“Hey, guys… guess what!” Otis burst into the office. She was in torn denim shorts and a rolled-up t-shirt, and both, Antares noted sadly from his work table, were too short for her, so her marbled midriff and thighs gleamed in plain sight. The girl donned her baseball hat and waved a glossy flyer around. “There’s a Korean Barbeque store opening downtown, and it’s offering a lunch buffet discount!”
Silence. Not a single person answered her enthusiasm. Otis saw Frank at the table before her, so she marched up formally to him and gave him as comical a salute as she could.
Frank didn’t bother to loo
“Bloody hell!” Alicia pressed the triggers, but her blue energy blasters remained silent. The petite lavender-haired gunslinger cursed and swung the blasters toward her white-and-turquoise jacket. Two heavy capacitors landed onto the blood-and-goo mixture around her feet, and her empty blasters snapped up another two from her glowing utility belt. A split second later, the howling zombie horde was driven back again by determined energy bolt fire. “Otis, just where the heck are you?” she yelled across the microphone. “I need backup!”
“-Can’t hear you over the sound of my own awesomeness!” O
Helen stared incredulously at the husk of metal before her.
Well, husk was a bad description for a sentient spaceship. At nearly 10 metres long, with a wingspan eight metres wide, Arc Bine was a fighter enthusiast’s wet dream; the towel in Helen’s hand suddenly seemed a little too… tiny for the job.
“Arc Bine, surely you’ve got a better idea than this.” Helen tossed her hands up and went for the hose. “Blasting you with water would make this so much quicker-”
“Don’t!” Arc Bine’s engines suddenly started, and the corrugated iron wall behind him began to blacken. “The
Black and White by startingoutfromscrat, literature
Literature
Black and White
Chuck, Raynor and Phung sat at his sofa and slurped away at their Chow Mein takeout. After a grueling term of work, their last batch of dance students had graduated with flying colours, and he found himself resting around his very best friends.
It was a good day to be Chuck.
“So, I heard-” Chuck managed between slurps of his Chow Mein-”you’ve found yourself a partner?”
“Oh, you have no idea,” Raynor smirked. “She’s one smooth woman, I tell ya.”
“What, I’m not good enough for you?” Phung sneered.
“Don’t get me wrong, Phung. You’ve got some good
Eggs and Cheese by startingoutfromscrat, literature
Literature
Eggs and Cheese
Xing'er walked off the street with a spring in her step and light in her eyes. As she stepped into Judy's, she saw rows of cheese buns and baguettes lining the walls.
She'd usually stop for breakfast, but today was different. Chuck had left early for work and Xing'er wanted to give him a surprise. But she knew people from Chuck's office too, and Xing'er wasn't about to let the rest of them starve.
"Ms. Judy!" At her call, a jovial woman walked to the counter before her.
"Hello there, miss! Take a look, and tell me if there's anything you want!"
Xing'er glanced through the selection with an eager eye. She glanced at the ice-cream cakes and
A yellow-and-black mannequin whirled around the living room in a graceful, energetic routine, bouncing off hands and legs alike with masterful ease. Chuck danced with his eyes off the mirror behind him, and let momentum and feel alike carry him away.
"Hey, you've been workng doubly hard on all those dance moves!" Xing'er commented behind him.
"I do this daily,-" Chuck leapt off his feet and skidded past Xing'er in a frozen pose. "Practice makes permanent, and good practice makes perfect. Besides-" he leapt to his feet as Xing'er turned and top-rocked back- "A certain someone in my house really knows how to dance, and I'm stepping up my game
“Hi there, Chuck,” Xing’er sang from the kitchen. Chuck walked in and threw down his bag immediately. His hands reached for the TV remote-
Wait. There was something important he had to do, wasn’t there?
Chuck stared at the TV remote and jogged his memory. He pulled past the mixed memories of his dance classes today and arrived at something that Chuck never wanted to do. “That can’t be it,” he muttered to himself. “No way, man! Didn’t I want to catch Survivors or something?” Chuck thought harder and harder, but his mind told him the same thing- he’d better do it now, or heR
Angel, Stay Tonight by startingoutfromscrat, literature
Literature
Angel, Stay Tonight
Chuck’s eyes snapped open. He looked around wildly, but not a single soul could be seen.
He was in his bedroom. The curtains were drawn. His blanket was on him. He could not see a single soul nearby. But near his balcony, he could hear whistles; whistles of the wind, passing through his windowsill. Chuck sat up with his fuzzy head; something was wrong and he couldn’t quite place it.
No, not whistles in the wind. Something was passing through the air, and it was fast.
Chuck woke up. He threw off his blanket and rushed to the balcony in his nightgown. He looked down and saw a person twirling in the garden, a rolling kaleidoscope of
Summer, Dragon Style by startingoutfromscrat, literature
Literature
Summer, Dragon Style
Hot. Very hot.
Frank, clad in a black cloak, stared at the steaming hot cup of tea before him. His fingers did not flinch as he lifted the cup to his mouth and took the slightest sip, and the refreshing beverage was lost on his scalded taste buds. Frank did not react; this was exactly what he expected the tea to be- nothing more than boiled leaf juice.
He'd heard many things about this particular restaurant in Southside, and for a moment, his spirits had lifted when he entered. And yet, their tea was no better than the terrible coffee he had in his barracks.
The fragrant, bland tea was an irony not lost to him. It was, he thought amusedly,
Two Girls One Cup by startingoutfromscrat, literature
Literature
Two Girls One Cup
“So, Chuck, what do you think?” Xing’er finished, a victorious smile on her face. She upended her mug with little effort and slammed it onto the table.
“Don’t get cocky!” Chuck muttered. The sickening froth on his mug of ale made his stomach lurch; the rational part of him told himself that there was no way in hell he was going to drink this before he puked over the floor.
He looked uncertainly at it, and, against his best judgement, began pouring the mug’s contents into his mouth. But no sooner had he downed his first gulp when he felt a sickening impulse in his throat. The ale burst out of his mou
“Hey, guys… guess what!” Otis burst into the office. She was in torn denim shorts and a rolled-up t-shirt, and both, Antares noted sadly from his work table, were too short for her, so her marbled midriff and thighs gleamed in plain sight. The girl donned her baseball hat and waved a glossy flyer around. “There’s a Korean Barbeque store opening downtown, and it’s offering a lunch buffet discount!”
Silence. Not a single person answered her enthusiasm. Otis saw Frank at the table before her, so she marched up formally to him and gave him as comical a salute as she could.
Frank didn’t bother to loo
“Bloody hell!” Alicia pressed the triggers, but her blue energy blasters remained silent. The petite lavender-haired gunslinger cursed and swung the blasters toward her white-and-turquoise jacket. Two heavy capacitors landed onto the blood-and-goo mixture around her feet, and her empty blasters snapped up another two from her glowing utility belt. A split second later, the howling zombie horde was driven back again by determined energy bolt fire. “Otis, just where the heck are you?” she yelled across the microphone. “I need backup!”
“-Can’t hear you over the sound of my own awesomeness!” O
Helen stared incredulously at the husk of metal before her.
Well, husk was a bad description for a sentient spaceship. At nearly 10 metres long, with a wingspan eight metres wide, Arc Bine was a fighter enthusiast’s wet dream; the towel in Helen’s hand suddenly seemed a little too… tiny for the job.
“Arc Bine, surely you’ve got a better idea than this.” Helen tossed her hands up and went for the hose. “Blasting you with water would make this so much quicker-”
“Don’t!” Arc Bine’s engines suddenly started, and the corrugated iron wall behind him began to blacken. “The
Black and White by startingoutfromscrat, literature
Literature
Black and White
Chuck, Raynor and Phung sat at his sofa and slurped away at their Chow Mein takeout. After a grueling term of work, their last batch of dance students had graduated with flying colours, and he found himself resting around his very best friends.
It was a good day to be Chuck.
“So, I heard-” Chuck managed between slurps of his Chow Mein-”you’ve found yourself a partner?”
“Oh, you have no idea,” Raynor smirked. “She’s one smooth woman, I tell ya.”
“What, I’m not good enough for you?” Phung sneered.
“Don’t get me wrong, Phung. You’ve got some good
Eggs and Cheese by startingoutfromscrat, literature
Literature
Eggs and Cheese
Xing'er walked off the street with a spring in her step and light in her eyes. As she stepped into Judy's, she saw rows of cheese buns and baguettes lining the walls.
She'd usually stop for breakfast, but today was different. Chuck had left early for work and Xing'er wanted to give him a surprise. But she knew people from Chuck's office too, and Xing'er wasn't about to let the rest of them starve.
"Ms. Judy!" At her call, a jovial woman walked to the counter before her.
"Hello there, miss! Take a look, and tell me if there's anything you want!"
Xing'er glanced through the selection with an eager eye. She glanced at the ice-cream cakes and
A yellow-and-black mannequin whirled around the living room in a graceful, energetic routine, bouncing off hands and legs alike with masterful ease. Chuck danced with his eyes off the mirror behind him, and let momentum and feel alike carry him away.
"Hey, you've been workng doubly hard on all those dance moves!" Xing'er commented behind him.
"I do this daily,-" Chuck leapt off his feet and skidded past Xing'er in a frozen pose. "Practice makes permanent, and good practice makes perfect. Besides-" he leapt to his feet as Xing'er turned and top-rocked back- "A certain someone in my house really knows how to dance, and I'm stepping up my game
“Hi there, Chuck,” Xing’er sang from the kitchen. Chuck walked in and threw down his bag immediately. His hands reached for the TV remote-
Wait. There was something important he had to do, wasn’t there?
Chuck stared at the TV remote and jogged his memory. He pulled past the mixed memories of his dance classes today and arrived at something that Chuck never wanted to do. “That can’t be it,” he muttered to himself. “No way, man! Didn’t I want to catch Survivors or something?” Chuck thought harder and harder, but his mind told him the same thing- he’d better do it now, or heR
Angel, Stay Tonight by startingoutfromscrat, literature
Literature
Angel, Stay Tonight
Chuck’s eyes snapped open. He looked around wildly, but not a single soul could be seen.
He was in his bedroom. The curtains were drawn. His blanket was on him. He could not see a single soul nearby. But near his balcony, he could hear whistles; whistles of the wind, passing through his windowsill. Chuck sat up with his fuzzy head; something was wrong and he couldn’t quite place it.
No, not whistles in the wind. Something was passing through the air, and it was fast.
Chuck woke up. He threw off his blanket and rushed to the balcony in his nightgown. He looked down and saw a person twirling in the garden, a rolling kaleidoscope of
Summer, Dragon Style by startingoutfromscrat, literature
Literature
Summer, Dragon Style
Hot. Very hot.
Frank, clad in a black cloak, stared at the steaming hot cup of tea before him. His fingers did not flinch as he lifted the cup to his mouth and took the slightest sip, and the refreshing beverage was lost on his scalded taste buds. Frank did not react; this was exactly what he expected the tea to be- nothing more than boiled leaf juice.
He'd heard many things about this particular restaurant in Southside, and for a moment, his spirits had lifted when he entered. And yet, their tea was no better than the terrible coffee he had in his barracks.
The fragrant, bland tea was an irony not lost to him. It was, he thought amusedly,
Two Girls One Cup by startingoutfromscrat, literature
Literature
Two Girls One Cup
“So, Chuck, what do you think?” Xing’er finished, a victorious smile on her face. She upended her mug with little effort and slammed it onto the table.
“Don’t get cocky!” Chuck muttered. The sickening froth on his mug of ale made his stomach lurch; the rational part of him told himself that there was no way in hell he was going to drink this before he puked over the floor.
He looked uncertainly at it, and, against his best judgement, began pouring the mug’s contents into his mouth. But no sooner had he downed his first gulp when he felt a sickening impulse in his throat. The ale burst out of his mou
Springfield's Chalet by GKTelegraphBureau, literature
Literature
Springfield's Chalet
You rarely have the chance to witness the end of New England’s crimson fall.
But, if you got the time to pick up a ride on I-91 from New York straight to Massachusetts, you can not miss the maples leaves as they sew the connecting lands and mountains into pieces of pictures from those fairy tales. Of course, they are a bit different from the boring maples that our DEAR Northern neighbor boasts about; they are way more wilful, as they sprayed their own pigments that colored these woods. At their own please but with great confidence, meanwhile perfectly balanced.
Yes, I’m driving the down road which is proudly showing off its most a
Heroic Writing, part 34: Writing Exceptions 1 by WhisakedJak, journal
Heroic Writing, part 34: Writing Exceptions 1
*LoneStranger (https://www.deviantart.com/lonestranger) mentioned some items I missed in my last installment of heroic writing and suggested that I might want to write a Narrative Flow 2 piece as a follow-up. I may, eventually, do just that, but it occurred to me that the things I really wanted to talk about weren’t directly a part of that discussion; they were, instead, items that arose from exceptions to commonly held conventions. I will probably return to this topic several times over the course of the remainder of the series, but for now, let’s get started with some of the aforementioned conventions and talk about how successful authors can subvert or deny them
Heroic Writing, part 23: Descriptions I by WhisakedJak, journal
Heroic Writing, part 23: Descriptions I
Today I want to discuss something that I am not always very good at- something, in fact, that I am trying to improve on. The fact that I am trying to improve on certain aspects of my writing should not, of course, be any surprise to anyone- there are remarkably few people who are good at everything, after all, and we hate those people, anyways.
Here is my particular bugaboo, and it’s a doozy: I am indifferent at best about providing physical descriptions and dressing a scene. As a writer, this is problematic because my readers do not, in fact, live in my head and have full access to everything I envision as I write. The problem I ru
Heroic Writing, part 19: Writing Ubermensch by WhisakedJak, journal
Heroic Writing, part 19: Writing Ubermensch
I’m going to look at a couple closely related topics, this week, all falling under the heading of powerful characters. Now, allow me to be clear: a character that is powerful is not necessarily overpowered. Overpowered characters are a result of mismatching a character’s power level to the story that character is placed within. In fiction, this is always the fault of the author of the story. If, as an author, you choose to use a character who is too powerful to make the story interesting, the only way you can reasonably blame the character’s creator is if you happen to be that person.
The questions, then, become, first:
Heroic Writing, part 13: Writers' Block by WhisakedJak, journal
Heroic Writing, part 13: Writers' Block
There are a few names for it: writer’s block, burnout, writer’s fatigue. You sit at your desk and the empty page taunts you. You might have no ideas or an excess of ideas, but, somehow, getting them coherent on the page is impossible. In short, this is the period every writer dreads.
I do not have any comprehensive, all-inclusive answer regarding how to avoid burnout, nor can I honestly claim to have a universal solution that explains how to break out of it; what I can do is relate my experiences and the tips and tricks others have passed down to me. Hopefully, this helps someone.
A common problem aspirin
So I've recently released a series of vignettes featuring some of my new and old characters, and it's received quite a bit of attention.
There's one bit I don't quite like, though, and that's a lack of comments. I can't fault anyone for that(it's likely due to my own poor writing anyway) but it would be nice if I had a little more external perspective for me to work on.
It's okay to hear that I'm doing good with each story, but I view writing as a skill: something that can be improved on, perhaps only gradually, but definitely perpetually. I'd ask for critiques but... well, I'm not a premium member.
That's enough of me whining. More story,
Writing well does not come easily to anyone, and this is even more so for me. I find myself dropping the story details the moment I finish doing a little introductory explanation, and it makes my stories bland and tasteless. For me, imagining is the fun part; the writing, well, is half fun, half chore.
Writer's Block +2
I've been trying to keep up the momentum in both Where East Meets West and in Where Dragons Lie. The timeline I've set does not forgive me, and neither does my punishing curriculum- and I find that in the little time I squeeze out for writing, I have to end up with writer's block.
How very wonderful- oh well, back to reading again.