Browse Members |
New Members |
Instant_Death 20 year old male Сталингра́ What was God doing before he made heaven? Making hell for people who ask stupid questions. Reicher_Massa... 20 year old male Al-revis (US) "Hmmm...I wonder if I can trust my heart to anyone, can I?" zhouwuatsien 25 year old male West Babylon, NY (US) Can you soar higher than the angels though Wingless you are Bud 19 year old male Morgantown, KY (US) religion is retarded and a country should not be based upon such beliefs- founding fathers [more]
|
Author | Message | |||||
|
Contest open: September 3, 2009 (That means OPEN, guys) Contest closed: September 30, 2009 SUBMIT ALL ENTRIES IN THIS THREAD, PLEASE Yes, it's that time again. This time, we are offering 365 days of Andro-yes, 1 full year-to a lucky writer. I'm not sure if any of you experience it the same way I do, or the way anyone else, does, but writing is a good experience, a spiritual experience, for everyone. Developing a plot takes imagination. You need the ability to extrapolate, to create, to make interesting. And character development forces you to dig deep into yourself and build all kinds of different personae with names, lives, backstories and emotions. It's fulfilling, whether you let anyone else read it or not. So here we are. If you have a short story (that's a story, folks, with a beginning, middle and end) that's of reasonable length (hopefully between two and ten pages long, but if there are special circumstances, you can contact me), simply post her here. All entries will be read, and a panel of judges will choose one that has really spoken to them. Don't worry if it seems like your story isn't being acknowledged-I assure you I and the other judges will personally oversee the work submitted, and critiques will be sent out at the end of the contest. The panel will consist of: Joe (Klarth, yours truly) Sonya (pixiefeet) Ricki (HeliumDelirium) Tyler (Icicle.Tears) The contest is CLOSED September 30, which means no more entries! At that time, this thread will have a padlock dropped on it, and the victor will be awarded the Andromeda time on October 5th. This is only because a years worth of Andromeda deserves a month's worth of waiting. And all authors will receive constructive feedback from their peers, whether it be we judges or other writers. I have some advice for new writers, as well. -Start with something you have an interest in. This will make for easier writing and a better story. -Find a way to stimulate your mind. For me, riding in a car or on a train always does it. -If you aren't sure, leave it for 3 days and read it again. If it's ridiculous, you'll know. -If you're considering ever publishing your work but still want it to be publicly available, print out a draft and mail it to yourself. Don't open the envelope, mind you! If anyone cribs your work, you'll have a date-stamped, sealed envelope with your original manuscript inside. I call it 'the poor man's patent'. So come on. We're hoping for a good turnout. :3 ----- You guys wanna get a lil hahh? [This topic was last updated on September 18, 2009, 5:29PM by Klarth.] | |||||
|
There. It's stickied. | |||||
|
I might. But I am really, really shy about my writing. Really shy. I've only ever let three people read my stuff and that's cause I knew their english skills were poor so I could have written anything and it'd have been great to them. | |||||
|
Also are you judging on content, grammatical skills.. what exactly? The whole package? | |||||
|
Yep. Punctuation and grammar will definitely get you points. Mostly it'll fall to originality, engaging characters, and a story that can keep our attention. But if you hand us Sense and Sensibility and it looks like it was written by a two year old, it's gonna be a problem, of course. No netspeak, please, unless it's vernacular. ----- feels good man | |||||
|
Yeah that's cool. Is it acceptable to post a part of a larger piece? Like I've got 40,000 words atm written but if I shared like just one chapter, is that okay? I wouldn't wanna submit something and have the panel be like eh? this doesn't make sense.. when it's not going to because you don't have the full story. Anyway I'll look at what I've got and decide whether I have the time to write, rewrite and produce something up to standard or whether I have something already written that is good enough. [This post was last updated on September 3, 2009, 9:13PM by suckit.] | |||||
|
Cool, starting mine now. : ) Also linking some random people with writing in their interests to this thread. : ) ----- yeah | |||||
|
where do i put the story ? | |||||
|
Right here. ----- Don't forget to bring a towel! | |||||
|
In Memory of Terrance Gale I am a father of lies. They cling to me like a snake hungry for the truth. But I know the truth and it is not pretty. So I say to Terrance, lie back down man. You're going to be fine. I say this as his lungs strain against the mucus pressing into his rotting guts. How lovely it is to be a drunk. Tonight I'll drink and think of him suffering in that bed, straining for breath. Well Terrance, you had a good go of it, I'll say to him. We had some good times together. And he'll toil for a smile but fail and groan a little. I am a car salesman. When I tell people this they tend to cringe and smile at the same time, as though knowing I must be a douchebag though maintaining the pretense of politeness. I hate car salesmen like everyone else. I'm also very good at what I do. I sing to them and say, this car has the best features for the best price. I say I'll take the shirt off my back to get my manager to give you the best deal, always a shuffle of the boots, always keeping the eyebrows parched lest the fake sincerity fall through. Eyebrows are very important to selling cars. I have learned this much about human interaction - I sing to them and they are pacified. I have another confession to make to you. I often beat my wife. She is weak and likes to nag me over sales and dates, so I beat her sometimes to keep her docile. After I have hurt her I come into the room she is sobbing in and I whisper to her. I say my love you are so beautiful and I need you so much. My dear the human brain is so fragile and I am weak sometimes so I hit you but I won't anymore. And she softens up like a chick out of an egg, hungry for more. I am not very sympathetic about Terrance's death. I will miss him, but the last several months of his illness were very taxing on his family, and me on the rare occassions that I would go to see him. He stopped being fun at least a year ago, when I couldn't even share a glass of scotch with him anymore. I hate it that some people stick around for so long just to die. My wife Ruby thinks it rather cruel of me to feel this way, but inevitably agrees with me when I ease the truth out of her. I say in a soft brogue that he's in a better place now, and she takes some comfort in the platitude. I sit at the desk and write this while she stares blankly forward on the bed, my marks just under the numb shadow of the lamplight. I was dreadfully bored at the funeral. The priest was old and useless. He was smoking in the basement before the service. I was down there about the damn pallbearing business. I said to him, smoking is bad for you, you know. And he grinned at me in acknowledgement of the human song, spewing tales of previous attempts to quit. I bummed a light from him and we shared the silence of two men who have lived long enough to know the silence is better than the noise of worship or the whining of an unhappy whore. For the service the dance was the same. It reminded me of whining children. When Ruby was pregnant I said to her as she cried and cried. I said Ruby we can't have a child. You can't even cook. You're not even very good with kids. You're too fat to carry one around. Sure you're probably not even fertile. I regretted saying that for a few days after, when I found the bloody coat hanger in the trash. But I got my way. I cant help it sometimes that what I really feel comes through. It's not my fault. But back to the service. That's just it about Terrance, see. He was always trying to get all the attention, like people always do. The priest said he was gone to a better place. I almost burst out laughing right in front of everyone like the priest was trying to get a rise out of me. Ruby wasn't very pleased though, chirping and nagging me to be proper and acceptable and good all the time. I'm going to have to talk to her tonight. For the rest of the service I just zoned out. I carried the coffin to the cemetary. Everything was so damn solemn I started feeling a little down myself. Over the grave there were more pleasantries, and I steamed in anger at Terrance for being such a prick even though he's nothing anymore. I get back at him by telling everyone how amazing at his miscellaneous job he was. This is very considerate of me. For the dead too, we sing like little birds. [This post was last updated on September 9, 2009, 3:27AM by Sgath.] | |||||
|
not exactly sure what Andromeda membership is but I'll take part anyway. Am I allowed to submit a fanfic? If so.... Fallout 3: A Raid To End All Raids Its two chapters, and just over 4000 words. though if you haven't played fallout 3 I'm not sure if you'll like it. ----- ~we are a part of the process not instigators of its progress~ | |||||
|
A Drink of Cloves and Lace I turn one corner only to find another. Nothing appeals to me tonight. One would think that out of all these mortals I could find one who calls to me. Alas, it seems my taste is that of another time. I wandered on waiting and searching for the one I would take tonight. I caught scent at last, a most alluring scent that I followed around the next corner. The scent of clove cigarettes reminded me of who I once was. In front of The Web, a local club, she stood. Lace stockings, that looked as if this was the first time they had been worn, adorned her legs. I have a thing for lace. Nonchalantly, I walked over to where she stood. May I join you in a smoke? Sure she replied as she pulled out a lighter and a clove. No need for a light I said as a lighter flew from my pocket. She must have wondered about the speed of which the lighter appeared for her eyes lit up in shock. Its a cold night just to be wandering about. Well, youre out. I loved the spunk in her. She should be fun. No, really, why are you here? Im curious. Well, walking calms me and helps clear my head. Why not follow me then? I know a park that gives the perfect environment for clearing ones head. The suspicion in her eyes told me no, but her feet followed me. There is a pub nearby too. Im very thirsty; maybe we could get a drink. We walked in relative silence smoking our cloves and paused only for a moment at the pubs door. Opening the door for her, I thought I might be gaining her trust. There is nothing better than a good drink and a clove cigarette she told me. I agreed with her and we toasted our beers to long life. What about getting what you desire? I added. Yes, that too, to getting what we want she replied as she raised her glass once more. A sly smile crept over my face. The smoke in here is overpowering; do you want to go to that park you spoke about? Wow, she is doing my work for me, I thought to myself. That would be great I replied aloud. I had the bartender put our drinks on my tab as we left. Ah, the joys of regular service. Not a word was spoken on our walk to the park. Once through the gates however, I suggested a cozy spot that I knew. She simply agreed saying Somewhere not on the main way would be nice. It seemed I was going to get more than just a meal. I remembered her lace stockings and gladly agreed with her. We made our way to the picnic table behind a huge oak tree. I kindly asked for another cigarette. The smell of the cloves awakened parts of me long dormant. She pulled out the cigarette and took one puff before handing over to me. She stood over at the big tree and it reminded me of her standing at The Webs entrance with those beautiful stockings. I got up from the picnic table, cigarette in hand, to offer her another drag. She motioned for the clove but instead grabbed my coat and gave a gentle tug. Bringing me close to her, she placed one hand on the back of my neck in order to bring me in for a kiss. It is nights like this that I am thankful for. The cold air masks the real temperature of my skin. Touching the warmth of her lips catalyzed my hunger for her blood. Holding back my fangs, I eased slowly down to her neck. This excited her and she began to push her body more forcefully against mine. Instantly, I reciprocated by forcing her against the oak tree. As she moaned, her head tilted back exposing the smooth expanse of her throat. All pretense and control vanished in that moment. I extended my fangs and broke her porcelain skin. Even as I drained away her life, she thrust against me. I reveled in the taste and warmth of her blood running down my throat; all too soon it was over. I lapped up what little blood escaped, and stood for a moment feeling alive. I left her body for some poor soul to find in the morning. Taking one last look back at her, I noticed the clove cigarette lonely on the ground. I gracefully picked it up, smoking it as I left. No sense in wasting a perfectly good clove. ----- ~The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return~ | |||||
|
Uncle Billy 'Could you ask Uncle Billy to stop touching me in my special place?' I ask, completely unaware of the consequences of this question. I'm sat on the floor, cross legged, tugging on my mother's trousers and looking up at her, one thumb in my mouth because I haven't quite gotten out of that thumb sucking stage. I know, seven years old and a thumb sucker, terrible. It's my only hang up, honest. Except for Uncle Billy touching my flower. I know it's not really called a flower. The boys at school told me I had a vagina years ago, and that they have a penis. I was amazed they knew this sort of thing. I'd only just met them as well, the cheek. Anyway the point is, I knew Mom would get upset if she overheard me referring to it as a vagina, so flower it is. 'What?' Mom asks, chuckling nervously. Her friends are round for a natter so I've probably not picked the best time to ask such a question. All they do is moan about how much their husbands work and all I can think to say is at least they have husbands. Mom has never been married. She told me I was born out of wedlock. All I have is Uncle Billy. Uncle Billy kisses Mom like Jack kisses Rose on the titanic. All love and no holding back. Squishing her bottom. He squishes my bottom when he kisses me too. Sticks his tongue in my mouth which is gross. It's cold and slimy and wet and I get his mouth juices all over my lips. I try to wipe it off as quick as I can so I don't taste him later on if I accidentally lick my lips. I know all about babies and sometimes I wonder if I will get a baby in my belly like all the grown ups do. But Uncle Billy told me that that's the great thing - I'm not a grown up so I can't get a baby in my belly. He also told me that you can't get a baby in your belly from kissing but saying that, Uncle Billy told me it was okay that he touched me. From the look on Mom's face, I'd have to respectfully say he's a liar. 'Uncle Billy. He puts his fingers in my flower and makes me touch his special parts. It's hairy and wrinkly and I don't like it. I don't want to do it anymore. He told me that you weren't allowed to know about our special game because it's only for grown-ups but he said that I'm very grown up for my age, which I am. So he said it would be okay, but just in case, it should be our secret.' Silence. I've gone and done it now. Mom doesn't like the things I've said. She bursts into tears and grabs me by the arm, dragging me upstairs. 'Don't lie,' she shrieks at me, practically throwing me onto my bed, 'when you lie, bad things happen to you. You'll go to hell if you lie.' Lie? Why would I lie? All I want is for Uncle Billy to play his game with the grown-ups like he's supposed to. 'But mommy,' I begin. She cuts me off, telling me I'm to stay in my room and think about what I've said because she doesn't like me very much at the moment. She tells me she doesn't like liars. I don't understand. Later that night Uncle Billy comes home from the bar and he's drunk as usual. I hear shouting, mostly from Mom. Is this because I told on him? I wonder. Boy, she really is angry that he plays the game with me. Maybe he doesn't play it with her and maybe that's why she's so angry. Maybe because it's a grown-up game she thinks he should play it with her. I'm not so sure. I wish I knew. I decide to try and get some sleep because I know that eventually Mom will calm down and say sorry to Uncle Billy and she will say lots of nice things to him. She'll even kiss him in that way that he likes. And he'll pat her on the bum and call her silly. It's what happens all the time. It got old pretty fast. I wake up not long after because someone is in my room. Before I know it, Uncle Billy is in my bed. I guess Mommy didn�t mind him playing the game with me after all. But I asked her to tell him I didn't want to play anymore so I guess he just didn't listen. I begin to cry a little though I'm not sure why. I always do. I'm such a baby. But its just so horrible. It's like playing truth or dare and getting dared to lick the sidewalk. It's not fun. It's fun for everyone else, sure. But for the person getting dared, it's horrible. That's what this is like. A really horrible dare. 'We're going to play a new game,' Uncle Billy says. I breathe a sigh of relief because this means Mom did ask him to stop playing his game with me. But something is still wrong. It's the way he says it. Like he's up to no good. I turn my face away, hoping he'll just leave, but he doesn't. Instead he does something a lot worse. I can tell he's naked, though he always is when he gets into my bed. Usually he�d make me touch his penis but instead he climbs on top of me. He does something in the dark but I can't see what, I can just feel the movement. Uncle Billy went ahead and stuck his fingers in me as usual! This time they were wet though, like he'd licked them first. So now I have his mouth juices on my lips AND my vagina. Great. Not a new game at all. I start crying all over again. Little do I know, the worst is about to come. Suddenly I feel a sharp stabbing pain all the way from my legs to my stomach. I think he�s gone and stuck his penis in my vagina. It hurts more than anything I've ever felt in my life. Even worse than that time Robbie from next door pushed me off my bike on purpose, and I had a pretty big cut from that. It took ages for it to go away. This pain causes me to scream out. Instantly I know I shouldn't have done that. It's like my eyes have been opened up to this whole new realisation of what is going on here. Uncle Billy shouldn't be doing this. He cups my mouth with his hand and presses hard but I just scream louder for Mom. If she sees him doing it, she'll have to believe me. Uncle Billy grabs the pillow from beneath my head and presses it over my face. He presses hard. I can�t breathe. I'm dizzy. I cant breathe. DOESN'T HE REALISE I CAN'T BREATHE. GET OFF. GET THE PILLOW OFF MY FACE. UNCLE BILLY. PLEASE. I... CAN'T... BREATHE. [This post was last updated on September 9, 2009, 1:24AM by suckit.] | |||||
|
Just felt like saying Derricke, that is a fucking work of art if ever I read one. My lord it just flows. Love it. I don't even really know why I bothered submitting anything. It took me about 30 minutes to write and I did it after an all nighter so it probably could not get worse. Then I read what you've written and BAM it gets worse. THANKS DERRICKE FOR BEING SO GREAT AT WRITING. I am so hyped up on caffeine its untrueeee | |||||
|
I've written a short story, It's more like an acid trip though  I'll post it later, see what ya'll think. TBC. ----- Cowgirl king of the rodeo let the good times roll, let the good times roll. | |||||
|
Alright, here we go: The Colors The Sky Sings I stood, looking out across the universe, and in that second, the treetops sang to me. There's this moment when you throw everything in your life away, when there is nothing left for you in the world, that you reach a point of absolute and total clarity. For me, it happened here, standing atop these frozen hills, looking out onto what seemed like the entire world, small enough for me to hold in the palm of my hand, but too huge for my mind to conceive. He had died that morning at 8:47. The wind kissed my cheeks, whistling its love song in my ear, softer and sweeter than any sound I had ever heard. I looked out into the chilly afternoon and I laughed. I would lose everything today. He had been the only thing I'd ever loved. He was beautiful, more beautiful than the pink and blue hues of the western sky that had been measuring my life. How long had I been there? Days? He had only died this morning, but it felt like a lifetime. Soon they would be coming for me. They'd want to take me back. Back to the white walls, the single window, and those shiny white sheets. The place where everything was reflective, but nothing sparkled. Not like out here, in the open, where there were colors and sounds and life. I reached out and I swore I touched the sky. I asked them once for blue walls. And a green carpet. "Why would you want that?" I want to feel like I'm alive. "Those colors wouldn't work together. Don't you know that? And besides that, it's against the rules." I like the colors, I said. And he was against the rules, too. But I could have him all I wanted, right? She gave me a sad, apologetic smile and she finished laying down the crisp, white sheets. I liked her. She always gave me an extra pillow and talked to me, even though interaction was supposed to be limited. They said it was for my own good. "I'll see what I can do about maybe getting you some curtains." I wonder if she would get those curtains now that I was gone. I hoped they were purple, like the sky at dusk. It'd be such a pretty color for that lonely room. Lonely. It'll be even more so now. I'd lost the room, too. I lost my love, I lost my home, I'd lost my friend. Or at least I would soon. I heard the hills calling my name in her voice. His voice. Her voice. The words swirled around me and I laughed back at them. I spun with them, dancing in a whirlwind of beautiful sound. And he was next to me, spinning, laughing, holding tight onto my wrists as the melody enveloped us. "Jess? What are you doing?" Pausing to look behind me, I saw the nice lady from the ward. "I'm dancing! Don't you see him? He's back, he didn't die! Everything is fine again. We can be happy. And now we can get the green carpet and blue walls!" He spun me into his arms and we danced closer to the edge. "Jess, if you come back with me, we can get you whatever carpet you want. Just come back, please." I laughed. She was being so silly. Of course I wasn't coming back. He was here. Why would I go back? "Jess, please." Why? He's here, he's back! Everything is okay! "No, he's not. Jess, he died years ago. Please, come back with me. We just want to help you." Silly. She's just so silly. Dancing, spinning, whirling in a mix of color and sounds. Staring into his face, he smiles beautifully. "I love you," he whispers above my face. I know you do. I love you, too. "...Jess?" I would lose everything today. I didn't question when he jumped off the edge, still clutching my wrist. And in that moment, the mountains sang to me. ----- I often wake and find we're not alone, just lonely all of the time. [This post was last updated on September 8, 2009, 7:56PM by Vo_Spader.] | |||||
|
On September 8, 2009, 8:56AM, suckit said: Just felt like saying Derricke, that is a fucking work of art if ever I read one. My lord it just flows. Love it. I don't even really know why I bothered submitting anything. It took me about 30 minutes to write and I did it after an all nighter so it probably could not get worse. Then I read what you've written and BAM it gets worse. THANKS DERRICKE FOR BEING SO GREAT AT WRITING. I am so hyped up on caffeine its untrueeee Thanks. I like your story too. | |||||
|
Haha thanks. | |||||
|
how come mine isn't accepted?  ----- ~we are a part of the process not instigators of its progress~ | |||||
|
what do you mean "will one day be large"?? It's a short story. the story is two chapters long. thats how long it is. It is a self-contained, completed piece, from beginning to end. ----- ~we are a part of the process not instigators of its progress~ [This post was last updated on September 9, 2009, 8:23PM by conduit.] |
| Last 10 Members to View This Thread | |
| Name | Time |
| Mia_Theresa | Nov 16, 2009, 9:18PM |
| Sgath | Nov 7, 2009, 5:11AM |
| Xpurple_starX | Nov 5, 2009, 1:34AM |
| Kashikoi | Oct 21, 2009, 10:45PM |
| Springheel.is.dead | Oct 21, 2009, 9:38AM |
| suckit | Oct 17, 2009, 6:46AM |
| the.asian.god | Oct 15, 2009, 8:20PM |
| darkphoenix | Oct 15, 2009, 12:38AM |
| nancy | Oct 14, 2009, 6:26PM |
| hieimun | Oct 14, 2009, 4:21AM |
DarkStarling Forums, v.0.8 (Virgo) © 2005 |