Print

Please login or register.
1 Hour 1 Day 1 Week 1 Month Forever
Login with username, password and session length

[Fishbreath]

Quick heads-up/plug: today is official release day for my novella (which means previews are now up at your retailer of choice). I'm doing a choose your own adventure story through the day as part of the release day festivities, if that interests you.

Here's the first entry of the choose your own adventure story:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Emma Foster pushed open the door to Inconstant's briefing room and breezed inside. She was late. This was not unusual. It always took the skipper ten minutes to get through the pointless reasoning behind any given mission and come to the details she cared about.
   Nathaniel Cannon stood at the lectern at the front of the room, droning on about something or another. He broke off and watched her take her seat. "Good of you to join us," he said.
   "Are we to the interesting part yet?" Emma replied, playing up her typical Australian twang. The crew snickered. Worryingly, it seemed to her to be at her expense, rather than Cannon's.
   "Just about," the captain said. Emma scowled. Cannon met it with a grin. "I figured we'd go over patrol schedules while we waited for you. Someone will catch you up later. On to today's business." He pointed at the easel next to him. "This is the Schneider Trophy, awarded to the winner of an annual race for seaplanes. No doubt you've read about it in the papers—this year's running is in two weeks. Ugly as it is, the great powers think it has some prestige to it, so competition is fierce. The Brits won the last two runnings, in '27 and '29. If they take the win this year, they take the trophy for good—three times in five years seals it. Our employer is a Frenchman and an air racer by the name of Guillaume Le Vot, and he doesn't want to see that happen.
   "The way he figures it, the French can compete starting next year, once SPAD gets its latest design together. This year, the Italians have a winner ready, but old Benito doesn't want the expense of running it, and won't give it up. Le Vot wants the Italian machine for himself." Cannon flipped the page on the easel. "This is that machine: the Aeronautica Macchi M.C. 71."
   Emma leaned closer. The Macchi bird had great lines: a massive engine compartment at the front, taking up more than half of the plane's length, swelled smoothly into a streamlined cockpit, then faded back into a rakishly-angled tail. Its wings had an almost British sweep to them, a straight leading edge to a rounded tip, then an angled trailing edge which blended back into the fuselage. Its floats were the only strike against it, big ugly things hanging from the underside on thick bracing.
   Cannon proceeded. "Right now, she's hangared at Trapani-Chinisia, at the western tip of Sicily. No trigger men beyond what you'd expect at a sleepy little Regia Aeronautica field. Le Vot will cut us in on the purse, half-and-half, if we steal it for him."
   "How big's the purse?" someone asked.
   "Forty thousand pounds," Cannon said. Emma whistled. That was some serious cabbage. Fuel to Europe and back wouldn't cost more than a few hundred pounds, and if they played their cards right, the rest would be pure profit.
   "Any other questions? All right." Cannon returned to the lectern. "Le Vot has heard that Macchi's getting ready to move the plane back to the factory, up by the Swiss border in Varese. We'll have to move soon."

[Pencil_Art]

Thanks, guys.

[BlackHeartKabal]

Spoiler: Just a setting from thoughts that I want to start to continue later, but I need to practice to reach perfection. (click to show/hide)

I awoke from rest I couldn't remember taking, my eyes too heavy to open, my head twitching and spasming back as a force drove up my spine, expanding and filling me from the inside, tendrils of a lively energy blooming from the spark tunneling through me, invading every bone, vein, and artery it grew to touch, creating senses and life within the rest of me, a body I somehow previously couldn't feel. A new mind, a new body, a new birth that finished with a lance of forceful electricity boring inti my mind, forcing my eyes open to savor nothing but a white expanse, one color tearing across the world. I tilted my head up with newfound strength and saw nothing but pure white, no sun to punish me for attempting to gaze at it's radiance, no sun to reward me with warmth. One sound, rhythmic breathing that ceased as I noticed it, an automatic function thag ceded direct control to my consciousness, my will directing my lungs to draw in a refreshing,  frosty wind, despite the fact that there should be no source of air in this void. One mind that culled questions as quickly as they popped up, one will to let me stop and finally ask myself "Where am I?"

I was alone, as pathetic as an abandoned child, except I didn't simply cry and plead, begging in desperation for a parent. Where were they? Who were they? Did I know anyone, did I know anything? Was there any thought, any memory beyond awakening in this field of white? Certainty of a new life, but with what sustenance, what point beyond an eventual end as the energy that willed me to rise inevitably began to wane? There couldn't simply be nothing but a life destined to expire in this field of white, so I finally began to rise, to find answers, to find reasons, to find meaning.

[Cthulufaic]

Holy shit this thread died.  Uhh, considering that this thread seems super helpful(and not at all because I'm writing a story and I want feedback definitely not at all) I'm gonna bump this back up.  Besides, I've been meaning to practice my necromancy.
I'm not trying to be selfish or inconsiderate or whatever, but considering BlackHeartKabal's post is several months ago I'm going to assume he got it sorted out since then.

...so uhh, I kinda want feedback on this thing I'm starting to write, its only ~400 words

Spoiler: no title as of yet (click to show/hide)

     “Next in line, please.”  The obsessively tidy elf said to me from behind the counter.  My blood pumped with an intense beat as I had to bury my anxiety and approach him.  “Name and place of residence, please.”  He droned on, oblivious to my worries.  “M-my name is Kira Westwind, and I live in Gheldid, uh, sir.”  “Which branch are you signing up for, the arcane, martial, logistical, or tactical corps?”  “The martial corps, sir.”  I said with more confidence, knowing that I couldn’t turn back now.  “Mmhmm…” he mutters, shuffling paperwork around before stamping one and handing it to me along with a fine quill.  “Please read and fill out this form and hand it back to me before the end of the day.”  Nodding my head, I head to the waiting lounge to sit down and look over most important form I’ve ever filled out.  The Sunsword Military is one of the most prestigious and powerful organizations in the world, but that doesn’t stop them from constantly needing new recruits as well as money.  As well as hiring out their members to protect caravans and research expeditions, there is a 100 gold paperwork fee for signing up for any part of the organization.  It’s pocket change, sure, but it adds up.  The form is just a simple contract, letting me know that after I sign on the dotted line it’s solely my responsibility should I get injured during training.  I quietly sigh as I read the amount I’ll be paid during my time as a fresh recruit; it was depressingly low, but I shouldn’t have expected much.  After filling in my age, height and weight, along with an estimate of my physical strength, I head back to the desk and passed the form and five 20 gold coins to the bureaucrat.  He scans the paper for a second, checking if I crossed my T’s and dotted my I’s, before filing it away in a drawer under his desk.  “You should receive information on whether you were accepted or not within the week,” he says, “good day.”  Feeling like a weight has been lifted from my chest, I quickly turn around, my ponytail whipping around and almost hitting me in the face, and start heading towards the doorway with a lightness in my step.  Before reaching the door I glimpse the bureaucrat pulling a small paperback book from underneath his desk and opening to around the middle.  He almost seemed to be chuckling, a rare occurrence for paper-pushers I’m sure, but I found that my feet had carried me outside the building before I could react.

[GiglameshDespair]

OK, for the basics:
Start each person's dialogue on a new line. This is pretty important. Just having all your text.
Also, you change from past to present tense. That needs to fixed. All the stuff highlighted is past, after that it's in present.

Also, dialogue has it's own subset for punctuation rules: http://theeditorsblog.net/2010/12/08/punctuation-in-dialogue/
You have a few mistakes in that regard. I've not fixed them below.

...so uhh, I kinda want feedback on this thing I'm starting to write, its only ~400 words

Spoiler: no title as of yet (click to show/hide)

     “Next in line, please.”  The obsessively tidy elf said to me from behind the counter. 
My blood pumped with an intense beat as I had to bury my anxiety and approach him. 
    “Name and place of residence, please.”  He droned on, oblivious to my worries. 
    “M-my name is Kira Westwind, and I live in Gheldid, uh, sir.” 
    “Which branch are you signing up for, the arcane, martial, logistical, or tactical corps?” 
    “The martial corps, sir.”  I said with more confidence, knowing that I couldn’t turn back now.
     “Mmhmm…” he mutters, shuffling paperwork around before stamping one and handing it to me along with a fine quill.  “Please read and fill out this form and hand it back to me before the end of the day.” 
    Nodding my head, I head to the waiting lounge to sit down and look over most important form I’ve ever filled out.  The Sunsword Military is one of the most prestigious and powerful organizations in the world, but that doesn’t stop them from constantly needing new recruits as well as money.  As well as hiring out their members to protect caravans and research expeditions, there is a 100 gold paperwork fee for signing up for any part of the organization.  It’s pocket change, sure, but it adds up.  The form is just a simple contract, letting me know that after I sign on the dotted line it’s solely my responsibility should I get injured during training.  I quietly sigh as I read the amount I’ll be paid during my time as a fresh recruit; it was depressingly low, but I shouldn’t have expected much.  After filling in my age, height and weight, along with an estimate of my physical strength, I head back to the desk and passed the form and five 20 gold coins to the bureaucrat.  He scans the paper for a second, checking if I crossed my T’s and dotted my I’s, before filing it away in a drawer under his desk. 
    “You should receive information on whether you were accepted or not within the week,” he says, “good day.”
    Feeling like a weight has been lifted from my chest, I quickly turn around, my ponytail whipping around and almost hitting me in the face, and start heading towards the doorway with a lightness in my step.  Before reaching the door I glimpse the bureaucrat pulling a small paperback book from underneath his desk and opening to around the middle.  He almost seemed to be chuckling, a rare occurrence for paper-pushers I’m sure, but I found that my feet had carried me outside the building before I could react.

[Insanegame27]

Also, formatting and indent. Granted that indent is hard on the forums, formatting rules apply.

[Cthulufaic]

OK, for the basics:
Start each person's dialogue on a new line. This is pretty important. Just having all your text.
Also, you change from past to present tense. That needs to fixed. All the stuff highlighted is past, after that it's in present.

Also, dialogue has it's own subset for punctuation rules: http://theeditorsblog.net/2010/12/08/punctuation-in-dialogue/
You have a few mistakes in that regard. I've not fixed them below.

-snip-

Ah, thanks!  Yeah having each person's words be on a different line makes it much easier to read.

[MorleyDev]

Another attempt at a weird writing style.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

I write to you not as one who scorns or pities. I write, because I love. And through my love, I must fear. This is not a love letter, but a warning. A warning that cannot arrive in time to prevent the tragedy, but might provide respite to those living in the doomed times.

The era is now two hundred and eleven years after the chasm crossing. The ash skies have cleared enough for the second harvest to commence, and with luck we will preserve. Hunting spirits still roam these lands, and a few trees are beginning again to whisper their secret ideas to us. So long as we raise our chains and hold back the enemy tribes, we may see yet three more harvests before we must make deeper plans.

Your time is a great one, though you may not feel it. The ways are still not mapped by the common man, and the conquering kings have yet to walk them all. We are those who lived to see the walking, and the running, and a stirring that still could not awaken the Godhead. And we will be those who see the end of this journey. The next strata eludes us yet, but we preserve. Do not mourn for us, we will be free. We celebrate.

I do not know if this message will be heeded. It may have already been, and that may be what permits you to persist. The dreamscape of our Godhead follows it’s own rules, as does yours. They are kin to your dreamhood, and it was but a touch with darkness that allowed me to enact the somniloquy necessary to pass this message on to you.

It will begin when the traitor rises his forces and shares his essence with them, becoming not one but the many who seek to walk the ways. I cannot share all the ways with you, as each dream has its own peculiarities to be observed. I will share some ways with you. Know that they will walk them in reverse; unspin the web, abandoning the pure selflessness granted by the acceptance of the all-knowing plethora of the multiple-faced one who dances at the centre. Their goal is to reclaim the higher life through a thrice-cursed and seven-damned awakening. Eventually they will abandon their private holds and keeps, and be struck dumb and blind before their altars.

They will call the seven failed gods from across the chasm that was once leapt, and in doing so they will be consumed. Stones of the aether sea will bring absolution, and the heavens will fracture with fire and blood. On this day, all will come to know the ways, and many will despair and fall into a sacrificial quiet. This must be, unless the Godhead should awaken from the turmoil.

Do not fear this, flee it as best you can. Prepare to embrace the future. When the sea of souls finally cracks, our twin skies we will meet and I will hold you as a brother in arms. For now I must mourn you as a father does his fallen son.

Remember the words: The Godhead is a lesson in transcendence.

The idea I'm trying to work towards is:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

It's a letter from an alternative reality, building on the "reality is all a dream of a single being" idea. In their reality, an organisation tried to wake up the dreamer. They summoned the highest seven aspects of the dreamer in an attempt to do this, but it didn't work, and an asteroid impact ultimately enacted nuclear winter. However, it did cause everyone in that reality to become spiritually aware of the nature of reality, but since most of humanity was wiped out there simply weren't enough individual souls aware of the nature of reality to cause their dream to end (which was their plan). The writer of the letter was able to find a way to cause his godhead to basically do the god equivalent of talking in his sleep, allowing him to pass the message on to our reality. Eventually even the Godhead will die, and their essence will remerge with the Godhead of the dream they came from.

The warning is that our realities are similar enough that a similar group is most likely planning to do the same thing here. The writer believes we can't fight this, but should instead prepare for it best we can without leaving too many alive to wake the godhead.

[Fishbreath]

My ebook (see link a few posts above) is on sale this week for 99 cents, which is kinda fun.

Much more fun is that I'm wrapping up work on the first story I plan to sell to a magazine. It's a piece of Lovecraftian horror which answers the question every software engineer has asked at one point or another: is this code so bad it could summon an elder god?

[TD1]

Congratulations on the ebook!

As an aside, could any of you writing types tell me how you come up with ideas for writing? I can write well enough, but actually getting a story together seems beyond me....

[GiglameshDespair]

I'm just naturally creative, git gud scrub

I have two main methods, myself.

 I'll have an idea, and expand on it.  That idea can be pretty much anything - a sentence (Her veins pulsed like molten metal.) which I then build on, on just an idea. How about a setting where the world was literally a goddess, and she died and broke into pieces? What about ghosts being invisible and dangerous, so most of the world is overrun with spirits you need special goggles to see? What about fantasy races in a ww1 era setting, and how they'd be affected by developments in technology?

Alternatively, take an establish idea and try to flip it around. Human infiltrators in a society of robots. A man tries to break a sword of legend.

Generally once I have the seed idea I'll write an action scene. As that develops it grants me more ideas about the protagonists and antagonists. The weapons they use. The locations they're in, and then I build from that into a larger setting, and once that's all established it's more suitable for writing a story in.
Or I just wing it. Does something sound cool? Bung it in.

And then, generally, I abandon it and move on to the next idea

[TD1]

Ha, that's something similar to my approach

My problem comes when I try to conceive of it as a book-length story with a more detailed plot.

[GiglameshDespair]

Have you tried something like nanowrimo?
Just sit down and write.
It doesn't matter if it's a steaming pile of shit; just force yourself to write.

Dunno, really, there's a few different routes I could suggest.
Have the skeleton of the main plot, flesh out the major scenes, and then fill in the gaps, so to speak.

Just write and see what happens, throwing in whatever comes to mind.

Try different methods. Writing a book isn't easy, so maybe start with short stories and build up? Your first book doesn't have to be Lord of the Rings, after all.

[Insanegame27]

I'm just naturally creative, git gud scrub

I have two main methods, myself.

 I'll have an idea, and expand on it.  That idea can be pretty much anything - a sentence (Her veins pulsed like molten metal.) which I then build on, on just an idea. How about a setting where the world was literally a goddess, and she died and broke into pieces? What about ghosts being invisible and dangerous, so most of the world is overrun with spirits you need special goggles to see? What about fantasy races in a ww1 era setting, and how they'd be affected by developments in technology?

Alternatively, take an establish idea and try to flip it around. Human infiltrators in a society of robots. A man tries to break a sword of legend.

Generally once I have the seed idea I'll write an action scene. As that develops it grants me more ideas about the protagonists and antagonists. The weapons they use. The locations they're in, and then I build from that into a larger setting, and once that's all established it's more suitable for writing a story in.
Or I just wing it. Does something sound cool? Bung it in.

And then, generally, I abandon it and move on to the next idea

That is... identical to how I start my stories.

[Sebastian2203]

Not sure if this is the right thread for it.

But I am making a text adventure game.

And here is a lore I spent 8 hours on.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1xl-Na5haoFAjyurgXEKCfN8bT18KqqXA7Htivk1fnuM/edit?usp=sharing