(That Guy You Met Once)PFX, you're trying to shill your own work in hopes that you can talk people into liking it instead of just letting it speak for itself. Stop. That never works.
edited 21st May '13 2:34:42 AM by Wheezy
(That Guy You Met Once)It's OK to like the disclaimer, but you probably shouldn't keep arguing with anyone who says it sounds like you're evaluating yourself too highly and talking about how brilliant you think your own twists are. — Also...
I realize that millions of lives end every time I use hand sanitizer, and that must say a lot about how much life is worth.— The journal of a severely depressed character.
edited 21st May '13 2:38:24 AM by Wheezy
Creepy adorable little girlHey! Writing your Na No before November is cheating!
"Be mine, dear big brother."
vilent walerCheating is highly encouraged at Na No.
Creepy adorable little girlBut what's the point of cheating like that if you can just submit 50000 letters followed by 50000 spaces instead? The rewards don't matter (I never claimed mine last year, for example), just the self-imposed challenge. Breaking the challenge's (simple and lenient) rules kind of takes the fun out of everything.
"Be mine, dear big brother."
(That Guy You Met Once)Here's the whole section of the novel that one of the lines I posted on the last page came from. I think it's one of the better first drafts of a passage I've written, although I'm worried it might be a bit over the top.
Eric Duvall was always a bit strange. When he was about seven, a possum wandered into his backyard and got caught in a bush. He was home alone, so when he found it, he went back into the house, grabbed the sharpest steak knife in the kitchen, and took it apart - still squirming - just to see what it looked like on the inside. He felt nothing throughout the process. He didnít learn anything, either. Besides the bones his knife got stuck on, all he could find inside was goo, mixed with some thicker or stringier chunks of goo. So he got bored, tied it up in a trash bag, and dumped the contents of another bag over it before tossing it in the garbage can outside. No one found out, although he had to throw his shirt away with it. After that, he never gave much thought to it again. It was just curiosity. ...And besides, everything dies. He was just changing its date. When he was about ten, his dad had decided to start toughening him up for what life was inevitably going to throw at him. He started small. Made him run, do increasing numbers of push-ups every day. Get him ready to fight. What exactly he would be fighting, no one had figured out yet, but it didnít matter. The principal of it was that his dad just wanted to make sure he didnít grow up to be a fag. By the time he was about twelve, dad was sharing his porn collection and teaching him about the damage different calibers of hollowpoints could do to a human body. That wasnít what made him what he was, though. It just taught him that what he was already turning into was fine. You see, in him, like most boys of that age, burned a taste for mindless violence. Most of us learn to control it. He learned that he didnít have to. But something always felt wrong. Maybe it was how quickly he alienated friends. Even in a place like that, where it was believed that a hard edge made you a man, there was something that distinctly creeped people out in his over-the-top behavior.
Maybe it was in his impulsivity. How, on a bad day, of which there were many, heíd snap at the slightest provocation. Maybe it was the hate.
Hatred towards the world was an engine on which he ran. He knew how everyone felt, and he felt it right back. He knew the world didnít care about him, and the feeling was mutual. It took a lot of effort to maintain that amount of hatred, but he still managed to pull it off somehow, and he was proud of himself. There were times when he saw himself as a little Tyler Durden in waiting. For now, maybe he was just white trash, but it was only a matter of time until people like him would rise up and cleanse the world of all its weak, pussified bullshit through a good dose of violence, then build a new society that would take mankind back to its bloody roots. Better than working at the Circle K for the rest of his life like dad.
edited 23rd May '13 3:42:15 PM by Wheezy
BFS EnthusiastI am currently reimagining Viandas to go with New Dawn's reimagination, and instead of being Deus Angst Machina, cliches and overwrought attempts at copying what was done before, I decided to make it Black Comedy Dark Fantasy semi-parody. One of the earliest funny things that happens is, ah, this;
Johnson, irate and confused, simply sat there twitching as the woman who was supposed to be hiring him tended to a tiny cut on his cheek. He was supposed to be the Dark Prince, the forsaken mercenary outlaw willing to kill anyone for any pay who rejected a life among royalty...and she was treating him like he was some kid. Well, to be fair to her, he was 14, scruffy, and probably making a pouting face she considered adorable. Making it this far was mostly luck, really, with his undeveloped body. The woman asked, "There, now, are you feeling better, dear?" Johnson tried to look away to disguise his blush at being treated in such a way, "...I-I've had worse. S-So, we gonna discuss how you're payin' me?" His host just smiled, and said, "Hmm, so me saving you from Ser Phallic Symbol was not enough? Do I need to fight beside you?" He shook his head no, still very sore about how he had ended up in the coils of that two headed snake thing. It disguised itself as a pretty woman, and he might've been a jaded merc, but he was a jaded teenage merc. He was gonna use Darkiron Triangle to rip that bastard a new one. Disguising himself as a woman to lure in a teenage boy was sick and wrong on so many levels. Levels of sick and wrong he hadn't seen since Ein Woe's ill-fated attempt to get a job in the circus.
I need a drinkOn this planet, by the time your 21, you're ancient. What does that make you? Me? Im fuckin' Methuselah.
Theres sex and death and human grime in monochrome for one thin dime and at least the trains all run on time but they dont go anywhere.
Cool Celtic CompositionI apologize in advance for the horrendous things I am about to do to your transmission.
Non sequiturs are like bicycles: they don't bathe or poach.
The Unlucky"You. You're scared of the creatures that hide in the dark, but you're scared of what the light reveals."
You have forged a bond that cannot be broken!
(That Guy You Met Once)
...In exchange, Amy stole a bottle of unflavored Popov from her momís liquor cabinet and offered her half. Laurie tried one swig, but it tasted like something youíd use to deal with a rodent problem, so she declined any more.
edited 3rd Jun '13 6:29:33 PM by Wheezy
OGLloyd bit his lip as he thought desperately. He needed to come up with an excuse, any excuse. "Deep down, boss, I think we all have this inner desire to yell 'This is my city!' before headbutting a narco through his penthouse window."
edited 4th Jun '13 10:28:08 AM by RedEyesNegroDragon
I do not steal. I merely... borrow.
"A madman can be all the more potent a foe, for his conviction is absolute and he is not bound by conventional morality."I'm sure that was inspired by something, but I don't remember what.
edited 4th Jun '13 2:31:40 PM by JimmyTMalice
ďYou see thatís the main difference between me and the captain. I think with my noggin, and he thinks with his cock. Itís also why Iím still alone and he has three beautiful women fighting over him.Ē -Walrus, to my main character, Norwell Reach.
"Carl wasn't sure what to think when a heavily pregnant albino woman approached him after the graduation ceremony." I don't know why, but for some reason I keep looking back at this line. It's still funny to me.
Easily entertainedJotted down in my notes regarding an Eldritch Abomination, I may end up using it in one of the CDTs or my work proper: It was not old. To be old was to be far separated from one's time of birth. But no such time had ever been — the yawning abyss of eternity stretch behind and in front of it. It had always been, and always would be, without beginning or end. It was blessed and cursed to linger eternally in the forgotten crevices of the void that was womb and grave alike of all reality, an ever-present and hungry beacon of shining darkness.
edited 18th Jun '13 7:06:25 AM by KillerClowns
Cynicism is like salt; you should add just a little bit of it to everything, but it's useless on its own.
Cogito ergo cogitoA giant spider to a man on why she would not eat him: "Ah! Yes, I am the monster. I catch things in my net to eat them, devour their flesh and drink their blood. And what is a being other than what he does? But tell me: what is it that you do exactly? Where do you cast your nets, where do you spin your web and of what materials? It seems to me that you try to chain the things between the air we breathe, to catch the unknowable, to tame the entire world with one well woven strand of logic. Never stopping you spin your strands without even noticing that you are doing this. You think that the world is nothing but your web. You make it with your mind and the only thing you catch is your own mind. You are nothing and I do not feed from dust and empty shells." Or some variant of the monologue above. It's slightly different every time and each time I get less satisfied with the particular phrasing, but in theory I love this bit.
edited 19th Jun '13 11:41:51 AM by Yachar
'It's gonna rain!'
Street Writing ManI don't have many lines that transfer well without a hell of a lot of context (and someone already complained about people posting whole tracts from their work), but this one's kind of funny; it is my main protagonist's maxim regarding the collection of payment, delivered after someone asks her why she's such a hardass about it. "In full, on time, without complaint...pick any two."
Mistakes are part of the dues one pays for a full life. ~Sophia Loren~
So there's a Crab under a tarp in the hanger. You always hear about people managing to fall over and their 'Mech flops around on the ground until they break their neurohelmet cradle and it gets loose and snaps their neck. But you never expect to actually see it. The Crab? We saw it. No really, we saw it. Fell over into a building, flopped around until their neurohelmet cradle broke and the weight of their neurohelmet snapped their neck. Didn't really want to see it happen. Liked it as an urban myth. Kind of thing that keeps you up at night, like cockpit fires and reactor accidents.
edited 22nd Jun '13 6:44:56 PM by Night
Street Writing ManThere's this exchange between my protagonist and a professional leg-breaker, after he tells her the amount he'd charge for killing her: ďChrist, " I said, "I'd be worth more dead than alive.Ē ďMost people are.Ē
edited 27th Jun '13 5:15:12 PM by drunkscriblerian
Mistakes are part of the dues one pays for a full life. ~Sophia Loren~
The lord of the squeaks.I often write fragmented. The following line doesn't have anything planned around it.
A time travel adventure and I've managed to go 50 pages without referencing Doctor Who. Aww shit.
edited 29th Jun '13 11:11:59 AM by Squeakythemaster
"I'll fight you anytime, except on the toilet"
This one requires some context, but the narrator is a ghost and is meeting up with some siblings.
I approach them, and upon seeing me, they immediately point neon green and dayglow orange water pistols at me. I stare at both of them blankly. Am I supposed to be threatened by this? "Holy water, " Carl says, as if in response to my unspoken question. "Ah."
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