Writers

[koshergrl]

Long on words that mean nothing.

No action.

Won't move.

 

[koshergrl]

I eat psuedo-critic wanna-bee's like you for breakfast.

I would LOVE to see anything you've written.

Cuz the samples I've seen of your writing wouldn't get a passing grade from a 9th grade English comp teacher.

Hey, I remember you. You're that hysterical chick from yesterday. Bless your heart, Honey. I didn't think you'd make it through the night.

Dullards interpret wit and spark as "hysteria".

Which is why your writing sucks.

 

[CandySlice]

I eat psuedo-critic wanna-bee's like you for breakfast.

I would LOVE to see anything you've written.

Cuz the samples I've seen of your writing wouldn't get a passing grade from a 9th grade English comp teacher.

I'd say the same of Charlaine Harris. But girl can tell a story!

A few years ago Charlaine Harris had a book signing at the downtown Harris County Library and I got 'Dead Until Dark' and 'Dead in Dallas' autographed. Shes a cool lady.

 

[CandySlice]

I would LOVE to see anything you've written.

Cuz the samples I've seen of your writing wouldn't get a passing grade from a 9th grade English comp teacher.

Hey, I remember you. You're that hysterical chick from yesterday. Bless your heart, Honey. I didn't think you'd make it through the night.

Dullards interpret wit and spark as "hysteria".

Which is why your writing sucks.

No sweetie, you went on for about 9 pages and who knows how many hours over ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. You were hysterical. With a BIG H.

 

[Unkotare]

So, does this mean that the emo-queen's not going to post anything after all?

 

[koshergrl]

You have to go find his (her?) thread called "Evie"....

and then try to get through it. You won't, I promise.

 

[CandySlice]

BD I am so deep in your shoes I can't see daylight. I have three different manuscripts gathering dust in different rooms on different surfaces. My so called Opus (capital letters there, right?) is before me with a great start a great and spectacular ending but no aceptable middle.

Now. There are dozens of short stories lying around, some good, some that have the look only a mother could love.

What can I say?
The only way to learn how to write is . . .well. . is to write.

Keep hard at it, treat it like an exercise you must do once a day and never stop.

Then someday you too can be the proud owner of stacks of fledglings, one or two of which may turn out to be swans.

Ya never know.

Is that a mirror I see in your hand.

My nephew is the family author (at this point!) Sooo ..... I think part of my problem is - he's brilliant. I couldn't begin to complete. Therefore, why bother.

I just need to get over it, and start again.

Think of the gorgeous house you'll buy with your first advance.

Or at least the bills you'll pay, lol.

Don't count on it. Especially not a first offering. You might get a publisher to take it on spec but that doesn't happen very often.
If you ever need advice on getting published email me.

 

[koshergrl]

Pfffft...lololol....I'm sure you have a hefty stack of rejections, so you probably are the best person to advise a person on what publishers aren't looking for.

 

[CandySlice]

Wow. And I thought this would be a fun thread.

LOL Some folks can screw up a one-car Chinese funeral.

 

[CandySlice]

Pfffft...lololol....I'm sure you have a hefty stack of rejections, so you probably are the best person to advise a person on what publishers aren't looking for.

I see you quit advertising how well you're thought of around here, huh?

 

[BDBoop]

A nearby crack of thunder shot me out of my chair without, as Deb's best friend would say, bothering to bend at the waist. I turned around and my eyes widened as I stared out the window.
I'd linked Diana's emotional state to the weather. I only used Pink and Floyd for first reports, and after that the weather would warn me if my charge was in danger.
'Danger' may have been too tame a word. It was raining, snowing, sleeting and hailing out there, with attendant thunder and lightning. The sky was lime green. Not a color I'd ever seen in the skies of this planet.
Pink and Floyd came flying in the room. "Leto, what the hell!"
We exchanged alarmed glances, and Pink nodded. I set the psychic path, and she sat for a second, and then glared. "He left her with a $700 cell bill. He promised he'd pay it. He said 'like I always have.' She believed him. He's wiped out her savings. She doesn't know how she can afford to move, and she can't stay at her sister's much longer."
I sank into my chair. That disgusting bastard. What the hell was the matter with him? We'd been over their history. He was lying about not being in love with her - so why did he just keep slamming away at her like this? HE did this. This was his decision. He threw her away, and he just kept kicking at her. My mind raced.
"Okay, Pink; first things first. Calm Diana down. This storm is way out of proportion for what she's going through. It's big, but it's not that big. So calm her down, and send her to bed. When she's almost asleep, suggest she get to a doctor. She may need something to take the edge off, and I don't want to see her diving headlong into a bottle."
Pink nodded, and lay down in front of the fireplace. The hail and snow ceased, followed shortly by the sleet. Now it was just a good old-fashioned thunderstorm, which was tapering off to a steady rain.
Pink started falling asleep with Diana, and Floyd and I spoke by mind. "Harsh."
"Yeah."
"What are we going to do?"
"Bleep if I know." (Floyd doesn't like to swear.)
We pondered in silence for a time.
"What do you know about her happy memories?"
"What do you mean?"
"Where has she been happiest in her life. What place did she feel safe?"
Floyd thought for a few moments, then answered "Her grandfather's cabin. From all I've seen, any time she is in, on, or near the water, she's happy and at peace."
Pink murmured sleepily from her spot in front of the fire "Lakes. She loves lakes. And privacy. Her dream would be land on a lake with no neighbors, surrounded by state-owned land. I'm not even sure such a place exists."
"Whether you are right or wrong is immaterial, because if such a place does not exist, I will create it. Where there is a will, there's a way. My question is this, though. Couldn't that much solitude be bad for her? I know she strongly believes this is what she wants - but is it what she needs?"
We all thought some more, and Pink spoke again. "As long as she has the means to get to the people she loves, I think she would be okay. So, if a good, reliable vehicle is included, I believe she would take full advantage of it. Right now, she can't imagine life without at least three people: Her sister, her daughter, and her best friend. So she's not going to go quietly into the night, never to be heard from again."
"Excellent. Okay then. What car are you guys leaning toward?" Before I could say "I'm thinking Volvo," Pink said "Toyota" and Floyd said "Honda." They glared at each other, and before they could start anything I quickly said "Right, then. We're each going to do some research, and tomorrow we'll debate why our vehicle is the best for Diana." Since they both hate research, I figured 'Volvo it is.'

 

[TheGreatGatsby]

“All good writing is like swimming underwater and holding your breath.” - F Scott Fitzgerald

 

[CandySlice]

A nearby crack of thunder shot me out of my chair without, as Deb's best friend would say, bothering to bend at the waist. I turned around and my eyes widened as I stared out the window.
I'd linked Diana's emotional state to the weather. I only used Pink and Floyd for first reports, and after that the weather would warn me if my charge was in danger.
'Danger' may have been too tame a word. It was raining, snowing, sleeting and hailing out there, with attendant thunder and lightning. The sky was lime green. Not a color I'd ever seen in the skies of this planet.
Pink and Floyd came flying in the room. "Leto, what the hell!"
We exchanged alarmed glances, and Pink nodded. I set the psychic path, and she sat for a second, and then glared. "He left her with a $700 cell bill. He promised he'd pay it. He said 'like I always have.' She believed him. He's wiped out her savings. She doesn't know how she can afford to move, and she can't stay at her sister's much longer."
I sank into my chair. That disgusting bastard. What the hell was the matter with him? We'd been over their history. He was lying about not being in love with her - so why did he just keep slamming away at her like this? HE did this. This was his decision. He threw her away, and he just kept kicking at her. My mind raced.
"Okay, Pink; first things first. Calm Diana down. This storm is way out of proportion for what she's going through. It's big, but it's not that big. So calm her down, and send her to bed. When she's almost asleep, suggest she get to a doctor. She may need something to take the edge off, and I don't want to see her diving headlong into a bottle."
Pink nodded, and lay down in front of the fireplace. The hail and snow ceased, followed shortly by the sleet. Now it was just a good old-fashioned thunderstorm, which was tapering off to a steady rain.
Pink started falling asleep with Diana, and Floyd and I spoke by mind. "Harsh."
"Yeah."
"What are we going to do?"
"Bleep if I know." (Floyd doesn't like to swear.)
We pondered in silence for a time.
"What do you know about her happy memories?"
"What do you mean?"
"Where has she been happiest in her life. What place did she feel safe?"
Floyd thought for a few moments, then answered "Her grandfather's cabin. From all I've seen, any time she is in, on, or near the water, she's happy and at peace."
Pink murmured sleepily from her spot in front of the fire "Lakes. She loves lakes. And privacy. Her dream would be land on a lake with no neighbors, surrounded by state-owned land. I'm not even sure such a place exists."
"Whether you are right or wrong is immaterial, because if such a place does not exist, I will create it. Where there is a will, there's a way. My question is this, though. Couldn't that much solitude be bad for her? I know she strongly believes this is what she wants - but is it what she needs?"
We all thought some more, and Pink spoke again. "As long as she has the means to get to the people she loves, I think she would be okay. So, if a good, reliable vehicle is included, I believe she would take full advantage of it. Right now, she can't imagine life without at least three people: Her sister, her daughter, and her best friend. So she's not going to go quietly into the night, never to be heard from again."
"Excellent. Okay then. What car are you guys leaning toward?" Before I could say "I'm thinking Volvo," Pink said "Toyota" and Floyd said "Honda." They glared at each other, and before they could start anything I quickly said "Right, then. We're each going to do some research, and tomorrow we'll debate why our vehicle is the best for Diana." Since they both hate research, I figured 'Volvo it is.'

B, this is good. You have the dialog down perfect and it sounds real, like people actually talk. That's very important. I couldn't fault it on much. and if I did I'd do so in private but I don't see why you don't give your nephew a run for his money.

 

[TheGreatGatsby]

You have to write everyday and treat your writing like its a job if you want to be successful. It's more effort than talent.

 

[CandySlice]

“All good writing is like swimming underwater and holding your breath.” - F Scott Fitzgerald

Nice looking Appy.

F. Scott and Zelda. I see you are a fan.

 

[TheGreatGatsby]

“All good writing is like swimming underwater and holding your breath.” - F Scott Fitzgerald

Nice looking Appy.

F. Scott and Zelda. I see you are a fan.

Definitely. He wrote from a young age. Interesting that his best writing was always semi-autobiographical. His life was in crazy turmoil when he wrote his best.

 

[CandySlice]

You have to write everyday and treat your writing like its a job if you want to be successful. It's more effort than talent.

That's what I said. You have to set aside a time period each day and treat it like a job. I also said serious writers write because not to do so would be unthinkable. Does that sound like some sort of emo-breakdown to you?

 

[CandySlice]

“All good writing is like swimming underwater and holding your breath.” - F Scott Fitzgerald

Nice looking Appy.

F. Scott and Zelda. I see you are a fan.

Definitely. He wrote from a young age. Interesting that his best writing was always semi-autobiographical. His life was in crazy turmoil when he wrote his best.

Which one was unfinished?

 

[CandySlice]

“All good writing is like swimming underwater and holding your breath.” - F Scott Fitzgerald

Nice looking Appy.

F. Scott and Zelda. I see you are a fan.

Definitely. He wrote from a young age. Interesting that his best writing was always semi-autobiographical. His life was in crazy turmoil when he wrote his best.

And not with just a little thanks to Zelda. She definitely kept the pot stirred.

 

[Wry Catcher]

In an elective I took "Hesse and Kafka" we read short stories and longer works from each author. The only two requirements were class attendance and to write a short story reflecting the voice of one of these writers.

I chose Kafka, wrote a SS based on a surfer with themes loosely taken from "The Trail" and "The Castle". Fortunately I took the course C/NC since it was not in my major and I had already completed all requirements for my undergraduate degree.

I knew I was in trouble when the prof played an LP and instructed us to read silently from page x to page y in "the Glass Bead Game" (Magister Ludi). A few minutes later he asked the class for their impressions. Most thought the music and words went together, lyrics with music, After some discussion the instructor told us the music was the Magic Flute (some knew, I didn't) and that Hesse's must have been listening to the "Magic Flute" when he composed the words we had read.

Maybe Hesse had left notes explaining he listened to the music of Mozart while writing this novel, if he did not I have often wondered who discovered such a thing.

When I received my short story back from the instructor the only note was "Credit, consider how much work these authors put into their work".

I've thought about writing short stories but his words haunt me. Hard work? Na, I'm retired. I was successful writing grants, all four I wrote were funded, three by the DOJ and one by the CA Justice Dept. That too was work, but I was being paid to do it.