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  1. Life of a FatherI stare soothing at the big blue eyes,Looking up at me with innocence—Cerulean skies observing the lines and creases of my face. He wants to cry, upset at being near all the loud people—People clanging their glasses together in toasts to the bride and groom,People slapping each other’s backs in embraces,All oblivious to the sensitive ears of Little Liam—But he sees my face,Knows he is safe in my arms,And a smile spreads.His little face lights up, and I place a kiss on his head.I know he wants to sleep, so I rock him back and forth in my arms.Swinging and turning gently as his eyes slowly blink closed.I smile—this is the life a father.There is nothing greater. ~ :: ~Another poem written for my Creative Writing class. It was supposed to use some sound, and it could only be between 12-16 lines. I don't like the writing of this one as much as my Staring Oceans poem, but considering this one has babies, it kinda evens out. I was originally going to write about a church (I still will, sometime, probably), but after I held my cousin's baby last weekend this was all I could think about, haha. Enjoy! Comments and constructive criticisms are much appreciated.
  2. Staring OceansOceans.They stare at youThrough the wooden edges of the frame.A snowy plane lines his cheeks, bushy and misshapenLike a wild plant, growing this way and that,Thinning here and there like his life.Soon it will all be gone.So will he.But he is still there for now, and he smiles at you,His bright blue eyes sparkling,His niveous beard a tangled mess.He looks at you in such a happy way—But such a strange way.He seems to be calling you,Inviting you.Perhaps he wishes to tell you a story.The twinkle in his eyes gives it away.Yes, this man has a story,A story he wants you to hear.Every day you see him come to this place.He brings with him a fishing line and a flag.An American flag, displaying it proudly as he goes.You see him tie the flag to the pier,And you watch it wave in the wind for a moment or two.The man watches with you, and smiles again—Pride.Pride for his country.He tells you how he had served in the military,Proudly bearing his uniform for four long years.Through trial and tribulation, he made it through.He made it home, when so many of his friends didn’t.You want to rush up and give him a huge hug—To tell him it’s okay.But you don’t.You realize he is hurting,You see it in those ocean-eyes of his, staring kindly at you.Yet, his smile remains. He is poor, coming here every day for his nightly meal of fish.Yet he does not complain. He simply smiles at you with his wrinkly face, and you smile back.And you both silently watch the vast ocean spread out before you.~ :: ~Now, there is a bit of explanation I need to post here. Usually I am against doing that (everything should be explained inside the story, not outside), but this was written for my Creative Writing class, and therefore had guidelines I needed to follow. The prompt was, paraphrased: "write a poem about a photograph. Start by describing the photograph, then tell a story about the person you described. Poem can only be 1 page long, and it cannot rhyme." So, because of that, I'm not completely satisfied with the ending, as I literally used every line I could (the title I even had to place in a header, because the poem was so long) and had to squish things together. But still, overall I am pretty happy with this. I haven't written a poem in literally years, so I'll definitely have to more, now, as I really enjoyed this. All comments/constructive criticisms are welcome! Enjoy!
  3. Seeing as I recently finished Spec Ops (I'm probably going to be constantly mentioning the game) I was inspired to write something similar to it in a sense. What I want to write is a critique or deconstruction of the Order of Mata Nui's ability to not worry about someone judging them for their actions. I also want to make similar to the CIA in that they do things that they think are good but in the end cause more harm. I want to deconstruct their whole "for the good of Mata Nui" attitude, one problem though I'm not sure what I will be able to write for fear it may cross some of BZP's rules for epics. It's still in the planning process so I might need to think a little more. Any thoughts?
  4. You’re not sure what to think when they tell you just who the heroes just brought into the station, much less that they want you, of all people, to interview him. You’ve been working as a reporter for the Makuhero Tribune for maybe five months, tops, and your specialty is the sports section. You interview athletes, not criminals, for chrissakes! Speedy Gonzales is one thing. Christian Henderson is another thing entirely. Of course, the paper is going to make you refer to him exclusively as Core Hunter. The editors love the supervillain motif so much more than the fallen hero, so they’re obviously going to milk it for more than it would ever be worth. With a sigh, you grab you pen and paper, your tape recorder, your camera, and your tripod, bundle it all into your car, and drive down to the detention center. You’re sitting in the interview room for a good ten minutes before they bring him in. They have to use the larger door to fit him inside, with the shoulder spikes and all. They persuade him none to gently to sit down in the reinforced chair, then immediately cuff him to it. Seeming slightly satisfied in his restraints, the half dozen heroes take up positions around the room and clutch their weapons with clear nervousness. The first thing that strikes you about him is his sheer bulk. Core Hunter is an impressive specimen of physical power, as his massive form easily conveys. The next thing to strike you, however, is the weapons, or lack thereof. His plasma gun is locked away somewhere, and his core remover is bound and locked up like an illegally parked car. Even as you watch, it whirrs and struggles faintly with its bindings. Even his distinctive visor is missing, leaving his visage exposed to the world. After all that, you look him over again. His armor is engraved with unusual circular designs everywhere, excluding his face. You have to pause for a second, because holy cow, he’s actually kind of good looking underneath the mask. He catches you staring and grins, every trace of calculated cruelty clear on his sinister smile. “Let me guess,” He drawls, the grin never leaving his mouth, even if his eyes remain focused and hard. “You were going to ask about the mask. Or maybe the engravings. Or, were you going to be original and ask why I did it. Why I became a criminal. It’s not like anyone has asked that before.” His voice cuts through you, razor sharp. You stumble over your words, prompting a short, hollow laugh from him. “Do I have you scared, little one? You’re not worth my time. You, the guards, none of them. All I want is your cores.” He leans back in his chair, perfectly relaxed despite the cuffs. “The engravings are based off an old human ‘language,’ the language of the Time Lords in one of their science fiction shows. Time's been an interest of me since I was small." He coughs, quietly, then continues on. "I’ve taken the liberty of adding your name, as well as everyone else’s in the room, already. The mask lets me spot structural weaknesses, amongst other things, like the water damage in the room above us where they’re keeping my weapons. As for why I did it, wouldn’t you?” As you try to find the words, he smirks wider. “Don’t bother answering. It won’t matter soon.” He rises to his feet, the cuffs and shackles falling to bits as they try to impede him. As the heroes raise their weapons, the ceiling collapses with a series of explosions, pinning them under rubble and weapons. Your camera and other equipment is destroyed, but you find yourself unscathed. You sit there, paralyzed, as Core Hunter picks up his mask and gun from where they lay amongst the ruined tiles and supports, then he turns to face you one last time. “Sorry, friend. No witnesses.” His gun slides up and levels with your face. There’s the magnetic thwinp of the firing mechanism, and then blackness.
  5. GSR

    Life Right Now

    I was going to post a funny gif here, but I can't think of any to represent "busybusybusybusybusywhyyyy" So yes. Second-to-last week here at MS, moving back on the 25th. Semester starts on the 2nd. This is probably going to be the first year I can say I'm less busy during school. On a somewhat more BZP-related note, I've actually got an epic idea that will probably get written. No, really! It's got protagonists (three of them, or four, or six, depending on how you count) and antagonists and drama and paradoxes and now all it needs is the other 50% of the plot. It would take place in the same canon continuity as my Spherus Magna short stories, though it wouldn't be a direct sequel to any of them. Though the real fun bit has been coming up with the original characters for it. I think I'm seeing why you BZRPGers get so into it. Oh! And I still need a member title. Any ideas? I'm partial to "Not Half Bad With Words, Apparently", but it's a tad long.
  6. Before we begin, a few words I guess. This was fun to write. Outside of The Best Kept Secrets, I haven't done much independent creative writing, so it's entertaining to stretch my legs. Obviously I did still have guidelines. It is part of a competition, after all. But it still felt freer to start a new story, with new characters. And this is certainly a lot more grounded in reality than normal. It's quieter, slower. Which is good, because I'm not used to writing normal events. I can start them off, I can give them development, but I can't find a suitable ending. Which makes this competition all the better, because I didn't have to bother with the sensible ending.The CommuteWith a light tremble, I awoke. The gentle, but continuous shuddering gradually brought me back to my senses, pulling me out of the limbo between my dreams and reality. With a blink I looked blearily around and drank in my surroundings.Nothing was out of the ordinary as far as I was aware. Nothing had changed since I first dozed off. I was still the same Firix, an Agori previously from the village of Tesara. I didn’t seem any different. I wasn’t a beetle now, nor had the world changed for better or for worse. I was in the usual place. A steel carriage trundled along the rails on the way to the eastern district of Xero Magna, the second largest city of Spherus Magna. Around me, about a dozen fellow passengers sat and did their best to distract themselves from the long and tedious journey. To my left an Onu-Matoran sat poring over a freshly carved tablet. Whether this was the morning news or a work-related document, I couldn’t tell. To the right side of me sat a purple Matoran of whose village I couldn’t hope to name. He had his eyes closed and was settled into a steady snooze. Over to the right side of the carriage I saw the Toa of magnetism who had once reminded me of my belongings on the one time I almost managed to forget my bag. He didn’t get on the train too often, so I wondered to myself just what his business could be, over in the east. Not that it mattered. I doubted I would find out any time soon, and was even more dubious that it would affect me if I did.But the one passenger who caught my attention was sat directly across from me. A female Agori in vibrant red armour, of whom I couldn’t recall from any of my previous commutes. She seemed nervous, with her hands clutched together tightly and her gaze fixed tightly upon her crimson boots. She shifted uncomfortably on her seat and something began to slip from between her fingers. It glinted for a moment in the light from the windows, then plunged down to the floor.Before she could react, I had leaned in and caught the glistening object. It felt light and cool in my fingertips. I unfurled my hand and beheld a quaint locket resting in my palm. It was modest, a simple silver colour, but with one red ruby implanted in the centre. I smiled and handed it back to her. She smiled back.I sat back, pleased with my random act of heroism and tried to distract myself with the sight of the city rolling by outside of the carriage. The sky was a downtrodden grey shade that settled the world beyond into a melancholic stupor. The various skyscrapers whizzed by, all a variety of shapes and sizes. Ever on and on, the carriage rumbled and quaked as it bumpily slid along the rails. And with a dawning feeling of discomfort, I was becoming aware of just how heavy the atmosphere had become.The Agori was focusing on her boots again. To the side of me, somebody coughed. The clanking of armour scraping across armour intermittently rang in the air. I began to feel my face growing hot under my jade green helmet. Had I created this awkward tension? I had broken the sense of isolation everyone else had united to create, by catching her locket. Was I now meant to extend this interaction? Or cut it short? I didn’t know.I dared to glance at her face. Like her locket, her helmet was modest, plain. Well-polished, with a few light scratches scattered here and there. The mouth guard was parted to reveal her amber chin. Her lips were straight and tightly pressed together. I looked away before she could notice I was staring at her.I knew I had to do something. The atmosphere was too thick. Someone had to cut it, or we might all suffocate. I should never have caught her jewellery. If I’d left it, she’d have picked it up herself and that would be that. Everyone would still be keeping themselves to themselves. But I’d formed this loose bond. Now it hung heavy in the air, breaking through the silence. And I had to do something.So, all that it was that I had to do was start a conversation. She didn’t seem interested in doing so. The burden was on my shoulders.My duty was to talk to this female Agori. It shouldn’t be too difficult, should it? I’d spoken before. I had moved my lips and words had come out at one point or another in the course of my life. What was the problem now?“Hi,” I croaked. Oh, Great Spirits. I croaked. My voice had gone hoarse and I crackled my greeting at her. That wasn’t a good conversation starter.She hadn’t seemed to notice though. She looked up at me and for a moment, our eyes met. She smiled again and nodded politely, before turning back to stare at her feet. This wasn’t going well.With a cough, I straightened up and readied myself to try again. Then I paused. Did that seem a little forceful? Was preparing myself a sign of aggression? That I wasn’t going to let her get away? But I couldn’t let this bother me. I had to try and start a conversation. The sake of the carriage depended on it.“Hi there,” I smiled. No croaking this time. Good. She looked up again, that smile dancing on her lips. Maybe this was going to go well. “I haven’t seen you on here before. You going anywhere in particular?”And with that, I leaned back, at ease with myself. There we go. The conversation had begun and it hadn’t been too uncomfortable. Now all I had to do was wait for a response.She sat a moment in thought. I decided she was trying to gauge what would be an appropriate response. Then she sat a little straighter and opened her mouth to begin speaking. Which is when the spiders began pouring out of her mouth. Dozens and dozens of tiny arachnids spilled from her gaping maw like an ebony waterfall, pooling on the floor by her feet.I shrieked and leapt up onto my seat. I huddled my knees close to my chest and kept my eyes locked on the mass of arachnids that landed where my feet had been just mere seconds ago. I watched in horror as the spider puddle began settling on the floor, a writhing mass of black legs and bulbous bodies.I whimpered slightly, unsure how to react when I noticed the disdained looks shot at me from my fellow passengers. I froze. Was that rude of me? Was I meant to compliment her spiders? Is she going to develop a complex now that she had trusted a stranger to view her collection, and he had reacted by screaming in her face?“I…I’m sorry,” I stammered, looking into her face. She stared forward, her pale orange eyes boring into my skull. I was starting to wonder if she was even looking at me, or just in my direction. My mind locked up. I could feel any social skills I once had bidding me adieu and speeding away. But I had to say something. Anything. I was being watched. The audience wanted to see some kind of reconciliation. “I…Uh, that’s a nice bunch of-Mmph!”A hand clasped itself around my mouth. As it withdrew, I looked down to see the purple Matoran leering up at me, shaking his head slightly. “Don’t mention them,” he breathed.“I’m sorry, what?”“Don’t mention them!” He wasn’t advising me. He practically hissed the last warning out.I hated to admit it, but I was confused. The entire carriage was focusing on me, watching every last movement I made. Even the Agori hadn’t averted her eyes. Did my apology not satisfy her? On the floor, the black puddled rolled and shifted. “Don’t mention what?”“The spiders, you daft nonce. Don’t mention the spi-” He froze and slammed the palm of his hand against his own mouth. His eyes were alight with horror and he shook his head in fright. “I’m sorry, everyone.”The train entered a tunnel, plunging us into a darkness that was bravely fought off by the lightstones that lined the carriage. All around me, people tutted. I watched as a Ta-Matoran shook his head and sighed with frustration. An ebony armoured Agori across the carriage placed her forehead in her palm. The Agori in front of me hadn’t moved.“Wait, what?” I asked.“I’m sorry,” the Matoran said, quietly. He kept his eyes focused on the spider army that was beginning to scuttle over to the edges of the carriage. I looked around and began to wonder when the tunnel would end. The train just kept rolling on through with no sign of an exit appearing at any point. Then realisation dawned on me. There weren’t any tunnels on my commute to work. The uncertain silence was broken as the Matoran breathed quietly again. “I’m so sorry.”
  7. By midnight tonight, I need that ECC contest review done, plus another 15 or so short stories read and briefly critiqued for a different forum. This of course begs the question, what on earth is good music for a critiquing montage? I mean it's not exactly high-action.
  8. Please stop starting stories, posting a few chapters, and then quitting and starting a brand new story that will inevitably go down the same path as your last. This is not an attack on or criticism of inexperienced writers. It's merely a gentle reminder that giving up on your current story won't make you a better writer or make you more popular. Your story isn't completely unsalvagable and you'll learn far more about your abilities as a writer if you stick with your story to the very end than if you give up on it before you're even halfway through. I've noticed that, a lot of the time, when an inexperienced writer gets a long, rather detailed review from a reader explaining what is wrong with their story, the inexperienced writer doesn't say a thing about the review, but a few weeks later you see they've posted a completely new epic, with no word about what happened to their old story, although it is usually obvious that the old story is dead. The logic behind this decision seems to be something like, "Well, this reader made it pretty clear that my story is a piece of trash. So I will start a new story, except without any of the problems the original story had." Problem is, more often than not, the new story has the exact same problems as the old story, if not maybe a little worse. The logic doesn't make any sense, anyway. How will starting a new story magically fix all of the old story's problems? Only if the old story's problems are inherent to the old story itself does that logic work, but as most stories can suffer from the same problems, writing a new story isn't the answer. Again, I am not attacking inexperienced writers. I understand the sense of shame and anger you experience when a reviewer points out so many problems with your old story that you didn't see, no matter how many times you looked over the story before posting it. And I completely understand the first impulse of "Well, this story has to go to the trash can" because I very nearly gave up writing my first epic, The Tales of Shika Nui, years ago out of the belief that it was not worth writing (although that had more to do with the lack of reviews than a long, scathing review, but I digress). Stick with your current story, unles it is completely, truly irredeemable or you truly do not like writing it anymore. I'm not saying you should never work on that new idea you have bouncing around in your head right now. It's just that you have a story right now - a story, moreover, that has the potential to be good - that desperately wants you to finish it, no matter how ugly it might look right now. Yes, getting long, detailed reviews explaining exactly what you did wrong can be pretty hard to take. Even I sometimes have problems with critical reviews of my work and I have been writing and posting stuff on BZP almost since the day I joined. But check that review again. Did the reviewer state that you must give up your story? No? He merely pointed out that the characterization is weak and that your spelling and grammar could stand for some improvement? Okay. Then keep writing your story, but keep his criticisms in mind if you believe they are accurate. If you're really angry, say to the reviewer, "Thank you " (the smiley is not optional). Or wait a day before responding, once your emotions have cooled down and you can think clearly again. Repeat: Keep writing your story. No matter how scathing or detailed the review is, if the reviewer encourages you to keep writing or at least says nothing about giving up, then keep writing. Even if he does tell you that you should give up, you probably should keep writing unless you have absolutely no more interest in the story yourself. I know how tempting it is to give up on a story, especially when you hit writer's block or you get the detailed review I have been talking about. I have yet to write a story where I didn't hit a wall, where I didn't think "Why am I writing this?", where I didn't want to give up and do something else. Except under rare, unusual circumstances, don't listen to those thoughts. No matter how persuasive they might sound, tell them to shut the heck up and then get back to writing. Starting a new story will not somehow make you a better writer. In fact, I will admit that I am wary of writers who have a large collection of unfinished works. It tells me that they are probably not good writers for the sole reason that they have never finished even one story (talking about epics and chaptered comedies here, not short stories). Their library of incomplete stories tells me that there is no reason to follow this writer, for he will never finish anything. They will never improve because they are afraid of failure. What incomplete works they have are generally of low quality and never get the chance to shine because the writer gave up. This is not to say that taking breaks from your story is bad. Sometimes, you need to take a day or two away from your work or even work on something else for a while to help you understand the story better. Thing is, though, you aren't giving up. You're taking a break or working on another story to give you perspective. It's up to you to decide when to return to the story and finish it, but I recommend to get back to it as soon as possible so you don't forget about it. Nor is this a slam against stories that have no ending. I wil admit, however, that I generally don't follow stories that never end because they usually get bland, repetitive, or too convoluted to follow after a while. I might drop in every now and then to see what's going on, but don't expect me to be a devoted reader of such a neverending story. Once you finish your current story, feel free to start your new one right away. It might actually be better than the last story now, since you have finished at least one story and so have an idea of what you are capable of. It doesn't mean you're perfect. It means that, if you can keep this up, you have the potential to become a great writer someday. I think I've gone on a bit of a tangent here, so let me reiterate my main points: -No matter how many problems the reviewer points out in his review, do not give up. Take what you can from the review and apply it to whatever your current writing ability is -Do not start a new story with the illogical thought process that it will somehow magically be "better" than your old story. Chances are it will have the same problems as the old story or, in all likelihood, be even worse -Taking breaks is fine, but get back to your story as soon as possible -Your current story may not be a very good story, but neither you nor your readers will ever know for sure unless you finish it This is a problem I've seen on BZP far too often. It just saddens me that so many writers with bright imaginations and a sincere desire to write give up because of one negative review. That's all. -TNTOS-
  9. 'Sup, everybody! Just wanted y'all to know that I have, as of today, entered the Library Summer Olympics. You can read my entry, Dimension Cookies, here. Yes, it is based on Dimension Hoppers and yes, I did try to write Isarot's POV similar to how he was in DiH, but whether I succeed or not depends on what y'all think. IMO I'm not too happy with it, but go and see it for yourself to come up with your own opinion. -TNTOS-
  10. So there it goes, and here I am with no reporter, lurking a topic in General Discussion, nervously scrolling down the page in a topic just coming awake to an early evening rush of bronies and Homestuck trolls... With a HUGE blog post just outside the door so full of filtered websites that I'm afraid to even look at it! But I can't abandon the thing. The only hope, is to somehow get it across three hundred miles of open road between here and Sanctuary. But sweet GregF, I am TIRED, I'm scared, I'm crazy. This culture has beaten me down. What the Karz am I doing out here? This is not even the story I was supposed to be working on. My agent warned me against it! All signs were negative-especially that evil forum assistant with the pink telephone in the Library. I should have stayed there... Anything but this. 92% of teens have moved onto rap. If you are part of the 8% that still listen to real music, copy and paste this into your signature. NO! Who put that in their sig? Did I actually see that blasted thing in the sig area just now? At 3:28 on this filthy grey afternoon in "The Future of BZPower? No! That was only in my brain some long-lost echo of a painful dawn in the Lego messageboards. . . A long time ago, half mad in another world... but no different. HELP! How many more nights and weird mornings can this terrible life go on? How long can the body and the brain tolerate this Doom-struck craziness? This regurgitation of memes, this circular discussion, this advertisement for the latest comic. And now... that IS in that guy's sig! Yes, no doubt about it, and why not? A very popular sentiment, "92% of teens have moved onto rap. If you are part of the 8% that still listen to real music, copy and paste this into your signature." BOOM! Flashing paranoia. What kind of rat-mother psychotic would say that-right now, at this moment? Has somebody followed me here? Does the global moderator know who I am? Can she see me behind these mirrors? All mods are treacherous but this one is a newly-wed early-twenties geek girl wearing a pony shirt and Ironboy overalls, probably Janus' woman? GregF above, bad waves of paranoia, madness, fear, and loathing. Intolerable vibrations in this place. GET OUT, FLEE! And finally it occurs to me, some final flash of lunatic shrewdness, before the darkness closes in that my next blog entry isn't posted until 6:00. Which gives me at least two hours of legitimate high-speed driving to get out of this nightmarish topic before I become a fugitive in the eyes of the moderator team. Wonderful luck. By the time the alarm goes off, I can be running full bore somewhere between COT and Forum Games-Jamming the accelerator through the floorboard and shaking my fist up at Black Six swooping down on me in his BZP/Lego Ambassador helicopter. "YOU CAN RUN, BUT YOU CAN'T HIDE." Get out, B6... That wisdom cuts both ways! As far as you and the mint people know, I'm still up there in Defendant Lobby no. 42 - legally and spiritually if not in the actual flesh, with a DO NOT DISTURB sign hung out to ward off disturbances. The blog assistants won't come near that room as long as that sign is on the doorknob. My reporter saw to that, along with 600 reviews that I still have to deliver to Epics. What will the moderator team make of that? This great blog post, full of reviews. All completely legal. The blog assistants gave us those reviews, they'll swear to it, or will they? Of course not. Those treacherous blog assistants will swear they were menaced by two heavily armed crazies who threatened them with a orange transparent chainsaw unless they gave up all their reviews. Greg creeping Farshtey, is there a forum leader in this thread? I want to confess, I'm a bricked-up sinner! Venal, mortal, carnal, major, minor- however you want to call it, Gatanui, I'm guilty! But do me this one last favor, just give me five more high speed hours before you bring the hammer down; just let me get rid of this twice-blasted post, and off of this subforum. Which is not really a lot to ask Gatanui, because the final incredible truth is that I am NOT GUILTY! All I did was take your gibberish seriously and you see where it got me? My primitive Premier Member instincts have made me into a criminal. Creeping through the comedies at six in the morning with a suitcase full of twice-told jokes and "Sherlock" T-shirts, I remember telling myself over and over again, "You are not guilty." This is merely a necessary expedient, to avoid a nasty scene. After all I made no binding agreements. This is an institutional debt, nothing personal. This whole blasted nightmare is the fault of that stinking irresponsible story serial. Some fool in S&T did this to me, it was his idea Gatanui, Not mine! And now look at me, half crazy with fear typing 120 WPM across GD in some post I never even wanted. You psychotic gemini, this is your work! You had better take care of me Gatanui, because if you don't, you're going to have me on your hands!
  11. All things considered? Today? Pretty cool. First off, it was my first pay day at Microsoft. Corporate policy and social etiquette prohibit me from saying how much I made, but I can provide a visual analogy for you to draw your own conclusions from. Second, speaking of Microsoft, work went pretty well. Things are getting done, commitments are getting sent off, the whole nine NDA'd yards. Couldn't ask for a much better summer job. Third, I've started to put together some ideas for a trip this summer to go see the studio Swert works at. Any other BZPers in the area interested in joining in and making a day of it, shoot me a message! Fourth, an idea for an epic I had in the back of my mind got much more solidified with the sudden presentation of a good villain. Good lord, does that make things easier. Finally, Prometheus. On the biggest IMAX screen in Seattle. For six bucks. Bless corporate discounts.
  12. As a writer, I'm always seeking to improve. I try to make each story I write better than the last. Sometimes I get lazy, unfortunately, but overall I seek to become the best writer I possibly can, which means doing my best at every level and listening to the criticisms that readers give me. However, being a good writer also means recognizing one's limits. It means knowing what one can and cannot write at their current level and a good sense of when to try something new, something you never thought you could do but now have more confidence to do. I have come to that point in my writing career where I realize that there are certain things I cannot handle, at least at this point in my writing level. Let me introduce you to Terra Apocalypse, my NaNoWriMo novel that I hope(d) to one day expand into a trilogy. It's an immense tale, exploring what would happen to a planet facing, well, the apocalypse. It would have dealt with religious extremism, whole countries going to war, racism, and various other neat things that interest me like that. The next two books in the trilogy would have dealt with even grander things, such as the origin of life and the idea of God. Add in complex, well-rounded characters, interesting plot twists at every turn, and cool sci-fi settings and it sounds like an idea that cannot fail. I even wrote two whole drafts of TA, plus half of the third one. I did a lot of research and even read the entire Book of Revelation from beginning to end in one sitting several times to get me in the mindset necessary to write such a story of epic proportions. I told myself, "This is it. This is going to be my crowning work. When this is all over, I'm going to get it published and everyone will want to read it and it will get a crudy movie adaptation that the true fans will hate." And yet, despite my world-building notes and desire to write this story, it never came out quite right. Drafts One and Two are, to be blunt, crud, while I gave up Draft Three and renamed it Draft Two Point Five because I couldn't finish it. I soon came face-to-face with the problem of writing a novel about the apocalypse, set on a world that wasn't Earth or anywhere else I'd previously written in. I had to deal with a lot of plot absurdities and try to justify certain character choices that, at face value, made no sense whatsoever and required far too much explanation to make sense. At first, I thought it was really only the beginning of the story that needed work. I mean, the book opens with a royal marriage; how boring is that? Or, at least, it wasn't as interesting as it could have been, in my opinion, so I came up with a complication that never made it into any of the drafts but could have added some interest to the scene (having bandits crash the party and kidnap the bride and groom as part of a complicated political plot on the groom's brother's part). Yet it still felt wrong whenever I tried to write Draft Three. Even bandits kidnapping royalty didn't seem quite as interesting when I began to seriously ask myself how a group of rough, uncivilized bandits could break into a royal wedding that was rife with bodyguards and security of all kinds. Even if they were hired by someone attending the wedding who had a realistic motive for getting the bride and groom out of the picture, the idea still seemed too illogical and sensational, however 'exciting' it might have been. It was then that I had an epiphany. I realized that, however good a writer I may be, I am simply not at the point in my writing career where it was possible for me to write a tale as big and epic as Terra Apocalypse. Looking at my fanfics, I realize that I never have written a story spanning whole planets before. I mean, Dimension Hoppers come close, but even then, I only covered the parts of each dimension the protagonists visited that were important, such as a city or a ship. I didn't cover the entire dimension. I should have realized this earlier. I had attempted to write a story like TA before, which some of you might remember me talking about in the past. It was called Two Worlds, which I gave up on because it was simply too big for me as a writer at the time. I mean, I was dealing with two worlds (as the title subtly suggests), which is definitely bigger than anything I'd dealt with previously. Even coming up with hundreds of pages of world-building didn't help; in fact, I suspect the immense world-building is what turned me off TW in the first place. So, for now, at least, I've put aside Terra Apocalypse. I've begun work on a new original novel, currently titled The Nameless(referring to a character, not the book itself), which is thus far smaller in scope than TA or TW, but that's fine with me. I have zero world-building notes on TN, but that's also fine with me. It gives me the freedom to make up whatever I need and then figure out how it all comes together later, which is generally how I work. Now that doesn't mean I will never go back to TA or even TW. Some day, I might return to those projects, particularly TA because I stil love the idea of using apocalyptic imagery in a world populated by robots, golems, and mandrakes. It's just that, as a writer, I am not quite ready for a story as big or epic as TA. I should stick with what I am better at, which is stories set in one, not terribly large location, with little of the surrounding world fleshed out. That's kind of what The Nameless is like, which is why I like it so much and why I think it has a better chance of making it to the final stages of editing than TA or TW ever had. My piece of advice for other writers out there, then, is to know your limits. If you're a new writer, you might not know what you can and cannot do, so I suggest experimenting. Or if you're dealing with a story that seems to be going nowhere, you might just need to drop it for now because you might not be good enough to do the story justice. Just don't think of it as a failure or look at yourself as a failure. Both TA and TW have taught me my limits as a writer, which means there will likely be less unfinished manuscripts sitting on my laptop's hard drive now because I know what stories I can and cannot do. Perhaps this story you're working on will teach you the same thing or another important lesson that you as a writer need to learn in order to improve. -TNTOS-
  13. Just for my own peace of mind, I've been wanting to reboot my character's entire continuity to clear my head of all the tangents and alternate universes. There's too much stuff that shouldn't exist in Kakaru's personal canon and I want to set the story straight and establish a firm base for any future stories/rpgs. I want to establish origin, homeland, and backstory, something I've screwed over with all my absurd epics and stories over the years. (Mind you that I almost never posted them, but they're floating around my head nonetheless.) For this reason it will probably be a rather spontaneous, lighthearted event with far too casual a tone to make for any good reading. You've been warned: I'm writing this for myself, though I'll still put in an effort to make it enjoyable and accessible for anyone interested. oh I need a new banner to commemorate the occasion brb
  14. In her flat in southeast London, Mrs. Havenson put the kettle on for tea and started cleaning. She was very particular about the tea; the stove was dialed to just the right heat, the bottle-green kettle was carefully selected and filled just full enough. She hummed to herself as she worked; the sun shone through her windows, illuminating a few old papers resting upon the kitchen table, which she scooped into a bin to dispose of later. Her shoes, wide-toed and comfortable for a woman of her age, padded softly along the hardwood floor. Turning to the sitting room, she passed by the hook where her wide-brimmed sunhat was hanging and absently placed the bin down below it. The room was simple and uncluttered. A small floral-print sofa sat across from a table and television which carried a layer of dust; atop a short bookshelf sat a radio which had seen far more use. Still humming to herself, she went to turn it on and frowned upon discovering it was out of juice. She'd have to have Jenny fix that. A gentle breeze passed through a window on the far side of the room, ruffling the curtains on either side of it. Her old Bible lay atop the table; she made a mental note to put it away somewhere out of sight. Jenny hated it when they talked religion. From a vase in the corner of the room, she plucked a gray feather duster and busied herself, taking extra care with a gold-framed photo on the bookshelf; Jim's face smiled out at her from it, unburdened by the pain it had worn in his final years. In the kitchen, the phone rang. She tutted to herself, grabbing the Bible as she went. Placing it upon the table where the telephone lay, she picked up the receiver. “Yes, hello?” “Mom?” She smiled. “Well, hello, my dear! Why call your mother when you'll be here so soon? Not that I mind.” “Mum, are you all right? Oh, God, I've been trying to get through for days, but it's impossible to drive anywhere and the trains are all stopped and – oh, God, Mum, why didn't you pick up the phone?” Mrs. Havenson frowned. “Now, Jenny, you know about using the Lord's name in vain.” “Mum, this isn't the time – Mum, what do you mean I'm going to be there soon?” She tutted once more. “Thursday afternoon, 2 o'clock. I may be getting old, young lady, but I can remember when my daughter stops by every week.” On the other end of the line, there was a choking sound. “Mum, that's -” Silence for a moment. Mrs. Havenson frowned once more. “Jenny, is something the matter? Are you going to be late today?” A strangled, half-laugh came through the line. “That's... yeah, Mum, that's it. I'm going to be a little late.” “Well, why didn't you just say so? I don't see what all the fuss is about.” “Nothing, Mum, it's nothing.” On the other end, someone shouted. “Listen, Mum. I have to go, but I love you so, so much, all right?” The kettle whistled. “Well, I love you too, dear, but the kettle's boiling. I'll see you later this afternoon, then.” The line went dead. Still tutting to herself, Mrs. Havenson pulled out the drawer of the table and put the Bible in, rattling the still-full bottle of pills near the back. Then she picked up the kettle and poured herself a cup of hot water. Though I wound up being way busier than I expected during this contest, I did manage to get at least this COT entry in. I might make a topic for the three Bionicle fics, but this'll probably just stay in the blog, so comments are appreciated.
  15. “Great Spirit” Planetary Evaluation and Reconstruction Program Excerpted Changelog (17/15/3332 – 19/16/3332 [Most Recent Change]) 17/15/3332: “Tohunga” AI System Updated (User #15A7, improved recognition of internal environmental failures) 17/15/3332: “Toa” AI System Updated (User #15A7, improved recognition of internal environmental failures) 17/15/3332: “Rahi” AI System Updated (User #15A7, improved recognition of internal environmental failures) 17/20/3332: Core AI System Updated (User #15A7, increased oceanic environmental evaluation efficiency) 17/20/3332: Core AI System Updated (User #15A7, improved trans-planetary path mapping and obstacle avoidance) 17/33/3332: Core AI System Updated (User #15A7, added “Makuta” self-protection subroutine) 17/33/3332: Core AI System Updated (User #15A7, improved recognition of internal damage) 17/41/3332: “Tohunga” AI System Updated (User #15A7, adjusted core priorities to increase importance of protecting core AI modules) 17/41/3332: “Toa” AI System Updated (User #15A7, adjusted core priorities to increase importance of protecting core AI modules) 17/41/3332: “Tohunga” AI System Updated (User #15A7, adjusted core priorities to increase ability to co-operate with Toa units) 17/41/3332: “Toa” AI System Updated (User #15A7, adjusted core priorities to increase importance of protecting Tohunga units) 18/3/3332: Core AI System Updated (User #15A7, adjusted core priorities to improve internal homeostasis by making small changes to protect Tohunga and Toa units from damage) 18/7/3332: “Tohunga” AI System Updated (User #15A7, decreased limitations on self-learning) 18/7/3332: “Toa” AI System Updated (User #15A7, decreased limitations on self-learning) 18/7/3332: Core AI System Updated (User #15A7, decreased limitations on self-learning) 18/18/3332: All AI Systems Updated (User #15A7, “Three Virtues” priority adjustment subroutine implemented) 18/18/3332: All AI Systems Updated (User #15A7, decreased limitations on AI actions during periods where no specific task is being undertaken) 18/18/3332: All AI Systems Updated (User #15A7, relaxed assumptions on operating environment) 18/23/3332: All AI Systems Updated (User #15A7, increased ability for AI systems to identify other units and adjust behavior depending on past interactions with specific units) 18/33/3332: All AI Systems Updated (User #1B99, changes by user #15A7 reverted) 18/40/3332: Core AI System Updated (User #1B99, adjusted core priorities to focus on gathering material for final reconstruction) 18/40/3332: Core AI System Updated (User #1B99, added additional methods of termination) 18/40/3332: “Tohunga” AI System Updated (User #1B99, adjusted core priorities to reduce downtime between finishing one task and starting another) 18/40/3332: “Toa” AI System Updated (User #1B99, adjusted core priorities to prioritize structural preservation over Tohunga unit preservation) 19/2/3332: All AI Systems Updated (User #1B99, increased reliability of post-reconstruction standby mode) 19/15/3332: All AI Systems Updated (User #1B99, final reliability adjustments in preparation for launch) 19/16/3332: All AI Systems Updated (User #1B99, reverted changes by user #1B99, note: secondary user verification not provided) 19/16/3332: All AI Systems Updated (User #1B99, restored changes by user #15A7, note: secondary user verification not provided) 19/16/3332: “Tohunga” Subunit #0001 Updated (User #1B99, updated subunit ID to “Takua”, note: secondary user verification not provided) 19/16/3332: System locked in preparation for launch (User #1B99, note: secondary user verification not provided) guess who just started at Microsoft
  16. The reformation of a planet is not a pretty thing. It may seem simple to onlookers; a bit of mask magic here, a giant robot there, a few shiny lights, and presto: one Spherus Magna, made to order. Breathtaking vistas and awe-inspiring oceans available at no additional cost. But a planet has enough going on beneath the surface when it’s had millions of years to settle down; one that’s just been clobbered together by sheer force of will is going to be doing some heavy lifting behind the scenes to make sure said breathtaking vistas don’t collapse under their own weight, possibly into the awe-inspiring oceans. Which was why Onua, Toa Nuva of Earth, had taken it upon himself to launch a one-Toa surveying expedition of the caves beneath what would, all going well, one day be New Atero. It took someone for whom life belowground was more natural than life above it to ensure there were no unpleasant geological surprises waiting beneath the surface. “Listen, Onua, I know you can dark-see and all, but have you ever though it might not be a bad idea to bring something a little brighter than a torch? Maybe Tahu or something?” It was slightly unfortunate that Lewa, Toa Nuva of Air and Onua’s closest friend, had insisted on coming along for the ride. Onua continued moving forward. “I did warn you, brother. There is nothing as dark as an unexplored cavern, and there is nothing more foolhardy than burdening yourself with extra gear. If there is a cave-in, you must be able to move as quickly as possible,” he said in the voice of someone who knows that any opportunity to say ‘I told you so’ will be accompanied by a swift and painful death. “I would advise you to turn back, except that you refused the first three times and we are now far too deep for you to find your way back.” Lewa snorted. “Oh, have a little faith, Onua. I’m a better path-finder than you think.” “Perhaps in the jungle, brother. But I’d rather not add another count to the number of times I’ve had to rescue you.” Before Lewa could respond, Onua halted and ran his hand against the walls of the tunnel they were in. He frowned and gestured to Lewa to come forward; the two advanced cautiously. Onua’s hand shot out in front of Lewa, stopping him a step away from the edge of the underground canyon they now stood at. “Underground river,” he murmured. “We can’t continue any further this way; we’ll have to search for a tunnel around.” “Anything across from us?” Onua squinted into the darkness. “There are openings on the far wall, but I can’t see any natural bridges. As I said, we’ll have to find another way across.” Beside him, he heard Lewa stepping back from the edge. Onua turned to follow, at which point the Toa of Air smashed into him at high speed, grabbing him in his arms, and sailed over the edge, whooping happily, his Miru Nuva glowing. Onua hung crazily from his friend, head tilted down just enough to see the massive drop beneath them. They landed with a crash in one of the openings on the canyon’s wall. Still chuckling, Lewa stood and offered Onua his hand, who took it with a sigh. “I suppose if I tell you that was borderline suicidal, it’ll only make you happier you did it?”, he asked wearily. Lewa’s grin would be visible even if Onua wasn’t used to the dark. “A little faith, Onua. We Le-Korans swear by it.” In my mind, Lewa and Onua are total bros, even if the former occasionally tests the latter's near-infinite patience. Fun fact: this really was a "flash fic" for me, because I didn't find out the prompt until about two hours before it was due. It was enjoyable to write, though. Comments are appreciated as always.
  17. At times, Turaga Vakama dreamt of stars. He dreamt of space completely unbounded, of planets and galaxies and universes stretching out beyond comprehension, packed with stories and struggles and losses and victories and life and danger. And then he would open his eyes and see the walls of his hut in New Atero, the torch in the corner of the room flickering and casting shadows across the wall. At times he would lift himself from where he slept, take his staff, and hobble out into the streets of their city, a hodgepodge of half-finished buildings, and walk for a while. Matoran and Toa greeted him warmly. Agori and Glatorian greeted him cordially - but that was good enough. Once he was startled to find an old friend on a walk of her own, staff in one hand, tablet in another, heading back from a long night at the school, and together they walked and spoke of days gone by and days yet to come. She never asked him if he still had visions, and so he never told her of his stars. Another time he came upon the Toa he'd almost come to think of as family, and the two of them walked and he listened to his son describe the struggles he still faced in uniting the Agori and Matoran. And his son never asked him if he still had visions, and so he never told him that his stars were getting smaller, that at night he no longer saw galaxies or universes, only a single planet, and he never told him that he feared that perhaps the planet was theirs. But another time he stumbled upon two Toa he'd known well even as Matoran, and simply smiled and shook his head as the former Ga-Matoran insisted that she'd just been getting some dirt off her companion's mask, which was as red and unblemished as ever. And the three walked and he offered a few old tales to them, because that was what was expected. And they never asked him if he still had visions, and so he never told them that yes, he did, but it was alright. That night he bade them farewell and returned to his hut, leaned his staff against the small forge he kept, and laid himself down to rest. And he dreamt of a planet so far away, of its cities that put Metru Nui to shame and of heroes and villains, and when Turaga Vakama awoke he smiled, because it had nothing at all to do with any of them. Oops I accidentally a Harlan Ellison reference in the title. In all seriousness, I think I'll post each of my entries in this contest here on the blog as well. It'll be a lot easier to keep track of them, and if anyone has any critiques/comments (always welcome) they can just leave them here.
  18. The Overlord and Grand Quillmaster of the Library, or Velox as he is more commonly known, has opened up a very cool contest: 12 short stories, 2 weeks, 400-600 words max, alternating Bionicle and COT. Flash fiction can be very fun, and writing under a word limit can be as well (contrary to what college applications lead you to believe), so I'm taking this opportunity to advertise what I'm sure is going to be a blast. That said, given my schedule for the next two weeks, I probably won't be able to enter a good deal of these (though I'm willing to bet I'd run out of creative juice even if did, so I guess it's a wash). But that's the fun part! No need to worry about entering all of them; if one catches your fancy, throw caution to the wind and go do it. Hopefully my complete lack of anything resembling charisma hasn't completely turned you off entering. Seriously though, go do it. I promise it'll be awesome.
  19. In the interest of full disclosure, this isn't really a story so much as a scene from a very long, involved story I'll probably never write. And it's only really 90% Mass Effect. Swoosh. Ding. “Welcome, councilor. Please select your destination.” “Citadel Embassies.” “One moment, please…” Rumble. Jane Myers waited for the sound of the elevator whooshing up the side of the Citadel to fill her ears before passing the datapad she held over to the man standing next to her. Councilor Donnel Udina was not a poor man; Jane had little doubt that he could afford a top-of-the-line personal synthetic assistant if he desired, but she’d learned that humanity’s galactic representative could be very… particular. No synthetic assistants. Same outfit for him, every day. Same outfit for Jane, every day. Matters not directly related to council politics to be redirected to C-Sec, no exceptions. Pre-council meeting briefings to be organized ahead of time and provided to him on the elevator ride up. She’d gotten used to it; the sound of the little metal box being pulled up at tens of kilometers an hour had become her own personal start-of-the-race pistol bang. “Two major priorities for today’s meeting, sir. The first is Shepard. The second is the new diplomatic envoy.” She’d long since realized that this little briefing rarely if ever actually provided Udina with new information; it was just a way for him to organize it. Toss out the details; if he didn’t know them already, they weren’t important. Make it as tiny as possible. He remained staring at the elevator doors. “Is that the agreed-upon order of discussion?” “Yes, sir.” Jane had never not said the day’s items out of order, and Udina had never not asked her if she had. She occasionally toyed with answering no just to see his reaction, but she honestly doubted it would be worth the effort. Donnel Udina could be a very boring man when he wanted to be. “Admiral Anderson intends to represent Shepard today, is that correct?” “Yes, sir.” She didn’t envy the admiral; a lot of people out there wanted Shepard’s blood, and it was going to take a lot of convincing to get the Council to turn the commander over to the Alliance. Not that she doubted Anderson would; she’d seen the man cut through an impressive amount of political red tape in the past (even if his preferred term for ‘red tape’ was a little less polite). “Very well. The diplomatic envoy, how many representatives are there?” “Four, sir. Though today only the ambassador is scheduled to come before the Council.” Udina frowned. “I was informed there were three members in the envoy.” Jane answered automatically. “That was the arrangement, sir. It would seem an additional member of the species stowed away on the asari escort ship. It was deemed more convenient to leave him in the care of his fellows than to reverse course.” The councilman snorted. Jane remained impassive; she knew Udina well enough to guess what his opinion on diplomatic envoys that took on stowaways was. She caught a glimpse of herself in the reflective surface of the elevator door and cursed silently; she could see on the left side of her head a tangle in her otherwise perfectly pulled back and knotted brunette hair. If she’d been out on the town she wouldn’t have given a cuss, but she knew from experience Udina was the kind of man to notice something like that. Apparently the image of one strolling through the embassy hallways with incredible political purpose was entirely ruined if your PA’s hair was a little disheveled. It was bad enough that he made her wear a two-piece black business suit that looked like it had been borrowed from some museum’s 2000s New York exhibit; she guessed that somewhere in the back of his mind he imagined it made him look like a power broker to have his PA dressed like an advertising exec. He, of course, wore standard business attire for the Citadel; that way, if anyone didn’t buy into his little game, she’d be the weirdo in the room. “Who is escorting the ambassador?” Jane kept her voice neutral. “Dr. Khia T’seh, sir. I’m given to understand she has a strong relationship with the race, having been one of the members of the team that made first contact.” If Udina was asking about the ambassador’s escort, that meant he already knew who it was. And if he knew one of the escorts – “And the remaining members of the envoy? Are they running loose on the Citadel during this meeting? She could see where this was going. “No, sir. I believe they are being accompanied by an Asari-approved human journalist by the name of Alexa Tanner.” “Is that so.” A pause. “And which publication does Ms. Tanner work for?” Jane remained staring forward. “Outlook, sir. The weekly e-magazine.” “And that magazine is managed by…?” Jane suppressed a sigh. “Jake Myers, sir. My brother.” “Is that so.” Another pause. “Miss Myers, I hope you have impressed upon your brother and his 'journalistic' crew the delicacy of welcoming a new civilization to Citadel space? Particularly one with such unusual qualities.” “I’m afraid I don’t speak with him often, sir.” The councilor frowned slightly. “Then may I suggest a brief family reunion? And tell him that the human government would consider it a favor if he treated this situation with the delicacy it deserves. This is politics, not gossip.” The councilor’s favorite phrase hung unspoken in the air between them. “I’ll be sure to pass that along, sir.” Ding. Swoosh. “Welcome to: Citadel Embassies…” “Thank you, Admiral. You are dismissed. The Council will consider the matter in due course.” Jane sat back in her seat in the upper level of the Council’s chambers and rubbed her eyes. Anderson had done a fine job of arguing that Shepard should be in Alliance hands, she had to admit; their being the first ones to arrest the Commander was doing wonders for their case. She watched her boss quietly consult with the other councilors ahead of the next order of business. The turian councilor had been surprisingly silent throughout the hearing, but the salarian and asari representatives had spent more than their fair share of time bickering with her boss – who, unsurprisingly, supported Shepard being handed over to the Alliance and tried on Earth. She stifled a yawn. Five years as a desk jockey in the galaxy’s highest office had done a lot to desensitize her to politics. Sure, Shepard had done some crazy stuff, but the Commander hadn’t even been allowed to appear before the Council. So instead she’d gotten to listen to the same sort of bureaucratic wrangling as usual – thrilling. Below her, the councilors finished talking amongst themselves and returned to facing the speaker’s podium. The asari councilor pressed something on her podium to signal the next speaker to enter. Jane sat forward. This could be something interesting for a change – a new intelligent species making its first appearance before the council. Not many people knew this meeting was even happening today; her brother’s magazine (she still hadn't the faintest how he'd gotten this exclusive) had a gag order until after the Council put out a formal statement later today. And as for the race itself… She’d been briefed, but it was a tough pill to swallow. Perhaps there’d been some miscommunication, or maybe Tony over in Bailey’s office thought it’d be a laugh to mess with her incoming messages. Her thoughts were interrupted as the ambassador entered and approached the podium. Jane was vaguely aware of the salarian councilor formally announcing the next order of business, but somehow that information failed to make any headway in her brain. The ambassador’s feet clunked against the ground, alien black metal against grey pavement, propelled by steel legs encased in silver armor. His arms and chest were of similar construction, an almost organic, muscular quality to the dark plating and piping that comprised him. Atop his face sat a jet-black mask, with a broad, spiky forehead. Through its eyeholes shone two green orbs, almost impossibly green, and it was here that the fact made its way into Jane’s frontal cortex that no, Tony over in Bailey’s office wasn’t jerking her around. Beneath her, Udina and the salarian and turian councilors shuffled uncomfortably as the asari councilor nodded to the ambassador, apparently unfazed. “Please state your name and business with the Council.” The ambassador’s voice rumbled. “Onua, Toa Nuva of Earth. I stand before you today as the ambassador of Spherus Magna.” In her seat above, Jane let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. All right, I cheated a bit there by not saying it was a Bionicle crossover. I do apologize for that. This is basically just a scene from a Bionicle/ME epic that, frankly speaking, I'm probably not ever going to get around to writing. Still, I'm trying to keep up with the League of Authors' write-something-every-day, so I decided to give this a spin. It ain't much, but it was fun to write, especially given that Jane never existed in any of my original planning (though her brother, Alexa, and Khia did.) This also probably hasn't been edited as much as it should have been. Comments always appreciated!
  20. Again, I'm trying to find a project I can throw myself into. Should I... Write an epic (on what?) Co-write an epic (with whom?) Write a series of short stories (on what?) Write a comedy (why?) Write a blog serial (what is this i don't even) Start drawing again (holy bieber seriously?) Any suggestions/questions/comments/snide remarks?
  21. GSR

    Ssc9 Entry Stuff

    So, it's done and up. Go and read it before you read on; I'll wait. So! A character piece. Huh. Quite different from the last two things I've written. Anyways, I've always liked Onua as a character, even though he had one of the more neutral personalities of the original six. If I'm not mistaken in the early early materials he was supposed to have been the eldest of the group, and even though that idea was of course dropped he still feels that way in my mind. I particularly enjoyed finding out that he was the one to pull the trigger on the Bohrok destroying the island in the end; it fit with my image of him being the nice guy who has enough of a handle on things to realize occasionally you do have to make tough choices. He also seems the kind to be likely to help people help themselves - he certainly did for Lewa. It was natural, then, that I try and see how he'd get along with one of the more impulsive, reckless Glatorian. I've always liked Kiina's character; she reminds me a little bit of a Doctor Who companion, itching to get out and see the universe even if she knows she's got duties she can't leave. (I'm apparently not alone on this; a friend once wrote part of a fic where the Eleventh Doctor had a run-in with her. Quite good, really; it actually helped plant the idea for this fic. Then he never finished it, the scoundrel. I think he just likes to watch me squirm.) When I did finally get around to reading what 2009-2010 media could be acquired online, I was also struck by how much she cared for Mata Nui, and particularly her statement near the end of Journey's End that it was "too soon". So I decided to write a bit of character piece about that - because I'm not sure I'd buy her taking Mata Nui's big dramatic "I must go now" particularly well. After all, she seemed pretty impressed with what he could do, but I can't imagine she was a big believer in the 'destiny' thing. Which brings me to the undercurrent of the story I found myself writing quite by accident. Raise your hand if you were at all reminded by the fic of the reaction to Bionicle's end and future, because I was about as subtle as a brick with it (though I am the guy who wrote the thing, so maybe I'm not qualified to say that). When I started writing this thing I hadn't meant to put that sort of idea in there; it was just that as I planned it I realized that if I did think Kiina was ticked off over things ending like this, there were a few parallels to some reactions to the line's end. Hence things wound up getting a little bit meta during her chat at the end; in particular, I feel like the bit about her being there if he ever comes back but it not being the same probably dovetails with quite a few people's thoughts of Bionicle - even if it does come back, it may very well be different, and even if it isn't, one may not feel the same connection to it that one once did. Probably not, really. Anyways, I'm getting too long-winded here. Just wanted to write out some thoughts on the piece without clogging up the topic. One last thing: I also wrote this as a prelude to a possible future fic in which Onua and Kiina would be primary characters. Whether or not that ever gets written is very much up in the air, because it would be quite a bit more ambitious than anything I've written thus far. Okay, one last one last thing. I came really close to calling the story "The Girl Who Waited". I wasn't kidding about the Doctor Who thing.
  22. Draft of my SSC9 entry is done; hopefully I'll have time to give it some polish tomorrow and/or Sunday. I could try and revise now, but I've found it always helps to wait a day or two between draft and revision. It's rather different from the previous two fics I've put up; for one thing, it actually follows the perspective of just one character. Imagine that! Still needs a title, though; I always wind up doing those late. In other news, logging plenty of time into Mass Effect 3, though I'm going fairly slowly through the single-player. I'm enjoying it a lot, though there are a few issues I have with the game (coughcoughthatjournalsystemcoughcough). And, of course, schoolwork is schoolwork. Still waiting for more details on the Microsoft internship (I start in June). Regrettably, no further inspiration (all right, no further BZP-rules-friendly inspiration) has struck with regards to Kate Beaton edits. Fear not! Someday my muse will return.
  23. GSR

    On Crossovers

    I like crossovers. There, I said it. It's a statement that doesn't really reflect well on my personal taste - after all, when most people hear "crossover", their brain translates it to either "cashgrab" or "unspeakably bad fanfiction" depending on the context. (Note: if the context is comics, "continuity nightmare" is also acceptable.) There's not really much I can do to argue against that - for proof of the former, direct yourself to any number of nonsensical promotional crossovers (recent example: Kingdoms of Amalur/Mass Effect), and for the latter you need only look at the great fanfiction site which shall not be named (whose crossover section, it must be said, makes for an excellent time with friends - the goal is to make everyone else scream in agony and horror before you do.) But I like them anyways. Perhaps it's that I like the potential more than the common execution - when you crossover things, you're opening up a whole bevy of interactions and moments that would have been impossible had the series remained separate. If the settings are disparate enough, things can get really interesting - plenty of people joke about Doctor Who and Sherlock sharing an episode (in fact, the concept is common enough that it now goes by "Wholock"), but really, if you stop and think about it, what would that really do to the great detective? Sherlock Holmes is a man of reason, and an incredibly brilliant one at that. If the Doctor came sauntering into his life, I doubt it would take very long for him to detect something amiss about the man with the funny bow tie - and when the truth came out, what then? Oh, true, the Doctor's world still operates on some semblance of logic, but it's a logic that wholly overthrows that of contemporary Earth. We've seen Sherlock work himself to the bone to prove his view of the world is still accurate in "The Hounds of Baskerville", but faced with irrefutable evidence that his world is merely a shade of a galaxy of monsters and miracles, could he adapt? That is the kind of idea that makes me grin, the kind of thing I like to prod with a stick and see how it reacts. Crossovers have so much inherent potential for challenge in them, and challenge drives characters to grow and change and, if you want to be Doylist about it, be entertaining to the readers. This isn't to say crossovers should be all dark, all the time, their only purpose to make a mockery of the characters - on the contrary, we expect characters to flourish in the new settings and make them their own. A few weeks back I wrote a little gag post where, through circumstances unexplained, the Toa Nuva had joined Commander Shepard aboard the Normandy. Sure, you could launch into a diatribe about the morality and acceptability of biomechanical life in a universe threatened by God-machines called the Reapers, but that's no good if you can't also have Joker throw out his one-liner assessments of the Commander's new allies. After all, half the fun of crossovers is, well, that basic appeal of "I like thing A, and I like thing B, so let's try thing A+B and see what happens." Of course, that's a task easier said than done. Crossovers are by their nature a balancing act; include too much of thing A and not enough of thing B, and you get people wondering why even bother to make a crossover at all when you could sub in some original characters and just go ahead and make a new story about thing A. Some degree of self-control is also required; it's very easy to say, "well, we've got thing A+B here now, so let's give thing A+B+C+D a shot!" (Case in point: I above mentioned "Wholock". I now mention its brother "Superwholock" and its cousin "Superwholock-Potter", which I will leave for you to research on your own time.) Some authors try to dodge the problem by avoiding specific characters or explicit crossovers - I'm given to understand that the now-legendary My Little Pony/Fallout crossover fic Fallout Equestria in fact makes no attempt to crossover the two worlds, but rather combines them into a post-apocalyptic wasteland where ponies struggle to survive, the canon characters making no appearances. This can be a valid method, and indeed avoids some of the problems outlined above; the largest concern I have with this approach is that you run the risk of causing the reader to ask, "why not just make this an original story?" if you create too much from whole cloth. (As an aside, I here would like to mention one other type of troublesome crossover: the setting of A with the characters of B, who possibly have assumed the personalities but not the names or appearances of the characters of A. Please avoid this.) In short, then, the crossover is problematic yet fascinating. Done well, it can challenge each of the sources in ways otherwise impossible; done poorly, it causes the reader to ask what the point of the whole thing even is. Perhaps more than other fanwork, it lends itself to quick-and-dirty creations; if we take "A and B have now crossed over" as a given, that alone gives us enough quick material to entertain. But if we put in the effort, there is potential beyond the quick joke; there is the possibility that we can create something with just the right balance of old and new. Anyways, the point is I'm actually partway done planning a fairly serious Mass Effect/Bionicle epic to be written after ME3 comes out and will be making a blog post about that sometime in the near future. But before that, I wanted to type out my thoughts on the genre as a whole and get some discussion from others.
  24. Shepard: What do you think about the people we're picking up? Joker: Well, about the ones you went out with last... Now, I didn't pay much attention in Sunday school, but I'm pretty sure they said something about watching out for guys who can shoot fire from their hands. Just putting that out there. Gali's great, but are we sure Tali hasn't got a long-lost sister or something? 'Cause I mean with the mask and the name and the switching between "nice" and "unholy terror", I'm seeing a resemblance. Lewa's got this nice Pollyanna thing going, you know? I'm giving it two days before Jack decks him. Just so we're clear, Toa can't have kids, right? 'Cause if Kopaka and Miranda hooked up I'm pretty sure the result would be able to actually scorn a man to death. I kind of get this urge to sing "Hi ho" whenever Onua's around, but I don't think he'd appreciate it. Pohatu's a nice guy, but I can't shake the feeling one of these days he's just going to run straight through the side of the hull. My only problem with Takanuva is that all the jokes about a seven-foot-tall guy made of gold write themselves. what am I doing with my life
  25. TNTOS

    Dialogue Tags

    Mata Nui and Kiina sat down to eat breakfast at a restaurant. A waiter Agori came up to them and asked them what they wanted. Mata Nui said he'd take the deep fried ice cream sandwich, while Kiina wanted chocolate cabbage. While they waited for their food to be done, Mata Nui said to Kiina, "So, how's life been treating you?" "Pretty good," said Kiina. "How about you?" It was just then that the waiter returned with their food, placing it on their table for them to eat. "Why do we always come here?" "I thought you said you liked this place's food." "I do, but it gets a bit boring eating the same things every time we come here, you know?" "You're the one who suggested we come here in the first place." "Well, I'm sorry, but I thought you wanted to come here." "You could have just asked me if I wanted to come, you know, rather than just assuming I did." "But you always get so upset whenever I ask you anything, so I just assumed you wouldn't mind if we went here." "I do not get upset whenever you ask me something." "What's your favorite color?" "That's not important to this discussion!" "See, you got angry when I asked you something. I'm right." "Just shut up." "You shut up." "No, you shut up." "When I tell you to shut up-" "Mata Nui!" Mata Nui broke out of his reverie and shook his head. He looked at Kiina and said, "Huh? What?" "You didn't answer my question," said Kiina. Mata Nui glanced at the arguing couple he had been listening to, then turned back to Kiina and asked, "What question?" Kiina sighed. "I asked how you've been doing. Weren't you paying attention?" "I was paying attention, yeah, but not to you," said Mata Nui with a shrug. Kiina sighed again, but said nothing as she ate her chocolate cabbage. Mata Nui and Kiina finished their food and left, Mata Nui still zoned out as they exited the restaurant. - This was just a little joke I've had in my head for a while. It's a good example of why writers should be careful when choosing to omit dialogue tags for several lines of dialogue, otherwise you could easily confuse the readers about who is talking and who isn't. Technically, I could have posted this in Comedies (it is 359 words, according to Microsoft Word), but I think it works better as a blog entry than as a comedy topic. It's more of a lesson in bad writing than a true comedy, IMO. -TNTOS-
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