forum Virtual Creative Writing Club, anyone?

Started July 06, 2019 by @ninja_violinist

tune

you know, you're not wrong lmao. I might try reworking it for laugh, instead of smile?

lmao. yeah that might work a bit better!

please excuse the bad quality, my ugly mug and the noise but. I did promise so

@crocs ! That was…
AMAZERFULTASTIC!!!!

fjfhd thank you!

OH MY GOD
DUDE
SAGE
WHAT
THAT WAS SO AMAZING
I WOULD BE GIVING YOU SO MANY SNAPS RN IF I COULD
LIKE BRUH
YOURE SO GOOD WHAT THE HECK

it was so bad but thank you???? I'm glad you liked it! once everything returns to normal, imma keep trying for things like this, and I'll make sure you guys get to see the videos

Once again, allow me to point out the obvious: @crocs is an absolute legend, fabulous host, and generally an all-around wonderful human being.

I hope everyone's ok! I've made it back home in one piece for now and am aggressively self-isolating - this may not be a good time in general but it could be a good time for actually getting some writing done?

anyway, on to the feedback for this week:

@Dances_with_Shadows-is-tired you know, nine times out of ten I get irritated when reading about relationship drama conversations, either because it seems overdramatic or out of place or just a bit too much. And I guess this was the other one out of ten, because I really enjoyed reading this! It gives a super good look into existing character dynamics, it flows really well, and the dialogue is just. It's fabulous. It strikes that perfect balance between "super serious conversation" and "I can still crack jokes about it", so the discussions themselves feel realistic without being overbearing.
One thing I'd look into again if you feel like it is the narration in the first bit. It's generally really well done, excellent characterisation, but sometimes it feels like you switch between a limited third person and an omniscient third person? For example,

He didn't even notice the woman walking into the kitchen with him, nor did he see her jump up onto the counter behind him and follow his frantic back and forth path with her eyes.

feels more distant, since it's specifically telling us info that the POV character doesn't yet have access to. But later, during the conversation, you go out of your way to show that it's specifically from his perspective - eg "He watched as she propped her chin on her knee" which implies a more limited narration.
idk where I'm going with this to be honest, it's not a huge deal by any means, but there is an opportunity for a bit more consistency here if you want.
But yeah. thank you so much for sharing!

@Icefire_married_two_people This is really cool!! Love the concept, and I'm really intrigued by the execution - the choice of linebreaks leads to really interesting occasions of enjambment and caesura. Also very cool choice to capitalise Witch every time!
I noticed that "No little girl wants to be ugly" and "any little girl would/ rather be beautiful instead of ugly" are very similarly worded and in rather close proximity - would it make sense to reword one of them or is the repetition deliberate?
Either way, thank you for sharing!

@crocs ah I've come a bit too late with my critique eh? sorry about that. I honestly don't have much to say about it in any case? Imagery is strong as ever, mood is so soft I think a part of me actually melted.
Favourite line: "Resilience is a sunny colour/ Strength is a field."
The only thing I could possibly think to ask is more of a clarification - is it an American thing when you say "sunflowers… stood tall" in present tense? I think I may have heard something like that before, vaguely, from American friends, but it doesn't sound quite right to me?
also. that video. ended me, on many levels. hearing something that genuine and beautiful and sincere actually said out loud the way it was meant to be said?? much too powerful. My brain says yes please share more of these, as many as you possibly can, but I'm not sure if my heart can take it haha
Thank you so much!!

and prompts for this week:

music prompt: Being Patient/Beifong's Sacrifice by Jeremy Zuckerman

---

image: "Icy Dream", photo of frozen waves in a lake in Colorado by Eric Gross

---

word prompt:
Thought I'd throw up a writing exercise this week - try writing a sad scene that

1. doesn't use the word "sad" (or derivatives - basically don't explicitly tell the reader what you're trying to achieve)
2. doesn't involve anyone dying
3. doesn't involve anyone crying

The idea is to focus on crafting a mood through specific word, structure, and technical choices rather than relying on these explicit cues to let the reader know how to feel.
(obviously this is just an exercise, there's nothing inherently wrong with any of these things in general.)

Based on the word prompt:

"Alexa, play Despacito."

… well played, sir

I think I win.

you really do
victory is yours

@Icefire_married_two_people This is really cool!! Love the concept, and I'm really intrigued by the execution - the choice of linebreaks leads to really interesting occasions of enjambment and caesura. Also very cool choice to capitalise Witch every time!
I noticed that "No little girl wants to be ugly" and "any little girl would/ rather be beautiful instead of ugly" are very similarly worded and in rather close proximity - would it make sense to reword one of them or is the repetition deliberate?
Either way, thank you for sharing!

Ahhhh thank you! i don't know what those words mean but thanks
The repetition is on purpose, I think. I wanted to drive the point home

I'm glad you like both of them! the poem bit makes sense, not hearing that phrase used often probably makes it really weird. I might try to reword it, later

as for the video, dhdtd. it was such a terrifying thing to do, but honestly, it was nice. is it okay for me to post those videos here?

Ahhhh thank you! i don't know what those words mean but thanks

oh sorry I don't mean to be all 'literary elitist' about this. They're just unnecessarily fancy lit crit words I'd usually use in essays - enjambment is when a phrase runs beyond the end of a line, caesura is when you have a pause (usually due to punctuation) in the middle of a line.
So in these lines

Why do little girls all want to be
princesses? Why do little girls talk of

there's enjambment when the sentence runs on after the linebreak of "want to be" and there's caesura when you pause for the question mark after "princess".

Also, crocs, please absolutely post your videos here if you can!! I'd love to see more of em as you go!

@Dances_with_Shadows-is-tired you know, nine times out of ten I get irritated when reading about relationship drama conversations, either because it seems overdramatic or out of place or just a bit too much. And I guess this was the other one out of ten, because I really enjoyed reading this! It gives a super good look into existing character dynamics, it flows really well, and the dialogue is just. It's fabulous. It strikes that perfect balance between "super serious conversation" and "I can still crack jokes about it", so the discussions themselves feel realistic without being overbearing.
One thing I'd look into again if you feel like it is the narration in the first bit. It's generally really well done, excellent characterisation, but sometimes it feels like you switch between a limited third person and an omniscient third person? For example,

He didn't even notice the woman walking into the kitchen with him, nor did he see her jump up onto the counter behind him and follow his frantic back and forth path with her eyes.

feels more distant, since it's specifically telling us info that the POV character doesn't yet have access to. But later, during the conversation, you go out of your way to show that it's specifically from his perspective - eg "He watched as she propped her chin on her knee" which implies a more limited narration.
idk where I'm going with this to be honest, it's not a huge deal by any means, but there is an opportunity for a bit more consistency here if you want.
But yeah. thank you so much for sharing!

Fjdjjf I'm glad I could provide that one out of ten. I've been experimenting with changing relationships between my—very large—cast of characters, so this was a little drabble of two possible ships starting to come to light. And as Crocs knows, I was writing this from one to two in the morning, so I'm surprised there aren't more mistakes you picked up on like the Carden and Archer one being kinda stiff. I was legit falling asleep while trying to finish that

Ahhhh thank you! i don't know what those words mean but thanks

oh sorry I don't mean to be all 'literary elitist' about this. They're just unnecessarily fancy lit crit words I'd usually use in essays - enjambment is when a phrase runs beyond the end of a line, caesura is when you have a pause (usually due to punctuation) in the middle of a line.
So in these lines

Why do little girls all want to be
princesses? Why do little girls talk of

there's enjambment when the sentence runs on after the linebreak of "want to be" and there's caesura when you pause for the question mark after "princess".

Also, crocs, please absolutely post your videos here if you can!! I'd love to see more of em as you go!

Ooohh okay lol. Thanks for the explanation!!

alright! so i might have a writing-writing thing, possibly for the sad scene prompt, later, but for now here's a poem! when i was a kid i used to constantly wish someone would write about me, because baby crocs was a hopeless romantic. as i got older, i decided no one would, because one of my rules is never date a poet. surprise surprise, screw the cynicism, i realized that i didn't need anyone to write a poem about me, because i was perfectly capable of doing it myself

---

Nobody has ever written me a love poem
And no one ever will.
I’m comfortable, in knowing this.
But I think it’s about time I write myself one,
Done writing about the way I hate the shape of my body
And how the scars on my ankles and hands
Make me wince every time I see them.
I’m turning the tables this time,
Shaping the words from my mouth into love notes,
For myself.

I’ll start with the way I fall in love with my reflection,
On the good days.
My eyes are the prettiest shade of green, starbursts of earth,
One greener, one browner, than the other.
I’m in love with my freckles.
Little stars across my cheeks,
Drawing forth an urge to take a pen and connect them,
Like constellations.
My face is round, and it’s soft
My cheeks are so much fun to squish around when I’m goofing off
I am a painting.
An Instagram selfie without a filter,
I’ll admit, I don’t know how to work them.

I’m in love with one am me
Sitting on the kitchen floor, playing eighties love songs
From my phone in the dark.
There’s a tub of raspberry sherbet in my hand,
And the only clean spoon I could find
In the other.
I love the way I love the stars,
And my fascination with learning everything I can.
My refusal to get out of bed before nine on weekends,
Is something so human it shocks me,
Something so perfect I can’t help but be in awe.
I have given myself routine
Where I used to not have one.
And that is something incredible.

I don’t need someone else
To write me a love poem.
Because I’m perfectly capable of writing
Myself one.
When the world falls apart,
I will remember the way sunlight makes my eyes glitter,
That I look incredible in the color yellow.
I will not wonder if someone sees me the way
A poet sees the trees, and the faces of rocks.
Because I can see myself that way,
Narcissus’ hand in mine,
Showing me how lovely my perfections
And imperfections are.

Crocs that was lovely!! I really loved reading through that

Based on the Image prompt

---

Ara stared at the frozen waves beneath her hands, her sea green eyes wide, her breath coming in harsh, rasping gasps. No. No, this couldn't be happening. He had promised. He had promised to return her to the waves, return her to water and the ocean and home. She was a Siren. She couldn't survive out of water.

But this water was frozen over. This water could not help her, could not save her from the death that even now crept on catlike feet to sit beside her, to run it's claws over her skin like a whip, the very air biting down on her flesh. She screamed, harsh and discordant, blood dripping from her open mouth.

"You promised!" she screamed, staring at where he stood on the shoreline. "You promised to bring me home!" her voice scratched and rasped. Nothing like the beautiful thing a Siren usually possessed. Nothing like her normal voice.

The man laughed. "Ara. I lied. That's what men like me do, remember? Besides, I promised to bring you to the waves. These," he gestured, "Are waves. Just not the type of waves you were, perhaps, expecting."

Ara closed her eyes as the wind blew past her and drove daggers into her flesh. "I am dying, Lex." she said, her voice carrying over the ice, through the freezing air. "You know this. You know that I will die here."

"Yes." he confirmed, voice as cold as the icy mountains around them. "I know. But your kind has killed how many thousands of humans? I daresay that this death is an easier one than you deserve. Not in the water, but near it. Dying from too much air. I've killed Sirens before, as you well know. Would you prefer to die like them? Screaming? Bleeding?"

She spat blood onto the ice, watched it for a moment before lifting her eyes to Lex's. To the Siren hunter she had fallen in love with. The one who had led her along, pretended to love her too. He had earned her trust. She had told him things about the Sirens, secrets that she hadn't known he would use against her. Against them all. Sirens, she told him, could stay out of the water for nearly a month, but then they needed to return to the ocean, or at least to a larger body of water. Her month was up. "This is worse." she rasped. "This is so much worse. I wish that you had just killed me, Lex. This is…this is cruelty."

His eyes were hard, unyielding. "I know."

"I thought you loved me." her voice cracked, and she coughed, spitting out more blood. She was lying on the ice now, trembling. Each breath hurt, raked at her insides and made more blood foam out of her lips.

"I know."

Her breathing was labored, strained, wheezing, blood bursting from her lips with each exhale. She was too weak to stay up, and collapsed, laying on the ice. Her body began to convulse, blood streaming from her mouth, nose, eyes, ears. Bleeding, bleeding, bleeding. She screamed, her once beautiful voice the rasping, angry croak of a dying thing. And she died, becoming a lifeless, bloody heap on the ice.

Lex closed his eyes, unable to watch the woman he had loved die. Because he had loved her. He had. But he hadn't had a choice. Sirens needed to die, even if they were like Ara.

oooo. i like it, ice! as in, it broke my heart and im cursing you a thousand times over, but i like it! i think, honestly, it could stand to be a bit longer, allowing the mixing in of the backstory you gave while including the current happenings in dialogue, but keeping it short for the answering to the prompt was probably a good idea. i would love to learn more about these characters! seeing ara and lex's developing relationship, the leading up to killing ara, maybe even just the scene from only his perspective, would be incredible. there's so much potential for an actual story here and now you've got me hooked with one scene, which is quite the feat!!!

Thanks!! Mwahaha. Yeah! I actually just came up with those two and everything on the fly, so, like…Idk the full story. But yeah, it would be interesting to write some day!! Thanks!!

this is absolutely not what i meant to write but i ended up finishing an old started drabble because i was gushing to my boyfriend about these two and decided why not

so I took a stab at the word prompt and am not sure what happened but this is the result?? I don't think it even has a plot? it's just semi-coherent morose ramblings? please tear it apart y'all

---

The cat’s gone missing again.

Sometimes, I wonder why I even keep the miserable beast around. I feed her, give her a place to sleep, bow to her every whim, and how does she repay me? With frequent minor disasters around the house, followed by grand escapes that force me to wander through town for hours in search of her. At least today’s disaster seems less premeditated than usual. If the counter hadn’t been stacked with dirty dishes, I doubt she would have brushed so close to the bundles of dried herbs hanging on the wall. She usually makes a wide berth around them (they make her sneeze), so I can reasonably assume she didn’t intend to rip them down.

Not that knowing the degree of her premeditation helps me, I think ruefully as I survey the mess of ripped stalks, twigs, and leaf dust that's spread evenly across dishes and counter. I could clean it up now: rebundle the remaining herbs, sweep the floor, take care of those dishes, maybe experiment which combination of leaf dust smells the best. Instead, I slump down on the floor and lean my head against the fridge behind me.

Sometimes, I wonder why I even bother.

Mum would have laughed at the mess. She would have captured the whole scene in one of her cheap Polaroids, lodged it artfully in a glass jar along with a sample of the best-smelling herb combination, and labelled it in her curly script. “Catnip Catastrophe”, maybe, or “The Great Escape” (I hardly have her knack for names). The glass jar would take its place in the legion that already stands at attention on our living room shelf - memories, hundreds of them, conveniently bottled and organised in a system only she understood.

I glance over at the three jars on the kitchen table, one of them on its side and poking out over the edge from where Themis apparently knocked it over. Light filters through the Polaroid coiled inside it and I wish she’d knocked it off the table entirely. Three weeks ago, I woke from my mid-afternoon nap to a sunset so stunning that I, still half-asleep, unthinkingly grabbed mum’s camera and snapped a picture. It took sealing the jar to realise that this particular one could never fit in with the rest of its comrades. It would be a mediocre recruit among experienced veterans, dressed in a different uniform, always obviously and glaringly out of place.

I also didn’t have the heart to throw it away, so it sits on my kitchen table, gathering dust, label already curling from where I absently pick at it in the evenings.

The fridge hums against the back of my head and the curve of my spine. My legs ache with the cold of the tiles beneath me. Different scents hang heavy in the air, all with the dusty undertones of what I suspect is mildew. That’s why I had the window open today. Not for Themis to take the opportunity for escape she was apparently so desperately searching for.

Sometimes, I wonder if I can’t empathise a tiny bit with her frantic need to get out.

I dig at my eyes with the heel of my palm. There’s nothing keeping me here, not technically. The contractors who looked at the house said they would take care of everything if necessary – packing up, cleaning up, painting over the cracks in the wall and the whole entire list of things that need to happen. The manager assured me that there would be no extra cost or inconvenience to me.

There’s a flat waiting for me back in the city, one that I used to feel somewhat at home in. Themis has owners waiting to take care of her, owners she certainly likes a lot better than she likes me.

Nothing truly tethers me here. Every moment I spend in this house lodges itself in my spine and in the tense set of my shoulders; it hasn’t been my home for many years. And yet the thought of strangers tramping through the kitchen, strangers running their hands over the plethora of knick-knacks that cover every spare inch, makes my stomach turn. Mum was a magpie with her own particular definition of shiny objects. I can’t hope that professional renovators would understand something as innocent as that, and the idea of strangers rooting through her stuff only to laugh at her is unbearable. The glass jar legion would certainly never forgive such an intrusion.

I jerk as the fridge lets out a mechanical crunching noise.

Themis is still missing. The remains of mum’s herb bundles still coat my countertops. Dishes still tower in precarious piles. The glass jar recruit still pokes over the edge of the kitchen table, cobwebs still flutter in the corner, and an oily layer of grime still clings to my hand when I pick it up from the floor. I’ve been sitting here for heaven knows how long, staring at the pattern in the tiles underneath me, accomplishing absolutely nothing while absolutely incapable of doing anything else.

Sometimes, I wonder how long I can keep this up.

I got inspired-
for the first time in forever, literally-

---

And there she stood
In the middle of the room,
Of the aquarium
Arms crossed,
Her curious eyes wandering about.

The fish swam in schools,
And the dolphins came to say hello.

The sun outside lit up the water
Lighting up the massive columns underwater
Holding up the bridge-like structure outdoors

But all around her
The darkness surrounded
Only the small lights
Could pierce the inky-black
That threatened to swallow you whole

The girl,
She was not supposed to be there
And yet,
There she stood
Arms crossed,
And her curious eyes
Wandered about

ninja:
i. hjdchjdf i love this so much?? all the little witchy things are so nice as a pagan myself, and the way they kind of tie into these memories is. i love the general bittersweet and almost stifled feeling of your writing here, the way you can feel the main character's ache to leave and how the cat(Themis is such a great name i love you so much for choosing it) seems to feel about the same way.
it almost seems like the house, after i'm assuming the mother's passing, has become more of a prison for them, less a home and comfort and more the kind of place you can't stand being but don't want to leave behind. i'm rambling now, but yeah. there's seriously not much to critique here, i maybe just wish for a bit more exposition into what's going on. beyond that though, i seriously just love it.

izzy: hey!! we don't see too much from you, but i love it when we do!

"The sun outside lit up the water
Lighting up the massive columns underwater
Holding up the bridge-like structure outdoors"

i love this stanza so much for some reason. it's just so simply beautiful, and it's got this more innocent tone that i can't quite explain? and the repetition of the beginning and the end of the poem is pretty interesting! unfortunately, it maybe was a bit clunky? i think the direct quotation of the lines you used at the beginning ?might have been the reason for this, sort of taking away the oomph it could have had. a little bit of rephrasing could probably shoot that through the roof, 'cause it's an incredible poem as is, but that would make the ending fit so well with the rest of it!

yeah, i had a bit of a struggle trying to phrase it a way that i liked, which failed, as you can see
but thank you so much!!!

fhjdfhkd I'm so glad it came across that way?? I was really nervous about it because it's a lot less,,, edited, than what I usually share, so it's a big relief to know that some of the mood came across! (your interpretation is spot on, by the way)
and I'd be fascinated to know what you mean by witchy things? I know next to nothing about pagan culture, so anything that's in there is entirely unintentional

yeah, i had a bit of a struggle trying to phrase it a way that i liked, which failed, as you can see
but thank you so much!!!

the ends of poems tend to be the hardest for me, too, so I completely get that. you did pretty well though despite that struggle!