forum Virtual Creative Writing Club, anyone?

Started July 06, 2019 by @ninja_violinist

tune

Thanks!!
kiero means harm, sort of. The base word, Kie, means foe.
oyurc means yours
And dilech, well, poop. Can't remember what that means.
It' a combo of French, Latin, European spanish and Backwards.
Thank for the advice!!

So this has nothing to do with the prompts, but I wanted to share it. I wrote it in the middle of the night, so idk how good it is lol

I am not
Pretty
I am not
Beautiful.
I am not
The smartest in the room.
I do not get
All A's.
I am not
Flirtatious.
I have no
Figure
Worth speaking of.
I am
Pudgy.
I am
Small.
I have no
Fashion sense.
I don't wear
Makeup.

I am not
Pretty.

But
I am
Unique.
I am
The only one
Of me.
I am
Special.
I am not
Tall
But that's
Okay.
I am not
Perfect.
And you know what?
I don't
Care.
I don't need to
be Pretty.
I don't need to
Be the smartest.
I just need to
Be Me.
And that's
Enough.

I love it. It's amazing!!!

Aw thank you!

No problem. It's true!!!

Thanks again!

(aaaand I'm alive again (relatively)! Thank you @cue-nervous-humming for taking over this week!! I hope I won't disappear like this again, but it's essay season so I can't make any promises
But time management issues aside, I actually kinda like the idea of different people hosting this? If, at any point in the future, you feel like doing what @cue-nervous-humming did this week - posting the prompts I sent her and giving feedback to every entry from the past week - then send me a pm and we can work something out! I think it'd be super cool to get more perspectives in here, if you guys want that.
I feel like her critiques were pretty thorough, so I'm not sure if you necessarily want me to chip in as well. But if anyone wants me to, I can definitely also take a look! please just let me know if you'd be interested)

Hey, I don't know if or when @cue-nervous-humming is going to get to it, but I would like multiple opinions/critiques on this one piece of writing from four days ago, (which can be found here btw) and don't be afraid to be harsh. I want your honest opinions.

@izzyandviolins of course! I'd love to take a look! [EDIT: I got carried away and this is now really long, sorry for the essay-length response]
First off, I really like how the narration establishes character!! The conversational tone really brings me into the story and into the mc's point of view, which is even more important considering that her perspective isn't necessarily the most sympathetic. Plus it makes me curious about the format of the conversation - it's not often that you have a narrator who's aware that they're telling a story and she refers to the "transcript" which raises a whole bunch of questions for me. so that's really, really well done!
One thing that I noticed right off the bat is that this needs more paragraphs. Big chunks of text like that make the story harder to follow (and an be intimidating to the casual reader looking at the page). I definitely recommend a new paragraph every time someone new starts to speak.
Other than that, I'm a bit confused by the way the action flows. The way I read it,
1) the mc wants someone else to do the project
2) she tells Julia to do it
3) Julia agressively declines
4) the mc decides to do it
5) walks over to her friend
6) Julia comes and wants to help with the project all of a sudden?
7) the mc declines because "you're Julia Richards"
8) the mc starts complaining that she's doing the project alone??
It seems a bit contradictory, tbh.
I also have some questions about the tense in the last paragraph - she switches to present tense to talk about her parents' relationship, and then the last few sentences switch back and forth. I can see how that might be effective, but I do recommend looking over that again.

Either way, this is really intriguing, especially the format!! I'm invested in who Julia Richards is, why we're telling her story, and how it all factors into the parental situation - you've raised a lot of questions in a short time, which is really good!

Yeah, thank you so much!

Ah, yes, another last minute late night addition from yours truly. What is a god of procrastination for if not procrastinating though? It also doesn't help that I've been busy, depressed, crushing like nobody's business, and tired as shit. I call this one Sharper Things! That's also a thing now is adding my mental titles. Thanks for listening to me ramble

Ever since I was young, I’ve had a fascination with sharp things
It started with rocks with sharp edges I found on the ground
I collected them, kept them in drawers and under my pillow and in piles
Under my bed and on top of things
Little treasures of mine, the sharper the better
My mom wasn’t too fond of my ‘rock obsession’, which made sense
Considering she was the one who was always cleaning them up
She never took them away though
Fostering this love for sharp things without even realizing it

After rocks it was knives
The little pocket knife my aunt bought me from a souvenir shop in Sitka Alaska
Was my favorite thing in the world for a couple of years
Small or not, the blade made me feel powerful
The blade made me feel safe and protected, when the world felt scary
And even when those knives I loved so dearly turned against me I still held them close
Letting them bring comfort when I could trust myself with them again.
I kept a knife under my pillow and a knife in my boot
To protect myself from whatever life threw at me
In any situation
I was prepared, sharp things in hand

And at some point, knives and words blended together
I had been gifted a sharp tongue when I was young and I was learning to use it
Learning to harness a power I didn’t realize was a power
I was young enough to misuse it just a bit too often
But at the same time I wielded it with all the ease of a knight with a sword
I was a warrior without a weapon but you would never know it
My words dealing the same amount of, if not more, damage than the knives I loved so dearly
I was unstoppable and powerful
A writer and a martyr and a god of debate
Quick and made of sharp edges
Of solid steel and obsidian lining rough
But not rough enough that I could not leave cuts deeper than anything you’d ever known, I
Was a warrior with the sharpest tongue

And now, my favorite sharp thing is people
While my tongue still houses the blades that my nightstand supports as well
People
Are the most incredible of all the sharp things I have collected
People with a tongue to match my own, people that make me think
When everything else feels like coasting
I am in love with the sharpest kinds of people
Quick witted and sharp minded
I have found fellow lovers of sharp things and that is one of the greatest things
Like minded people who still vary so wildly
That they constantly keep me on my toes
People who take the blades of my tongue and mind and heart and sharpen them
As long as I return the favor

Sharper things have always been my favorite
Not limited to just my knives

So me and my boyfriends 6 month anniversary is coming up, and either I am going to write him another poem, or secretly start on that day, start working on a whole book of love poems and little moments and big things, to give him on our 1 year anniversary or both.

Oof Crocs i love it!

Ev that sounds cool!

Not sure. It's gonna be hard, I've been uninspired for a while. But re-reading some of my poetry is helping a bit.

I had to make a poem for my creative writing class but I kinda like it? I've done this poem format a million times before but I still like this one. What do you guys think? I know it needs some work

I am from small rooms in a small house
From walls I painted yellow on a summer day
From using the living room more than the dining table
And from the laughter the neighbors can probably (definitely) hear

I am from yellow walls
From sleeping in until the sun wakes me up
From puppies that snore next to me
In the late hours of the night

I am from the late hours of the night
From the secret thrill that only comes from watching SNL reruns until 2 am
From bleary eyes and fluffy blankets
And ocean music that finally lulls me to sleep

I am from the ocean
From the sound of the waves and their hypnotism
From the sun making everything a golden explosion
From yelling “the water is cold!” and endless complaining
From the laughter of getting over it

I am from colors that explode
From 1000 messy faces
From each one getting better
From a smudged sketchbook
From the world becoming my sketchbook

I am from getting better
From growth and learning
From the same poem that I rewrite every year
Because every year “home” changes

Duuude that’s insane? I love it??? My favorite line is probably “from the same poem I write every year, because every year ‘home’ changes” I feel that shit so hard. You’re super good at writing poetry!

Oh what? Omg woah thank you. (The poem god likes my poem!!!!!!)

Poem god? As if. My poems are a jumble of very loosely connected words. You’ve got a theme in your poem and stick to it, which is honestly something I aspire to be able to do?

I REALLY like it, it's amazing.

Same.

Okay so I don't write as much as I should, and most of what I do is fanfiction, so yeah…anyways, here's an excerpt from something I started to put together last night and today.

The characters are from the Pokemon Special/Adventures manga, so yeah! Also, not too spoiler-y as of right now. The gist of it is that after a lot of stuff(dodges spoilers like a beast lmao) gets sorted out, Black, White(they're basically Hilbert and Hilda respectively, but in the manga), and N go back to school. The BW2 arc isn't canon because it's not finished. Anyways, now prom's coming up, and N has to deal with the fact that he REALLY likes White but knows that she has feelings for Black. They're all seniors, btw.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The greenette sighed sullenly to himself as he walked the road to his "home". He adjusted the messenger bag that was slung over his shoulder and tried not to seem too terribly depressed. He looked into the clear blue sky, puffy white tendrils of clouds floating by lazily. The voices of bird Pokemon made their way over to him, and he tried to let them carry him far from his worries.

As per usual lately, this didn't work.

N resumed his walk, resigning himself to the fact that he'd have to do something about this…prom. Not the dance itself–though the way the other students talked about it, prom had to be much more than just a dance–no, that wasn't the problem at all. If he didn't feel well adjusted enough, or just felt too anxious to go, then N would just skip out. The real problem was dealing with his feelings about a certain someone.

There was no way White would want to go to with him. It wasn't that she hated him, quite the contrary, actually; they'd grown to become fairly close, and she was one of his first real human friends. It was just that, well, he knew she wouldn't reciprocate the same feelings that he had towards her. N bit down the notion that bubbled its way into his thoughts: that Ghetsis had been right the day N finally left Team Plasma, that all he was was a freak and his abilities were unnatural and terrible and that he had never been loved, would never be loved, that–

"Hey!"

Zorua's voice tore him out of his thoughts, and he'd realized that he'd been breathing very fast. N took a deep breath, willed his heart to please calm down, and let his left hand fall to his side and stroked Zorua with his right. "Hey," he said softly. His eyes burned, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

"You were thinking of him again, weren't you?"

"…yes."

The small, vulpine Pokemon pierced him with its blue eyes. "Don't. Please, don't. Everything he said was wrong. You're incredible, kind, smart, and so many other things, N. Ghetsis wanted to wear you down, break you to the point where you'd either go back to him or be useless if you fought back."

A pause. "…you're right. Thank you." N wiped his eyes. They were coming up on his foster family's house, and he couldn't let them see him like this. If they did, they'd ask awkward questions and he'd have to discuss things he hadn't even gone over in private with near strangers. So he'd chosen to shove any and all negative emotions deep down to where they would never show when he talked with them. It wasn't like he'd be living with them for more than a year anyways, then he'd be gone and trying to figure his own life out.

He went inside the house and greeted his family briefly. There were three of them, two adults and one daughter. His "dads" were named Keith and Charlie, and both of them were tall and had brown hair and green eyes. However, that was where the similarities ended. Keith was lanky and pale. His curly hair fell around square framed glasses, and he had an affinity for sweaters and other comfy clothes. Charlie, however, was tanned, muscular, and had a faint dusting of stubble on his jaw. He tied his long hair back most of the time, and generally wore graphic tee-shirts and jeans. Their daughter, also adopted–obviously–was about eight, with long blonde hair that Charlie would braid every morning. Anna–that was her name–waved at him from where she sat at the dining room table, doing some kind of phonics homework.

whoooooa I completely forgot about this. I'm really sorry guys. It's pretty late where I am, so I think I'll just give you the prompts for now and give critiques for last week tomorrow.

Music prompt: Alison Luff singing "She Used to be Mine" by Sara Bareilles

image prompt: "Young Girl Dreaming of Stars" by Saskia Gutekunst(as always, please go follow her on social media if you want!):

and the word prompt is "Through these Pale Cold Days" by Isaac Rosenberg (I've pasted one stanza, but please do go read the whole thing!):

They leave these blond still days
In dust behind their tread
They see with living eyes
How long they have been dead.

So I know it's been a while since I've been here but, here I am! I wrote a piece inspired by the image and also a story I'm starting to write. It's a bit strange actually but the images is very similar to one of my OCs

The girl fell.
Far above the silent fields of morning glory that covered this part of the land, the shield of thick grey clouds broke open.
The girl fell alone.
A sliver of moonlight reared its sweet head from behind its wall of darkness, casting its silver light onto the deep blue carpet below. Slowly, as the ray of moonbeam grew in confidence, it unfurled its light further down to the murmuring flowers, extending its cool fingers to the bare wildlife that swayed in excitement: it knew what was coming.
Slowly, as the soft shine became a steady glow, a speck of night was born. Graceful as a leaf, the meek speck spun on itself. Gradually, it gained in pigment, its unique colour drawing all the attention for miles around. A spot of blue against a black night sky.
Without a sound, it burst. In a single second the spot spread to a ball, still bathed in the gentle moonlight that seemed to be coaxing its creation out of its shell. It now harboured a dusting of stars, joining themselves in dancing lines of starlight. They connected at the top, and the ball of night had come to resemble an egg.
The egg finally reached the fields, setting itself down as gently as one would an infant in a cradle, and the intertwined stars spread from the point of the egg, the light dripping down onto the flowers in shimmering drops of dew. The egg slowly melted away, and the arm of moonlight curled around itself and retreated back into the safety of the clouds.
Red. A billowing shape of red rose up, set against a now pitch black canvas. Like a stain the shape unfurled, as if its edges were reaching out into the air for anything to grasp, except there was nothing there, and the shape closed in further on itself before splitting open. The red now floated limply like a bodiless cloak.
Except it held something: mass of thick dark curls, smooth ebony skin, small outstretched limbs; the little girl stayed aloft, her dark naked body a strange and unusual sight in a field of fascinated flowers. The red, still rippling beneath her, lifted again to wrap itself around her frail body in a silky red dress, layers of fabric growing from the shapeless mass of colours, and in her gold-lined dress the girl sank to the earth. Her eyes remained shut, her luscious hair fanned around her peaceful face in a halo of curls. And Night seemed to take pity on the helpless creature, and down came a part of Night itself. With motherly care the piece of sky wrapped itself around child and dress, and on she slept, unaware of her own birth. Sun came along moments later, but did not reach the girl. Shielded by her cloak of Night, the shadows did not abandon her.
A Daughter of Night had come to life.

Cool!

Sorry this is so late guys!!

@Icefire I love that! It's very clear and direct and it has a really uplifting message!
One thing I noticed is that the first three points of the second part are quite similar ("unique", "the only one/ of me" and "special" express very similar ideas) and I wonder if that's intentional? It's fine the way it is, it's effective repetition, but… well, I couldn't really think of anything else to critique haha
Thank you for sharing!!

@crocssant-is-wearing-a-trashbag That's such a cool theme!! People as sharp things honestly blew my mind. I love that connection! Generally the imagery is strong with this one
favourite line: kept them in drawers and under my pillow and in piles/ Under my bed and on top of things
I did notice a few clunky places - "learning to harness a power I didn't realise was a power", "the blades that my nightstand supports as well" - and the use of the word "sharp" was a bit excessive, maybe? (I counted 15 uses, which I guess is ok but it did stick out a bit)
I think my biggest concern is the last line, or even the last two lines - "not limited to just my knives" seems like an odd way to sum up the poem.
idk though
Either way, it's fabulous

@Moxie I think it works really well! The images are so vivid and scattered so well and aaah
favourite line: "because every year "home" changes" I felt that one in my soul
I noticed that in the first three stanzas, the set up is kind of:

I am from
From
From
another sentence starter

which then in stanzas four to five becomes

I am from
From
From
From

and then switches back in the last line. and idk anything about poetry but maybe it could be cool to make it the same structure throughout?
Either way I loved this one!

@Cloudy_The_Busy_Asexual
(quick disclaimer that I know nothing about the original work so any references went right over my head)
This is a cool look into the character's head! Interior monologues can be difficult to pull off from this perspective, but it's done really well!
One thing that threw me off right off the bat was "greenette" - it's not a real word. I think I've read other versions of it in other fanfictions (pinkette, bluenette, etc) but it's quite awkward and I don't recommend it - it puts unnecessary emphasis on the character's hair colour out of context.
I also wonder if the descriptions of his foster family at the end could be spread out more effectively in later interactions, or just at a different spot. It seems a bit odd to focus on it so extensively if his greeting is "brief", if that makes sense. (I'm assuming this is part of a bigger story?
But other than that, this is well-written! I could keep up pretty well considering that I know nothing about the original. Thank you for sharing!