If you could write a book...
- Thread starter Timotei
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Actually I am an aspiring writer, a story I am working on now is going to be called "Next to Godliness" about a detective who just happens to also be schitzophrenic. That is all I can say.
A Microsoft owners manual. Kidding.
If I had to, I would write about this fictional world war I've had brewin' in my head for about a year, but it is much better suited for Video Game format.
If I had to, I would write about this fictional world war I've had brewin' in my head for about a year, but it is much better suited for Video Game format.
I've Already written a book. It's the first in a series. It's called Gems of Alasia: Into the mountain.
In breif: Try to imagine Douglas Adams narrating Lord Of The Rings as written by Neil Gaiman, Christopher Paolini and Quentin Terintino; replace the shallow stock hero with the child of Brianna the Handmaiden and Gandalf The Grey (who conveniantly has a Yahtzee impersonater lodged in his head); Replace the main supporting characters with The Prince of Persia, Mr. Dark, and Bastila Shan; Replace the Main villan with... Actually, leave the main villan. Now throw it all together in a cave that used to be Minas Tirith.
BOOM!
It's actually fairly decent.
In breif: Try to imagine Douglas Adams narrating Lord Of The Rings as written by Neil Gaiman, Christopher Paolini and Quentin Terintino; replace the shallow stock hero with the child of Brianna the Handmaiden and Gandalf The Grey (who conveniantly has a Yahtzee impersonater lodged in his head); Replace the main supporting characters with The Prince of Persia, Mr. Dark, and Bastila Shan; Replace the Main villan with... Actually, leave the main villan. Now throw it all together in a cave that used to be Minas Tirith.
BOOM!
It's actually fairly decent.
He stood there, perplexed, for he had come across an obsticle that seemed... unreal. He stared at the two doors for hours, puzzling over the solution.
To the right, the door read, "Do not enter".
To the left, the door read, "Please use the other door".
He scratched his chin, then slowly turned the knob of the left door. It creaked open to reveal a large white room, inhabited only by a single person; a woman sitting in chair, with a clipboard and a pencil. She wore glasses, a suit and had dark black hair that was tied back in a pony tail. The man turned around to look back at the door he entered; both doors lead to this room.
"Hello, Jacob," the woman said after writing something down on the clipboard. "My name is Beatrice, and I shall be asking you some questions."
Jacob shuffled a bit before finally asking, "How did you know my name?"
"That is none of your concern," Beatrice spoke this quickly in rebuttal; as though she knew what he was going to say. "Now that you know the two doors lead to the same room, do you believe you made the right choice?"
Jacob, once again, was hesitant to answer. "I-I don't know," he stuttered. "I-I suppose I made the right choice, s--"
"Alright then." Beatrice wrote something down on the clipboard. "If you had known ahead of time that the two doors lead to the same room, would this have affected your decision?"
"N-no."
"Very well, Jacob. You have completed the first test. We shall contact you later for the remainder of your tests. Do you have any questions before you leave?"
"Can I see what you wrote on the clipboard?"
"No, not until you have completed all of the remaining tests. You are now dismissed, Jacob."
To the right, the door read, "Do not enter".
To the left, the door read, "Please use the other door".
He scratched his chin, then slowly turned the knob of the left door. It creaked open to reveal a large white room, inhabited only by a single person; a woman sitting in chair, with a clipboard and a pencil. She wore glasses, a suit and had dark black hair that was tied back in a pony tail. The man turned around to look back at the door he entered; both doors lead to this room.
"Hello, Jacob," the woman said after writing something down on the clipboard. "My name is Beatrice, and I shall be asking you some questions."
Jacob shuffled a bit before finally asking, "How did you know my name?"
"That is none of your concern," Beatrice spoke this quickly in rebuttal; as though she knew what he was going to say. "Now that you know the two doors lead to the same room, do you believe you made the right choice?"
Jacob, once again, was hesitant to answer. "I-I don't know," he stuttered. "I-I suppose I made the right choice, s--"
"Alright then." Beatrice wrote something down on the clipboard. "If you had known ahead of time that the two doors lead to the same room, would this have affected your decision?"
"N-no."
"Very well, Jacob. You have completed the first test. We shall contact you later for the remainder of your tests. Do you have any questions before you leave?"
"Can I see what you wrote on the clipboard?"
"No, not until you have completed all of the remaining tests. You are now dismissed, Jacob."
I've been writing something for a while (don't get around to it often i'm afraid, life gets in the way), it kinda started off as a script for a play but recently i've decided it would be better off as a story, and its called "inside out, the mind of Helen".
Basically its about a schitzophrenic teenage girl in Manchester called Helen Mist, and how it affects her life and others around her. At first she's in perfect control of the voices, she hides it from people and uses it to solve problems by getting advice from them. But then another voice interrupts, one that she can't control, and as the story progresses it becomes more and more dominant in her mind... Unfortunately I haven't really worked out how to end the story yet. Theres also other characters and stuff that get into her life, and I try to flesh out the details so the reader can feel more connected to her.
Oh, i've also written (finished, YAY! =D) a short story of a man named Jake, who's life seems to loop at one very specific point, and he can't get out of it. I think I posted it on The Escapist before... I shall do so again
(please don't copy it and call it your own work cause that would be sad and i'd be very upset D'
Basically its about a schitzophrenic teenage girl in Manchester called Helen Mist, and how it affects her life and others around her. At first she's in perfect control of the voices, she hides it from people and uses it to solve problems by getting advice from them. But then another voice interrupts, one that she can't control, and as the story progresses it becomes more and more dominant in her mind... Unfortunately I haven't really worked out how to end the story yet. Theres also other characters and stuff that get into her life, and I try to flesh out the details so the reader can feel more connected to her.
Oh, i've also written (finished, YAY! =D) a short story of a man named Jake, who's life seems to loop at one very specific point, and he can't get out of it. I think I posted it on The Escapist before... I shall do so again
(please don't copy it and call it your own work cause that would be sad and i'd be very upset D'Jake
A short story by Nicholas Burns
The fog had surrounded him? he could barely see. The road was clear, or so he thought. He needed to cross it? Otherwise he wouldn?t be able to get to his destination. The decision was made. He began to walk across, confident that there was noting coming his way? he had checked plenty before he crossed, why should there be something now? But then through the mist, that dreaded noise was heard: the roaring of an engine. He turned right. Already the blinding lights of an oncoming car were upon him, tire?s screeching?
Jake woke up. What a strange dream? it was almost as though it was real? These opening thoughts to the morning were unusual for Jake. Yet this topic upon his dream was somewhat less preferable compared to his usual thought upon what the weather was like (which, by the way, was a mass of ghastly thick fog? he wouldn?t enjoy walking to work today). Jake, being used to the clockwork routine of his morning (yes, right down to the thought he has when he wakes up) wasn?t exactly amused by this small niche of a thought. Nevertheless, he was adamant that he wouldn?t allow this to ruin the rest of the day? maybe he could even rescue his morning routine (he had already lost 5 minutes to contemplating this minor disturbance). He got himself out of bed, had a shower (15 minutes, 5 minutes less than usual to make up for lost time) brushed his teeth (3 minutes, as usual) eat breakfast (a simple concoction of Muesli and yogurt, 2 minutes to make and 10 minutes to eat), got changed into his Tuesday suit (jet black jacket and trousers with a pale blue shirt and a blood red tie, 10 minutes), and had one last look in the mirror, to see if everything was in place. His slender, nearly (but not quite) underweight face looked back at him. As always, his appearance was perfect ? right down to the slight curl upon his forehead he always had in his otherwise straight brown hair. Good. Everything is in place. With this thought, Jake headed out of his house into the less predictable and chaotic outside world. Keeping to his routine as best as possible in these undesirable conditions, Jake began his walk to work in the bitter cold wind. The slightly morning troubles seemed like they had never existed? infact, Jake had already forgotten what the dream was about.
The fog had surrounded him? he could barely see. The road was clear, or so he thought. He needed to cross it? Otherwise he wouldn?t be able to get to his destination. The decision was made. He began to walk across, (?why do I get the feeling that I?ve already done this??? Jake thought as he crossed) confident that there was nothing coming his way? (?I?m sure I?ve been through this before??) he had checked plenty before he crossed, why should there be something now? (?So why do I get the feeling that there is something???) But then through the mist, that dreaded noise was heard: the roaring of an engine. He turned right. Already the blinding lights of an oncoming car were upon him, tire?s screeching?
Jake woke up. ?What? What just happened?? It had felt completely real? but? how could it have been? Yes? it was a dream? just a bad dream? what else could it have been? Its not like it could be anything else, after all? These thoughts were considerably longer than Jake?s usual thought upon how the sky looked(a ghastly grey colour? it might even rain). He looked at the clock, something he didn?t usually have to do. 15 minutes late? that hasn?t happened in a while? his morning routine was already in shambles? maybe he could still recover the remainder of the day? He got himself out of bed, had a quick shower (10 minutes? half of usual? disgusting?) brushed his teeth (2 minutes?), eat breakfast (just a piece of bread with butter, no time for Muesli? 30 seconds to make, 2 minutes 30 to eat), got changed into his Monday suit (striped dark navy jacket and trousers, with a sky blue shirt and crimson tie, 10 minutes), and had one final look in the mirror, to reassure himself that his appearance was perfect. Unfortunately for Jake, it wasn?t. Firstly, he had changed into his Monday suit, and it was Tuesday. Secondly, the curl upon his forehead? it was gone. All that was left was a simpleton?s straight hair. He had no time to do anything about it though? he was already nearly running late. He couldn?t waste anymore time. Jake left the house into the unpredictable streets, the dream still scratching at the back of his mind, but trickling away like water?
The fog had surrounded him? (?I have already done this?, Jake realised with a pang of horror) he could barely see (?no, no? it was only a dream? it wasn?t real, of course it wasn?t!?). The road was clear, or so he thought? (?It is clear, it is clear, it is clear??) He needed to cross it? otherwise he wouldn?t be able to get to his destination. The decision was made. He began to walk across, confident that there was nothing coming his way? (?It was only a dream?a bad?dream??) he had checked plenty before he crossed, why should there be something now? (?There is nothing? please let there be nothing??) But then through the mist, that dreaded noise was heard: the roaring of an engine (?oh my God.?). He turned right. Already the blinding lights of an oncoming car were upon him, tire?s screeching?
Jake woke up.
?
End
A short story by Nicholas Burns
The fog had surrounded him? he could barely see. The road was clear, or so he thought. He needed to cross it? Otherwise he wouldn?t be able to get to his destination. The decision was made. He began to walk across, confident that there was noting coming his way? he had checked plenty before he crossed, why should there be something now? But then through the mist, that dreaded noise was heard: the roaring of an engine. He turned right. Already the blinding lights of an oncoming car were upon him, tire?s screeching?
Jake woke up. What a strange dream? it was almost as though it was real? These opening thoughts to the morning were unusual for Jake. Yet this topic upon his dream was somewhat less preferable compared to his usual thought upon what the weather was like (which, by the way, was a mass of ghastly thick fog? he wouldn?t enjoy walking to work today). Jake, being used to the clockwork routine of his morning (yes, right down to the thought he has when he wakes up) wasn?t exactly amused by this small niche of a thought. Nevertheless, he was adamant that he wouldn?t allow this to ruin the rest of the day? maybe he could even rescue his morning routine (he had already lost 5 minutes to contemplating this minor disturbance). He got himself out of bed, had a shower (15 minutes, 5 minutes less than usual to make up for lost time) brushed his teeth (3 minutes, as usual) eat breakfast (a simple concoction of Muesli and yogurt, 2 minutes to make and 10 minutes to eat), got changed into his Tuesday suit (jet black jacket and trousers with a pale blue shirt and a blood red tie, 10 minutes), and had one last look in the mirror, to see if everything was in place. His slender, nearly (but not quite) underweight face looked back at him. As always, his appearance was perfect ? right down to the slight curl upon his forehead he always had in his otherwise straight brown hair. Good. Everything is in place. With this thought, Jake headed out of his house into the less predictable and chaotic outside world. Keeping to his routine as best as possible in these undesirable conditions, Jake began his walk to work in the bitter cold wind. The slightly morning troubles seemed like they had never existed? infact, Jake had already forgotten what the dream was about.
The fog had surrounded him? he could barely see. The road was clear, or so he thought. He needed to cross it? Otherwise he wouldn?t be able to get to his destination. The decision was made. He began to walk across, (?why do I get the feeling that I?ve already done this??? Jake thought as he crossed) confident that there was nothing coming his way? (?I?m sure I?ve been through this before??) he had checked plenty before he crossed, why should there be something now? (?So why do I get the feeling that there is something???) But then through the mist, that dreaded noise was heard: the roaring of an engine. He turned right. Already the blinding lights of an oncoming car were upon him, tire?s screeching?
Jake woke up. ?What? What just happened?? It had felt completely real? but? how could it have been? Yes? it was a dream? just a bad dream? what else could it have been? Its not like it could be anything else, after all? These thoughts were considerably longer than Jake?s usual thought upon how the sky looked(a ghastly grey colour? it might even rain). He looked at the clock, something he didn?t usually have to do. 15 minutes late? that hasn?t happened in a while? his morning routine was already in shambles? maybe he could still recover the remainder of the day? He got himself out of bed, had a quick shower (10 minutes? half of usual? disgusting?) brushed his teeth (2 minutes?), eat breakfast (just a piece of bread with butter, no time for Muesli? 30 seconds to make, 2 minutes 30 to eat), got changed into his Monday suit (striped dark navy jacket and trousers, with a sky blue shirt and crimson tie, 10 minutes), and had one final look in the mirror, to reassure himself that his appearance was perfect. Unfortunately for Jake, it wasn?t. Firstly, he had changed into his Monday suit, and it was Tuesday. Secondly, the curl upon his forehead? it was gone. All that was left was a simpleton?s straight hair. He had no time to do anything about it though? he was already nearly running late. He couldn?t waste anymore time. Jake left the house into the unpredictable streets, the dream still scratching at the back of his mind, but trickling away like water?
The fog had surrounded him? (?I have already done this?, Jake realised with a pang of horror) he could barely see (?no, no? it was only a dream? it wasn?t real, of course it wasn?t!?). The road was clear, or so he thought? (?It is clear, it is clear, it is clear??) He needed to cross it? otherwise he wouldn?t be able to get to his destination. The decision was made. He began to walk across, confident that there was nothing coming his way? (?It was only a dream?a bad?dream??) he had checked plenty before he crossed, why should there be something now? (?There is nothing? please let there be nothing??) But then through the mist, that dreaded noise was heard: the roaring of an engine (?oh my God.?). He turned right. Already the blinding lights of an oncoming car were upon him, tire?s screeching?
Jake woke up.
?
End
I have two main books I want to write. One is a fantasy more attuned to young adults a la His Dark Materials/Artemis Fowl about a post-apocalyptic world with a young girl as a protagonist. Haven't gotten far on this. The other one I'm trying to write is a dark comedy about a future where no one dies when they're supposed to because of people discovering the cure for almost everything. As such, the government pays people as a reward for 'offing themselves' seeing that overpopulation is beginning to become a problem. Because of this, these establishments like 'suicide hotels' crop up where people come to die... luxuriously. Think a masseur who rubs poison into your skin. A bedroom where carbon monoxide flows in. Orgy rooms where you get orgied to death. That kind of thing. The novel would be about the messed up people who end up working in one of the more 'small time' version of these establishments. They're all still post-its on my wall but if med school ever gives me time off to breathe i would love to see them turned into novels.
I am writing a book. It's sort of a supernatural comedy/adventure story about some guys who attempt a jailbreak from Hell.
Hey. I have been trying to get this message to you for hours as a PM, but for some reasons I can't send PM's any more. The computer does not respond(Someone can help?)
Anyway I read the stuff you sent to me. Short, but satisfying. Some really good stuff, I think. Kind of like Gundam, minus the japanese brain screw. Very good potential, Susen. If you send it to some publisher, you might very well be the next Maire or Paolini.
Keep writing: It's fun and you are good at it.
Anyway I read the stuff you sent to me. Short, but satisfying. Some really good stuff, I think. Kind of like Gundam, minus the japanese brain screw. Very good potential, Susen. If you send it to some publisher, you might very well be the next Maire or Paolini.
Keep writing: It's fun and you are good at it.
If I could write a book, I'd write a gritty Sci-Fi novel with a cliffhanger ending.
Oh, and I'd probably kill a couple of the characters off in the process, just because I could
Oh, and I'd probably kill a couple of the characters off in the process, just because I could
