***The Official OcUK Writers Thread***
- Thread starter Vidar
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Soldato
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Or the iceberg contains Hitler? They collide with it, but don't sink; they simply shatter it -- releasing the Fuhrer.
Then a Nazi submarine arrives and the Titanic is boarded, leading to a massive fight for survival against the invading SS horde. Meanwhile, the Nazis work to thaw Hitler out -- but when they do, something about him has changed...
Associate
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I'm an aspiring writer going into my third year of a literature degree, strangely though I've not picked up any creative writing modules mainly because they were half modules and I didn't care for the supplicant modules that went along with taking those, but I digress.
Like Vidar I'd like some tips on my writing style. This is my first written piece since writing a piece of Homeric-esq survival-horror for A-level so it's pretty bad I know. My main problem is the repetition in my narrative writing style. I seem to be doing 'he though, he moved, he saw..' a very singular perspective I don't know how to get out of. Any tips please, I'm not looking to publish this, I just thought up a quick short story idea about a rock rising out that allows a Dickensian 'Pip' boy character a portal to the Moon a sort of mock Wonderland were he can escape the harsh realities of his life.
A strange coloured rock looked to be rising out of the grass, like a tooth, slowly piercing out of the earth beneath him. He was sure it was not there a moment ago as he walked by. It was only when he looked back he saw it glinting at him in the afternoon sun. Nobody came this way he was sure, it was his secret shortcut through the forest to avoid being spotted crossing the bridge to get home, so nobody could have left it here, or dug it up he thought. Slowly walking over to this new feature of his path, hidden behind a tall tree, could the roots be digging it up? He stood still to try and judge how far it rose before him, as if he was watching clouds drifting on a boring day. The mound didn’t seem to move at all and there were no roots that he could see around it.
Its surface had strange patterns, seemingly natural but also unnatural with any rock he had ever seen. It was rough, bumpy and full of small and even smaller holes, as if someone had taken very fine tools to etch some sort of pictures into it. But it made no sense, it was all random, as if insects had been living in the rock and made it their house, like they do with the dirt.
The colour was unlike anything he had seen, it was white, no... pale, a chalky-grey that seemed very old. As he moved closer it turned to a darker, ash grey, the colour of a worm when all of the pink has left it. He had seen this colour before. It was the colour of old bones, bones that had been in the ground for a long time. His house, a blacksmith workshop was next a graveyard and robbers would often dig up old graves to try and find any scraps of jewellery that could be sold. They’d fling the bones out of the grave trying to find any shining bits of metal under the night sky. He was sure there were more bones above ground than below when he walked past one day before the robbers were caught. They used to come back to the same graveyard week after week until they were caught. Stupid... As punishment they were buried alive in the grave they were digging. He could hear them crying and whimpering in his bed while the guards were shovelling the dirt on top of them. “Please I beg ye... me family starves... I’ve no work... who will look after them...”
“Here” said one of the guards and picked a dirty gold ring from the skeleton they’d dug up. “S’pose y’can swap that where ya goin’ for some bread ta send to ye family...that is when they meet ya there... ”
“No! Please I beg...” The guard kicked the one speaking in the face and he fell flat on his back, they all laughed as they quickly collapsed the mountain of dirt on top of both robbers in the grave.
Like Vidar I'd like some tips on my writing style. This is my first written piece since writing a piece of Homeric-esq survival-horror for A-level so it's pretty bad I know. My main problem is the repetition in my narrative writing style. I seem to be doing 'he though, he moved, he saw..' a very singular perspective I don't know how to get out of. Any tips please, I'm not looking to publish this, I just thought up a quick short story idea about a rock rising out that allows a Dickensian 'Pip' boy character a portal to the Moon a sort of mock Wonderland were he can escape the harsh realities of his life.
A strange coloured rock looked to be rising out of the grass, like a tooth, slowly piercing out of the earth beneath him. He was sure it was not there a moment ago as he walked by. It was only when he looked back he saw it glinting at him in the afternoon sun. Nobody came this way he was sure, it was his secret shortcut through the forest to avoid being spotted crossing the bridge to get home, so nobody could have left it here, or dug it up he thought. Slowly walking over to this new feature of his path, hidden behind a tall tree, could the roots be digging it up? He stood still to try and judge how far it rose before him, as if he was watching clouds drifting on a boring day. The mound didn’t seem to move at all and there were no roots that he could see around it.
Its surface had strange patterns, seemingly natural but also unnatural with any rock he had ever seen. It was rough, bumpy and full of small and even smaller holes, as if someone had taken very fine tools to etch some sort of pictures into it. But it made no sense, it was all random, as if insects had been living in the rock and made it their house, like they do with the dirt.
The colour was unlike anything he had seen, it was white, no... pale, a chalky-grey that seemed very old. As he moved closer it turned to a darker, ash grey, the colour of a worm when all of the pink has left it. He had seen this colour before. It was the colour of old bones, bones that had been in the ground for a long time. His house, a blacksmith workshop was next a graveyard and robbers would often dig up old graves to try and find any scraps of jewellery that could be sold. They’d fling the bones out of the grave trying to find any shining bits of metal under the night sky. He was sure there were more bones above ground than below when he walked past one day before the robbers were caught. They used to come back to the same graveyard week after week until they were caught. Stupid... As punishment they were buried alive in the grave they were digging. He could hear them crying and whimpering in his bed while the guards were shovelling the dirt on top of them. “Please I beg ye... me family starves... I’ve no work... who will look after them...”
“Here” said one of the guards and picked a dirty gold ring from the skeleton they’d dug up. “S’pose y’can swap that where ya goin’ for some bread ta send to ye family...that is when they meet ya there... ”
“No! Please I beg...” The guard kicked the one speaking in the face and he fell flat on his back, they all laughed as they quickly collapsed the mountain of dirt on top of both robbers in the grave.
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wha?
Associate
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The colour of a dead Earthworm.
Soldato
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It better be a giant robotic Hitler. With an army of sexy Nazi ladies.
Soldato
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Strange this thread has been created because I've got more free time in the evenings lately (and will continue to do so in the future when I move in with my girlfriend rather than living in a shared house) and would love to turn one or two of my dreams into short stories or longer.
Thing is I've never written before and barely read, although my general writing ability is good as I used to do some corporate/creative copywriting and still do for my own personal needs.
The Kindle Direct Publishing sounds very interesting.
Must add that although I've never written and barely read, I do have an ok understand of basic story and narrative concepts after studying film; protagonists, inciting incident, how to structure a narrative etc.
Thing is I've never written before and barely read, although my general writing ability is good as I used to do some corporate/creative copywriting and still do for my own personal needs.
The Kindle Direct Publishing sounds very interesting.
Must add that although I've never written and barely read, I do have an ok understand of basic story and narrative concepts after studying film; protagonists, inciting incident, how to structure a narrative etc.
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Soldato
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There's actually a rather gleefully nuts film released recently that'll scratch that itch for you! Nazis at the Center of the Earth, released over here as Bloodstorm on DVD.
You are most welcome! My book is called Eerie Britain, you can find it on Amazon. Second one out soon.
Soldato
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That film looks like it has less plot than my books*
* Not true: My books have a complex, subtle plot that takes three volumes to explain the backstory.
You tried to write a survival horror in dactylic hexameter? That sounds truly avant-garde.
I'm a writer, I write news stories and copy full time for my wage and then I write scripts in my spare time.
Had my first performed at the BBC in December (I made a thread on here about it) and I've just had feedback from another script I wrote back from BAFTA.
Writing is a need for me, a lot of the time it doesn't even matter what (although my job doesn't count). Last week I was on the brink of a panic attack and I wrote about 200 words and felt better immediately.
I need to redraft a radio play I've written this week and then that goes off to the BBC, hopefully I'll get a commission out of it.
I've seen threads like this on here before and almost everyone writes fantasy or sci-fi which I think is ridiculously limiting in terms of your audience as well as what you can put into it.
Someone said earlier that they're writing something semi-autobiographical, everything should be semi-autobiographical, you should pour yourself on the page.
Sometimes I'll write things that no one will ever see on purpose purely for my own therapeutic reasons, the rest of the time it'll be comedy or drama and almost always in script form.
I love writing.
Had my first performed at the BBC in December (I made a thread on here about it) and I've just had feedback from another script I wrote back from BAFTA.
Writing is a need for me, a lot of the time it doesn't even matter what (although my job doesn't count). Last week I was on the brink of a panic attack and I wrote about 200 words and felt better immediately.
I need to redraft a radio play I've written this week and then that goes off to the BBC, hopefully I'll get a commission out of it.
I've seen threads like this on here before and almost everyone writes fantasy or sci-fi which I think is ridiculously limiting in terms of your audience as well as what you can put into it.
Someone said earlier that they're writing something semi-autobiographical, everything should be semi-autobiographical, you should pour yourself on the page.
Sometimes I'll write things that no one will ever see on purpose purely for my own therapeutic reasons, the rest of the time it'll be comedy or drama and almost always in script form.
I love writing.
Which one? Think I've sent you more than one haven't I?