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MrAHR Ahr river from ಠ_ಠ Since: Oct, 2010 Relationship Status: A cockroach, nothing can kill it.
Ahr river
#726: Apr 29th 2011 at 4:50:24 PM

I create background characters that amuse me. Usually they are a one note joke character, but the thing is, nobody knows the one note except for me.

I once spent a good three pages having a main character have an innocent interaction with a side character, that is just one gian hitler joke.

Read my stories!
BetsyandtheFiveAvengers Since: Feb, 2011
#727: Apr 29th 2011 at 4:53:39 PM

I had a group of secondary characters in one story that I really liked, so they now have minor roles or make small cameos in everything that I have written since.

edited 29th Apr '11 5:22:38 PM by BetsyandtheFiveAvengers

Ronka87 Since: Jun, 2009
#728: Apr 29th 2011 at 5:14:32 PM

I did that just this week. I'm plotting out a story that includes an Amazon as a main character, and for her backstory she has four sisters. One of them is a dumb as bricks Boisterous Bruiser, and as a character she just jumped out and hit me. Now I want to write a story about her. She doesn't even appear in the original story I was writing— she was just backstory!

QQQQQ from Canada Since: Jul, 2011
#729: Apr 29th 2011 at 5:27:30 PM

“I want you to have this.” In the lady's hand is a white envelope, faded to yellow from time's weariness. Quon enigmatically looks at it, at the woman's sincere face, then puts her fingers on it— not before the woman yanks it out of reach.

“What's inside?” Quon asks.

The lady gets the lily, and wraps it snugly with the letter in a rubber band. “My feelings. I should let them out sometime.”

“Why do you give them to me?”

The lady hesitates. She looks down, as if reaching for words in deep thought. Finally, there comes a smile. “I think you would be the right person for them. You see, words mean different, from one person to another. A letter filled with memories would mean little to anyone else, if they read it. To him, I want to imagine him remembering me as I were.. as I have become.”

“What's his name? If I may know it.”

“I.. do not remember anymore. As much as I wish I haven't, his name'd slipped my grasp. I only have his lily, and memories of his voice.”

“Did you write it inside?”

“I think I did.” The lady glances at the sealed envelope. “I wouldn't want to look now. It's something.. I just don't like the idea that what I wrote has no meaning for me now, if I took a peek. I'm actually embarrassed about it. I was half-crazed, when I put pen to paper that night.”

“Half-crazed minds find things otherwise unseen by sanity. It can be good things too.”

“I suppose..”

Silence fills the void.

“I guess you want to be going now. You've spent enough time musing over my silly memories.”

No.”

“Eh?”

“No memory is silly,” Quon says. “Memories paint the lens with which we view life. Lighthouses watching over the sea of time. People live by them, confide themselves in them. Without which, histories remain mute, science crippled, and thought halts to a standstill. You take it for granted you can remember this special person on Earth, after this memory passes you forget all but what it is to love. To live.”

“I don't.. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it in that way.”

“You've already given me a great pleasure with this moment. You need not apologize.. I'll hold it in me as I would my own recollections. I'm glad to have met you.”

“The same for me, Quon.”

And Quon takes the lettered vase into her pockets. Stepping out into the hallway through the vines, she feels that relaxing bliss in her again washing away all inner turmoil.

So she turns around.

The lady waits, eager before the open doorway.

“What's your name?” Quon asks.

“I'm Julia.”

“Good-bye, Julia.”

The last which she sees of Julia is the grateful smile before the door is shut.

OhSoIntoCats from The Sand Wastes Since: Oct, 2011 Relationship Status: Showing feelings of an almost human nature
#730: Apr 29th 2011 at 6:04:39 PM

I'm too afraid to post anything because my usual method is to write now, edit later, and pretty much everything I write is 50,000 words or more.

So yes, I am writing, even if it looks like I'm not...

edited 29th Apr '11 6:08:27 PM by OhSoIntoCats

Dec Stayin' Alive from The Dance Floor Since: Aug, 2009
Stayin' Alive
#731: Apr 29th 2011 at 7:00:56 PM

Also, odd question off the topic of serials: Do you ever find yourself making your own Ensemble Darkhorse characters? Like, you insert a character in on the side or as a one-off, but you find yourself thinking about what they're like outside of their small appearences and such? And do you ever change the writing to reflect that?

Well, I've got Nathan, who's managed to completely dominate his corner of the story. A pretty impressive feat, considering he started as one giant Ass Pull on my part.

He's doesn't have The Wesley's status, however — he's dominating his role because putting him in everywhere makes the most sense right now. Once the police have quieted down and gotten out of town though, I don't think I'm going to be able to bring the guy back anymore. I'm gonna be sad when he has to leave. sad

Nemo enim fere saltat sobrius, nisi forte insanit Deviantart.
CrystalGlacia from at least we're not detroit (Living Relic)
#732: Apr 29th 2011 at 9:52:38 PM

Also, odd question off the topic of serials: Do you ever find yourself making your own Ensemble Dark Horse characters? Like, you insert a character in on the side or as a one-off, but you find yourself thinking about what they're like outside of their small appearences and such? And do you ever change the writing to reflect that?

I have a few very unique characters who've grown on me despite being rather far from the focus. Vinicio Acquati, as much as he is talked about around this forum, is closer to the Friendly Neighborhood Reality Warper than the protagonist of anything. One of Vince's lab supervisors, Alastair Thornton, is very much Creepy Awesome in my book in a very Spocklike way; it can be fun to write him mercilessly chewing out stupid newbies. There's also Ivan Wasylyk...

Essentially, my favorite characters are the ones who would make bad protagonists, narrators, or both.

"Jack, you have debauched my sloth."
RPGenius Since: Aug, 2009
#733: Apr 30th 2011 at 1:42:19 PM

Okay, so I was kind of an asshole about somebody else's work earlier in this thread, when they had the courage at least to show off their writing. On the note of fair game, here's what I wrote today, still in its roughest form, all ripe to be picked on by anyone who chooses:

Across town he rode, over to The Last Round. The cobbles sank slowly under the litter as he pushed along. To see the south side in daylight was a surreal experience. Too often had he been called out there in the dead of night, or the early hours of the morning, the sun peeking through the alleys, curious as to who the latest victim had been. Streets which had held suspense and threat were mere collections of cobbles and buildings seen in the light. The broken glass, leftover of empty bottles and shattered needles, glittered in an almost beautiful way in the early afternoon sun. The light bounced off their clear perfection, reflected back on dusty windows and dirty cars. Hale sat in a prism of light outside The Last Round. He moved out of his car, and pushed the door open. Dust and dampness hung in the air. The only other person in the bar was Harriet, behind the bar as ever, looking bored, called out across the gloom. Hale moved through the gloom, and as he got closer, she recognised him. The cheerful look vanished from her face, replaced by a superior smile.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“You owe it to one thing. Your choice. I spoil you, you know that, right?”

“Do try to reach the point before the regulars get here.”

He pushed himself onto one of the stools, and looked up at her, grinning.

“I'll have the regular, Harri.”

She looked scornfully down at him.

“Oh well. Not really time anyway, I suppose. What with having to cart you off as an accessory.”

“Excuse me?”

“Accessory to no less than ten counts of murder.”

He reached into the wide, deep pockets of his jacket and pulled out the official charge.

“Could happily serve you with that. Gets same charge as if you committed them yourself, you know.”

“You weren't blustering then?”

“I seldom am. I just let people think it. Greatest trick the devil ever pulled, and all that.”

“Who saw you come in here?”

“No-one. I'd say they're all at work and school, but we know better than that, don't we, Harri?”

“Okay, then we can talk.”

“I'm flattered. So, spill.”

“The two men I saw, the ones trying hard to fit in, they had an argument before they left.”

“About?”

“The fairer sex.”

“Women in general?”

“In particular. Betty something.”

“Phillips?”

“That's it. Seemed they both worked with this Betty woman. They were behaving like two dogs, fighting over a bit of meat. All a bit sickening.”

“Thanks. Anything else you could tell me?”

“Such as?”

“Name of the other man.”

“Alex.”

“You remember all this well.”

“It's been sticking in my head since you came to visit.”

“Been running around your brain, have I?”

“Husband like mine, neighbourhood I live in, any man with a job tends to run around the brain.”

“Even when they disappoint terribly as far as intelligence goes?”

“Even then.”

“Well, I'm flattered, but I've got to go. Murderers to catch and all that.”

“Say hi from me.”

edited 30th Apr '11 1:44:58 PM by RPGenius

chihuahua0 Since: Jul, 2010
#734: Apr 30th 2011 at 1:55:31 PM

Hmm...those are long chains of dialouge.

Ronka87 Since: Jun, 2009
#735: Apr 30th 2011 at 1:58:35 PM

There's a lot of "empty world of floating dialogue" syndrome— could use some action and description. Aside

Also, it might just be me, but a lot of the dialogue seems overly coy.

OhSoIntoCats from The Sand Wastes Since: Oct, 2011 Relationship Status: Showing feelings of an almost human nature
#736: Apr 30th 2011 at 2:39:37 PM

[up] Agree with the overly-coyness thing. I feel like there could be a lot cut out if there was less "teasing," which would make it flow a bit better. The long description in the beginning could be interspersed with the dialogue.

EldritchBlueRose The Puzzler from A Really Red Room Since: Apr, 2010
The Puzzler
#737: Apr 30th 2011 at 3:23:35 PM

Uh, who is saying what? o_O

Has ADD, plays World of Tanks, thinks up crazy ideas like children making spaceships for Hitler. Occasionally writes them down.
deathjavu This foreboding is fa... from The internet, obviously Since: Feb, 2010
This foreboding is fa...
#738: Apr 30th 2011 at 3:24:14 PM

[up][up][up] I've heard Floating Head Syndrome used before, but apparently that's a trope about something else.

I still think it's appropriate though. These types of things are structured in such a way as to make you think of heads floating in space, with no surroundings.

(Talking about just the term, I didn't actually read the section in question.)

edited 30th Apr '11 3:25:36 PM by deathjavu

Look, you can't make me speak in a logical, coherent, intelligent bananna.
FreezairForALimitedTime Responsible adult from Planet Claire Since: Jan, 2001
Responsible adult
#739: Apr 30th 2011 at 4:19:38 PM

Urg. I cannot figure out how to end this chapter correctly. The beginning and middle are just fine for me, and a lot of important stuff happens in it, but I can't get the ending to feel right.

Here's the end bit of the chapter (with the Important Exposition[TM] that goes with it), but I just can't figure out how to round this off. (Also, FYI, Dawra is a dragon.)

“Hopefully you’ll finish repaying [Mr. Fenrickson] soon anyway,” Paud said. “Then you can go on looking for your mother, right?”

Dawra’s story came back to me, in the way sudden recollections tend to do. “That’s right! You were looking for your mother. Maybe, once you finish here and get better, you should go back to your father to tell him what happened. If you’ve been held up a long time, he’s bound to be worried about you, isn’t he?”

Dawra stiffened. “Oh, I should think not,” he said casually. “Regardless of what thou thinketh, Paud, I am an adult by dragon’s standards. He should not be concerned for me. And when I find Mother, she will keep me safe enough for he, assuredly.”

“But you don’t even know how to hunt for yourself,” Paud frowned. “Surely, that would make him worry? Although it was very nice of Mr. Fenrickson to buy you a rack of beef ribs to eat.”

Dawra rustled his wings proudly. “Sometimes, a man must learn to fend for himself,” he said, with a stubbornly puffed chest.

I sat down on the quilt next to Paud. “What happened with your mother, anyway? I never did find out. Did she go missing? Did she and your father… well, hold on, do dragons divorce?”

Dawra sighed. “No, ‘twas their elders’ design. Neither of their families quite wholly approved of their pairing. Neither side spoke up at first, which my mother and father took as a sort of silent blessing. But upon my birth, my mother’s parents quite strongly conspired to separate us. Father never heard from her—presumably her family’s doing—and I was left with him. Now that I am grown, we seek to locate her, that she might now be free to live with us.”

“I suppose if she were a human, her parents might have passed on, if they were rather unlucky,” I mused. “But dragons live a very long time, don’t they?”

“Not quite so long as many of them like to brag, but yes,” Dawra agreed. “But perhaps she has… escaped from them by now, if you read me.”

Both Paud and Dawra looked sharply at me. I pulled my knees into my chest and hugged them.

“I’ve finished with the book, by the way,” Dawra said quickly. “Thou mayest read it now. ‘Tis a fascinating tale. Regardless of who has recommended to thee, methinks thou will like it nonetheless. The author has a great and lyrical way with words, as if a bard were singing his song to me in a camp somewhere in front of a fire.” Dawra’s eyes glimmered into the walls of the barn. He folded his paws in front of himself dreamily.

Paud chuckled. Then he passed me a small paper sack. “By the way, Angie, Ma gave me this. She says it’s a supplement to your breakfast.” I unfurled the folded top of the bag, and saw several triangular scones resting on top of each other. They smelled sweetly of vanilla and were dusted with cocoa powder.

“Oh! Thank you,” I said. “Dawra, would you like one? I can’t eat all of these by myself.”

“Thank thou deeply, but I cannot take cacao. It makes my scales itch horrifically. Even a small amount will make me blister.”

I took one and bit into it apologetically. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve heard of people being allergic to chocolate before, but it sounded so horrible I assumed the person telling me about it was making it up.”

"Proto-Indo-European makes the damnedest words related. It's great. It's the Kevin Bacon of etymology." ~Madrugada
Ronka87 Since: Jun, 2009
#740: Apr 30th 2011 at 4:57:01 PM

Is there any way to end it with a problem? That old "end on a cliffhanger" advice from republic serials. It's what I try to do to end chapters.

edited 30th Apr '11 5:24:24 PM by Ronka87

SPACETRAVEL from ☉ Since: Oct, 2010
#741: Apr 30th 2011 at 5:18:13 PM

What has been the tone of the chapter up to that point? As peaceful as that one scene, or with more tension and action? Even if it's not a cliffhanger, ending on a point that contrasts with how the rest of the chapter has gone works pretty well. One could end a tranquil chapter with a cliffhanger or a problem, but one can similarly make an impact by ending an intense chapter on a humorous moment or something heartwarming.

whoever wrote this shit needs to step on a rake in a comedic fashion
FreezairForALimitedTime Responsible adult from Planet Claire Since: Jan, 2001
Responsible adult
#742: Apr 30th 2011 at 7:32:36 PM

"Domestic humor," I guess I'd call the rest of it. Angie's parents have not yet met Dawra the dragon, and they do in this chapter. They assume he's being hired by their neighbor, Mr. Fenrickson, to spite them (Angie's father thinks he's feuding with Mr. Fenrickson). In actuality, Dawra has been injured, and is trying to repay Mr. Fenrickson for stealing some of his fruit. Dawra decides to give them a bit of a scare because he enjoys being theatrical (which is why he speaks in Ye Olde Broken Englishe), and they run off in panic. Angie, who is watching from the sidelines, laughs about it and then goes to congratulate Dawra which, after some more talk, leads into this scene which gives Dawra a little backstory.

The next chapter does have some tonally different stuff going on (it gets more adventurous, and furthers the main plot of the story, which involves a mysterious disease in this town), but it takes place a couple days later, so putting the transition here would be awkward.

"Proto-Indo-European makes the damnedest words related. It's great. It's the Kevin Bacon of etymology." ~Madrugada
Leradny Since: Jan, 2001
#743: Apr 30th 2011 at 8:32:13 PM

What the hell, I'm feeling bad. Let's write some bad poetry!

Just FYI: He Doesn't.
"Red as wine
And clear as the sea!"
I refuse to call it mine.
You know what jewelry means to me.

Rocks. Worthless.
Nothing more.
Clearly we have not gotten to know each other as
Well as we should have, or
You wouldn't have given me what I specifically asked you not to.
This was to fulfill your fantasy.
This was all you.
I'm sorry.

But... you can return it, and try again,
And I can pretend this didn't happen.

I did my best to give it a modern feel, without being dark and edgy or wacky and random. This means tinkering with the meter. A lot.

edited 30th Apr '11 8:35:34 PM by Leradny

OhSoIntoCats from The Sand Wastes Since: Oct, 2011 Relationship Status: Showing feelings of an almost human nature
#744: Apr 30th 2011 at 8:45:10 PM

I'm trying to figure out if Nyarlathotep is a Knight Templar Big Brother or if all of his entrances turn the surrounding ten mile radius into a half-vaporized, half-gelatinous void of madness and despair...

Leradny Since: Jan, 2001
#745: Apr 30th 2011 at 9:21:53 PM

In Medias Res beginning scene engulfing my brain, ahhhhhhhhhhhhh

Dec Stayin' Alive from The Dance Floor Since: Aug, 2009
Stayin' Alive
#746: Apr 30th 2011 at 9:43:06 PM

I feel a really, really strong urge to start writing again. Which is good, because it means that my short writing hiatus is working, but its also making me a bit... twitchy. Like someone who's Going Cold Turkey and getting addiction pains. Yay?

edited 1st May '11 5:25:01 AM by Dec

Nemo enim fere saltat sobrius, nisi forte insanit Deviantart.
Leradny Since: Jan, 2001
#747: Apr 30th 2011 at 11:27:49 PM

Dec: Jot down any ideas and see if that takes the edge off?

I have just written a shade over a thousand words in an hour, wooooooo. It's not my novel, but at least it's original fiction and it also looks to be a short story, so! Not too much of a distraction, I'd say.

jasonwill2 True art is Angsty from West Virginia Since: Mar, 2011
#748: May 1st 2011 at 12:20:15 AM

well im not in school anymore so i will have time to write now!

I really havn't written anything in about a month... lol need to get back in the habit.

as of the 2nd of Nov. has 6 weeks for a broken collar bone to heal and types 1 handed and slowly
CyganAngel Away on the wind~ from Arcadia Since: Oct, 2010
Away on the wind~
#749: May 1st 2011 at 1:49:41 AM

not really sure if this works to convey the impression I'm going for.

Tell me- Would this, done out in a game-style cutscene, work to convey the impression that the Priest is new at his job without me having to explicitly state it?

Ellen paced around the altar, her cold hand grasping the hilt of her sheathed sword. She gritted her teeth, trying to think.

“They’re nearly here now,” the priest said conversationally. “You’ll either have to kill me now, or face the people you have wronged by taking me.’

She clenched her fist around her sword, aching to pulling it out and strike the sardonic smile from his face.

“I do not kill.” The words are rote, cold and unemotional.

He peered at her through the darkness of the night. “Really? That is unusual for... one of your kind.”

“You mean an Undead?” she asked, looking to him for confirmation. When his mouth tightened in disgust at the word, she nodded. “We are not murderous, despite what your religion would have everyone believe. We are not mindless abominations.”

His reply was swift and piercing. “You and your kind are unnatural.”

Ellen stopped pacing, turning to look at him. The urge to kill him was rising. Releasing her sword, she reached up, clutching her shirt to stop herself.

“We are unnatural, are we? I see.”

For several more minutes, they were silent as Ellen began pacing around the church again, occasionally peering out the window.

“Tell me, Priest,” she said eventually. “Would you call death natural?”

“Yes,” he replied immediately. ‘When people die, they die. Anything else is a perversion of nature.”

She nodded, turning away from him again.

For several moments, she stood there, deep in thought, before she replied again. “Would you call magic unnatural, Priest?”

His response was slower this time. “No. Magic is a natural force.’

Nodding again, she frowned. “Would you call doing something with magic unnatural?”

“Necromancy is unnatural.”

She frowned. “If Necromancy is unnatural... How can you do unnatural things, if both the tool you are doing it with and the object you are applying it with are natural?”

“You are applying the tool in an unnatural way,” he replied slowly. “You are corrupting the natural end result to achieve an unnatural end result with the use of a tool.”

Again, she nodded. Turning to the window again, she stared for several seconds.

“I am not sure I understand,” she said, grimacing. “You claim that magic is natural. You claim that cheating Death is unnatural. And yet... Do you not follow a God that is unnatural? Does He not promise an afterlife, which is a perversion of death? Do you not wield power granted by Him, who is an outsider, and thus unnatural himself?”

The priest looked up, eyes flashing. “God is not unnatural!” he barked.

Ellen stared at him. “He lays outside of the natural order of things,” she sighed. “He is able to manipulate life, death and the other natural forces. Does any of this sound natural to you?”

He stared back. “He created this land and everything in it,” the Priest replied. “He is, by definition, natural.”

“He created everything?” she asked. “Does that not also mean he created Necromancy, and thereby the Undead?”

The Priest licked his lips. “He created the potential to do so, yes,” he said. “But he did not give permission to do so.”

Ellen sighed, leaning back to bang her head against the wall. She paused for a second to gather her thoughts.

“Let’s try this from another angle. Does your God give you permission to wield White Magic?”

He hesitated. “Not personally...”

She frowned. “Then why do you?”

“It helps people,” he replied immediately.

Ellen hit the wall with her head again. “Why do you wield it, if He has not given you permission?” she asked. “Or, more specifically... Why is it more of an abomination for Necromancers to give the dead a second chance at life, than it is for you to steal power from your God to extend people’s lifespans?”

The Priest frowned.

Ellen continued. “And, is it not a fact that using your White Magic implicitly harms those who exist on regular magic?”

The Priest opened his mouth, then closed it again. “That is true,” he allowed.

“Therefore,” Ellen continued, walking over to him, “you are using unnatural magic stolen from your God, to cause harm specifically to those who exist naturally on regular magic.”

The Priest looked troubled for a second. He opened his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by a loud knocking on the door.

“Open up in there!” a deep, masculine voice rang out.

edited 1st May '11 1:51:26 AM by CyganAngel

There are too many toasters in my chimney!
AirofMystery Since: Jan, 2001
#750: May 1st 2011 at 3:02:07 AM

[up]Logically sound, but Anvilicious.


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