider this equivalent to the "Art" topic in the other board; plop down scribblins here, be they prose, poetry, game design docs, or whatever else.  Since it's a bit tiresome to sit and read compared to ogling art, don't expect too much in the way of feedback.  If you're reading and giving feedback, you are an awesome person.


Avoid making huge posts by pasting in large sections of writing.  If you do have one, link us to it, give a synopsis and/or show us a passage as demonstrated below.  Try to use compatible formats (EG .doc rather than .docx) or better yet use HTML.

Smaller pieces (things that would fit on one printed page) are probably okay to paste right in, but preferably enclose them in a quote box.



EXAMPLE (large piece)

Elise (.doc 50k)

I was reading "Foundation" last summer and got enough writing mojo built up to pen a short story.  (seven pages)  It's a about an imaginative little girl, and takes a surreal turn.

SPOILER: It's actually about a shapeshifter who can bring back the dead by assuming their form and memories, and a man who hunts the shapeshifter for unknown reasons.

I stalked amongst the tall blades of green, fierce and silent.  My tail flicked, once, as my eyes affixed upon today’s prey.  Quietly, I told myself.  Its sight is keen and its legs far swifter than mine.  I stopped mid-stride when I saw an ear perk up.  I held myself still, creating neither motion nor sound, until the creature settled.  Shifting lower, I took another step.  Again lower, again closer.  I continued toward it, taking in the details of its wide, dark eye.  Its long ear.  Lower still.

I readied myself to run and leap, and inhaled sharply in my building excitement.  Too sharply.  The creature heard the sound and bolted before I could overtake it, evading me easily.  I knew better than to try to chase it, and watched it run until it was visible no more amongst the trees.

EXAMPLE (small piece)

Laserback // Surface to Air

A friend of mine, Ted Martens (savethedinosaurs) has had a project called Laserback in the wings for a while, and I've wanted for a while to collaborate in a game project as a writer.  At some point the idea of me writing a poem that would be adapted into a comic came up, and I wrote one!

The game involves a creature who can shoot lasers from its back and project a shield.  This creature is on a vengeful mission against enterprising humans who've kidnapped its kind for horrible experiments.

The poem itself ended up being written to work a little bit like a heavy metal song.  (Which is new territory for me)  Imagine someone angrily yelling into a microphone and some pots and pans clanging together and you're set.

LASERBACK // SURFACE TO AIR

Born to the earth, And drawn to the skies. Machines of men This conflict gave rise! Follow the pain, To cages of steel. Rescue my kin, It's all I can feel: I shall save what I can! I shall make my last stand! I will fight to the death, And win 'fore my last breath!     Light I shine will guide me! Shield I hold abide me! Sky I climb will permit me Passage to the enemy.

Lust for the strength To defeat one's foes, Stolen by man, From places below. Made not for war, Beauty abducted. Perverted so, Leads to destruction Cruel irony. A lesson be taught: Steal not from gods Or gods will be fought Climb to the peak, With all of my strength.     Tear it apart 'Till nothing remains.

I shall save what I can! I shall make my last stand! I will fight to the death, And win 'fore my last breath! Light I shine will guide me! Shield I hold abide me! Sky I climb will permit me Passage to the enemy. As the towers fall and Men see fail their laid plans, I don't care what happens. I would die to spite them! Rescue first precious kin! Clean the blight from this sin! Know now I swear victory! Don't dare try and stop me! Light I shine will guide me. Shield I hold abide me. Know now I swear victory. Don't dare try and stop me.

[Captain_404]

The poem itself ended up being written to work a little bit like a heavy metal song.  (Which is new territory for me)  Imagine someone angrily yelling into a microphone and some pots and pans clanging together and you're set.

I can only hope it will be recorded and included in the game as an easter egg in exactly this manner.

[ezuk]

I stalked amongst the tall blades of green, fierce and silent.  My tail flicked, once, as my eyes affixed upon today’s prey.  Quietly, I told myself.  Its sight is keen and its legs far swifter than mine.  I stopped mid-stride when I saw an ear perk up.  I held myself still, creating neither motion nor sound, until the creature settled.  Shifting lower, I took another step.  Again lower, again closer.  I continued toward it, taking in the details of its wide, dark eye.  Its long ear.  Lower still.

I readied myself to run and leap, and inhaled sharply in my building excitement.  Too sharply.  The creature heard the sound and bolted before I could overtake it, evading me easily.  I knew better than to try to chase it, and watched it run until it was visible no more amongst the trees.

I hope that I'm right in thinking that you were asking for some feedback on your story.

I thought the story was well-written enough to pull me through the seven pages.  It was nicely paced and engaging; you should certainly keep writing and honing your craft.

Two criticisms:

I didn’t like that the narrator’s voice wasn’t close to a six-year-old’s.  Making the child a little older might help, but it’s going to be hard to make a complex plot revelation through a young narrator.

It also seemed like there was far  more back story here than you could fit into the story.  I had no idea who the leather-clothed stranger was or how he’d discovered the girl’s secret; I followed the ending only after reading your spoiler.

[Evan Balster]

Thanks for the feedback!

My thinking was that the story's narrator was the girl at a much later point in her life, though that's not very clear.  (The thoughts in the opening paragraph are perhaps re-imagined.)

Sorry to hear the thing in the spoiler wasn't clear.  Perhaps I'll give things another look-over.  As for backstory, I might write other stories that relate to this one and expand upon it.  I also might not.  Either way I've come up with much more than is revealed in Elise.

[Dustin Smith]

Here's my most recent review:

http://playthisthing.com/space-funeral

if any of you people are kind enough to read my stuff, do you guys have any comments/critiques? (or comments re: my writing style in general?)

[Evan Balster]

Kill the apostrophe in RPGs.  There's a point where you comment on your own run-on sentence, which distracts from the review and reminds us that it has a writer; I suggest getting rid of it.  Regarding said run-on, I like to use dashes as higher-level commas, like so:

The suspension of disbelief required to immerse yourself in one--to actually believe you're the hero and not some mute ingrate locked in an arcane, stationary Twilight Zone ripoff where you're tasked with saving the multiverse but get charged for staying at the very inn you're fucking saving--can get a little tasking.

That trick can save the reader some disorientation at times by breaking things up.  I'd also use it on the first sentence of the last paragraph.

Also, subservant -> subservient, and avoid the "you do this" tense in favor of "you'll do this".  It also bugged me a little when you used "cause" instead of "because".


Anyway, mostly nitpicks on my part.  By the end I realized you weren't strictly going for a super-professional tone, and you make the game (of which I've only heard in passing) sound interesting.  I want to try it now.  So overall decent work.

It's a bit strange to be feedbacking a review but that's my two cents. 

[Dustin Smith]

Thanks for the feedback! Generally my aim is to make the game in question interesting -- and entertain the reader while doing so -- so I'm glad I hit my mark. I'm still working on my 'style' per se, at the moment I'd like to think I'm a melding of Costik's taut prose and the99th's pseudo-gonzo ramblings. I've been reading a lot of Tim Rogers lately, so that's probably where the "look at me, ma, I'm writin!" bravado came from. I'll keep the dashes comment in mind for future reference.

[Evan Balster]

Why so lonely?

So this a a fairly personal poem I just made on impulse.  But I'm happy with it and fancied I'd share.

--------------------------------------------- Why so lonely, My heartbroken only? Is it the way I can't catch your eye? You ask for a brother when I'd be your lover. Yet find it a shock, your request denied. Once was a time When this heart of mine Would equate "You" with you, dear friend. When visions and dreams framed you in their scenes. When Anima 'aphael played you, her frontend. ---------------------------------------------

--------------------------------------------- Now there's a space, 'cross which I can't face, For fear my heart might warm once more. Keep it cold, let it die, Hold my gaze from those eyes. To be a good friend Is to perform a chore. So I hide and you wither. Now and then ask me hither. Seek guidance from me, Or simply to visit. I guess at your heart, Perhaps even parts You don't know yourself, But it's not that, is it? ---------------------------------------------

--------------------------------------------- Yet the look in your eyes, And the way that you sigh, The lostness you speak of, The fear that you feel. It's an isle we all Must alone live upon, 'Till alone we are not And away we can steal. Perhaps we put too much stock In how we escape that dreary place. We all have our reasons, Our expectations. But I can't help but ask again. If only to ask the shadows. Why so lonely, My heartbroken only? ---------------------------------------------

-

[Far be this from a bark / up a long-forsook tree / just a last woeful glance / from a quiet dog (me)]

[Xion]

I wrote a thing.

I wrote it bored at 3 in the morning as some kind of stream-of-consciousness shit (seemingly the only way I can produce any kind of writing) just now so it probably sucks in alot of ways but feedback would still be nice.

[Captain_404]

"I awaken with a start. Because one must always awaken with a start in situations such as these." I like this, but it's a little cluttered. "because" is more or less unnecessary here, and something about "in situations such as these" strikes me the wrong way. "awaken with a start" is also a pretty used-up phrase.

Overall, I think the piece suffers from a lack of specificity. As a reader, I don't have anything to relate to because there really isn't anything to relate. This philosophy is embodied in your proper nouns: Other, Everything, Nothing. If I were asked, I couldn't tell you anything about these things based on what I read. Maybe, "the Others are bad," but even that is sort of implied just from the name "Others" and never really expounded upon.

In the end, it seems like you're hiding behind style with nothing to say. That said, there are some parts where the style really shines, and I think the rhythms you set up with your sentences work well for the most part. It left me wishing that you had tied those things to something more specific so that I, the reader, could get invested. (and I'd realize that feeling could be intentional and tie thematically with the piece, but here it comes across as accidental)

[Xion]

thanks yeah now that you say something I think a lack of specificity is something that hounds my writing. I'm more awake now so I'll try writing something else, with all of that in mind.

edit: writing well is hard ;_;

[Evan Balster]

I like it.  A dead man's soliloquy.  Keep up the good work.  And if you're struggling for a premise, lay down when you aren't tired and close your eyes until you're half-asleep.  Then imagine a situation and watch how it unfolds.

[ink.inc]

Hey guys-

I'm writing a review for the TIGSource front page on suteF, and I'm kind of in need of an outside eye.

suteF

(guest review by John Sandoval)

    In the world of suteF, nothing is as it seems. On the surface, what you see is a fairly standard puzzle-platformer. Crates are pushed, ledges are climbed, and exits are ultimately reached.  But at its core, suteF is a game that takes every opportunity to mess with the player as much as possible. Space and time in suteF are fragile, malleable constructs, capable of fluctuating or shattering at any moment.  Paths you might have taken can vanish into the void. A single step can trigger cracks in the universe; a miscalculated jump can open up hidden dimensions. And this tension, this uncertainty, this feeling that anything can happen at any time, is a huge part of suteF’s appeal. Every element in suteF is crafted to make the player feel as if the world could tear apart at any moment. From the constant screen static to sudden changes in the levels themselves, you’re never sure if what you’re playing is a glitch or the actual game. And the game is far more frightening for it.

    The successor to creator Ted Lauterbach’s earlier work, Fetus, suteF places you once again in the role of a frail little blue man named Aramas. Trapped in a hellish dimension, you progress through five sets of levels, each more complex than the last. Aramas has at his disposal three individual skills— jumping, crate pushing, and grappling onto nearby surfaces with a trusty grappling hook. However, the game takes great delight in stripping you of any of these abilities when you least expect it, forcing the player to keep on his or her toes. In addition to Aramas' inherent abilities, the player's greatest asset in escaping the world of suteF comes from the warped nature of the dimension itself. To put it simply, walking off one end of the screen leads you to the other; falling off the bottom of the screen loops you back to the top. Exploiting these spatial impossibilities turns an otherwise impassable chasm into a mere few steps in the other direction. The resulting puzzles are exceptionally clever, forcing the player to make use all of Aramas’ limited skillset in a multitude of ways.

    The game takes about one to two hours to beat; the various hidden levels (some of which are exponentially harder than the standard set) can double that time. You can download it from GameJolt. All in all, it’s a game worth playing.

Is there anything I should change? Any words I should replace? Fucked-up sentence structure? Be as honest as you need. Help would be much appreciated.

[Evan Balster]

The only thing I really caught on, though I'm not sure quite why, was "is a huge part of suteF's appeal".  It seems like the sort of phrase that would appear further into a review, and alongside an inventory of other positive traits.  Not that I'm saying you need to describe more; just change it to "is what makes the game shine" or summat and I'll be pacified.

Anyway.  That's my nitpick.  Good scribblins.

[ink.inc]

I'll be sure to change that, then.

Thanks for the quick reply.

[Dustin Smith]

I just played setuF earlier today and your review is pretty on the mark, and well-written to boot. It doesn't look like you need it, but if you ever want me to proof-read any of your upcoming reviews drop me a message. And yeah, that last sentence was imperative. 

[Renton]

I'm bored and I'm writing something.

It's probably full of errors, I've been writing this at midnights and I'm not even a native speaker. There really isn't a story and what little there is doesn't go anywhere. Maybe I'll keep writing it, I don't know.

[Bood_war]

@Renton: I'm not a real good writing critic, but the pacing seemed wrong. It was quick-reading writing throughout, even though there we places where it felt like there should be pauses or slowdowns. I like it though, it has a certain noir-ish quality to it.

I wrote a story for my english class that I rather liked. The only criteria was the it had to be under 1000 words, and mine clocked in at ~750. It's on the theme of suicide.

Here is is.

[Alec S.]

I've decided I should start working on my prose writing, so I decided to write the opening of Space Captain McCallery as a short story.

-----------------------------------------------------------------
Captain McCallery - Crash Landing

   The lights were flashing red.  The Captain sat dazed against the wall.  Captain of escape pod #2 of the pirate ship Vision.  Her last words to him still rang in his ears.  I trust you to survive...you always do.  He had half a mind to prove her wrong.  He was tired, and to add to it, he was tied to the wall of an escape pod on a crash course for an alien planet.  At least they had given him that gift.  If they had abandoned him in open space, he would have died slowly waiting for rescue that would never come.  Here he at least had a nice view of an alien world before he died quickly in a fiery crash.

I trust you to survive...you always do....  The words continued to bounce around his head.  Damn, he thought.

   He began wriggling free of the ropes.  They hadn't been very tightly tied, only having been meant to buy his former crew time to launch his escape pod off before flying away in his ship.  Having gotten an arm out, he began untying the ropes, and soon he was free of his bindings and on his feet.  He rushed to the command console.  There wasn't much he could do to get the pod away from the plant even if he wanted to.  The escape pod had only weak thrusters, and he was already well within the gravitational pull of the planet.  There was so much to do at once, and so much on his mind.  He quickly typed out a summary of the situation on his electronic journal, as he always did when he was about to explore an alien planet.  That's all this was, the start of a new adventure on an alien planet.  The thought focused his mind enough to get a grip on his surroundings.

   However, looking at the screen, he was even closer than he had thought.  He was already flying down through the cloud layer.  Intermingled with the clouds, he could see a web of sinuous rock formations stretching in all directions.  He slid a compartment to the side and pulled out a spare laser pistol with one hand, and began frantically steering the pod with the other.  Although there was no way it could currently help him, the pistol in his hand gave the Captain a certain confidence as he attempted to pilot the pod.  His main concern was slowing the ship's descent.  The alien world assisted him in this, although not how he would have hoped, when the ship crashed through one of the rock formations which had been obscured by a cloud.  The ship took out much of the rock formation, which in turn tore a gaping hole through the side of the escape pod.  The sudden impact made the Captain lose his grip on his pistol, which promptly fell through the hole in the wall.  A sudden panic set in as the Captain tried to bring the ship to a safe speed to land.

I trust you to survive...you always do.... 

He set all the thrusters to the task of slowing his descent and, satisfied that he could land more or less safely, steered the ship towards one of the long stone formations that looked particularly sturdy.  There was an impact and the red flashing light finally died, leaving the pod illuminated only by the pale orange light shining through the hole in the wall.  He reached for his pistol, only to remember it had fallen from the ship.  Groaning, he climbed out of the hole in the side of the ship.

   Arching stone formations crossed the sky.  They were the orange-red of rust and clay.  Grey-purple clouds hung against an orange sky.  The stone formations formed networks above and below him, and the clouds seemed only to get denser looking down.  Occasional bolts of lighting would launch themselves from the clouds down below, as thunder filled the air.

   The Captain had survived the crash landing, but he knew that that had only been the start.  He was still stranded on an alien world, and he still didn't know where his laser pistol had fallen.  But he would survive.  He always did.

[SplinterOfChaos]

Mooosh: That's somewhat interesting, but too abstract to really critique. You've got a style that i like. I don't pay too much attention to plot, but there wasn't much to see there.

Renton: The audience doesn't know enough about the guy who died to care about his death and the main character has too little story to make the shooting seem dramatic. Again, the style is somewhat entertaining, but i don't understand what the point is.

A bit ago, i thought i'd write an anthology about people who tried to commit suicide and failed. I was thinking of just letting it RIP on my harddrive, but then i noticed this thread. It's unfinished, a little cliche (intentional) and gross (intentional). The idea was to write a dark story that's funny when you retrospect on it. Please let me know if it has such an affect or the opposite.


By the time Mark, Juda, and Chris had arrived at the grave yard, the bowl of punch had already been set up on a table with four cups beside it. Mark admired ripples of the liquid with his finger. Grasping at it, he watched red streams fall between his fingers.

Juda figured that being sanitary is no longer a concern, but the fact she spent her whole life obsessing over it made her question whether she really wanted to drink it anymore. "Get your fucking hand out of the fucking punch!" Mark responded as if he was deaf.

Chris sat still on the grass, leaning against a grave. While the noise of the escalating argument over the punch ensued, he felt calm. More so than ever in his life. Every grain of grass, the old stones with names and dates etched in, the slight breeze; he swore he could smell the air itself. Without opening his eyes, he stood up, grabbed a cup, and drank some punch.

The others fallowed like sheep or like lemmings. Mark couldn't hold his fear, but laughed as he brought the cup to his mouth. Juda couldn't hold her excitement, but swallowed her saliva as she readied herself to drink what someone's unclean hands had fouled--hands that had, in fact, touched the door nob of a public restroom, a dog, and some grass, in that order, since last washed. Not that Juda knew that.

There was a silence after three cups of the punch had been consumed. They sat around for fifteen minutes.

Mark began feeling increasingly anxious. Never a patient person, he slowly realized that quite possibly, nothing would happen. That his escape might leave him where he started; back to the same shit different day, every day. Maybe he'd have to grow up, or possibly... no: likely, he thought, this was all there was.

Jusda's stomach got sick--sicker as she realized nothing would happen. While Mark paced back and forth, she sat on the ground staring at his hand, dripping red punch, the punch she drank. She didn't know where that hand had been, but imagination is a powerful tool, especially with the added anxiety of the situation.

Chris, having fully accepted whatever comes next, simply lay on the ground, silent, peaceful. Not even realizing that he was still human. Calm.

Finally, the guy i paid to set this all up arrived. He had set up the table which i lent him, the punch, the cups, but had to run back home to get the sugar pills. By the time he got back, the punch was mostly gone and its victims were in a state of high tension.

Seeing his arrival, everyone knew the story. Obviously, there was no cyanide in the punch and he was going to hand out pills individually.

Juda was the first to react: involuntary muscle contractions in her abdomen causing the punch and some partially digested food to spew out her mouth. Later she would be disappointed to be alive, among several other more personal things, but for now her mind made her unbearably dizzy, thinking about Mark's filthy hand.

Mark obtained the pills, very forcefully, swallowed them all, and finished the punch. Horror became terror, realizing there was no turning back, except it would soon become regret. For now, he lost the strength in his legs and his eyes welled up.

Chris, who's reaction had been the most calm up until now, could no longer contain his rage. The sounds of punk rock and metal raged through his mind as he went on a bloody massacre of grave stones. Bloody because after the first time his fist hit stone, his knuckles looked the same as the punch.