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Creative Writing Thread •^•
| Sounding it out, roaring should have 2 syllables. Roar-ing.
| No, I know that, but googling it gives you a funny answer.
| So heres some bad poetry I wrote, enjoy
## Descending High Above
My Feathers over barren hills,
Defying all of earthbound wills.
The Clouds descending all around,
All thoughts are lost, never found.
The Glory, rising sun above,
But yet it's still not enough.
And Diving down into the lush,
Into the grazing, windy gush.
When Stepping over flowing green,
Between the flowers never seen.
Myself be lost for evermore,
No wish to leave here anymore.
| >>ba0859
Its got potential, but you shouldn't use aabb ryhming schemes unless you're doing really experimental stuff. Try using asonance or ryhming within the lines. Experiment and deconstruct language and generally be wacky, poetry at its best is dicking about and making stuff because it's fun to make.
| i'm a typical "i sometimes write stories but i always start with immense and wealthy ideas but give up no even halfway through" type.
stop posting you fucks, wait for the long ________ line.
because here's Harrie goes to London
| Harrie daydreamed. She remembered her fourteenth birthday. Sometimes she liked to remember it for no real reason, just because she wanted to. Sometimes it popped up in her mind just like that, perhaps because she saw something that reminded her of it. Sometimes there really was no reason for her to think about it so she sat there for a while and wondered why her thoughts came to that time in particular.
| It’s alright, she always said to herself, it’s not like she had much to do anyways.
Harrie was proud of her memory, but for as long as she could remember, she had lived on the Station. She didn’t know if she liked it or not; the air was clean, white, and not too cold or too warm. At some point the Director had told her that it always gets much colder outside. She didn’t know if it was true or not; she had never even seen outside.
| She had only quickly glanced at a book titled London while the nurses weren’t looking, and had been dreaming about a few old-looking towers ever since.
Actually, that wasn’t true. She had seen outside just once. Someone had forgotten to lock the door to her room for the night, and, curious as she was, she nervously pressed it open. And after a while, she was in the long hallway.
| She didn’t need to have a good memory to remember that moment, when she was just gliding across the chemical-smelling floor by the dozens of doors that were exactly the same as her room’s – a kind of dark blue wood - towards a destination unknown even to her. And she had come across a slightly open door. She was too anxious to peer in at first, but that room’s light was turned off. There’s probably no one in there, she thought. She tried her luck.
| She moved so close to the door that she could almost touch it. She raised her hand in front of her as if to push against the smooth surface, but the door was open enough for her to slip inside without having to do that.
And then she was inside.
It was a wide room, wider than the experiment lab. In the middle were a few benches with tables between them. Perhaps people used these for breakfast? But no, she thought. People usually eat alone.
| She had immediately spotted a strange, warm blue glow, but she was sure that the bright neon lamps were off. The button was over there, behind her, and the orange spot was flickering on it, so that you could find it in the dark.
She looked at the double door she came in from. Then she looked left and right. This room is twice as wide as it is long, she noted, using geometry words she had learned last week.
Somewhere outside the room, a door closed.
| She quickly went down, grimacing with every slight tad of noise she made as she crawled under a table. She bumped her elbow against something.
In an attempt to hide better, she folded her wings against her sides, which wasn’t easy at all in that quite narrow space.
On her side, face pressed against her hand, she listened. She could hear her breath in her chest. Her heart was pumping, she heard it in her ears.
| Far down the hallway, someone was walking. She waited a while, and another door closed. She waited even longer.
It was getting really uncomfortable.
Then another door opened, and another set of footsteps appeared – this time seeming to come closer.
She held her breath, completely helpless. She had closed her eyes. A weird smell permeated the room. Perhaps that’s plastic, she thought. The floor appeared to be made out of it.
There was a weird noise coming from the door.
| She realized her terrible mistake: she had left it open.
There was a muffled tapping. Were those footsteps? She knew she could look over from where she was. It took her some courage to open her left eye.
But when she looked over, there was nothing. She didn’t know what to think of it; she was sure it was footsteps. It scared her quite a bit to think that there was someone else than her sneaking about outside.
So she waited a while.
| And when there was just silence, she moved her arms and painstakingly crawled out. Nobody jumped out from the shadows. But the open door stressed her out a lot, so she moved to another part of the room where she couldn’t be seen from the entrance.
In doing so, she had walked towards the wall in the back. Her curiosity returning, she really wanted to figure out where the blue light was coming from.
She came closer to the wall. It wasn’t a wall.
| It was the first time in her young life that she saw a window.
She couldn’t hear her breath anymore. The first thing she saw was that something was falling down. It was a thousand little things falling from the sky, heavily gliding here and there, flying in the air. She looked down. They were falling onto the ground, a sheet of bluish white that seemed to be made of cotton, and which covered the whole indigo landscape.
| She was stunned. It was the widest thing that she had ever seen. She looked around and let beauty drown her sight. The sky was of a poetic color, a deep, dark and passionate blue the saplings and pine trees were bathing in. The sky was so clean she could have counted the stars. A bunch of tumultuous clouds were, however, silently rumbling around the moon far above, reflecting the latter’s singular light, playing with it, painting with it.
| The ground wasn’t flat, however unspoiled it looked; a few hills here and there bewildered the scene.
Is that snow? She had asked herself, in a daze.
I thought snow was only a legend. Something that the nurses dreamed up. Frozen water falling from the ceiling?
And there it was, falling from the ceiling of the world.
captcha >sabre nigga mop
| There was a dry noise, and the neon lights flickered and turned on. Surprised, Harrie squeaked in terror and fell to her knees, blinded; her hopeful reaction was to loudly crawl under a nearby table, but a loud and rapid stomping blew away any illusion of concealment. Her heart knocked against her rib cage, but she knew that she was totally done for.
>>615935 wtf spoilerchan?
| Someone lifted the table as if it was nothing, and a pair of harsh hands gripped her under the shoulders. She looked down: a nurse had put a needle in her arm.
As she was brusquely carried away, the last thing she saw was the director, standing there in his white coat and stylish black glasses, sighing a bit and going “I am so deeply disappointed, Harriett.”
|
Harrie didn’t know it back then, but the very moment she saw the outside world for the first time, the clock rang midnight, and she had just turned fourteen.
Her life got much worse after that night. Not horrible, just bad. After everyone had been yelled at, everyday routine resumed. There were new rules now, like her not being allowed to be outside of her room on her own and having to be followed by a nurse at all times.
| She couldn’t do anything without someone knowing about it. Even in her room, a camera was installed. Its little red light, the only light source in the room at night, annoyed her a lot when she wanted to sleep. But even then, she couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking about that room with its windows and the outside behind them. When she did sleep, she dreamed about the snow-covered hills and the pine trees floating in the blizzard.
| And the camera’s microphone probably heard her sleep-talking.
She didn’t like the new rules at all, but she would never ever regret seeing the outside world. So, in the end, it was worth it, she told herself.
It was only a few weeks later, when she was laying in bed, with the camera still pointed straight at her and a number of scary men walking around in the hallways outside, that she realized why they were all so mad.
Because those windows could be opened.
| END OF CHAPTER ONE...
________
| be sure to put that story in Chilanka font, size 18.
i wrote a continuation but i don't like it that much. the story is nowhere near finished. there are two chapters and the first one is the only one i like so far.
i always do this shit, my imagination just fucking roars up and it all flies the fuck away when i actually try to put it into matter.
| >>2866ba
I like a lot of the imagery you use and the sonic quality of the words you use. I think you could stand to use a more unique and unreplicable narration with interesting uses of double entudres or just unorthodox methods of saying things. Try to take inspiration from different sources, I like to emulate the writing styles of Emily Dickinson and Lemony Snicket within my writing. Also, try to think up of more metatextual meanings for what you say, it adds a lot of depth.
| >>2866ba
-Overall, I'd say it was very promising in it's story and ideas and you simply need more short term goals to practice on. Try some poetry or limiting yourself to only 100 or 200 words. You'll find it frustrating to wind deep and complex meaning into 30 words of poetry, but it's great practice.
| Howling, we rest.
On night's fangs,
nightmares of old,
body to a mortal's allure.
Brokenness as satisfaction.
| >>6e186c
This is a pretty fascinating poem. I don't want the clear, exact answers as that would take away the mystery of the poem, but the line of "howling we rest" is so vexxing as one wouldnt howl as they rest. The next two lines make me think of night as a traumatic reminder of something or a negative kind of dejavu. And the second to last line makes me think of that saying of how the only thing that differentiates people from animals is denial. And that ties into the last line-
| -with a sense of acceptance for that kind of lifestyle.
| I like writing songs (hopefully one day I'll bget to make them too) but this is one of the best ones I've written down. It'll take me around four posts including this one, but hopefully you don't mind.
I'm sick,
of feeling sick,
of feeling anxious,
feeling worried
I guess I'm still alive,
but it feels like I was buried long ago
Writhing in my grave,
nothing on my stone,
'cause nobody knows I'm down here
|
Now two people found out, they're tryna set my name in stone
they start digging with their hands,
but it's taking way too long, 'cause I keep sinking
I won't stop sinking
One person gave up
the other one got a shovel
even if they get me up
I know I'll just be falling in
again
and again
and again
and again
I'm feeling claustrophobic
Can't breathe
Narcotics
My chest is full of smoke
Can't let it out unless I force it
| I know it's for the best
I know they want to help
But fuck it 'cause I'll just fall in again and then again
Can't stand on the edge
Shits intense and fucks me up
When right next to a safe space
I can't help but fucking jump
Down there is all I know
Down there is death and comfort
I'll have no fucking life
But at least I won't get bothered by
Therapists, withdrawal, living healthy and a job
No kids, no lover, nobody that'll stop me
| From harmful habits
From killing myself
From hurting others
To truly be dead
Is not to lose your life
I cut the end because it's not that important and pretty boring when in text. I hope you like it.
| >>d03cd5
Do you know what genre of music you'd like to make these lyrics into? I can imagine this working well with experimental music or prog rock as I think a psychedelic sound would give it an interesting juxstaposition. A good example would be Death Grips with their prophetic lyrics' meaning being twisted due to the soundscape.
| >>616136
I'm actually thinking more on the side of experimental hip-hop. The beat I'm imagining for this one is kind of slow saxophone with the fast part being rapped, with the beat completely changing to just hard, violent hip-hop beat, then slow down back to the saxophone at the end that I didn't post. Most of the stuff I think of and sometimes write is rap/hip-hop, which is my preferred genre of music. This one and some others would be very much experimental though.
| Heres a poem I wrote:
I woke up with a nosebleed
Heed taken knot tied gut wrench
Wretch mint mild draining ooze
Whose glorious basting sun dry
Eyes of viridian socked seeing
Fleeing from a damned of the
Gushing peels and peeling vines
Signs of the walking token
Broken soles for uneven pairs
Hair culing with the book of the riddles
Fiddled did the spine and leaves and spoke
Woke did you with orange blood
Mud in a dry land for a pepper organ
--
| --
Foreign without it's mint
Wet because your-
I woke up with a nosebleed
| Here's a low quality no plan haiku:
"Merenchino walk
Sherbert roads with sprinkled glass
Vinegar death"
| Might've fucked up the last syllable numbers
| Babump
| I've got a haiku:
"Crystal Ruby
Topaz glint diamond falses
Real sapphire weddings"
| Why doesnt anyone else join into the thread?
This thread is permanently archived
| This thread is all about creative writing. Poetry-slam or not-,short stories, haikus, or experimental are all welcome. Try to make your own and keep it relatively within fiction. I'll start with a haiku,
"Hemmorage disdain
Rioting through tread inked jungles
Standing lone again."
Also, try googling how many syllables are in roaring.