Story Telling

[SinbadEV]

So, I have recently (NoNoWriMo-FAIL) realized that I lack "something" that seems to be a requirement for writers... probably dedication or something similar... anyway... because YOU people inhabit the corner of the internet I spend the most of my time in ANYWAY... I figured I would "gift" you with my "talent"...


So, let's play interactive story:

Possible Ideas:

- Alistair the Bard vs The Zombies
DnD style setting

- Captain Space Charlie: Encounter at Arbour Harbour
science-lite space-opera (think StarTrek/Buck Rogers)

- Space Dragons
(self explanatory)

- Heroes of Avalon
(cyberpunk meets fantasy MMO)

- Pinball Wizards (failed NaNoWriMo Novel attempt)

- Shadow Dwellers (Sci-Fi/Social Commentary thing with Floating Cities separating the rich from the poor ground-dwellers)

Other Ideas Welcome...


So the basic concept is that I will write a "Chapter" of about 100-1000 words... and then people whine and complain and hopefully offer suggestions, to which I will respond by writing the next "Chapter"...

Any takers? abuse?

[MidKnight]

do the writing, we'll do the whining. But you do have to write something first.

[1v0ry_k1ng]

and you should consider thinking up some original content

[Jazcash]

Can't we just play the next post continues the story game? That seems a lot more fun. Said Gary.

[TradeMark]

Once upon a time, long long time ago, in a galaxy far far away...

[Wombat]

u can write how awesome i am, bestseller for sho !

[Jazcash]

Once upon a time, long long time ago, in a galaxy far far away...

lived Jethro, the magic robot.

[SinbadEV]

and you should consider thinking up some original content

there is no such thing as "original content", all we can do is rehash old tropes under new guises... that said, I suppose I could try to come up with something that does not fall under the category of "stories I have tried to write in the past but failed at"... which I why I solicited ideas (in addition to the supposition that if I write the story you've asked for I know you will be more likely to be interested in it's development)

[oksnoop2]

I once heard a story in my creative writing class about a rug that had cancer. Shortly after I got to hear a 15 minute argument about how that was not a story but random collection of words. Had I been more.. caring? i would of sided with the guy who wrote it and said that was a story. Just not a great one.

What I'm getting at is that there is plenty of original ideas, it's just that people are not sick and tired of the old ones enough for the new ones to become palatable. When I get home I'll find my rambling outline for my rock-opera and share it somewhere.

[SinbadEV]

Random Crap that fell out of my head when I was trying to write something original:

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

There are times in a manÔÇÖs life when the idea of spending a few years studying necromancy and raising an army of undead wenches and then casting a spell on them to make them look whole and physically desirable and then gathering wealth by pimping them out as whores seems like a good idea... or at least there was a time in RonaldÔÇÖs life when these things had crossed his mind and he had failed utterly to see any harm in the idea. It seemed like a sure thing.

Now there was a few dozen very angry (and very disease ridden) men storming the modest castle he had bought with the proceeds of his scheme it had finally dawned on him that he may have made some poor choices in his life. Fortunately he had a more traditional ÔÇ£Zombie ArmyÔÇØ at his disposal (in addition to the sepulchral bordellic one) so he had some time to sort out his life. He, unfortunately, had devoted himself to the ÔÇ£dark artsÔÇØ pretty exclusively up till this point. He hadnÔÇÖt felt they were especially dark when he had been studying them and felt that terms like ÔÇ£desecrationÔÇØ were unfair. ItÔÇÖs not like anyone was actually using those corpses for anything.

After a few minutes of deliberation he mounted his least decrepit reanimated hose and, using a rather clever illusion spell simply rode out of the castle and left it, and the life it represented, behind him.

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

When I get home I'll find my rambling outline for my rock-opera and share it somewhere.

I once started writing a musical about a female Werewolf in New York City... she would stalk Central Park on the nights of full moons.. she'd be one of the "can control herself without any difficulty" kinds of werewolves but would be unfairly cast as a menace by the general public... I even managed to write the opening number entitled "Kill the Monster/Full Mood Rising" which featured the line "now this isn't fair, look at all of this hair, look at it it's all over me!!!"...

[SanadaUjiosan]

I once heard a story in my creative writing class about a rug that had cancer. Shortly after I got to hear a 15 minute argument about how that was not a story but random collection of words. Had I been more.. caring? i would of sided with the guy who wrote it and said that was a story. Just not a great one.

Crazy Kid was crazy, no question about that.

Execution of whatever ideas you have is just as important as how "fresh" they are. If we really held originality as the end-all in terms of quality, the human race would have probably died from boredom years ago.

Kind of good example: I read Lord of the Rings for the first time last year, when I was 20 years old. I had already gone through high school playing fantasy games, killing orcs, saving elves, all of that shit that a lot would say came from "Tolkien fantasy." You can say the whole deal is a bit stale to me now. Yes, his material came first, but to me it came much later. Despite that, I loved the books and dove deep into the story. Why? Well executed, high quality stuff.

Can I enjoy some random paperback from the "Fantasy" section at the bookstore? Very, very unlikely.

Originality is of course important, but maintaining a high quality of material is just as important.

I've already trod down the "I want to write!" road, and have since stepped off. I too struggled with something that I apparently lacked. My two biggest weaknesses were dedication, and dialogue. Interesting writing comes in dialogue (to me) and I just can't write dialogue to save my life.

[KaiserJ]

Once upon a time, long long time ago, in a galaxy far far away... lived Jethro, the magic robot.

employed at sploogedorf enterprises, jethro was your standard flarge assembly worker, working 68 hours of the standardized andromedan day. long of word and short of temper, he often caused unrest within the factory proper. the only things that set this drab little character apart from his co-robots was his scintillatingly brilliant pair of bejewelled obsidian pantaloons.

(3 sentences! go!)

[SinbadEV]

Despite his lack of any qualities that set him apart from his brethren automatons in any particularly exciting way, he often fancied himself to be destined for great things. This narcissism was effected by a glitch in his positronic matrix rather then due to any quantifiable difference, but it was how he felt none the less. He often spent the three and a half hours of maintenance time he was alloted each cycle wishing he could daydream about being special.

[MidKnight]

(Are we building off of each other, or are we doing a separate expansion for each person?)

[SinbadEV]

(Are we building off of each other, or are we doing a separate expansion for each person?)

(Huh? I don't know... I was continuing from KaiserJ's post because it was the closest anyone had come to giving me a starting point to write off of)

[MidKnight]

(right then!)

• "Special," The metallic croak that emanated from the automaton's rusted chassis

barely resembled the word. He had wanted to be different, unique, and this is where it had gotten him. His body was failing him. He could feel his servomechanisms struggling to traverse the warped surfaces of gears and tracks long in need of repair. He was broken, dying, because of what they had done to him. What they had done to him because he had wanted to be special.

• "Special, heh, heh," What a fruitless dream.

[oksnoop2]

When I get home I'll find my rambling outline for my rock-opera and share it somewhere.

The topic of the thread has since shifted so sorry for being kind of offtopic.

http://code.google.com/p/oksnoop2projec ... pt_Album_1

[KaiserJ]

Once upon a time, long long time ago, in a galaxy far far away... lived Jethro, the magic robot.

employed at sploogedorf enterprises, jethro was your standard flarge assembly worker, working 68 hours of the standardized andromedan day. long of word and short of temper, he often caused unrest within the factory proper. the only things that set this drab little character apart from his co-robots was his scintillatingly brilliant pair of bejewelled obsidian pantaloons.

Despite his lack of any qualities that set him apart from his brethren automatons in any particularly exciting way, he often fancied himself to be destined for great things. This narcissism was effected by a glitch in his positronic matrix rather then due to any quantifiable difference, but it was how he felt none the less. He often spent the three and a half hours of maintenance time he was alloted each cycle wishing he could daydream about being special.

"Special," The metallic croak that emanated from the automaton's rusted chassis barely resembled the word. He had wanted to be different, unique, and this is where it had gotten him. His body was failing him. He could feel his servomechanisms struggling to traverse the warped surfaces of gears and tracks long in need of repair. He was broken, dying, because of what they had done to him. What they had done to him because he had wanted to be special.

"Special, heh, heh," What a fruitless dream.

WHANGGGG! cried the sound of the dinner gong, rousing jethro from his self indulgent fantasies and carrying him down the pipe lined corridor to the lunchroom where servicebots crammed low-grade ores into the roboworkers insertion holes through a series of flailing segmented tubes. his gears creaking and his servos wailing, jethro shuffled forwards with the drab crowd of sad robots to the insertion square. suddenly, a light metallic tinkle, akin to the sound of exhaust blowing through pyrex chimes or a rabid robobadger thrown into a disposal hatch caused jethro to whirl his peeking apparatus to the side, and there she stood.

[SinbadEV]

In the sub-procedures of his heuristic algorithm Jethro secretly cursed the Alchemitron for fitting him with a soulemodule. When the ur-sage had proposed the devices it was an act of pure self-preservation, thinking that with souls the robot's, like their long deceased creators had so many years ago, might find meaning. Jethro sometimes wished that they had simply let the great operating systems go into endless hibernation as, the Philosphistron had suggested was their destiny, but some part of him was truly appreciative, in his abject misery, that he had the potential to feel happiness and, in this particular case, love.