WRITING IS FUN

Hello, creative writers of the world!
Have you got the same problem as me?
Isn't it a bummer that publishers don't value your work
for what it is?
Well, maybe there is a solution: just like in the late seventies, do it
yourself! O.K., I won't say that this item can take the place of the
bookshelves in your favorite bookstore... but it is a way to check whether
readers like you or not.

So, put in your short stories, a restriction that's necessary, and 
discuss writing as it is.

Rick.

27 responses total.

I can't wait to see what's going to happen. It can't be only me,
can it?

I'd post something I wrote, but it's way too long.  I've written four
"scenes" for my Creative Writing class this fall, and each of them are
between 10 and 20 pages long, double spaced and typed.  My professor 
says I have the potential to write a novel.  Now, if I could only 
convince my parents that my taking narrative writing next fall will not
be a waste.  *sigh*  My parents don't take my writing seriously.  Of 
course, that's not nearly as bad as my prof's dad, who when she got
published and gave him a copy of her short stories, he lent it out to
a friend to read before reading it himself.  She was NOT happy.

Hmmmm....actually, I was suggesting entering an Item for each new *work*.
Then that work, and just that work, can be discussed in that Item (until
it drifts into, say, the weather...). But, there are no rules here, so
CREATIVE WRITERS - CREATE!

Sorry Rane, I just realized that after starting this item.
But this is neat as well.
Isn't it bad that so many writers are undervalued for
what they do?

Kim nods in agreement with Rick.
My parents never took my writing seriously.  I'd be downstairs taping 
away at the keyboard creating stories, and they'd yell at me to go do 
my homework or study for a test next week.  *sigh*
I'm so glad I'm in college now.
And I'm so glad I've found people who DO take my work seriously.

Hmmm, that's more credit than I ever got. <not true>.
Friends must not read your stuff, they can never be honest in
reviewing your work.

Damn!
Well, since the d*** computer won't let me just copy and paste from microsoft
word (lines get too long) I'll have to type my story in later

Try copying and pasting into an editor started from here.

Is that possible?

Yup. 

Do it in small chunks though, or the editor may choke.

Another way is to save the wordprocessor document as an ascii text
file and upload it using a transfer protocol such as kermit, xmodem,
or zmodem.

But we don't want this item to get too techie; want it to be
creative instead.  So I'll enter a poem that I made up in the
last two nanoseconds:

        I think that I shall never spy
        A poem lovely as an I-
           tem.

how do I use xmodem?

THat's what I would like to know too.
Typing is fun.
I've made up a X-mas story.

Actually, wannit, some friends can be honest... I know.

At any rate, they're only opinions.  I love my babies just because they're
my babies.

MY shortest current story is round about 23 pages right now, a bit too long
for the Grex crowd, I fear.  But anyone who wants a copy of my long
out-of-print novel should track me down and grab a copy... I have 
hundreds, and they all want good homes.  Promise to read it and you can
have it free.  :)  

xmodem attempt #1
                        daniel b velleman


He was 17.  He rolled the thought around in his head, and 
reached for the snooze button.  It took him a few minutes to 
realize it.  He was 17.  He was 17.  17 years old.
Which meant he could drive.  RAs soon as you pass driverUs ed,S they had said. 
 RAs soon as we think your readyS   RWhen we get a new car.S   Well, he was
through driverUs ed, they thought he was ready,
  and they were getting a new car.  Never mind that their old
 car was clunky, and falling apart.  Never mind that they 
would have his head if he wrecked it.  He was 17.

By the end of the week, he had his new car, his parentUs old
 car.  The first thing he did was install a new sound system
.  Well, the first thing he did was drive across the 
neighborUs lawn, but once he got down the driveway 
successfully, he got a new sound system with a tape player
 that worked and decent speakers and a high price tag.  And,
 after learning how not to back into the neighborUs lawn, he
 was ready to roll.
That weekend, a few of his friends and he rode in his car
 down to the carnival for a day of fun.  The three of them
 stopped at the fortune-tellers booth,  and pretended that
 the old lady in the gypsy costume really could see into the
 future.  His friends got the six of diamonds--unhappy 
romance--and the two of hearts--good fortune.  He got the Ace
 of spades.  Death.  
None of them belived a word of it, of course, and they joked 
about it on their way home.  And after he dropped his friend 
off, he set off, alone, for a drive in the country.

He didnUt see the truck.  It didnUt have itUs lights on, as 
it roared on through the night, and he didnUt see it until it 
was too late.  He screamed, it swerved, and he crashed into
 itUs side, and he flew forward as it tossed his car to the
 side.  His windsheild shattered, and he smashed into the
 dashboard, and heard a click as he struck the tape player,
 and he flew backwards, as his car acellerated towards the
 truck.  He ricoched backwards off itUs side, his windsheild
 rushing back together.  His car backed away from the truck,
 and a scream flew back through his open lips.  He looked
 down at the tape deck--the rewind button was pressed.  He
 looked at his watch--midnight.

As soon as he got over the initial shock, he was very
 excited.  Nothing bad could ever happen to him--if it did,
 he would just rewind.  If he ran out of money, he could
 rewind until before he had spent it.  As long as...  
As long as he never went before last week, before he got the
 car, or after midnight, he would be safe.  But that meant he
 could only keep on reliving the past week over and over. He
 would take that over death any day, though.  And so, he
 spent the next few weeks going to the carnival with his
 friends, eating too much candy, and drawing the ace of
 spades in the old gypsyUs booth, over and over and over.
For a while it was fun, spending every day with his pals.
  And he discovered that he didnUt have to do things the same
 way the second time around.  He could do anything that he
 wanted!  And then it happened.  After all of the weeks of
 fun, he lost track of the time.
It happened late one night.  He was driving along the same
 country road he had driven along every night since the
 crash.  He looked down at his watch; the second hand
 staggered drunkenly across the face.  He looked at the clock
 on his dashboard.  00:00               00:00       00:00       it
 blinked at him.  Calm down he said to himself.  YouUll
 recognize the spot where it happened, and rewind there.
  ItUs ok.  He didnUt belive a word he was saying.
He never saw the truck.
They both swerved, this time, and skidded towards each other.
  The back of the truck swung around, and flicked his car
 sideways, as he flew forwards and struck the dashboard.
  There was a click, and everything stopped.
Time passed.
He just hung in midair, with the side of his arm against the
 stop button.  He had stopped.  He was stopped for good.  The
 police found him that way, hanging in the air, with his face
 staring, unseeing, at the ground.


Meanwhile, the carnival prepared to close up.  The Rold gypsy
 womanS removed her costume, and walked to the parking lot,
 casually shuffling her cards.  Once in her car, she casually
 drew a card--the ace of spades.  She laughed, as she turned
 the key in the ignition, and drove off into the night.




Those capital R's and U's before and after words are quotes, the U's and S's
are apostophes

Wow!  Not bad. Reminds me of the sort of thing one might see in Omni magazine.
Looked far too conventional, if well done, until you got to the bit about
the tape deck.  Nice divice.  Good style for you.

Good show, ole' chum.
This is what this item is about!
More?
Rick.

Y thank U!

Much obliged (since Penniwyse and me are the same person)

Writers, join Agora 1 (Autumn conf.).
I have contributed a genuine Christmas carol to it.
Though it is RE # 581.

By the way, folks.
Is there someone that speaks two lingos?
My translating into English isn't a thing I can do just
like that.
<from Dutch, that is>

I speak Spanish, but not well enough to write poetry.

Since it is the purpose that I should keep things going on, here
is a proposition:
I am fully aware that there is difficulty in sending complete
stories to Grex. In fact, a friend had done for me once.
So, maybe I could keep this item rolling by suggesting that
I'll be somekind of referee. I'll ask him how he has done it
(it can be read in Autumn Agora 1 (somewhere around 571 or so))
after that I'll write somekind of manual here.

Chin up and be proud of your creative drive!

Merry christmas

...and a happy new year...

Does anyone have any suggestions how to write *short* stories?
Everything I write goes on forever and I don't really know
how to make it shorter.  It's long enough that I feel bad
asking others to read it.

there's a couple important things you should look out for.
*does the idea merit the length? if it is a big idea, the length may be
appropriate *there are two kinds of "short stories" one is by definiton just a
story that's small, the other tends to be a gragment of the larger fragment
that is story, where the larger story is never told. the fragment is told for
emotional impact and to teach a lesson, as opposed to telling a good story as
the other kind of short story or a novel would. *when i first wanted to write
short stories i tried tot hink of something small to write about, relly small.
a fragment, a moment, one incident. *taking a class that studies short stories
in school can also be helpful (it's helped me)

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