Creative Writing

[Sejanus]

Share/critique any creative writing pieces you've written here. I wrote this when I was about 16 or 17 for an English assignment. Reading it now, it seems a bit naive, simplistic, and more than a bit morose, but I'll let you be the judges of that.

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Roots, Rats, and Us
A root isn't a beginning. It is the beginning. Roots come in a plethora of shapes and sizes. From the gnarled, titan-tough beginnings of aeons past, to the delicate spring-time-white fledglings, most roots are benign transporters of materials and vessels of life.

Disparity.

But predictably, there exists origins more sinister in nature, more fell of purpose (that is, if roots can be described as purposeful)... This root falls under the latter category, an abomination birthed with hope from the naive and the foolish. It produces nought but strife and decay, degeneration and suppuration in those beguiled by its temptations. It it to human advancement as the strangler fig is to its host; insidiously coiling its roots tighter and tighter...

A rat pads along the dark -oh so dark- alleyways of an unnamed city in the dead of night. An unseen dog vocalises its indignance distantly somewhere in the blackness. The rat pauses a while, considers the implications of this, and then resumes its stealthy shuffle. It comes to a junction and spies a two-legs slumped against a graffiti covered wall. The figure, harshly illuminated by a flickering pool of orange light coughs out a spout of blood and lies still.

Jerry Fletcher wasn't a criminal. He wasn't a druggie, a hoodlum, or even a moderate delinquent. His worst criminal offence to date was an overdue parking ticket. Jerry, an honest family man who always paid his taxes, went down the tubes when he was laid off from his job in the mines. He spent the last of his savings at the roulette table and you guessed it, left with a wallet suffering from a severe case of anorexia. So, with a heavy heart and an even heavier stack of upcoming repayments, Jerry turned to the worst kind of human scum for a quick fix. Unable to repay these veritable sharks, Jerry finds himself dumped in the gutter, his lifeblood seeping slowly from his fractured skull and multiple stab wounds. His blood bubbles up through his punctured (by his three broken ribs, splintered like matchsticks) left lung and is projected forcefully from his mouth. As Jerry fades from this world, his precious red life ebbs out and engulfs the small, shining thing which caught the rat's attention initially.
It is a coin.
The rat breaks from its momentary stupor caused by the reflection of that awful orange glow on Jerry's very last coin and departs this grim scene, but not before the coin abandons Jerry, snatched from that sorry puddle by a crusty arm riddled with syringe holes.

Our rodent friend passes another two alleyways and at the third, the sudden glare of a reflection at the end closest to the street catching its beady eye. That sickly orange shine has bounced off the handbag of the latest lady of the night, 14 year old Samantha Nelson. With both parents behind bars, the street is where she turns to put food on the table for her 5 year old twin brothers.Her first and last customer is preceded by a cloud of noxious black smoke from his tin-can shit-box. A few words, but more importantly, a few notes, are exchanged and the alley is soon quiet and lonely again. The coroner's report, published three weeks from now will read; "Female, 13-16 yrs, 4 broken vertebrae, crushed windpipe (indicative of strangulation). State of decomposition: advanced"
The rat slinks away. It returns to its nest and is debriefed. After much deliberation, after watching the course of this root for only one night, the rats unanimously against forming a currency and carry on with their mundane little lives. I envy them.

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[Clueless Morgan]

When I was in 7th grade I wrote a poem that got published in a Young Poets Anthology.

Other than that, I have an interest in writing, I love learning about writing structure and how to do it and what makes a good story, and I'm okay at plotting, I think, but I'm never able to actually write much, or if I start I never finish what I write.

I'd probably make a way better editor than a writer.

[Sejanus]

I don't think I'd ever bother to learn formally about writing structure or plotting, instead just writing as it comes to me. But I don't really write that often. What was the poem about?
I entered the OP in a competition to get your piece put in the school journal thing. Needless to say it didn't make it in... (I wonder why)... the entry that won was about a kid wetting his bed. :/

[Diablo]

I'm part way through my 7th book now, but if you want to read any of my stuff you'll have to pay for it!

[Sejanus]

What do you write about?

[Clueless Morgan]

What was the poem about?

I'll post it when I get home. I can only remember the first stanza.

As for writing instructional things, I really love Dan Wells talk on story structure which he talks about in this video (this is the first in a 5-part video)





What I love about learning about story structure and story-telling techniques is when you start to see all of these techniques crop up in movies or books you love, or movies that are, frankly, so-so but become inexplicable box office hits.

[Diablo]

What do you write about?

I've written some short stories, two novels, and now I'm on the third of a trilogy of thrillers.

[Minimalist]

I wrote this for my union's newsletter in 2009. The local was known as Chapter 53 and the IRS management utterly hated our newsletter. I did my best to make sure they continued hating it. It's in the form of an interview with Richard Dawkins.

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The discussion below includes events which far pre-date the Obama Administration but it does not appear to us as if there will be any improvement. Far from giving any thought to these matters the Obama Administration seems determined to bring back the highly discredited concept of “partnership” to the federal workplace. This grasping at such an absurd panacea tells us that problems of the federal workforce are far down the President’s agenda. Partnership was a fiasco before when tried under Clinton but conditions have gotten much worse in the interim. Careful consideration of recent trends in IRS management has brought Chapter 53 to a startling conclusion. IRS managers seem to be evolving into wild beasts ruled by primitive instinct with no conception of rationality in their decision-making functions. When “Partnership” was first proposed we tended to have a more rational and reasonable management. As this seems to fly in the face of evolutionary theory we contacted the famed Evolutionary Biologist, British Professor, Richard Dawkins to see if he could offer an explanation: Below is the interview:

Ch. #53: Welcome, Professor, good of you to take the time to discuss this matter.
Dawkins: Any time I can be of assistance.
Ch. #53: We have been dealing with an apparently sudden change in our managers. Far from evolving into rational beings they seem to be regressing into a bunch of wild animals. Blindly lashing out at anyone who enters their territory, for instance. Snapping like hungry lions at their own subordinates. Doesn’t this seem like a reversal of evolution to you?
Dawkins: Well, I think you are over-simplifying evolutionary science. You must understand the concept of “natural selection” and it is here I think you are going wrong.
Ch. #53: Please explain.
Dawkins: “Natural Selection” merely gives an organism a better chance to survive and pass along its genes to the next generation. Polar bears for example, evolved about 200,000 years ago when brown bears were isolated by glaciers. The brown fur gave them no cover in the snow so bears with the darkest coats were at a disadvantage. Those bears whose coats were lighter had a corresponding advantage and they were the ones who survived and passed the lighter colors along. Eventually, the white bear was ideally suited for hunting in the arctic but there was no thought behind this. The bears did not get together and say “let’s breed our children so they develop white coats.” There is no thought behind it.
Ch. #53: I see...and this is not our problem?
Dawkins: Oh no, you should be so lucky. From the documents you sent it is clear that your problem is man-made. Were this a natural world scenario it seems to me that any number of the managers you deal with on a daily basis would never have survived childhood.
Ch. #53: Why not?
Dawkins: Because they would have been murdered for being such unrelenting twits by their peers. These are the type of people who never develop any social skills at all.
Ch.#53: But why do they end up in management.
Dawkins: Ah, I see your problem. You are expecting reason or rationality. If you want that, old boy, you need natural selection. What you are stuck with is the worst case of Unnatural Selection that I’ve ever seen.
Ch.#53: Unnatural selection?
Dawkins: Uh, yes. How are your employees hired?
Ch. #53: Those with the proper education or experience go through a tedious hiring process.
Dawkins: So, there are standards?
Ch. #53: Oh, yes.
Dawkins: And how are your managers selected?
Ch.#53: Um...basically they are selected by senior managers.
Dawkins: No standards?
Ch.#53: None above basic respiration that we can see.
Dawkins: I think we both see your problem. These people who do the selecting, what do you call them?
Ch.#53: We call them everything under the sun but their title is “Territory Manager.”
Dawkins: And do they have superior interpersonal skills?
Ch.#53: No, most of them are like cave dwellers. They have all the social graces of the guy who whips galley slaves.
Dawkins: Then why on earth would you expect them to do anything other than select people like themselves? They pick the worst of the worst because they look to see themselves.
Ch. #53: I see. So this is not evolutionary.
Dawkins: This system? Certainly not. Not even de-evolutionary. Frankly I’d be surprised if it was ever any better than what you describe. This is a human process devised by very fallible men.
Ch,#53: So, can’t even blame Intelligent Design for this?
Dawkins: I might buy “Unintelligent Design.”
Ch. #53: No way to reverse it?
Dawkins: None that I can see. Perhaps you can get them all in one place and hope for an asteroid strike?

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[Clueless Morgan]

Okay, here's my 7th grade poem:

The Straws

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Hades, Zeus, and Poseidon
Decided to draw straws
To see who'd be most powerful
And who would make the laws.

Whoever drew the shortest straw
Would surely lose the game,
Be banished to the underworld
And win the lowest name.

The one who drew the middle straw
Would be happy as can be,
Carry around a trident
And be ruler of the sea.

The longest straw belonged to
The happiest of all,
Live on Mt. Olympus
And hold a mighty costume ball.

Poseidon drew the first straw
And, with a shaky hand,
Drew the mighty middle straw
And jumped about the land.

Hades drew the shortest straw
And, with mighty strength, was hurled
Into the gloomy caverns of
The moldy underworld.

Zeus held the longest straw
And was overcome with laughter,
He married his sister Hera
And lived happily ever after.

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The highlight of my writing career.

I needed a thesaurus, but for being 11/12 it's alright...

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It wasn't exactly "creative" writing, but when I was in architecture school, I wrote a paper on the Rialto Bridge design by Antonio da Ponte and why is was better than the bridge designed by more-famous Palladio that got 98/100 - the two points docked were because I didn't use the exact footnoting format the professor wanted. What an asshole. :p

[BrianSoddingBoru4]

I'd like to be able to write, but the times I've tried, it was so bloody boring that I never got passed the first line. Here are a few samples:

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At 84, my grandfather began whistling tunes he had made up about the sexual habits of Estonians.

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The psychiatrist couldn't even being to decide how to treat Reynaldo, the first vegetarian cannibal he had ever encountered.

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As the clerk at the florist's gave Miranda her change, she inexplicably became terrified that something ghastly had happened to her collection of Ringo Starr memorabilia.

*****

Sheila dearly loved bacon, but her life of late seemed to consist of nothing but wilted carrot greens.

*****

It was a glorious morning - one of those mornings that make you feel you're going to get laid before noon whether you brush your teeth or not.

*****

Regaining consciousness in an alleyway, wearing only mismatched shoes and smelling of lavender and vomit, Mitch found himself oddly relieved.

*****

Boru