forum Virtual Creative Writing Club, anyone?

Started July 06, 2019 by @ninja_violinist

tune

HMMMMM

New here. Following to use these here prompts….
I like em so far.

Welcome!! I'm glad to hear that ^^

This is just called "Icarus" inspired by the Bastille song of the same title.

---

Icarus is flying too close to the sun

Wings of
Wax
And feathers,
Fixed to his shoulders.

And Icarus's life, it has only just begun

The legend forgets that
He was only a boy
Who wanted to
Fly.
They remember only
The fall.

This is how it feels to take a fall

He wanted to reach
The sun.
Apollus' light.
But it
Burned.

Icarus is flying towards an early grave

He fell.
But before he fell,
Ah, he flew.
He flew.

Icarus is flying too close to the sun

His father could do
Nothing as he
Fell.
But he fell
With a smile
And a laugh.
For he had
Flown.

hjdhjdfhjsdj yooooo that shit slaps. i love that you acknowledge the fact that in half the versions of the myth i've read, he knew he was pushing it, and liked pushing those limits!!

here's my, once again, last fucking minute writing thing. back to a poem, this one's actually for a character of mine. i took a buzzfeed quiz to find the color of her aura, and wrote a poem based off of the color!

---

Red is the color of the anger simmering under your skin
The anger your didn’t even realize was there
It’s like a dragon, coiled just out of sight and waiting
For the silly knights in their shiny new armor to come prancing along
Waiting for something to wake it
So it can rise from it’s slumber and strike the unwitting offenders
If you aren’t very, very careful, darling
That dragon is going to do something you can’t take back
Because that dragon is you
You and your beating wings and shimmering scales of metal rings
You are the dragon
The dragon is you
And that anger is the fire you’ll find is harder to control than you ever thought

Red is the lipstick you apply like armor each morning
Your last defense against the incoming tides of life
When a boy makes a comment you don’t need or want to hear
You flash him a grin, dragon teeth and blood red lips all the makings of a dark fairytale
Your lips hold secrets he couldn’t handle knowing
And the flash of your eyes sends him scurrying
Tail tucked between his legs but no apology sent your way
He may be just a bit scared now, but isn’t that good?
The world should know you won’t be trifled with, should know
That you don’t play games with boys who say things they weren’t asked to say
Someone says ‘witch’ and maybe
Just maybe they’re not too far off

Red, the blood you spill without thinking
That blind rage you were warned about crawling up your throat and into your mind
A fog of red shrouding your eyes
Suddenly things aren’t as simple
Suddenly, you’re the monster the kids on the playground talked about living in their closets
And suddenly, you are everything you swore never to be
Red is such a violently beautiful color, just like you, darling
And no color suits you better than the color of blood
The color of anger and hate and pain
Red, is a color best left alone
And you know that all too well

Ahh thanks!!

Holy shit crocs that was amazing!! My favorite line was probably "When a boy makes a comment you don’t need or want to hear / You flash him a grin, dragon teeth and blood red lips all the makings of a dark fairytale"

((Imma throttle someone. The freaking page refreshed without my permission and I lost everything I typed))

Prompt: A rusted key, a broken clock, the echo of footsteps

The Dust Will Settle

15 weeks. The ground was ash, swept up by the haunting dance of the lone wind. The sky was smoke, clouds of grey and a choked sun. Red bricks of demolished homes stained black with soot and peppered with holes the size of coins. Signs stood slack beaten out of attention. Poles and wires tangled in a web of lightning and wood.

All was silent. Not a cry or call to echo down the ashen road.

A single raven made its round, heeding the order of Thanatos. Its feathers were a deep ebony blue, eyes bready red with a spark of pearl. Large wings beat to the drum of a heart, as loud and boisterous as the breath of death. Claws of steel glinted in the grim day, grasping at air and flecks of charred paper.

15 weeks leave this as a parting gift.

Down the large sea of black, memories took an eternal breath above the arching and rolling waves, desperate to be claimed by their wielders. There the raven soared, weaving between webs and skimming past sunken signs. Its black beak clacked in an indescribable patter, the down of its throat puffing out. Nails skipped and skittered over the cracked face of an old clock. Its bronze pendulum hung useless, left thrice scattered over the mound. Time stood still, minutes non-existent. Not a tick matched the raven's beat.

15 weeks of misery to uncover. Death's eyes moved on.

A black-stained sock befitting that of a child passed under. A golden necklace with the faces of past love. A rocking chair of splintered mahogany. A key of rust found its way into the talons of the flying omen. What it unlocks is unknown, only that a chest of past lives shall never see the light again.

15 weeks of death and torment.

The wind carried the echo of screams and thundering footsteps. The earth housed the recollection of roaring flames and stinging fire. The trees moaned out the cracking and popping of men in a fit of rage. The grass was too timid to risk even a quiver.

Nothing.

No one.

Death moves on.

Life slowly takes the crown.

oh oof guys I'm so sorry I haven't kept up with this!! I was traveling all day on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday and completely forgot about it. I'll just wrap this all up next week, if that's ok

okay so. guess who's questioning everything about themselves again. hint: it's fucking me. so. have fun with this one y'all

---

I’m trying to figure out what happened during my manufacturing
Why I feel more robot than human
Why the emotions I should be feeling seem forced and plastic
Taste like single sliced cheese in my mouth
Fake and factory made
Not even well made at that
A two second attempt at creating something that shouldn’t be made on a conveyor belt
Next thing I know, I’ll be featured in a B film with an attempted dystopian setting
The half machine antagonist with a tragic backstory that falls flat
Killed off in the end battle scene with minimal effort
I’m not even a good villain.

My mechanical heart’s blueprints were drawn out on a grease stained napkin
From a small town Alaskan diner with a waitress named Kathy or Ellen or Susan
Designed by someone with no knowledge of engineering
It feels heavy in my chest no matter the time
And ticks at a pace just half a beat off
It’s broken
Wires frayed and metal rusted and in desperate need of some polish
Or a whole replacement
But it can’t seem to break anymore unless it breaks itself
I tried putting it out into the world once
Tried making myself feel something for a boy with summer eyes and crooked teeth
And I thought I had managed it
But the words ‘I think I accidentally managed to start dating someone’
Didn’t feel like a short circuit.
Instead, my heart just kept ticking

Maybe I lost the ability to feel somewhere along the way
In elementary school, when friends felt like a fantastical word and bullies were as common as loose screws
Or maybe I lost it the last court date
When I cried myself to sleep the night after
Echoed whispers of a final jurisdiction floating through my head
And the knowledge that I had lost something every other kid had so prevalent
It made itself a part of my coding
Wherever I lost that ability
Whenever it disappeared from the zeros and ones making up each of my movements, all of my knowledge
It disappeared for good
Leaving me with a mechanical heart missing pieces not manufactured anymore
A device about as functional as the tonsil

I don’t know
Where my coding, or my manufacturing, went wrong
Maybe it happened before I did
Before the ideas had been fully sewn together with cheap thread
I’m well aware my existence wasn’t planned in multiple ways
So maybe that’s what it is
I’m curious though
What my heart says about me
Mechanically beating, going through the motions of emotions based on what it’s seen
Reflecting media and the people around it without actually understanding
How to beat in time
Or how to feel

Dang

I feel you, mate

Look at that, I'm kinda on time.

The Gods

The boy didn't believe in the gods. He didn't think that the mighty lightning-bringer truly rumbled in anger above their very heads. The tides were called to and fro by the force of nature, not a fork-bearing god of old and seaweed.

He thought he was just an anomal, a twisted mutation of freakish-ness and grace. And then his sister was born, four cycles past his birth, and he began to question his doubt. Even a youngling like him could see the goodness in her striking eyes of star-filled onyx. She was all grace, all smiles and beauty and innocence. There was no freakish nature to be seen, even if her piercing gaze through the night suggested something similar to what he had become.

He was wise beyond his years, the locals would say, a testimony of his excellent upbringing. He questioned their words, his mind reeling with other possibilities. His parents knew the true reason, but they'd smile and give thanks, then guide him away.

He questioned everything. Little did he know that his skeptical nature would save his life numerous times.

Three days in America, a new world to behold, and he was taken from his family, kicking and screaming his ten years-aged lungs off.

That darling girl of goodness and bright darkness was taken away from him, his parents dragged back to their homeland. Everything lost. Everyone taken.

The boy didn't believe in the gods. He didn't believe they were real as he was taken to his new home, his fake family. He scorned those that prayed to false idols, men and women and beasts of stone.

The boy didn't believe, and then he saw her.

She was a raging hellfire, a storm of flame and fury. Her eyes of flickering gold glared through his very soul. Her tangled and dirty mane of fire, streaked with natural ash and sun, hung in waves before her face, spilled over her shoulders like a molten fall. A child in her stature and very being, just four years young compared to him, yet her gaze held the same agelessness as he, only filled with her fire, fueled by her anger. She commanded her element at the tip of her harsh tongue and the base of her calloused palm; held back the monster, the beast, that mirrored the one in his mind.

This girl of fire and sunlight was the exact opposite of him, a creature of hate and heat. Yet, they were one in the same, both hosts of something greater, something only the gods could explain.

He was the moon; she was the sun. She ruled the day while he prowled the night. The age gap didn't matter, their opposing waters ignored, for together they reigned strong and proud, together they chased away the fear of death. Nothing could stop them, nothing could tear them apart. No force of nature could battle them, no mortal to prove a threat.

House to house, closet to closet, cellar to cellar, they moved along. Sometimes they chose cracked roads and walls of brick and vine instead, favoring that over the heavy hands and razored words. They endured torture and Hell over and over again but never left the other's side.

Now the boy is no longer a boy. An adult in a world of cruelty, he waits. He watches. His little sister might be dead and gone, but his fire was still chained, still enslaved. So he'd wait, and pray to the gods above. . .

Ask Zeus to guide her.
Implore Poseidon to protect her.
Plea for Hephaestus to nurture her.
Request Hera to embrace her.
Advise Apollo to watch her.

Because at the end of the day. . .

They were both gods,
In their own right.
Hosts of dragons,
Beings of the supernatural.
They were the day,
And the night.
They were children,
In a world of unacceptance.
And with those great gods,
They belonged.
At their sides,
Forevermore.

Jfhgjhjcjvhkd MY BOY. MY WIFE. BOTH ICONIC DUDE THIS IS SO GOOD

Fjsufhjdhf told you you'd know the MC! And thank you! I legit did this today in Trig, English, and Physics, then frantically typed this at the end of Physics

All right guys, I'm so sorry about the delay!!

@Icarus_Is_Falling I love this take on the legend! It's a super cool focus that's expressed really well!
Favourite lines:

But he fell
With a smile
And a laugh.
For he had
Flown.

One thing I noticed is that in the second verse, it starts with "the legend forgets" and then later "they remember only/ The fall". It might be more consistent to either say that "it" (the legend) remembers only the fall, or that "they" forget that he was only a boy if that makes sense.
But that's just a minor nitpick. Really well done overall, thank you so much for sharing!!

@crocssant-is-a-baddas-bitch-queen Both of yours were absolutely fabulous.
I loved the premise and the idea behind the Red one - it was executed super well. It had such a strong voice (the "darling" bits were honestly iconic) and even not knowing your character I followed along with the content really well. It reads like both a description and a warning and I'm here for it.
Favourite line: "dragon teeth and blood red lips all the makings of a dark fairytale"
I can't really think of anything egregiously iffy about this, but if you feel like it, it might pay to look back at the metaphors in the first stanza. Red is the colour of anger, the anger is like a dragon, but the dragon is her, and the anger is the fire… the imagery changes rapidly and there's nothing wrong with that, but it might be worth revisiting to make sure it's as clear as you want it to be.

and the second one. oh my. it's so beautifully expressed, so raw, so vivid, so vastly personal and yet intensely relatable. I'm in awe, honestly.
Favourite line: "My mechanical heart’s blueprints were drawn out on a grease stained napkin/ From a small town Alaskan diner with a waitress named Kathy or Ellen or Susan" because that's so specific and yet I know exactly what you mean
I also love this ending. I know that sometimes poetry can be hard to end with an appropriately punchy/dramatic/intense/relevant bit and this just. fits so well. anyway at this point I'm gushing haha
and I honestly can't think of anything to critique? because like I said, it's so personal and simultaneously well expressed already
so yeah
just
it was wonderful thank you for blessing us

@Dances_with_Shadows-has-low-mentalenergy
hi I love your style of prose?? it's so beautiful and poetic???
anyway

The Dust Will Settle - I love this. It paints such a vivid image, with such beautiful pacing (and I live for the sibilance??? you use really cool techniques so casually haha)
This isn't necessarily a critique, but I noticed several uses of the same construction which might get repetitive. Sometimes, you'll describe things as "a noun of descriptor" which is a cool unusual way of saying it (so you say "key of rust" instead of "rusty key", for example, or "clouds of grey"). I'd just be careful of using that too much because any technique loses some of its effect in excess.

The Gods - see everything I've said before haha - incredibly vivid descriptions, lots of colours, really cool techniques that fit super well.
The pacing seems pretty rushed, which I assume is because this is kind of a prologueish situation, where the point is to give enough set-up to explain where we are before we really start. Which is valid, and well-achieved.
Thank you for sharing!!

---

so in general, I'm probably going to be a bit more inactive these next few weeks because it's the holidays and I'll be travelling quite a bit and hanging out with family (I assume I'm not the only one?). But please do feel free to still post your stuff here and give each other feedback!! I love reading these even if I won't have time for super elaborate critiques. And please also share some of your own prompts if you want! I'd love to see playlists or artists or poets that inspire you guys!

soooo… have some prompts before I crawl back into my holiday hobbit hole

Music: arrangement of the "Rise of Skywalker" Trailer music (by John Williams, arranged by Samuel Kim) (also the soundtrack for the full movie is out and fdhksjksgjksdlj it's a 100/10 from me please go listen to it) (John Williams is my hero)

Image: "Wedding Chamber" (I think? title's a bit unclear) by Ryan Church

and the word prompt, from "Clenched Soul" by Pablo Neruda (also recommend reading the whole thing)

Sometimes a piece of sun
burned like a coin in my hand.
I remembered you with my soul clenched
in that sadness of mine that you know.

_{this has been a conspiracy to make every single prompt somehow related to Star Wars bc I'm a hopeless excited nerd haha}

@Icarus_Is_Falling I love this take on the legend! It's a super cool focus that's expressed really well!
Favourite lines:

But he fell
With a smile
And a laugh.
For he had
Flown.

One thing I noticed is that in the second verse, it starts with "the legend forgets" and then later "they remember only/ The fall". It might be more consistent to either say that "it" (the legend) remembers only the fall, or that "they" forget that he was only a boy if that makes sense.
But that's just a minor nitpick. Really well done overall, thank you so much for sharing!!

Ooh thank you!! Yeahhh I get what you're saying about that. Thanks again!

@Dances_with_Shadows-has-low-mentalenergy

hi I love your style of prose?? it's so beautiful and poetic???

Thank you! I've never heard that before, lol

The Dust Will Settle - I love this. It paints such a vivid image, with such beautiful pacing (and I live for the sibilance??? you use really cool techniques so casually haha)

ghfjgh The casual use of techniques is probably because of my cluelessness to said techniques. I've never been taught really anything about writing, save for essay writing. Everything I do has been just me learning on my own through reading and adjusting my style through experimentation and critiques such as these.

This isn't necessarily a critique, but I noticed several uses of the same construction which might get repetitive. Sometimes, you'll describe things as "a noun of descriptor" which is a cool unusual way of saying it (so you say "key of rust" instead of "rusty key", for example, or "clouds of grey"). I'd just be careful of using that too much because any technique loses some of its effect in excess.

Ah, yeah, I see what you mean. I'll keep an eye out for that next time, just in case. I think that might be the product of me spending multiple days and classes on it, leaving it for a while and then coming back without really remembering the exact words/phrasing I used before.

The Gods - see everything I've said before haha - incredibly vivid descriptions, lots of colours, really cool techniques that fit super well.
The pacing seems pretty rushed, which I assume is because this is kind of a prologueish situation, where the point is to give enough set-up to explain where we are before we really start. Which is valid, and well-achieved.
Thank you for sharing!!

It is a sort of prologue-like writing, like a brief overview of everything and his opinion of the gods and magic and of himself, but I was also rushing to get it done before school ended, lmao. And you're welcome! I always look forward to what you have to say about my writing.

You make a good point about the rapid changes, Ninja, but there's actually a reason for that lmao. I kind of sort of did it on purpose? Because Catori's character tends to be abrupt, doing things for seemingly no reason and without warning. She seems kind of disjointedly spontaneous to a lot of people who don't know her, and I was trying to channel that in a way that made sense? I can see how it might be a bit off putting though, so maybe next time, I should try blending them a bit better

Catori is just a general mood, tbh

hhhjdssdjh i love my chaos/Lancelot-esque necromancer

Can y’all tell the seasonal depression is strong this year lmao? Here’s more stupid feelings, this time about my condom malfunction of a father

---

I have a friend who loves all the way in Tacoma
And commutes to school on the early public bus.
She’s failing a good chunk of her classes but still
She shows up
Every single day, time after time
Because she doesn’t want to be a screw up like her father.
I get that, more than I’ve ever understood anything before
The feeling, the knowing, that you’ve got the blood of a failure in your veins.
Maybe that’s why she and I get along so well.

My biggest fear has never been anything simple.
Not something like spiders, or heights or drowning or even dying
The one thing I’m afraid of is being like my father.
My mother tells me ‘you’re too good. You could never be him’ and I wish
I could believe her without doubt
But how do I tell her I see more of him in myself every passing day?
There’s no easy way to put the fears in my mind into words
To ask her
What if I got more of him than I did of you?
Because I can say blood doesn’t matter all I want
But it’s there
I carry his blood in my own veins.

How do you voice the fear that you are the second coming of a monster?
That the anger lining your gut feels too close to making it to your hands
Gloves of a fiery hate that should not be there
I am angry
Too angry all the time, a split second from snapping at the smallest thing and it terrifies me
Once, I had to leave the room
To keep myself from doing something I would regret
My sister’s mocking words drawing to the surface an ugly creature of broiling anger
I wasn’t sure what it was I wanted to do to her
But I knew that the other side of me would hate myself even more for it
I feel like two halves
Each of their own being and unblendable
Anger and hurt and rage, beside conscience and hope
Hope
I hope that this is a phase
I hope that I’m not the monster I see in the mirror each morning

I hope that I am not my father
And I hope I’m strong enough to keep from becoming him

She seems kind of disjointedly spontaneous to a lot of people who don't know her, and I was trying to channel that in a way that made sense? I can see how it might be a bit off putting though, so maybe next time, I should try blending them a bit better

ooh that actually makes a lot of sense!! I'd definitely say it adds to the poem and the expression of the character if that's the case!
(Literally 80% of my """critiques""" are just me pointing out specific things and wondering if they're happening deliberately haha have I mentioned recently that I still don't know what or how I'm doing this whole feedback thing?? I feel like I don't say that enough and then people get the impression that I think my advice is like… sound)

Your feedback is actually great, it’s helpful in pointing out things I don’t notice, and I absolutely love getting compliments on my writing cause it makes me feel all fuzzy lmao

well I live to make people feel all fuzzy about their writing haha
(genuinely though this is a relief to hear, thank you)

here's a not depressing one, to switch up from the onslaught of 'wtf'. it's not very good, fair warning, because i wrote it on the bus to school while half asleep, but here!

---

My soul is full of wanderlust.
It might stem from my childhood
Raised on roads moving town to town, never staying longer that a year at most
Maybe that’s why sitting still feels like shackles
Why the idea of an open road or an airplane or boat
Feels like freedom at it's finest
Home on winds from places I’ve never been
But want to be.

Maybe I was always like this
Filled with such a sense of longing for places yet to be discovered by me
An adventurer’s soul trapped in the body of a modern times child
I have to apologize, to whoever’s soul resides in me
Because it’s not that easy any more
To pack up a bag and travel as far as I can
Even if I’m debating it at this very second.
So to the old adventurer with a heart full of wanderlust;
My apologies.
Someday we’ll be gone, leaving no stone unturned in search of the place that feels like home
But for now, we are here
At least here is not there
Is nice enough and home enough to trick your wandering heart for a little while

Maybe I just need to find something.
Maybe there’s a somewhere
Far from here and far from anything I’ve known
That will finally ease the aching in my chest
A place that has home written in the breeze
With just enough adventure to satiate the adventurer and I as we put up our traveling boots
Quilts woven of stories and places and homes
Folded neatly on the couch.
Or, if we’re being honest, tossed haphazardly over the back
But the world doesn’t need that knowledge.
Maybe my wanderlust will cease when I find the place that begs me to stay
Maybe all it’ll take is the person that makes it worth staying
But until then, the cavity in my chest remains unfilled
The adventurer and I biding our time until the world is at our fingertips again
Free to learn the language of the roads that call
With the siren song of travel