Writing Discussion

[Zaras]

Trust me, old Winston went through a lot for his name.

Ever wondered why he hated Indians?

Because Gandhi was an annoying asshole? /truth

Yeah, bastard's always declarin' war on me in Civ IV... oh wait, no, that was Montezuma.

[Conserative Morality]

Oh, so I finally got a creative writing assignment in school. Adapting Beowulf to the modern day.

Somali warlords is my one and only answer.

[New England and The Maritimes]

Oh, so I finally got a creative writing assignment in school. Adapting Beowulf to the modern day.

Somali warlords is my one and only answer.

He must fite the grundel with his weapons. No, Johnowulf, you are the grundel.

[Zaras]

Oh, so I finally got a creative writing assignment in school. Adapting Beowulf to the modern day.

Somali warlords is my one and only answer.

He must fite the grundel with his weapons. No, Johnowulf, you are the grundels.

AND THEN JOHNOWOLF WAS A GRUNDEL.

[Astrolinium]

He must fite the grundel with his weapons. No, Johnowulf, you are the grundels.

AND THEN JOHNOWOLF WAS A GRUNDEL.

AMEN, BROTHERS AND SISTERS!

[Alexlantis]

I have a huge project hanging over my head right now, so lets hold off on the contest until Thanksgiving (USA)

[Nightkill the Emperor]

I have a huge project hanging over my head right now, so lets hold off on the contest until Thanksgiving (USA)

Sure. The deadline's in January anyway.

[Mirkana]

For my school project, I need to produce an outline of a story, along with one chapter. Here's the first scene - I could use some feedback.

April 1, 2647

Captain Gabriel Stone leaned back in his chair as he gazed out the window of the Raven’s bridge. He was having a good day. Some of the good came from the beautiful green-blue gas giant outside the window, which the star charts named Vandeburg VI. The day side seemed to fluoresce in the blue sunlight, and the night side was lit with flashes of lightning. Some of the good came from the hilarious prank he had just played on his first mate. Even if Daniella did follow through on her threat to stage a mutiny and throw Gabriel out the airlock, the expression on her face would still have been worth it.

Most of the good came from the wrecked warship they were currently docked with – the NCSS Garrow, lost with all hands nine years hunting the pirate ship Silence. As far as Gabriel could tell, it had been struck with a high-powered particle beam, breaching the reactor housing, vaporizing a third of the ship and killing the entire crew. But that still left a small fortune in salvage, even after years of damage from micrometeors, and the efforts of lesser-equipped scavengers. Their first day on site had netted them a completely undamaged railgun. Then Daniella had suggested that they could strip the armor plating. Most salvagers would have laughed at the idea. But most salvagers didn’t have military-grade plasma beams.

That was what Gabriel liked about his ship. The Raven was a rare breed – one of only eight ships of its kind out of the original thirteen. The Gauntlet class had been adapted from the old Pronghorn salvagers for use as an assault boat. Those plasma beams were meant to carve through armor plating like a hot knife through butter. It was also faster than most pirate ships, and had better –

A loud bang jolted him out of his reverie, followed by the decompression alarm. Instinctively, Gabriel reached out for a handhold and swung himself around to face the display. A few wartime memories flew through his head, but he remained focused on the here-and-now. He read the warning on the display:

DECOMPRESSION WARNING
MAIN ENGINE ROOM
SEALING EXPOSED COMPARTMENTS

Main engine room…

Talia!

Gabriel was a veteran soldier. He had seen more friends die than he cared to count. Even so, the thought of losing his wife was like a knife to the heart. He reached for the com unit.

“All crew, status report!” he shouted.

“Danielle here. I’m good.”

“Dmitri here. Unharmed.”

“Talia here. Still on the Garrow. What the hell just happened over there?”

When Gabriel heard his wife’s voice, he breathed a sigh of relief. And the rest of his crew was safe, though he had known neither of them were in the engine room, and had been confident that they were alive.

“I’m not sure what’s happened,” he said aloud. “It looks like something holed the ship around the engine room. Talia, I’m going to need you to get back here and figure out what happened and what the damage is.”

“Got it.”

[Conserative Morality]

For my school project, I need to produce an outline of a story, along with one chapter. Here's the first scene - I could use some feedback.

April 1, 2647

Captain Gabriel Stone leaned back in his chair as he gazed out the window of the Raven’s bridge. He was having a good day. Some of the good came from the beautiful green-blue gas giant outside the window, which the star charts named Vandeburg VI. The day side seemed to fluoresce in the blue sunlight, and the night side was lit with flashes of lightning. Some of the good came from the hilarious prank he had just played on his first mate. Even if Daniella did follow through on her threat to stage a mutiny and throw Gabriel out the airlock, the expression on her face would still have been worth it.

This seems like a bit of a problem - on a long voyage in space, with no one else around but the crew, threatening to throw someone out the airlock in an already stressful and isolated environment seems a recipe for disaster rather than a harmless prank.

Most of the good came from the wrecked warship they were currently docked with – the NCSS Garrow, lost with all hands nine years hunting the pirate ship Silence. As far as Gabriel could tell, it had been struck with a high-powered particle beam, breaching the reactor housing, vaporizing a third of the ship and killing the entire crew. But that still left a small fortune in salvage, even after years of damage from micrometeors, and the efforts of lesser-equipped scavengers. Their first day on site had netted them a completely undamaged railgun. Then Daniella had suggested that they could strip the armor plating. Most salvagers would have laughed at the idea. But most salvagers didn’t have military-grade plasma beams.

That was what Gabriel liked about his ship. The Raven was a rare breed – one of only eight ships of its kind out of the original thirteen. The Gauntlet class had been adapted from the old Pronghorn salvagers for use as an assault boat. Those plasma beams were meant to carve through armor plating like a hot knife through butter. It was also faster than most pirate ships, and had better –

A loud bang jolted him out of his reverie, followed by the decompression alarm. Instinctively, Gabriel reached out for a handhold and swung himself around to face the display. A few wartime memories flew through his head, but he remained focused on the here-and-now. He read the warning on the display:

DECOMPRESSION WARNING
MAIN ENGINE ROOM
SEALING EXPOSED COMPARTMENTS

Main engine room…

Talia!

Gabriel was a veteran soldier. He had seen more friends die than he cared to count. Even so, the thought of losing his wife was like a knife to the heart. He reached for the com unit.

“All crew, status report!” he shouted.

“Danielle here. I’m good.”

“Dmitri here. Unharmed.”

“Talia here. Still on the Garrow. What the hell just happened over there?”

When Gabriel heard his wife’s voice, he breathed a sigh of relief. And the rest of his crew was safe, though he had known neither of them were in the engine room, and had been confident that they were alive.

“I’m not sure what’s happened,” he said aloud. “It looks like something holed the ship around the engine room. Talia, I’m going to need you to get back here and figure out what happened and what the damage is.”

“Got it.”

Otherwise, I can't see any problems with it.

[The Rich Port]

Oh, so I finally got a creative writing assignment in school. Adapting Beowulf to the modern day.

Somali warlords is my one and only answer.

I once wrote a Grapes of Wrath adaptation that took place in Africa.

[Mirkana]

My brother once had to imagine a modern adaptation of Don Quixote, and write a scene. He had Don Quixote "jousting" a police car.

[Bust Nexus]

Thinking about submitting something to NanoWriMo this year but I've hit a major writers block.

[Darqastan]

My brother once had to imagine a modern adaptation of Don Quixote, and write a scene. He had Don Quixote "jousting" a police car.

That would be epic.

[Mirkana]

*snip*

He had played an actual prank on her, and she threatened (jokingly) to stage a mutiny and throw him out the airlock in response.

[Conserative Morality]

He had played an actual prank on her, and she threatened (jokingly) to stage a mutiny and throw him out the airlock in response.

Oh, I misread it then. My bad. I thought the prank was the threatened mutiny.

[Mirkana]

I won't reveal the actual prank, but my imagination was of something involving a sabotaged pregnancy test.

[Alexlantis]

Writer's block! Gah!

Any suggestions to cure writer's block?

[Conserative Morality]

Writer's block! Gah!

Any suggestions to cure writer's block?

Which kind of writer's block? "No ideas" or "Can't write"?

[The Nuclear Fist]

Meh. I'll explain the rest some other time. Right now, though, I'm focusing on a short story based on the Battle of Ur-Har-Erk, a scorching desert plane of endless sand and dunes, marred occasionally with a rocky plateau or dried lake. Ur-Har-Erk is an extremely potent area, rich in both vital minerals and oil, and extremely necessary for Cyrol. They have held it for centuries, having seized it in a terribly battle some two centuries ago. Now, it is frequently attacked by the forces of Kai, wanting to reclaim it for it's potent magical ability, focused of the seven silver pools, an area so magically powerful that it is said that the greatest mages and mancers can be created simply by breathing in its mist. The story takes place from the viewpoint of three men: Private Jago Kramar, Winston Leibowitz (a miner), and Lucretius Paganus, a mage in the Kaian forces.

Gah, I've gotten a bit further, but only a bit. Difficult writing in difficult.

[Conserative Morality]

Gah, I've gotten a bit further, but only a bit. Difficult writing in difficult.

I hate it when I get caught on a single scene that I can't find the right words to describe in a smooth and internally consistent manner... And I refuse to skip it and come back later. =/

[The Nuclear Fist]

Gah, I've gotten a bit further, but only a bit. Difficult writing in difficult.

I hate it when I get caught on a single scene that I can't find the right words to describe in a smooth and internally consistent manner... And I refuse to skip it and come back later. =/

Exactly where I seem to have ended up. Right now I'm trying best to describe the battle going on the maze of trenches the Cyrolite side has set up. Endless waves of shubs; short, squat, little crab people who are every bit as hostile and violent as an angry Dalek-Ork baby, charging across the No Man's Land into the trenches in a hailstorm of bullets, and are met with truncheons and bayonets. It's hard to adequately describe the sheer chaos going on without a picture.

[Conserative Morality]

Exactly where I seem to have ended up. Right now I'm trying best to describe the battle going on the maze of trenches the Cyrolite side has set up. Endless waves of shubs; short, squat, little crab people who are every bit as hostile and violent as an angry Dalek-Ork baby, charging across the No Man's Land into the trenches in a hailstorm of bullets, and are met with truncheons and bayonets. It's hard to adequately describe the sheer chaos going on without a picture.

Make it into a graphic novel I wish I could help. I'm at a similar impasse, although a less exciting one. That's part of the problem, the main character is anxious, but has nothing to take his mind off of his current situation.

[Alexlantis]

Writer's block! Gah!

Any suggestions to cure writer's block?

Which kind of writer's block? "No ideas" or "Can't write"?

Well, I do have one idea, but it's the one for the short story I showed you earlier. I need a different one, I want something that's more original. I'd like it to be a pretty general idea, though, so that I can add my own styling to it. So far I can't think of any ideas I haven't done before that haven't been done to death.

[Conserative Morality]

So I think my short story idea is in the final stages of consideration before I write it.

[Alexlantis]

Anyone have any tips for thinking of story ideas?