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mark_n_b

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PirateKing said:
In the schools I've gone to, I think I'm the only person that knows the difference between there, their and they're.
I'm like...a novelist or something. So, I try to improve my writing skill. Any lack thereof I blame on the public school system.
Thank you, that one really irritates me to no perceivable end.

Here's one a lot of people have trouble with (oh I just used it!): a lot versus allot versus alot (which is not an actual word so please don't use it)

when do you use its and when do you use it's (or should I say "when does one"?)

Grammer vs. Grammar (that's one I've seen messed up repeatedly on these forums over the past three days)

Small things that only bother me because they are sooooo easy to remedy and such simple things to learn that are so frequently messed up usually multiple times in a single sentence. And, yes, it is the 16 and under crowd who is guilty of it most of the time.

It's good to revisit old writing material to see how you've improved and see how silly it looks to not grasp and use basic linguistic concepts, it is usually the point when people dawn on why things like grammar and spelling do matter.
 

Duck Sandwich

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Dec 13, 2007
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Grade 12 Writer's Craft has taught me one thing: I suck at creative writing. I remember being very self-conscious to the point where I wouldn't hand in a story on time because I didn't think it was good enough to hand in. However, I often ended up succumbing to the need for marks, and handed it in with minimal improvements.

There were assignments that I did like though. We were given certain scenarios, characters, and writing styles, and we would have to combine the three to make a story. For example, we might have been given an assignment to write a minimalist style story in which a drug addict comes across a catastrophic event and reacts nonchalantly to it. Unfortunately, my teacher poorly organized the assignments, resulting in little time to work on/improve them.

Things like essays and writing in general go however, I've always had an aptitude for. I attribute that partially to the additions to my vocabulary that I gained from (*gasp*) video games. Back in elementary school, I got high marks for writing the flowery, overly descriptive stuff that they tell you not to write when you're around grade 11.

This is probably the best poem I have ever written: Advice to someone who contemplated writing a love poem for a girl he liked.
Duck Sandwich said:
This man speaks the truth.
Indeed.... forsooth!
As various posters have already said
And their warnings do not let get over your head
Do not profess your love with a poem
Instead, ask the girl out, and get to know 'em

This girl with whom you are smitten
And you find adorable as a kitten
Would be delighted to hear a sonnet
I tell you, I'd stake my life on it

But only after your relationship has begun
And you are convinced that she is the one
Should you put a poem of love to use
Otherwise, you'll be tightening your own noose

...make that second best.

Duck Sandwich

The Lord of the Pond
Eternal Glory of Bread
Behold, they are one!
 

Novajam

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mark_n_b said:
PirateKing said:
In the schools I've gone to, I think I'm the only person that knows the difference between there, their and they're.
I'm like...a novelist or something. So, I try to improve my writing skill. Any lack thereof I blame on the public school system.
-snip-
when do you use its and when do you use it's (or should I say "when does one"?)
-snip-
I'd like that to be cleared up for me as well. I currently use "it's" as a shortened way of writing "it is," or when making a noun belong (eg. It picked up it's apple), however I'm not so certain that I'm using it properly.

EDIT: One Pinata, Many Pinata or One Pinata, Many Pinatas?

It was annoying the heck out of my when I was writing my Viva Pinata review.
 

Geamo

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Aug 27, 2008
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I'm rather good at writing argumental pieces essay-wise. I consider myself to be above-par on the creative writing front, although my handwriting never got neater from Primary school, so it's now computer or nothing for me.
Logic is often used throughout my writing. Also, I tend to ramble.
 

Umwerfer

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I used to be relatively good in English(compared to my classmates). This year we've changed the classes, so now I'm great :D Other than that, I still have a handwriting frequently referred to as abstract art of some sort and I still get accused for using a too advanced vocabulary.
 

cyber_andyy

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Dec 31, 2008
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Im not the best writer everm but its gone *phwoomp* down and down. Mainly due to the fact im arguing with my english teacher and too stuborn to back down.
 

BlackAsgard

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I'm ALMOST a published author. I'm just waiting on verification of my galley.

As for improvement, I have a notebook of a story I wrote in 6th grade. It's atrocious, but hilariously so. Something about a boarding school in space and a fight against the principle (whose title is appropriately changed to Darth whateverhisnamewas) and giant robot fights.

I remember it being very fun to write because my friends were in awe of the work itself--sheerly because of the length. It filled the entire marble, and the sequel filled two, though it was never finished.

In tenth grade I wrote a whopping 132,000 (approx.) word story that I've been slowly refining and redrafting since. I'm actually about halfway through the current draft, and it's awesome. I'm new, so I figure I'd be frowned upon for just throwing a couple chapters up for the hell of it.

That which is being published, (Dynasty, available through AuthorHouse currently) is one of several other novel-length projects I've completed, but beside that which I'm writing now, the only one I'm proud of.

For those fledging writers, I offer this bit of advice: write in every genre you can. Sci-fi, Fantasy-fi, Humor, Research, Poetry, and most importantly, stream of consciousness (yes I'm aware that I just ignored a ton of genres. Thanks for noticing; the aforementioned are the ones I've found most enjoyable).
 

Healey

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Apr 14, 2008
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My writing has a very fast metabolism. What sounds like a good idea one night may sound ill thought-out when I attempt to write it the next morning. I tend to get most of my inspiration from songs or cultural references (Which is probably not a good idea, as they often already have stories). My style is influenced a lot by what I've recently read, but as a rule it tends to be stream-of-consciousness first person or very narrator-based. I tend to write tangents to fill in the lore of my stories. Oh yeah, and I love science-fiction comedy. I'm going to shut up now.
 

Lord George

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I can barely read my own writing and yet I already have an AS in English at 16 and I'm taking the A level exam in about 11 days. Revisions not working so its all down to fate. God my writing should have improved from year 7 but it hasn't
 

L.B. Jeffries

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Nov 29, 2007
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Always found it was a bit like lifting weights. You make tiny little improvements with almost every piece you write, but you can only really tell the difference once a year or two has gone by.

Your best bet is to always keep trying new kinds of writing. Journalism, fiction, sci-fi, character stats, research, and schoolwork are all great practice. Hell, I've been doing tarot cards recently and learning a lot of great skills from it.

Like anything else, it's just practice, practice, practice.
 

Ace of Spades

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If you do something a million times, then you'll start to get good at it. The whole 'practice makes perfect' line is a lie though. No writing can be perfect.
 
Feb 13, 2008
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mshcherbatskaya said:
I've hit a point in my writing where, in order to improve, I need to read more, and I need to read both to enjoy the story and understand the techniques being used. I feel like I've figured out as much as a I can on my own, and now it's time to learn from other writers.
Similarly, but I also need to stop getting distracted by "The Next Big Thing", which I just failed again...

I used to write poetry down in Junior school (7 years old, not sure what that would be) but that was all sorts of rubbish. I did that quick piece earlier of Dexter Morgan meeting House M.D., which I'll reprint.

Dexter waited patiently. He was used to waiting. Usually at night, watching, waiting for the right moment. And once the moment had arrived, the wait made the final delivery all the more comforting.

Looking across, he saw the three Doctors sitting uneasily in their chairs. The nervous pretty woman, the uptight Australian and the frowning one who was fiddling with his stethoscope. An air of mixed tension and loyalty between them, as if they had worked together one too many times. Dexter didn't miss that at all, partly because he'd never felt it. The whole office politics thing passed him by, devoid as he was of feeling it, but he knew when it was there, and he hated it.

The woman looked at her watch, caught his eye and then quickly looked back down at her watch, willing the time to disappear. All four of them had been waiting for the best part of an hour for the arrival of Dr. House, and from the tension, he imagined that this wasn't the first time. He had tried to be friendly and returned the eye contact whenever they looked at him, but it just seemed to make them more nervous. He was in their area and they didn't like it. Perhaps they didn't like him? It didn't matter, he had a job to do, so he just leaned back in the chair.

The chair wasn't exactly comfortable, but the chitterings of the Dark Passenger made him feel secure. It had first been released in a hospital, and he supposed that it enjoyed being back, perhaps to kill again. It was very vocal at the moment though, muttering strange sounds that he had never heard before, sounds that he couldn't remember hearing before.

The clock ticked.

Then tocked.

Then ticked.

And Dexter looked around to the door. The Dark Passenger had gone silent, suddenly.

Dexter's stomach rumbled as it remembered what food had tasted like. He had had to leave Miami early this morning to get to Princeton, and couldn't stomach the idea of eating whilst in a hospital. Not after what had happened to Harry.

The chittering began again, almost as if it was questioning him. He tried to speak to it, but he was becoming increasingly aware of another presence nearby.

The door swung back and a figure limped through the door. Although he had never seen a power-limp before, it would be hard to forget this one.

The three doctors stood as one; the tension coalescing, bursting and then dripping like an arterial spurt.

Dexter stood and offered his hand to the new arrival.

"Doctor House? I'm Dext..." He was cut off.

"Good for you. Right! We have a man lying in surgery that looks like a vampire. Differential diagnoses people!"

The shock had tasered Dexter. He stood there, quivering slightly, looking across at the back of the limping man.

"Doctor House," the pretty woman had stood up, "This is Dext..." Again, cut off.

"He's already said that. Now come on people, what looks like Vampirism?"

She flashed Dexter a look that said "I tried" but Dexter was already enthralled.

Riding high above the Doctor was a shape, a form unlike he had ever seen. He could even feel the Dark Passenger uncurling, curious, in the same way that Dexter would if the hot dog vendor asked him if he wanted mustard.

Dexter had always imagined his Dark Passenger to be smooth, sleek, silky, like a satin covered knife that slipped through the flesh. In front of him was a Passenger that could only be described as a crawling chaos. It gave Doctor House the appearance of a Medusa, dark tendrils whipping back and forth as it felt its way across everything.

He was spellbound by its untamed beauty. Where his passenger was precise, this one was perverse. It also seemed to be woozy, as its tendrils flicked towards him, but never sensed the hidden killer within.

The Doctor turned to him and said something. Dexter quickly brought his mind back the fake world.

"I'm sorry?"

"Everyone's sorry. Now, tell me what you know."

The gorgon's sight was on him now, and he shivered under its blind gaze. And then he saw behind the unshaven face to his three colleagues. Within each one, a smaller Passenger stretched its tendrils and swayed. His Dark Passenger cooed, almost as if it recognized the Dark Children being born within the others.

"Well, analysis suggests that it could be Lupus."
 

Zeke109

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Jul 10, 2008
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I have been writing a book for a while now. I free-write it. some-no, a lot- of methods my teachers have made us use (charts, outlines, all that bullshit) I do not use and I think is useless.
 

Clashero

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Aug 15, 2008
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I've always loved to write, very much. Ever since I was very little I wrote tiny stories with some fantastic element, ALWAYS.
Looking back at it, it was terrible: it had very little cohesion between paragraphs and the story unfolded far too quickly when it should've been developed far more.

Now I'm rather happy with my writing; I haven't written anything in a while, but this is the last thing I've written (posting the link, so it doesn't take up too much space. Any critique is welcome ^^)

http://clashero.deviantart.com/art/Alamut-revised-94362690
 

GenHellspawn

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Jan 1, 2008
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I posted this in the artist thread a long time ago, but I think it's good enough to warrant a second posting.

It is dawn. It is not a rising sun or stiff morning breeze that alerts me to this, but the pounding alarm inside of my helmet. In here, it is a dark, unchanging place, with no time except an artificial one, created by my suit and represented as a shining light on my closed eyelids.
I open my eyes, and my helmet. Again I see nothing. I try to move, and then I finally notice what has been obstructing my eyesight: Something was on top of me.
A torso, with all limbs and bones seemingly removed, leaving only maggots eating at the innards. This is a great morning surprise, a substitute for my usual ritual of methamphetamines perhaps, but still disgusting in many ways. I push it away from me, and it rolls away, falling into the ground.
Confused, I stand up, feeling tense pains inside of my knees and thighs. I also notice that I am currently standing on the ruined shell of a skyscraper, and this surprise torso has just fallen what seems to be 800 feet. I again reel from this sight, a second startle. It seems I will have to make an extra effort to keep my sanity today.
My head starts to feel light, as being on a tall building with no air support would entail. Despite this, I assess the situation: I?ve obviously been confused for dead, and have been ?snuffed? out of the many inanimate plumbing fixtures around our base. This refers to dead soldiers being hurled out of these tubes at great speed, thus getting rid of the often rotting flesh inside the suit, but also providing the off chance of killing another witness to this genocide. I survived this and, just as luck would have it, the auto-doc inside my armor has allowed me to walk.
Unfortunately, not only were my legs crippled, but apparently, my intelligence is too. Aside from a strong blow on my body, I have trouble remembering any thing else about how I got here. I also feel like I?ve eaten a bowl of cotton.

After sliding down a couple stories, I eventually reach a floor that has yet to be completely obliterated. I see a presumably broken elevator, and a small white sign, bearing the number ?65?. My fear of heights is starting to act up again.
I try to get a response from the elevator, to no avail. Not having a strong desire to test my fate by jumping, I kick down the elevator door, revealing a silo that appeared empty, but on further inspection, revealed that the elevator was jammed inside. Only a couple meters down, I jump. It seemed like a good idea.
Perhaps it would?ve been, if not for my good old armor weighing a ton. I make a large dent in the elevator, and my weight makes the elevator hurtle downwards at a seemingly blinding speed. After a few seconds, in a state of absolute horror, I stick out my elbows on either side of the silo. With an almost deafening screech and an errant spark burning my finger, the elevator begins to slow down, and after about 5 minutes that seem like seconds, stops. I again kick my way into the elevator. I feel fine for somebody who just withstood force equal to a charging rhino times a hundred.

Finally, I am at the bottom floor. From what I can tell, from the cheesy pulp sci-fi posters and scattered bits of (moldy) cake, this was an abandoned hide out of our good friends, the Phreaksters. Famous for disrupting our supply lines and stealing the already scare women, they were hated with a passion. It was not hatred like a white supremacist hated black people, however, but rather hatred like a panhandler hated society. They were an ever elusive, never present foe, and to see that their domiciles where so akin to ours (albeit with significantly lower standards in architecture), was a revealing and confusing experience. At this, of all points in time, I notice I am completely unarmed. Figuring that this was a hideout after all, I search the place. Lo and behold, fate had dealt me a good hand. I found none other than a stolen assault rifle that looked uncannily like the ones used by my fellows. I shoot it at a picture of their employee of the month to make sure it?s still loaded, not out of any desire to have a good defense against those who would do harm to me, but to give me, in this injured state of mind, the gratification of feeling, of knowing that I still live in this fantasy world grounded in reality. I look outside and, for the 1700th time, see no sunrise.
I also see the makings of a very typical, very post-harvest city which could?ve been a very good or bad thing; Very good if it was of USMC doing and very bad if it wasn?t. Strangely enough, this wasn?t the first time the line between enemy and ally was blurred.
 

Say Anything

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Jan 23, 2008
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PirateKing said:
In the schools I've gone to, I think I'm the only person that knows the difference between there, their and they're.
I'm like...a novelist or something. So, I try to improve my writing skill. Any lack thereof I blame on the public school system.
It's the exact same thing here, man. I moved to a new school my 7th grade year, and now in highschool the kids at this school still don't understand there is a difference. The English teachers aren't doing anything about it, either.

Oh, Missouri. How I long to escape you.
 

PedroSteckecilo

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Feb 7, 2008
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University kinda killed my creativity. I've been trying to get back into writing, but so far I've been unable to get back into it with any fervor. I do scribble down the occasional story idea, but often my prose work is limited to descriptive text for some of my roleplays. I've also got a Comic project in the works, starring the character I've taken my nickname from.

Oh yeah, I also wrote a 1 Act play for a Creative Writing Class a few years ago which I shall repost.

Fight Night By Peter Steckley
Cast
The Announcer
Mr. Locke, a good friend of Mr. Cartes.
Mr. Cartes, teacher to both Mr. Locke and Mr. Huxley
Mr. Luther, a somewhat irritable theologian
Mr. Stewart, Luther?s colleague, a mousey little schemer
Mr. Newton, an overbearing and successful scientific debater.

Setting
A strange forum somewhere where contests of intellect and wit have a great deal of merit and men come from all across space and time to witness these titanic confrontations. This is what goes on behind the scenes of the main event, the fans and supporters of the debaters and their attitudes during the title match of the century.

Production Notes
This play can be put on by a minimum of 6 or 7 people, leaving a few spaces for some extras and Mr. Newton?s flunkies, but as most of these characters have no lines their presence is negligible depending on the production. The actor/actress playing the announcer should not be recast as any other characters. Mr. Luther should be played by a short man on the chubby side while Mr. Stewart in contrast should be tall and skinny. All costuming should involve a variety of Victorian menswear and can vary from character to character depending on the tastes of the production, Mr. Newton should be dressed very loudly with as many bright colors as his costuming will allow. Props could include books, umbrellas, canes and other hand held accessories for the characters, monocles for both Stewart and Luther could be entertaining. To add some flavor an optional suggestion might involve all of the characters carrying large sports fan paraphernalia (giant foam hands with #1 on them, signs, wearing jerseys over their suits and the like) in order to hammer home the ?sports night? satire that this setting implies.


Scene 1

A man stands alone on stage with lighting directly on him, the rest of the stage is dark.

The Announcer: For your viewing pleasure I have the privilege to announce a tantalizing treatment of titanic treatises from some of today?s most transcendental transcribers. What you are about to behold is a theological and philosophical rumble, befit for the finest thinkers and speculators, introspecters and extroverts, preachers and teachers. Here only the mightiest may pit their wits and test their jests on questions arising on the very musings that govern our existence. Our debaters today, an esteemed newcomer all the way from the late Victorian atheists, Mr. Huxley, and his opponent, our defending champion, a startling figure of faithful intellect, the illustrious Mr. Calvin. Yes, an exciting debate on fate and fatality, morality and mortality, reason and the real. So sit back and relax and prepare to be amazed. (Exit Left, Black)


Scene 2

Scene opens on an empty stage with two podiums facing one another atop a large wooden stand, several people are mulling about in the background all talking amongst themselves. Two older gentlemen enter right and stand in front of the stage.

Mr. Luther: Marvelous day for a debate is it not Mr. Stewart?

Mr. Stewart: Indeed Mr. Luther, a fine day, I do believe we are in for quite a show.

Mr. Luther: Quite, I find myself terribly intrigued by this Huxley fellow, I?m quite well acquainted with Mr. Calvin but I?ve never really been very familiar with that lesser class of people.

Mr. Stewart: Indeed Mr. Luther, lesser is quite the appropriate word, strange folk them, Mr. Huxley is oft seen in company with that fool Mr. Locke, and they are both seen in the company of that disgraceful Mr. Carte?.

Mr. Luther: Terribly disgraceful, such foolish and ill informed men should hardly be allowed to associate in public, what will people say.

Mr. Stewart: Indeed Mr. Luther, now let us adjourn, we must get a bite to eat before the debate!

Mr. Luther: Fine idea my good Mr. Stewart!

Both exit right as the announcer enters left and walks up onto the large wooden platform and stands in the center, all surrounding cast immediately come to attention.

The Announcer: Good Afternoon my good intellectual daredevils, in a few moments we will begin our production. Be warned, this is not a place for the faint of mind nor weak of conviction, all fence sitters will be politely escorted from the building so please choose up sides if you would, it will greatly hurry things along. And oh yes, if there is a Mr. Glannville in the house, you?re principles have been found in the lobby and are waiting at the concierge. (Exit left)

Two men enter left as the announcer leaves, both are walking and examining the stage set up.

Mr. Locke: Our good friend Mr. Huxley?s day in the sun, and a good one too it appears, I never had this kind of crowd at my first debate.

Mr. Cartes: Our esteemed nemesis Mr. Stewart has never been the most popular fellow I must say.

Mr. Locke: Never will be by my measure, still, your own personal time on the debate circuit was a thing of wonder in my mind.

Mr. Cartes: Ah yes, those were the good old days, exciting and driven, not like today?s half hearted criticisms, empirical theories, fools like that fruit lover Mr. Newton riding high. Pure balderdash I say.

Mr. Locke: Quite right Mr. Cartes, quite right, never in my time have I heard such nonsense as proposed by the esteemed opposition.

Mr. Cartes: We are indeed both quite correct and I?m sure our fellow would agree with us.

Mr. Luther and Mr. Stewart enter on the right, Mr. Luther is holding a large bag of popcorn and is eating it loudly.

Mr. Luther: It seems our friends have decided to grace us with their august presence, how are you my dear Mr. Cartes, Mr. Locke, here to watch our lad trounce the witless Mr. Huxley I assume?

Mr. Stewart: Indeed Mr. Luther, your good Mr. Huxley does not stand a chance against the great and mighty intellect of Mr. Calvin.

Mr. Locke: Your kind are a dying breed, and our esteemed colleague Mr. Huxley will make short work of Mr. Calvin you can be rest assured.

Mr. Luther: Bah, our side is gaining influence and confidence, faith is once again a viable option. Uncertainty breeds our supporters like a force of nature, you can hardly hope to compete with the raw will behind us.

Mr. Stewart: Indeed Mr. Luther.

Mr. Cartes: The reasonable have far more on their side then simplistic explanations and dodgy arguments that turn back on themselves. Your works are highly suspect and your conclusions ill informed. Frankly my good sirs, I do not think either of you have a shred of merit.

Mr. Luther: Now, now Mr. Cartes, I know our mutual friend Mr. Huxley is your personal protégé but you are overreacting a touch, but it?s to be expected from men like you.

Mr. Stewart: Indeed Mr. Luther, a fine point indeed.

The Announcer enters once again from stage left, walking across to stand on the platform, he coughs a few times until the audience quiets down.

The Announcer: My good sirs and madams, it gives me great pleasure to introduce our mediator for the evening, the esteemed Mr. Newton, now any of you unfamiliar with our illustrious guest, he is best known for his work in the fruit industry, testing the quality of fallen apples I hear, he is also quite famous for his work in the exciting field of vital temperance, also involving apples.

Mr. Newton, dressed like a Victorian Elvis, enters to massive applause and the screaming of a group of female fans.

Mr. Newton: Good Afternoon my fine fellows, I see many an interesting face here today, why over here we have the overbearing and overweight Mr. Luther, and his shifty friend the illustrious Mr. Stewart, and right beside them the colorful and oh so introspective figure of Mr. Cartes and his colleague the ever so agreeable, and oh so bland, Mr. Locke. Yes quite the crowd indeed, rarely have I seen quite so much spiteful company assembled in one place. Tonight?s stars must feel quite nervous with all this ?talent? here today, so without further adieu I present tonight?s debaters, the good challenger Mr. Huxley and his illustrious opposition, the defending title champion, Mr. Calvin.

Black

Scene 3

The Announcer is standing on the platform alone with only lighting on him.

The Announcer: And that would be round one my good people and what a round it was. The arguments were fast and furious, the rebuttals calm and composed. Never in my three years on this honorable circuit have I seen such grace and sportsmanship among such bitter rivals. Mr. Huxley unleashing a devastating display of didactic diction right off the cuff and Mr. Calvin responding in kind with his own riveting repertoire of rhetoric, and indeed by mid round such aggressive arguing left our august . Such fine finesse from such fine We will now have a 15 minute recess before the next round to give our champions some time to recover so feel free to visit our propaganda stands to feed your mind and dull your wits, enjoy the subversion and please be here for round 2, thank you.

Mr. Locke and Mr. Cartes enter right.

Mr. Locke: That is some fine work by our boy Huxley, wouldn?t you agree Mr. Cartes?

Mr. Cartes: Utterly, our friend Mr. Huxley gave that deluded cleric a run for his money if I do say so myself.

Mr. Locke: I say it as well, so thus you do not say it by yourself, we both say it. Reason has good cause to be happy today, in high style we ride and our enemies flee before us.

Mr. Cartes: Yes we do Mr. Locke, Uncompromising vision and order are today?s special. (Locke and Cartes go on chatting quietly)

Mr. Luther and Mr. Stewart enter left and stand on the opposite end of the platform.

Mr. Luther: The nerve of that man insulting us all like that, who does he think he is?

Mr. Stewart: Indeed Mr. Luther, he had no right to treat you like that.

Mr. Luther: It?s men like him that are the problem with the world I tell you, all head and no heart, if I weren?t such a good man I?d pop him one right in the jaw.

Mr. Stewart: Indeed Mr. Luther, and a mighty blow it would be, truly tremendous!

Mr. Luther: That man should be banned from the circuit, he?s a disgrace and a show boater, his wild fruit nonsense has no place in a respectable forum.

Mr. Stewart: Indeed Mr. Luther, entirely inappropriate.

Mr. Locke: Feeling a little peevish are we?

Mr. Luther: My good Mr. Locke, you should feel no less insulted by that odious hack!

Mr. Locke: I see no reason to break temperance and countenance purely because some overstuffed egotist saw fit to demean me in public, on those of lesser character are known to indulge in such petty displays.

Mr. Luther: Quite right Mr. Locke, ever the reasonable gentlemen I suppose, frequently blasé and always lacking feeling and conviction.

Mr. Stewart: Indeed Mr. Luther, ever the ?worthy? nemesis?.

Mr. Locke: Now, now Mr. Luther, now is no time to get yourself into a tizzy, why here comes your good friend Mr. Newton, hardly a time to be lacking in composure.

Mr. Newton enters right followed by a small entourage of extras (two or three)

Mr. Newton: Fine start to an afternoon wouldn?t you say? I do admit that you all held up rather well under my criticisms earlier, hope I wasn?t too offensive chaps.

Luther starts to fluster and begins to get very angry, Mr. Stewart holds him back

Mr. Cartes: Ever the gentlemen Mr. Newton, ever the gentlemen, so gracious in enjoying fruitfulness of your labors and so sweetly reminding the rest of us what a tart you are.

Mr. Newton harrumphs loudly and starts to exit, then turns around.

Mr. Newton: I work in a legitimate field my good sir, I work with science, not random speculation and foolish introspection as you do, it is men like me, ambitious and logical who shall rule the new world, hardly fools like you.

Mr. Locke: And what a world it will be won?t it, full of boring stiffs without an original thought in their head, concerned far too much about the state of seed and juice than the condition of humanity I gather.

Mr. Newton harrumphs again and exits left.

Mr. Luther: That man is a menace, a disgrace to the circuit and to the calling, why he should be banned.

Mr. Stewart: Indeed Mr. Luther, not a smidgen of class and less modesty to be sure.

Mr. Cartes: Now, Now Gentlemen , it is not the time to be getting worked into a tizzy, it is hardly befitting of our immense composures to fall into such infinitesimal insults.

Mr. Luther: You?ve never been one to put up with such nonsense before Mr. Cartes, why so calm?

Mr. Stewart: Indeed Mr. Luther, I believe that there is something particularly strange about the composure of our good Mr. Cartes this afternoon.

Mr. Cartes: Think what you will, I am in dire need of some refreshment and will bid you adieu for now.

Mr. Locke: ah, I will join you, farewell until next round gentlemen.

Both Locke and Cartes exit in unison and the announcer enters once more to stand on the stage.

Mr. Luther: I do not understand how they can be so calm about that offensive hack Mr. Newton.

Mr. Stewart: Indeed Mr. Luther, something is amiss with those two, I can feel it.

Mr. Luther: I believe your assumption to be correct, we will have to have faith that it will unfold itself this afternoon, in time for us to witness it.

Mr. Stewart: Indeed Mr. Luther, we may very well be in for quite a show, and time enough to implement our own plans..

Both Luther and Stewart exit opposite Locke and Cartes and the lighting on stage shifts to the Announcer.

The Announcer: Welcome back for round two my courageous contemplators. Over the course of our intermission you may have noticed the commotion in the stands beginning to almost overwhelm the debate itself. Our prestigious mediator?s comments did noticeably not go unheard and he saw the nigh unpleasant consequences of those in his brief but ever so entertaining encounter with Mr. Locke and Mr. Cartes, something tells me we haven?t seen the end of this commotion and may very well be in store for two shows today. However now is not the time for spectator speculations as our pugilistic philosophers are warming up for our second round of rapid fire reflection and striking supposition.

The announcer backs out of the light and the lights fade.

Scene 4

Full lighting on stage, Mr. Locke and Cartes enter left talking amongst themselves while Mr. Luther and Mr. Locke are sitting in chairs facing the stage.

Mr. Locke: Well my good Mr. Cartes, it appears as if the illustrious competition has made a comeback in this second round. Our good Mr. Huxley was only just able to defend himself.

Mr. Cartes: His rebuttals were certainly admirable but our good Mr. Huxley is certainly going to have to come on stronger in the next round or it?s curtains for us.

Mr. Locke: Patience Mr. Cartes, patience, we still have work to do here do we not?

Mr. Cartes: Quite right Mr. Locke, quite right.

The Announcer enters from the right and starts mulling over cue cards on stage.

The Announcer: Tempers run high in the crowd and the debate heats up to an argumentative apex of articulate approximation. They?re neck in neck ladies and gentlemen, the good Mr. Huxley failing to finish the debate in two rounds, leaving us with a white knuckle drag out final round between these two intellectual dynamos.

Mr. Luther and Mr. Stewart stand up and walk over towards Locke and Cartes, Luther looks very pleased with himself, The Announcer exits right.

Mr. Luther: Well my friends, it appears the odds have turned in our favour.

Mr. Stewart: Indeed Mr. Luther, quite the show for good Mr. Calvin, it appears that Mr. Huxley was unable to make any ?reasonable? conclusions.

Mr. Locke: Now my good Mr. Stewart there?s no need to use such heavy handed insults, I thought you were supposed to be a man of breeding and character. Clearly more evidently bred from a character rather than bred from those with character wouldn?t you say Mr. Cartes?

Mr. Cartes: For shame Mr. Locke, such comments are hardly appropriate here, even if Mr. Stewart can be said to come from a more interesting background than either of us, mayhaps was your mother a mouse? Or perhaps a squirrel?

Luther starts going into a rage and starts throwing mock punches at Cartes while Mr. Stewart holds him back. Mr. Newton with his flunkies enters stage right.

Mr. Newton: Even tempered as always my rotund friend, I see that our good friend Mr. Cartes has managed to raise your blood pressure more than I could, pray tell what?s his secret or are you too flustered to speak?

Luther turns and gives Mr. Newton a hopeless look and then glances back at Mr. Cartes who is grinning with delight.

Mr. Luther: What did I ever do to deserve this?!

Mr. Stewart: Indeed Mr. Luther, we are so very wronged we are, foul all of these horrible men.

Mr. Luther collapses sobbing and Mr. Stewart comforts him.

Mr. Locke: Mr. Newton we have been doing fine in our little contests without you, as you have reduced Mr. Luther to a quivering mass. He is hardly an amusing opponent anymore because of you.

Mr. Newton: Don?t sound too disappointed Mr. Locke, you know I was just doing lesser minds a favor by ridding them of a little filth.

Mr. Cartes: Now that was utterly uncalled for you pompous pratt, how dare you sully this hallowed site with your profane and juvenile insults. This is an arena of the mind not some school play yard.

Mr. Locke: Quite right Mr. Cartes, his insults have no flow and he clearly lacks the dedication towards the craft and flow of debate, far too much interest in pulp is my guess.

Mr. Newton: Nothing but hacks, all of you! You couldn?t even hope to achieve my grand feats of intellect, you?re nothing but worthless idea men the lot of you! Far too much time thinking and not enough time doing! You are all simply jealous, envious of my achievements, you desire my success for yourself and thus you descend to petty contests of intellect against my obviously superior intellect!

Mr. Cartes: We haven?t said a thing along the lines of a ?petty insult?, what we craft are rhetorical works of art my good Mr. Newton and if you have no appreciation for the art of rhetoric what pray tell are you doing here in the first place. Perhaps you?re a fraud yourself, none of your ever come off as particularly well constructed your conclusions are highly suspect and your logic clearly flawed in many places, so let me ask you again Mr. Newton, what are you doing here?

Mr. Luther has managed to pull himself together and is standing up once more

Mr. Newton: What am I doing here, it is you who don?t belong! A new movement is dawning, practicality and pragmatism will sweep away your foolish introspection and speculation! It will do away with foolish clerics and deluded theologians! I am the future, I don?t have to take this from overweight religious simpletons and deluded useless speculators!

Mr. Luther: How dare you! Overweight religious simpleton am I?! You, Mr. Newton have gone much too far this time! Prepare to meat your maker! Come Mr. Stewart!

Mr. Stewart: Indeed Mr. Luther! (Luther lands a slap right on Mr. Newton?s face)

Mr. Newton: You just hit me you great blimp! How dare you lay a hand on me! (Mr. Newton slaps Mr. Luther back)

Mr. Stewart: No one hits Mr. Luther! (Attempts to slap Newton but Newton avoids it and Stewart slaps Mr. Luther instead)

Mr. Luther: You just hit me!

Mr. Stewart: I meant to hit him!

Mr. Luther: Then Hit him!

Newton?s Flunkies: Hey, nobody hits the boss!

Luther and Stewart start fighting with Newton and his flunkies, flinging insults all the while.

Mr. Luther: Foppish Buffoon!

Mr. Stewart: Overdressed Cad!

Mr. Newton: Unhand me! Unhand me! You mismatched misanthropes!

Luther and Stewart: Callous, unfeeling, used theory salesman!

Mr. Newton: Worthless stargazers! Foolish priests! Crazed Clerics!

Mr. Locke and Mr. Cartes calmly observe the combat, carefully avoiding the tussling group.

Mr. Locke: Well Mr. Cartes, it seems you?ve managed to push our esteemed nemeses just a little too far this time.

Mr. Cartes: Quite so Mr. Locke, it?s a shame that they appear to have completely stolen interest from our good friend Mr. Huxley?s debate but I really don?t see and way it could have been avoided.

Mr. Locke: You?ve been planning this from the get go haven?t you?

Mr. Cartes: Very observant Mr. Locke, removing three of my most delightful and witless foes with one fell stroke of delightful embarrassment.

Mr. Locke: You never cease to amaze me Mr. Cartes, ever the schemer. Oh, and on that note, here come the authorities right now, best get a move on then.

Mr. Cartes: Indeed Mr. Locke, no reason to stick around at this point, thought it?s a bit of a shame we won?t see the finale of the debate, yet I have no doubt that our boy will trounce Calvin.

Mr. Locke: Quite right Mr. Cartes, a great shame we?ll miss it, but there is no reason to answer questions that do not need answering is there? And the authorities are liable to be asking them, so it?s best we have no reason to be here.

Mr. Cartes: No reason at all Mr. Locke, no reason at all.

Cartes and Locke exit left. Fade to black as Luther, Stewart and Newton continue their brawl.

There is a pause of about a minute and then the light comes up and only the Announcer remains on stage.

The Announcer: And there you have it, the grand finale, ending with a brutal brawl of the bright and barbaric. The scientific and secular against the spirited spiritualists in a scrap of speculation with a bit of a violent vendetta between the vast vestige of Mr. Luther and the narcissistic nihilism of Mr. Newton, quite a sight to behold. Blows were struck, men were felled, truly a wondrous war to watch. Alas it appears that though we may not have been able to witness the grand finale between Mr. Calvin and Mr. Huxley, we were still partial to an entertaining show. So come again my friends and witness more conceptual competition, cerebral contests, colloquial combats and other such courageous clashes of cortexes as it is, alas, time to go. Remember to keep your minds strong and vision unclouded, stick to your principles or you?ll get stuck and never, ever compromise, that?s the rule and law of the day. Good Night ladies and gentlemen. The Announcer exits left.

I've also written some great papers on Historical topics, but those are looooong and probably dry, so I probably won't post any of those unless anyone specifically wants to read my academic work.
 

Clemenstation

New member
Dec 9, 2008
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Some people mentioned only being able to write when forced to, by a class assignment or whatever. My problem is that I can only write creatively when I am supposed to be doing other work, like my MA thesis or a dull-ass reference guide (I'm a technical writer).

I also wrote two plays in university, but was only able to finish them after I had cast all the characters and had the crew breathing down my neck to get the ending done so they could start memorizing lines and blocking scenes.

If I was ever an 'author' (i.e. writing was my full-time job), I would never write a single thing.
 

Echolocating

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Jul 13, 2006
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At one point in my career, I had to do a lot of documentation (very boring stuff on the surface) and I developed a huge appreciation for being concise while trying to remain interesting. Technical writing is an art form as well.

The one thing that irks me the most is repetitive words (especially combinations of) within the exact same paragraph or page. I see this a lot in people's early works in creative writing. Sometimes a thesaurus can solve the problem, but usually that specific detail isn't even necessary to repeat.

That said, my mother still has an early elementary school story that I wrote... and the entire thing is one run-on sentence. Apparently, I had a nifty idea of using the phrase "and then", instead of a period. ;-)