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Writers Corner

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  • Writers Corner

    This is pretty much a ripoff of Echoes' Artists Corner (Sorry man [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/wink.gif[/img] ) I would like to be a writer for a living, so, naturally, I write a lot of stuff. This is a place for people to post songs, poems, or stories if they want. I personally don't write many poems, but I write some stories. Here is a VERY short one that I wrote for my Creative Writing class last year. I don't have a name for it, but here it is. This was part of an assignment of 7 Vignettes; maybe I'll post the rest of them later. I'm not saying they're good (I've developed my style A LOT in the last year), but they have their moments [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif[/img] Anyways, here's the first one:

    Vignette I:

    He limped after him, dragging his axe behind him on the metal floor of the factories second level. The man he was chasing turned his head around to look and slipped in a pool of blood. He fell forward and slammed his head on the cool metal, spurting blood into the lifeless eyes of his sons severed head. Everything was spinning and he could hear the rasping of the madmanís heavy breathing behind him, along with the horrible grating noise of the axe head on the floor. He tried to stand up, but he was still too disoriented.
    It was so hot on that level of the factory. His now crimson shirt clung to his body, and his sweat soaked hair laid flat in his face. His heart was pounding loud enough to deafen the sound of the machinery around him; the hiss of steam, the rattle of chains, and the constant clang clang of license plates being stamped. All of these sounds spiraled around him, making him want to throw up, but not for the first time that day.
    He steadied himself on his hands and knees and started to get up again, but collapsed due to the axe-head that was now firmly imbedded in his right shoulder. He screamed and rolled over. The madman yanked the axe out and looked at him. He slowly raised the axe over his head, then brought it down. Hard.
    He limped away, dragging his trusty axe behind him.

    And that's that. If anyone wants to comment or post their own writings, feel free.

  • #2
    Re: Writers Corner

    This is a funny humour song that I wrote with my friend. I want to remind you, that I don't have anything against homosexual people, this is just an innocent little joke. [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif[/img]

    My girl is a monster in bed,
    She gives me the best pleasure I can get,
    But I think i have fell in love with a man who i met,
    Now I think my mind is set,
    And I am ready to bed!

    When I see his hip I get stiff,
    My love for him is as strong as a cliff,
    I think that he has something big,
    And I'm pretty sure that's his dick,
    Then I blow a kiss!

    This is boy love,
    And it feel's right!

    This is boy love
    And it feel's THIGHT!


    I'm not sure what the line "Then I blow a kiss!" means, my friend came up with it...


    • #3
      Re: Writers Corner

      ^^^Oh man, that is awesome! "And it feels TIGHT!" *shudder*


      • #4
        Re: Writers Corner

        Thanks, now we might make it into a real song! [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/grin.gif[/img]


        • #5
          Re: Writers Corner

          Awesome. I've been working on an "epic" story if you want to use that word; I prefer the word "long" [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif[/img] I've only got I think six or seven pages written in a notebook, but I'm really liking it so far; better than my short story (though longer than everyone else's) I wrote for Creative Writing. It's (the "epic") so far got vampires, werewolves, ghosts, regular men, and ghosts. I'm going to incorperate gypsies, zombies, gnomes, and maybe a mermaid or two, I haven't really decided yet. All in all, it's going to be big and I hope I can pull it off [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif[/img]


          • #6
            Re: Writers Corner

            a poem from last year (7th grade) that i found on my computer

            I am from rhythms
            From old and new
            I am from sounds of the city
            The noises
            Which could keep me up I remember as if they are not just sounds, but part of me

            Iím from Rock and Coke
            From sleep and eat
            Iím from the constant talk and the wrong way
            From ďAre we there yet!Ē And ďWhy Must I!Ē
            Iím from shattering glass
            With trouble
            And guilt

            Iím from laughs and water
            Starbucks and pizza
            From the words of my own
            The walk of my feet

            Under my bed was a comic
            Showing anvils falling
            Pranks from all over
            I am from those characters


            • #7
              Re: Writers Corner

              I do some writing but I get easily frustrated with myself-- I was about 40 pages into a movie script several months ago before I looked at it, realized it wasn't going in the direction I originally planned and I deleted the whole thing.

              I also write songs but that's worthless since I can't read or write music. I might put some lyrics up here later though.


              • #8
                Re: Writers Corner

                Remember in Bill's 9th diary when he sternly said a song title and said it was copyrighted, that made me laugh, so be careful Prez
                "I want to tell you, yeah
                How Good It Feels
                Sleeping here with you tonight
                And thatís for real"
                -Sometimes I'm Happy 8/5/75


                • #9
                  Re: Writers Corner

                  [ QUOTE ]
                  This is pretty much a ripoff of Echoes' Artists Corner (Sorry man )

                  [/ QUOTE ]

                  I'm not upset about the ripoff. What's bugging me is your thread's off to a better start! Everybody wants to be a writer. But mention drawing? Ooo, suddenly everyone's averse to it.


                  • #10
                    Re: Writers Corner

                    But seriously, I'm a part-time poet myself. When I write a worthy poem (or find one from my archive), I'll post one.


                    • #11
                      Re: Writers Corner

                      Sorry, what can I say? I was very interested in drawing back in middle school, but both of my friends were into it (and better) so I tried to find something else, which turned out to be writing. Now that I think about it, that right about the time I got into Black Sabbath. Coincidence...?


                      • #12
                        Re: Writers Corner

                        I submitted this to the school newspaper and got it published. I guess this would be considered my first published work [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif[/img] Too bad I didn't get paid for it [img]/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/frown.gif[/img]

                        The damp grass brushes against my jeans. My brown boots are already wet, and the water is starting to seep into my socks. It is just after a light shower, and the sun is trying to peek through the gray sky above, but dusk is quickly approaching, and it doesnít look like the sun will shine on my face today.
                        Thatís alright though; I just like to walk in the woods. The neon green of the trees and the blinding yellow of the wildflowers enter my vision and I finally see the forest as a whole, not just trees, flowers, and grass.
                        I see a habitat; a home for natures beasts. I see a recreational house; a pool to swim in and walls to climb. But most of all, I see the nexus of a perfect existence; a place to go when I am sad, happy, bored, excited, but I always go there alone. I go to think, to be given joy, to be inspired, to relax. And really, isnít that perfection? To be given a place to go and feel whatever you want, without the influences or distractions of the outside world?
                        I take all of this in, and walk a little deeper into perfection. I step up to a small pond. A duck flies in and lands in the water. I am sure it doesnít see me. A toad hops and plops in the murky green pond. A bird flies overhead, and I can hear the repetitive whisper of its wings approach, then slowly fade away. The air is clean; freshly washed by the rain. The clean air brings hundreds of smells of my nose. I inhale deeply.
                        I smell the wildflowers; a sweet mixture that overpowers everything else. Under that, there is the pond; a public toilet for the beasts of the wood. Beyond that, the bitter smell of rotting wood fills my head.
                        All of these things and more make up the smell of the woods. I turn around to leave this Nexus of Perfection, when I feel heat on the back of my neck. I turn around, and look into the blinding light of the white sun.


                        • #13
                          Re: Writers Corner

                          Very well. Might as well make some sort of contribution. This is the most recent thing I wrote. Things to remember:
                          1) I have a standard structure of 8 syllables/line, 4 lines/stanza.
                          2) I write a long of "seize the day" type poems.

                          This one is called "Living Life's Worth"

                          Time wonít freeze or remain idle,
                          An hourglass keeps flowing quite fast.
                          You blink for one second and find
                          Half the sand has already passed.

                          Donít wait for things to walk to you,
                          You may only grasp once you reach.
                          With all effort and will power
                          All your barriers will be breached.

                          Youíve got the whole world for yourself
                          And many stars to shoot for.
                          Never give up your faith or hope,
                          íCause moments donít last forever.

                          Live your life like itís worth thousands.
                          And not slip into history.
                          Make your dreams a reality
                          Before theyíre a distant memory.


                          • #14
                            Re: Writers Corner

                            [ QUOTE ]
                            But mention drawing? Ooo, suddenly everyone's averse to it.

                            [/ QUOTE ]

                            Well actually, drawing has become very popular amonge the (alternative...) youth in my country.


                            • #15
                              Re: Writers Corner

                              I want to become an author and I write novells/short stories all the time. I right criminal stories, fantasy, romantic stories, stories about what happens after death and a lot of other stuff. I also write poems and song lyrics. Most of the stories are in Swedish, but I have written some songs and poems in English.

                              Here's one I wrote after reading The Lord of the Rings, plus The Silmarillion:

                              "We walk though the centurys
                              We see the times of man come and go.
                              We are on an endless path
                              Wondering through the mists of woods and mountains.
                              We don't care about the borders of kings and tyrants.
                              We know all.
                              We know none.
                              From the cold morning to the dark night - we are on a road to nowhere.
                              We are white.
                              We are grey.
                              We are brown and blue.
                              We are the Istari"

                              I wrote this poem a few years ago, but it sounds better in swedish.

                              Another poem I wrote:

                              "I am the truth.
                              I have been around since the dawn of time.
                              I will be here untill the end of days.
                              I have lived a thousand lives.
                              People have belived in me,
                              some have made fun of me,
                              others have not wanted to face me.
                              I exist inside you
                              I exist around you.
                              I travell through the universe
                              I am standing still on Earth
                              I shout, I whisper
                              I've been hidden, I have been yelled out.
                              I am the thuth.
                              Trust me."

                              This poem also sounds better in Swedish, but I feel that it reflects my thoughts about everything. No matter which religion, ore political belief you have, you have to face the truth. Belive in the truth, cuz the thruth is the thruth.

                              I wrote another song/poem a few months ago, about a crusader who started to see that what he did was wrong. I was a little inspired by Dio's The Man Who Would Be King, but this song/poem is not a metaphore for George Bush, like Dio's song was.
                              Here we go (you'll have to exuse my bad spelling sometimes):

                              "We sailed across seas, stormy by God.
                              We travelled over land, red from blood.
                              We batteled the heathens*, so that The Words could be spoken,
                              but in the end they all were broken.
                              We travelled for years, months and days
                              We went across the world, in different ways.
                              My path was hard, and the road was long
                              I thought everything I did was right
                              But what in the name of Christ, could I do wrong?

                              But in the hour of darkness, when there was no light.
                              I turned Him my back and walked into the night.
                              The blood on my hands would not go away.
                              Could there be a tomorrow ore another day?"

                              I added another part later, but I don't know if I'm gonna includ it in the "final" version. It goes like this:

                              "Friends are now enemies
                              Family are foe
                              King and country haunts me
                              I Have no place to go."

                              *I don't know how to spell this word, and if you don't see what I mean, it's another word for "sinners", sort of.

                              Here is the first draft to a song. It's about Hell:

                              "In the dungeons of darkness
                              is the pit of the snake.
                              In the halls of madness
                              lies the seas of hate.

                              In the valley of fire
                              lies the castle of doom.
                              Upon the the flames of the pyre
                              shines the evil-eyed moon.

                              Here comes the sinners
                              who spat on God.
                              They were the winners
                              but the gold turned to mud."