The following is s short story from the material that I plan to use for business purposes. It's a rough draft and I hope to eventually make it into a short still-motion video. A format I call Stillies.TM no really TM If you happen to like it enough to share I'm OK with that as long as it's credited to The Wizard Joseph and a link is provided to PrincipiaDiscordia.com. If you don't like it I'm sorry, but it's the best I and my muse can manage right now. It has been heavily influenced by some of the information I've come across here and everyone here has my deepest thanks for their influence.
Touched By A Goddess
Things can get pretty lonely here in Root City. Every day slips into the next and the next differentiated only by the number
of gunshots I think I hear each night and their proximity. The people have no time for a common single white male of
unexceptional looks and meager pocket book. I decided to take out an ad on Spagslist.com to see if I could meet someone,
anyone, that would respond well to a little teasing.
The add ran thusly:
To trade: One coffee table in exchange for conversation and possible hand-job.
No picture necessary, come as you are no matter what you look like.
Prefer a tall, leggy conversation partner.
Not really "in to", but curious about bondage.
Please contact Melvin Melville PH#: (%%%) %%%-%%%% 1123 Cross Rd. Root City, WI #8
SERIOUS responses only please.
I submitted the ad at about 5 O'clock on a drizzly Friday afternoon. After it failed to generate any immediate response I
stopped refreshing the screen around 3 a.m. and went to bed. My last thoughts before drifting off into a dreamless sleep were
along the lines of "Fucking bitches, guess none of them can take a joke."
BAM BAM! BAMBAMBAM!
I woke with a jolt in my nerves and a foul sweat soaking the sheets of my bed. I grunted incoherently as I looked with
sandpapery eyes over at the clock next to my bed on the coffee table. It was jammed in with the rest of my possessions and
the piles of garbage in my dingy and unkempt efficiency apartment. It's cheery red face read 4:00. Judging by the sunlight
lancing it's way into my optic nerves this meant 4 p.m.
BAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAM!
With limbs heavy and mouth tasting nasty from over sleep I hauled myself up and put on some shorts as quickly as I could. The
pounding continued as I tried to shout with thick vocal cords, "Hold your horses Goddamnit! I payed the rent on time last
week! Are you a cop?"
The result was more of a croaking sound.
I hobbled through the living room, kitchenette combo area, past the bathroom that had no door and was in a shameful state. I
had just enough time and presence of mind to notice the fresh, deep cracks across the middle of the door before I had it
open. What I saw took my breath away.
She was incredible! Her hair was jet black and loosely held behind her head. She was at least two inches taller than me and
dressed in a long, dark purple jacket, a matching tight, flesh form leather corset with gilded fittings, a short, dark red
vinyl skirt, various dazzling jewelery, and wore knee high black boots over perfectly smooth legs the color of a sandy beach.
Most striking was the deep purple and gold leather mask that covered the upper part of her face and framed violet and green
eyes so vivid and intricate that they just HAD to be contact lenses. She seemed to be in her late thirties or maybe an
incredibly well preserved fourtysomething.
There was a nonchalant smile on her scarlet lips as she leaned slightly against the right side of the door frame. From her
left hand a short cat of nine tails style whip with a long haft and Y shaped brass pommel dangled off of a loop attached to
her wrist. I could not help but notice the life-like dagger tattoo gracefully drawn between her smallish and alluring breasts.
It disappeared tantalizingly into the top of the corset and I could just see it's path down her abdomen through the front
laces.
I placed my forearm up against the door frame and leaned on it, mirroring her angle. I smiled without showing my grimy teeth
and said, "Well, hey there beautiful! What's your na.."
I never saw her move. A horrible blossom of pain opened up in my solar plexus and lungs. I doubled over. I couldn't gasp much
less breathe. I would have hit the ground then and there, but an impossibly strong grip on my forearm, the one I had leaned
on, prevented me from pitching forward. Instead I found myself abstractly noting the cool smooth feel of that whip's pommel
on my clavicle as she thrust me back into the room. The grip on my wrist released just as my balance pitched all the way back
and I sprawled out onto the floor of the kitchenette. I nearly puked, both from the pain and the fact that my head was now
resting in old pasta sauce I should have cleaned off of the floor a week ago.
I heard her soft, even footsteps walk into my room. I heard my own groans. I heard the door close gently and felt the rush of
air as it did so.
I heard her Voice. An impossible thing of multiple voices some quietly laughing and jeering while others were nearly sobbing.
Over all of them there was a velvety, almost sympathetic and almost mocking voice. It said to me, "You must be Melvin. Melvin
Melville? (get up you weak little shitstain!) (awww, he's just so damn cute like that) I'm here about your ad and the table.
Am I bothering you? Is this a good time? I'm on a pretty tight schedule myself. (so don't waste my time you wretch) I'll just
get straight to the point. (hehehe)"
She brought her leg back and soccer kicked me in the side of my leg as I lay there trying desperately to re-orient myself.
The blow landed squarely in the middle my femur and I felt hot painsations. It was exactly like how I've imagined being shot
must feel. As she smoothly withdrew her boot I noticed that the tip was a black and glossy metal.
She stood there in my kitchenette for moments that seemed to be ages taking in the sights and smells of my room. She was
literally sniffing in short deep bursts like an animal. I vainly tried to climb the cabinets and counter top that divided the
kitchenette from the living room I slept in and get some footing.
"STAY DOWN UNTIL I'M FINISHED ASSWIPE!!" The voice sounded like a freight train crashing into my ear. I expected the place to
shake and some helpful neighbor to start banging on their wall and call the cops. Neither happened. I felt my resolve give
way as it dawned on me that the shout had been IN MY HEAD! I tried to scream. I managed to gurgle and slump.
The woman brought in one last, long, deep breath and sighed. She tisked a few times and seemed to be making a decision. I
thought it best to simply lay there on the floor in agony and paralytic terror. I hadn't even had my coffee yet.
She continued to look around as she bemusedly said, "Here I thought you were going to be a big fat shit ready for flushing.
(you lucky little punk) But you are in fact just a useless little fuck. (does it hurt baby, huh?) Look at this place! You
have every advantage in this hogwash patriarchal society (Louie's such a clusterfuck), and you CAN'T SEEM TO DO A THING WITH
IT!!" Again I felt the thunder in my head. I still couldn't brace for it.
"Let me show you around this little life of yours." She fluidly bent over and grabbed me firmly by the arm and the waist of
my shorts and lifted me onto my feet. I was eye to eye with her for a few moments as the shorts firmly wedged into my
asscrack. I'll never forget them. Ever. And her eyes seemed so kind and sad, and mad. As soon as my feet cleared the floor I
was moving away from them. I crashed through the door-less portal and onto the bathroom sink. The cheap porcelain cracked and
the even cheaper plumber's tape my scumbag landlord had used to fix a persistent leak gave way. I knew this because the cold
water began to spray out in a high pressure stream. I was beyond pain at this point, but noted a few dull spots in my back
that would doubtless make their voices heard later. She walked casually toward me from the Kitchenette.
"It's a good thing I got to you first little boy. Why, if you had actually managed to find some poor girl desperate enough to
take you up on that bullshit ad you placed you might never have grown up at all! (maybe you just needed a maid, jerk) Look at
all this mess. REALLY LOOK!(have a taste too asshole)"
She grabbed me by the shaggy hair on the back of my neck and dragged me effortlessly, head first, to the toilet. Naturally
the seat was up. Naturally I had not flushed the fucker. She held me there, my nose millimeters from the amber water and the
seaweed brown streaks on the side of the bowl. It so happened that this position put my forehead in the path of the icy
water streaming out of my sink. For a terrible moment she said nothing as I watched the water stream off of my nose and into
the bowl. I had no fight left in me. She was just too strong.
"You see? And then when you're done you do this," She flushed the toilet and the musky, salty brine became a flavor in my
nose and mouth. "And This!" She slammed the seat down on the back of my neck. "AND THIS!!" She did that screaming thing
again, brought down the lid onto the crown of my head, and threw me back out through the doorway. The toilet seat broke free
and came with me, wrapped around my neck.
I never knew what it was like to fly across a room before. It's not as fun as you'd think. My refrigerator had been doing
nothing this entire time but humming contentedly until I crashed into it sideways. I think this is when my nose broke, but
I'm not sure. Laying there in the angle between the fridge and it's now open door is definitely when I noticed the blood. At
first I thought it might be ketchup, but I had no ketchup in the door. I was real sure of at least that one fact when I
realized that she had come to stand behind me. I hadn't heard her walk up somehow.
She got down on one knee and sort of cradled me and the toilet seat. Her hands were so warm. "Oh you poor thing.. (not that
poor, douchebag) It looks like you have just nothing to eat. Maybe THAT'S why you're such a pathetic fuck. Let's see, what's
this here in the back?"
She reached across me deep into the fridge, and her breasts, just ever so lightly, touched my nose. It's how I discovered it
was broken. Her body slid back over me and she withdrew what my gamer circle and I refer to as "The Horror." It was a plastic
container that at one point had held Grandma's casserole, months ago. It was now an ecosystem. One I had never had the guts
to check on and throw out.
Her sharp nose wrinkled as she opened it. She seemed to contemplate for a moment. She put it back on the edge of the shelf and
threw the lid away. "You haven't been THAT naughty. Maybe you do need a woman to take care of you. (after you grow up
shitbird) You look so damn tired. I keep forgetting how you mortals can be so flimsy. (and no useful stamina either!) Let's
just put you to bed, M'kay? Would you like to just get some rest?"
I wanted to tell her to just get the hell out. I wanted to tell the crazy bitch to fuck off and die! All I could manage was a
look of resignation and an attempt to nod. She was already nodding vigorously and smiling with a sick and fanatic enthusiasm.
I could hear the soft tinkling sound her earrings made as she did it.
I was dragged by my arm across the kitchen and through the little gap between the counter top and the wall that served to
almost bisect the shoebox I was living in. The carpet in the living room burned my back and nearly took my wedged shorts off
of me. I was already clenching out of sheer survival reflex. I was dumped bodily onto the mattress and box spring on the floor
that served as my bed. The psycho knelt down next to me.
"Here let me just tuck you in and..." She paused and looked down to where my thin and dirty blanket had drawn back as she
placed it neatly over me. Her eyes had fixed on the videos and magazine laying there. My porn collection. All I could think
was, "NO! nononono..." as my body went cold everywhere except my groin. That was all too warm and the sensation was
spreading.
"What the fuck is this? "Dirty, Dirty Slut Butt?" "Ho Or Dare: College Edition #23!?" "Bang That Hole Till It Squirts!?!?"
"GASH FLASH MAGAZINE!!!!" WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK WOMEN ARE YOU CREEPER!? THEY'RE PEOPLE!!! THEY'RE NOT SOME KIND OF MAN MAYONNAISE RECEPTACLE! IF YOU WON'T HAVE ANY FUCKING RESPECT IT'S NO WONDER THAT YOU'RE A LOSER THAT LIVES ALONE IN A GODDAMN DUMPSTER FULL OF YOUR OWN FILTH! AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRHHHHHH!!!!!
As she got more and more worked up she began to tear out pages of the magazine and rub them in my face. I barely noticed
this. The piercing shriek in my head had become a living and furious thing trying to fuck it's way out of my head through my
sinuses and ear drums. I seriously thought I was going to die!
HONK HONKHONKHONK HONK!
I just barely heard the horn of a car blaring out in the street. The woman stopped immediately and looked out. Her face
swiftly went into a moment of mild shock followed by a serene and playful happiness. For a moment all I could think was that
she looked so radiant in the light from the window. I was so sorry. It was so obviously my fault that things had turned out
this way. So beautiful...
"M'Kay, so I really do have to get going, hope you enjoyed the convo!(gonna go see a better man than you)" She looked around
the room and spotted the only table I had. "This must be the table! So, awesome then huh? Here.. uhm..just get yourself
cleaned up, you little idiot. Thanks for the table! I really do need it for another project." She tossed me a slightly clean
Root City Cogs jersey of mine from on top of the table.
HONKHONK HOOOOONK!
"Aw, he's always in such a hurry. Bye now! It was just great getting to know you Melvin Melville. You never know, we may just
see each other again some day.(You better have your shit together you twerp)"
With that she one handed the table and walked away toward the door dumping all of my stuff off of it. I barely noticed that
the clock read 4:07 before it's cord got pulled from the wall as it crashed into the floor along with all of my game books. I
noticed that her boots had five inch heels. She had just a perfect apple shaped ass. She left the way she had come in. She
just gently opened the door and closed it behind her carrying her table and dragging her whip loosely against the ground. I
could hear the table bump and scrape against the wall as she headed down the hallway. I heard a plop that could only have been "The Horror" falling off the shelf and hitting the floor.
I was going to be damned if I didn't at least watch her go.
I managed through unaccountable will to drag myself to the window I had heard the honking coming from. There I saw a beaten
out old, grey Volvus parked crookedly on the far side of the street. The door on the driver's side was open and a huge man in
shabby hand-me-down business clothes was standing there smoking a black cigarette. He expression was a bit worried and he was looking at my building.
He looked like he was about to start honking again when I heard the building door open and the sound of metal heels on
concrete. The big guy's face lit up in the purest happiness I'd ever seen, even on a child. He met her half way across the
road and planted a lingering kiss on that radiant monster's lips. He took the table from her and opened the back door to put
it in the Volvus while she scrambled on hands and knees through the drivers side door and sat down in the passenger seat. The
dude had to jiggle it a little but managed to make the table fit.
Their voices carried to me on the air. "Ah, Pretty One. I hope that things have gone well?" The man's voice had an accent on
it that I just couldn't place. "Hm? Oh yeah baby, everything's fine! Peachy keen you know?" "I heard you keening and thought
that there may have been troubles. I need not have worried." "Let's get the fuck out of here baby. That guy was a total
stain." "I worried that I may have needed to ask Great Garbage for another favor if you screamed much longer. I already owe
it so much" "Can we not talk about your creepy friends and just get the fuck out of here, like NOW?" "Of course, beautiful
Eris. We have so much yet to do."
With both of them seated, the door closed and the car very slowly accelerated away. If only I could afford to call an ambulance.
As promised, here are a few thoughts on this piece which you might find useful.
While I like what I think you are trying to do here, it's terminally self-indulgent; essentially a self-castigating masturbatory fantasy in which Beautiful Terrible Eris shows up and beats up on a spoiled brat.
It's far too long for the content. If the scene transpires in 7 minutes, it shouldn't take more than 7 minutes to read it.
Fewer masturbatory cliches would be really nice, I cringed at "apple-shaped ass". It DID effectively convey that your protagonist was a dimwit for whom brutal assault and physical pain had no impact on his capacity for callow leering, but also lent the impression of reading a Penthouse letter written by a staff writer because they didn't receive enough real submissions for the March 1974 issue.
Lastly, believability. Are we, the readers, supposed to think that Eris herself would take the time out to personally go beat the crap out of a random unimportant douche with virtually zero distinguishing characteristics? Why? Why that particular one? This is where the piece reeks of sublimated egotism, of an unwarranted sense of significance, and also of pure violence-masturbation fantasy.
This isn't to say that it isn't salvageable. Edit it ruthlessly and you might end up with something that conveys your point without digressing into cringe-inducing lengthy fapfiction.
Other thoughts:
Who the fuck is the random guy who picks her up supposed to be, and what is he adding to the story?
Is there a reason Eris is bucking mythology in order to be beautiful, other than gratification of the male gaze?
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 04, 2015, 07:18:16 AM
Other thoughts:
Who the fuck is the random guy who picks her up supposed to be, and what is he adding to the story?
Is there a reason Eris is bucking mythology in order to be beautiful, other than gratification of the male gaze?
People do that so they don't have to feel weird about wanking it to a terrifically old lady with blood up to her kneecaps.
Quote from: Doktor Howl on January 04, 2015, 07:21:26 AM
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 04, 2015, 07:18:16 AM
Other thoughts:
Who the fuck is the random guy who picks her up supposed to be, and what is he adding to the story?
Is there a reason Eris is bucking mythology in order to be beautiful, other than gratification of the male gaze?
People do that so they don't have to feel weird about wanking it to a terrifically old lady with blood up to her kneecaps.
I would have thought that feeling weird was at least
part of the point, there.
I guess not everybody is into a good time.
Ill give my input when i finish reading it, right around, 2017 id say. BRB.
I agree with Nigel's points. I had trouble getting to the roughing up part, partially due to length, partially due to the guy himself. He's not an interesting character. Well, I suppose he is in his own way, like, how did he get to where he is might be interesting, but I can't get interested in him as he's presented.
Also, why is Eris dressed like a stripper? Five inch heels? I feel like this is more a scene out of that awful Tom Cruise movie with the sex dungeon, only you've taken the central character from our religion and objectified her down to a tall stripper with a penchant for administering violence on losers with humiliation fantasies. When I was a phone sex girl people paid me to tell them that story, only it usually didn't take as long.
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 04, 2015, 07:18:16 AM
Other thoughts:
Who the fuck is the random guy who picks her up supposed to be, and what is he adding to the story?
Is there a reason Eris is bucking mythology in order to be beautiful, other than gratification of the male gaze?
These are related questions. The random guy is a better adapted form of the alien "wizard" character prominent in many of my stories in this setting. By this point in the time line he has come to some businesses arrangements with The Goddess Eris as well as several entities from other mythologies. They needed a table and have an urgent appointment to keep. Eris happened upon poor Melvin's ad. Kismet's a bitch.
I sought to portray a certain slowly dawning supernatural horror and progress of sudden shock in the narrative Melvin gives.
Quote from: Doktor Howl on January 04, 2015, 07:21:26 AM
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 04, 2015, 07:18:16 AM
Other thoughts:
Who the fuck is the random guy who picks her up supposed to be, and what is he adding to the story?
Is there a reason Eris is bucking mythology in order to be beautiful, other than gratification of the male gaze?
People do that so they don't have to feel weird about wanking it to a terrifically old lady with blood up to her kneecaps.
Well everyone has their hang ups I guess.
There are in fact unexplained plot reasons for Melvin happening to be blessed with a vision of Eris 'with her face on'. In my mythos she has cultivated the old hag look for some centuries true. The better to not have to deal with unnecessary bullshit, also Greeks be talking some scandalous shit.
Altering a corporeal vessel is exhausting work and she wasn't about to mess up her look just to deal with a little stain like Melvin. Time is money.
Ok, so this is just a scene in a larger work that has nothing to do with Melvin outside of this scene? I think that perhaps it may be losing some of its intended meaning out of context from the rest of the story.
I found it very unfocused. The abusive driven masturbation fantasy aspect could be funny in an extended gag sort of way if it wasn't played so straight. The protagonist, somehow, seems to win this confrontation, in that he doesn't learn anything (as evidenced by the apple-shaped ass comment) and appears to enjoy the beating and humiliation, which makes Eris essentially useless. She's objectified more through that than she is by being described as some statuesque stripper, because she is only actually there to serve.
If you want to go ahead and argue that Eris wouldn't bother changing her form for the protagonist, whatever, but here she lacks the power to affect even a self described loser. Why does it need to be Eris at all, if you're going to use none of her actual traits? She's just some self help dominatrix with no subtlety.
Every time I see this thread, I am filled with an overwhelming desire to say "please show me on the doll where the goddess touched you".
Quote from: Cain on January 05, 2015, 05:46:41 PM
Every time I see this thread, I am filled with an overwhelming desire to say "please show me on the doll where the goddess touched you".
:lulz:
Quote from: Eaten by Clowns on January 05, 2015, 02:52:45 PM
I found it very unfocused. The abusive driven masturbation fantasy aspect could be funny in an extended gag sort of way if it wasn't played so straight. The protagonist, somehow, seems to win this confrontation, in that he doesn't learn anything (as evidenced by the apple-shaped ass comment) and appears to enjoy the beating and humiliation, which makes Eris essentially useless. She's objectified more through that than she is by being described as some statuesque stripper, because she is only actually there to serve.
If you want to go ahead and argue that Eris wouldn't bother changing her form for the protagonist, whatever, but here she lacks the power to affect even a self described loser. Why does it need to be Eris at all, if you're going to use none of her actual traits? She's just some self help dominatrix with no subtlety.
I think you kinda put your finger on it, there.
Quote from: a somewhat wiser Joe. on January 04, 2015, 10:24:57 PM
Quote from: Doktor Howl on January 04, 2015, 07:21:26 AM
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 04, 2015, 07:18:16 AM
Other thoughts:
Who the fuck is the random guy who picks her up supposed to be, and what is he adding to the story?
Is there a reason Eris is bucking mythology in order to be beautiful, other than gratification of the male gaze?
People do that so they don't have to feel weird about wanking it to a terrifically old lady with blood up to her kneecaps.
Well everyone has their hang ups I guess.
There are in fact unexplained plot reasons for Melvin happening to be blessed with a vision of Eris 'with her face on'. In my mythos she has cultivated the old hag look for some centuries true. The better to not have to deal with unnecessary bullshit, also Greeks be talking some scandalous shit.
Altering a corporeal vessel is exhausting work and she wasn't about to mess up her look just to deal with a little stain like Melvin. Time is money.
So she's weak, useless, ornamental, and basically only exists to serve men? That's kind of what I'm getting from all this.
Something I used to tell aspiring poets who were spending a lot of time defending their work from critiques is that if you find yourself spending a lot of time explaining or defending your writing, one of two scenarios is probable: either you have presented it to the wrong audience, or it's bad. Either way, your time is more productively spent either figuring out who your audience is, or rewriting, and you can pretty much never go wrong with rewriting.
I also warn against the allure of retreating to people who reassure you it's good. They're the literary equivalent of friends who won't tell you when you have something stuck in your teeth.
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 05, 2015, 11:14:51 PM
Quote from: a somewhat wiser Joe. on January 04, 2015, 10:24:57 PM
Quote from: Doktor Howl on January 04, 2015, 07:21:26 AM
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 04, 2015, 07:18:16 AM
Other thoughts:
Who the fuck is the random guy who picks her up supposed to be, and what is he adding to the story?
Is there a reason Eris is bucking mythology in order to be beautiful, other than gratification of the male gaze?
People do that so they don't have to feel weird about wanking it to a terrifically old lady with blood up to her kneecaps.
Well everyone has their hang ups I guess.
There are in fact unexplained plot reasons for Melvin happening to be blessed with a vision of Eris 'with her face on'. In my mythos she has cultivated the old hag look for some centuries true. The better to not have to deal with unnecessary bullshit, also Greeks be talking some scandalous shit.
Altering a corporeal vessel is exhausting work and she wasn't about to mess up her look just to deal with a little stain like Melvin. Time is money.
So she's weak, useless, ornamental, and basically only exists to serve men? That's kind of what I'm getting from all this.
Something I used to tell aspiring poets who were spending a lot of time defending their work from critiques is that if you find yourself spending a lot of time explaining or defending your writing, one of two scenarios is probable: either you have presented it to the wrong audience, or it's bad. Either way, your time is more productively spent either figuring out who your audience is, or rewriting, and you can pretty much never go wrong with rewriting.
I also warn against the allure of retreating to people who reassure you it's good. They're the literary equivalent of friends who won't tell you when you have something stuck in your teeth.
Wrong audience, I think. The 50 Shades of Grey junkies are about due for a fix.
Quote from: Doktor Howl on January 05, 2015, 11:20:52 PM
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 05, 2015, 11:14:51 PM
Quote from: a somewhat wiser Joe. on January 04, 2015, 10:24:57 PM
Quote from: Doktor Howl on January 04, 2015, 07:21:26 AM
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 04, 2015, 07:18:16 AM
Other thoughts:
Who the fuck is the random guy who picks her up supposed to be, and what is he adding to the story?
Is there a reason Eris is bucking mythology in order to be beautiful, other than gratification of the male gaze?
People do that so they don't have to feel weird about wanking it to a terrifically old lady with blood up to her kneecaps.
Well everyone has their hang ups I guess.
There are in fact unexplained plot reasons for Melvin happening to be blessed with a vision of Eris 'with her face on'. In my mythos she has cultivated the old hag look for some centuries true. The better to not have to deal with unnecessary bullshit, also Greeks be talking some scandalous shit.
Altering a corporeal vessel is exhausting work and she wasn't about to mess up her look just to deal with a little stain like Melvin. Time is money.
So she's weak, useless, ornamental, and basically only exists to serve men? That's kind of what I'm getting from all this.
Something I used to tell aspiring poets who were spending a lot of time defending their work from critiques is that if you find yourself spending a lot of time explaining or defending your writing, one of two scenarios is probable: either you have presented it to the wrong audience, or it's bad. Either way, your time is more productively spent either figuring out who your audience is, or rewriting, and you can pretty much never go wrong with rewriting.
I also warn against the allure of retreating to people who reassure you it's good. They're the literary equivalent of friends who won't tell you when you have something stuck in your teeth.
Wrong audience, I think. The 50 Shades of Grey junkies are about due for a fix.
(http://cdn.styleforum.net/3/34/34adbc5b_s19921_burn-sick.jpeg)
I hate to discourage writing, and I think Joe's got the ability to write.
But I'd be interested in seeing something a little less Thornley Pron.
On a serious note, I seem to recall that you mentioned somewhere that you want to be a writer. The best way to make that happen is to keep on doing what you're doing -- writing -- and showing it to people who will mercilessly shred your writing again and again and again, while you rewrite and rewrite and refine. Some of your stories -- the majority of them, in fact -- will just be straight-up shit that you will later be embarrassed for having written. That's OK. Nobody is a good writer out of the gate. Some of those shit stories will end up providing kernels of future stories that will be good. Some of them won't. But keep on writing, and keep on showing your stories to people who are critical. Preferably people who will have the time and patience to go through them line-by-line and brutally tell you what's wrong with every single sentence. Those people seem like assholes now, but they are giving you a gift that you will eventually appreciate deeply, when you are able to write stories that have only minor flaws.
I highly recommend that you read Stephen King's "On Writing", which is a stunningly good book. Best thing he's ever written, by miles and miles. I also liked Anne Lamott's Bird By Bird, and somewhere, there is at least one excellent article by Octavia Butler on writing. One of her pieces of advice that I've never forgotten is that to be a writer, you must write. That seems incredibly obvious, but one mistake I see from a surprising number of people is that they're always "going to write" instead of actually writing, and you don't become a good writer by thinking about writing.
So you're doing exactly the right thing by writing, even if your story sucks and nobody likes it. Keep doing it (and listening to criticism) and you will get better. In the meantime, I will share with you two critical pieces of wisdom I have had better writers tell me again and again and again and again: 1. Show. Don't tell. Whenever you are tempted to add a sentence like "she was stunning" or "various dazzling jewelery", ask yourself whether it's necessary and whether it adds to the story. If the answer to both of those is no, which it almost always will be, delete it. 2. Murder your darlings. If there is a phrase or a sentence or even a paragraph that you're particularly proud of, perhaps even rereading it to yourself with a bit of pleasure at how clever or excellent it is, it's probably the worst bit of writing in the whole thing. Take it out. Save it in a special file if you must, but get it the fuck out of your story.
Quote from: Doktor Howl on January 05, 2015, 11:34:06 PM
I hate to discourage writing, and I think Joe's got the ability to write.
But I'd be interested in seeing something a little less Thornley Pron.
Yes, this. I also want to point out that we aren't saying any of this because we don't like you. The opposite, in fact, is true; when you first posted it nobody would be bothered to give you feedback. But that was then, this is now, you've shown yourself to have potential, and it is my suspicion that I am not alone in the fact that I'm criticizing your story because I like you and think you are a promising writer.
I second Nigel's first point of "show don't tell" which is probably part of the root of the overabundance of adverbs and adjectives.
I strongly second MURDERING YOUR DARLINGS. Hack them out. Put them in jars. You can always massage them back in later.
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 05, 2015, 10:25:12 AM
Ok, so this is just a scene in a larger work that has nothing to do with Melvin outside of this scene? I think that perhaps it may be losing some of its intended meaning out of context from the rest of the story.
It surely does. This little piece was something I just started writing spontaneously here on PD. As Melvin's Stockholm Syndrome like obsession grows so does his knowledge of the dark supernatural corners of the world. Of course his state sponsored councilor merely believes Melvin to be slipping into a schizoid delusion.
I've not fully fleshed many of my stories to print, but this bit resides here because this is where it was inspired.
By the way good to see you around Twid!
Quote from: Eaten by Clowns on January 05, 2015, 02:52:45 PM
I found it very unfocused. The abusive driven masturbation fantasy aspect could be funny in an extended gag sort of way if it wasn't played so straight. The protagonist, somehow, seems to win this confrontation, in that he doesn't learn anything (as evidenced by the apple-shaped ass comment) and appears to enjoy the beating and humiliation, which makes Eris essentially useless. She's objectified more through that than she is by being described as some statuesque stripper, because she is only actually there to serve.
If you want to go ahead and argue that Eris wouldn't bother changing her form for the protagonist, whatever, but here she lacks the power to affect even a self described loser. Why does it need to be Eris at all, if you're going to use none of her actual traits? She's just some self help dominatrix with no subtlety.
Actually Eris is a total psychopath by human standards, but not a sadist. In this sequence Eris has no time for subtlety and enters the scene expecting a predator about to lose life AND table. Finding sorry ass Melvin was almost a let down for her. Strife gets to know Melvin, judges him in moments, and finds him wanting but not malignant. She gets, perhaps, carried away and nearly undoes him entirely while 'correcting' him. The gods can be.. unkind.
The Deus ex from the Wizard is meant as a device and a revelation that at least some can hear the psychic assault going on other than Melvin.
In no way did Melvin enjoy his treatment and at the end is no longer the same from his trauma, but he is still a little creeper.
Quote from: Doktor Howl on January 05, 2015, 11:34:06 PM
I hate to discourage writing, and I think Joe's got the ability to write.1
But I'd be interested in seeing something a little less Thornley Pron.
Happily. This is quite far from what I think is my best work. Or even important within it's setting as an event.
1 This really means something to me, thank you!
You keep referencing your other stories, but reality is that we only have this one. That's the context you gave us. That's what we're actually working with.
Your other stories are functionally completely irrelevant in this discussion. It's like playing a song to a crowd of people and then following up with "it's much better when you listen to the entire album". We don't have the entire album, we have the song. You cannot change the crowd's experience of the song by explaining that it all makes sense if they just listened to all the songs before and after it on the album.
Perhaps a good question to ask yourself is why you put this here, what you want us to get out of it, and what you want yourself to get out of it.
What do you want?
Quote from: Cain on January 05, 2015, 05:46:41 PM
Every time I see this thread, I am filled with an overwhelming desire to say "please show me on the doll where the goddess touched you".
*looks grim and full of agonizing shame as he points to the top of the head and begins blubbering*
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 06, 2015, 06:33:30 AM
You keep referencing your other stories, but reality is that we only have this one. That's the context you gave us. That's what we're actually working with.
Your other stories are functionally completely irrelevant in this discussion. It's like playing a song to a crowd of people and then following up with "it's much better when you listen to the entire album". We don't have the entire album, we have the song. You cannot change the crowd's experience of the song by explaining that it all makes sense if they just listened to all the songs before and after it on the album.
Perhaps a good question to ask yourself is why you put this here, what you want us to get out of it, and what you want yourself to get out of it.
What do you want?
Whatever it is I want it's almost nothing like what I wanted when I wrote this. Perhaps it was less what I wanted to get out of it and more about what I wanted to get myself out of.
Being tagged into a Disco Group on FB provoked a distaste or certain dissatisfaction with how I had so far interacted. I posted the link here in an almost angry moment as though to stir things and see what happens as a consequence. Perhaps in some attempt to stir myself, I don't know.
So far so good... the criticism and encouragement so far HAVE surely provoked me positively.
Quote from: a somewhat wiser Joe. on January 06, 2015, 06:59:45 AM
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 06, 2015, 06:33:30 AM
You keep referencing your other stories, but reality is that we only have this one. That's the context you gave us. That's what we're actually working with.
Your other stories are functionally completely irrelevant in this discussion. It's like playing a song to a crowd of people and then following up with "it's much better when you listen to the entire album". We don't have the entire album, we have the song. You cannot change the crowd's experience of the song by explaining that it all makes sense if they just listened to all the songs before and after it on the album.
Perhaps a good question to ask yourself is why you put this here, what you want us to get out of it, and what you want yourself to get out of it.
What do you want?
Whatever it is I want it's almost nothing like what I wanted when I wrote this. Perhaps it was less what I wanted to get out of it and more about what I wanted to get myself out of.
Being tagged into a Disco Group on FB provoked a distaste or certain dissatisfaction with how I had so far interacted. I posted the link here in an almost angry moment as though to stir things and see what happens as a consequence. Perhaps in some attempt to stir myself, I don't know.
So far so good... the criticism and encouragement so far HAVE surely provoked me positively.
Fair enough.
I would be interested in seeing what a rewrite would look like.
(http://i.imgur.com/UggpMHX.jpg)
This sums up what bothers me about the OP. Eris isn't busy, Eris doesn't have to do anything, if she's fucking with you it's not for your own good or out of some obligation, it's because it amuses her. Your Eris seems harried and her abuse isn't fun.
Quote from: a somewhat wiser Joe. on January 06, 2015, 06:25:53 AM
Quote from: Eaten by Clowns on January 05, 2015, 02:52:45 PM
I found it very unfocused. The abusive driven masturbation fantasy aspect could be funny in an extended gag sort of way if it wasn't played so straight. The protagonist, somehow, seems to win this confrontation, in that he doesn't learn anything (as evidenced by the apple-shaped ass comment) and appears to enjoy the beating and humiliation, which makes Eris essentially useless. She's objectified more through that than she is by being described as some statuesque stripper, because she is only actually there to serve.
If you want to go ahead and argue that Eris wouldn't bother changing her form for the protagonist, whatever, but here she lacks the power to affect even a self described loser. Why does it need to be Eris at all, if you're going to use none of her actual traits? She's just some self help dominatrix with no subtlety.
Actually Eris is a total psychopath by human standards, but not a sadist. In this sequence Eris has no time for subtlety and enters the scene expecting a predator about to lose life AND table. Finding sorry ass Melvin was almost a let down for her. Strife gets to know Melvin, judges him in moments, and finds him wanting but not malignant. She gets, perhaps, carried away and nearly undoes him entirely while 'correcting' him. The gods can be.. unkind.
The Deus ex from the Wizard is meant as a device and a revelation that at least some can hear the psychic assault going on other than Melvin.
In no way did Melvin enjoy his treatment and at the end is no longer the same from his trauma, but he is still a little creeper.
Okay, but what I'm saying is: Why is this Eris? She isn't displaying behavior typical of her mythological counterpart. She's a psychopath by human standards, which is true of almost all Greek gods, and Eris was was worse than the rest of them, yet here she's teaching some schmuck a lesson because she feels bad for him. If you want non-subtle psycho Eris, why not just murder him, burn down his building, and salt the earth afterward? The only reason we know it's Eris is because the story says "goddess" and "Eris" and that boils down to "It's Eris because I said so."
QuoteI heard something at the door and, hesitantly, opened it a crack. There, resting on my doormat, was a gnarled stick. "Oh no, it's the goddess Eris!" I cried. Eris lay there, as sticks do.
QuoteI heard something at the door and, hesitantly, opened it a crack. There stood 150 midgets wearing nothing but sausage link boas. "Oh no, it's the goddess Eris!" I cried. Eris twirled her 150 sausage link boas.
QuoteI heard something at the door and, hesitantly, opened it a crack. There stood the Bard himself, William Shakespeare. "Oh no, it's the goddess Eris!" I cried. Eris recited Hamlet.
I'm with Roger and Nigel here, just so you know. I think you should keep writing, and I think you should attack this story again. This is just something to consider when you're using really any public domain character. If that character has to behave a certain way for your story, and that behavior is contrary to the original, consider using someone else. Unless it's funny. Funny always gets a pass.
Quote from: a somewhat wiser Joe. on January 06, 2015, 06:08:45 AM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 05, 2015, 10:25:12 AM
Ok, so this is just a scene in a larger work that has nothing to do with Melvin outside of this scene? I think that perhaps it may be losing some of its intended meaning out of context from the rest of the story.
It surely does. This little piece was something I just started writing spontaneously here on PD. As Melvin's Stockholm Syndrome like obsession grows so does his knowledge of the dark supernatural corners of the world. Of course his state sponsored councilor merely believes Melvin to be slipping into a schizoid delusion.
I've not fully fleshed many of my stories to print, but this bit resides here because this is where it was inspired.
By the way good to see you around Twid!
Good to see you too!
Just a point of clarification, since Melvin shows up again. Is the larger story about Melvin with Eris showing up in a few scenes, or is it about Eris with Melvin showing up in a few scenes? Before this post, I had thought it the latter. I am interested in why Eris needed the table.
Quote from: Q. G. Pennyworth on January 06, 2015, 02:12:03 PM
(http://i.imgur.com/UggpMHX.jpg)
This sums up what bothers me about the OP. Eris isn't busy, Eris doesn't have to do anything, if she's fucking with you it's not for your own good or out of some obligation, it's because it amuses her. Your Eris seems harried and her abuse isn't fun.
A great big giant sack of this.
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 02:27:07 PM
Quote from: a somewhat wiser Joe. on January 06, 2015, 06:08:45 AM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 05, 2015, 10:25:12 AM
Ok, so this is just a scene in a larger work that has nothing to do with Melvin outside of this scene? I think that perhaps it may be losing some of its intended meaning out of context from the rest of the story.
It surely does. This little piece was something I just started writing spontaneously here on PD. As Melvin's Stockholm Syndrome like obsession grows so does his knowledge of the dark supernatural corners of the world. Of course his state sponsored councilor merely believes Melvin to be slipping into a schizoid delusion.
I've not fully fleshed many of my stories to print, but this bit resides here because this is where it was inspired.
By the way good to see you around Twid!
Good to see you too!
Just a point of clarification, since Melvin shows up again. Is the larger story about Melvin with Eris showing up in a few scenes, or is it about Eris with Melvin showing up in a few scenes? Before this post, I had thought it the latter. I am interested in why Eris needed the table.
What is in my mind for Melvin is more of an expository character. In truth he's a named element more than a character intended to grow. Of course I can change that.
The Goddess Eris does not need the table, the Wizard does. She is under contract to him, and THAT'S a long story I'll get to in time. They are on their way to a convention and the need for the table was overlooked until the last minute. This is on both of them.
The Wizard would happily have gone up for it but Eris strongly insisted... she has a taste for predators.
Again Melvin was not what she anticipated exactly.
Quote from: a somewhat wiser Joe. on January 06, 2015, 10:40:34 PM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 02:27:07 PM
Quote from: a somewhat wiser Joe. on January 06, 2015, 06:08:45 AM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 05, 2015, 10:25:12 AM
Ok, so this is just a scene in a larger work that has nothing to do with Melvin outside of this scene? I think that perhaps it may be losing some of its intended meaning out of context from the rest of the story.
It surely does. This little piece was something I just started writing spontaneously here on PD. As Melvin's Stockholm Syndrome like obsession grows so does his knowledge of the dark supernatural corners of the world. Of course his state sponsored councilor merely believes Melvin to be slipping into a schizoid delusion.
I've not fully fleshed many of my stories to print, but this bit resides here because this is where it was inspired.
By the way good to see you around Twid!
Good to see you too!
Just a point of clarification, since Melvin shows up again. Is the larger story about Melvin with Eris showing up in a few scenes, or is it about Eris with Melvin showing up in a few scenes? Before this post, I had thought it the latter. I am interested in why Eris needed the table.
What is in my mind for Melvin is more of an expository character. In truth he's a named element more than a character intended to grow. Of course I can change that.
The Goddess Eris does not need the table, the Wizard does. She is under contract to him, and THAT'S a long story I'll get to in time. They are on their way to a convention and the need for the table was overlooked until the last minute. This is on both of them.
The Wizard would happily have gone up for it but Eris strongly insisted... she has a taste for predators.
Again Melvin was not what she anticipated exactly.
Well, now I'm interested in what sort of convention Eris and the Wizard are going to.
Do you kinda see what's wrong with this vignette? The focus is Melvin. Nothing wrong with that per se, and in fact would be pretty fucking funny if presented the right way, but no one is interested in Melvin, and the table is incredibly tantalizing. I've never once, before this week, said, "ooohhh.... tell me more about the table."
That's awesome right there. You've gotten me interested in a table. That's not easy. I want to give you a high five right now just for that. But what do Melvin, Eris and the Wizard have to do with the table? Why are any of them related to or more or less interesting than the table?
At some point in the story, I would recommend Eris eye the table and lick her lips.
But that's just me.
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 06, 2015, 11:00:11 PM
At some point in the story, I would recommend Eris eye the table and lick her lips.
But that's just me.
And that would be weirdly hot, and definitely intriguing. But why would she do that? What sort of shit and in how many kilograms of shit does Eris give about tables, and more specifically, this particular table? Why does she lick her lips at this table? Should the table be afraid at that?
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 11:06:07 PM
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 06, 2015, 11:00:11 PM
At some point in the story, I would recommend Eris eye the table and lick her lips.
But that's just me.
And that would be weirdly hot, and definitely intriguing. But why would she do that? What sort of shit and in how many kilograms of shit does Eris give about tables, and more specifically, this particular table? Why does she lick her lips at this table? Should the table be afraid at that?
YES
If the table quivered slightly in response to Eris licking Her lips, I would likely levitate.
Quote from: Q. G. Pennyworth on January 06, 2015, 11:22:00 PM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 11:06:07 PM
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 06, 2015, 11:00:11 PM
At some point in the story, I would recommend Eris eye the table and lick her lips.
But that's just me.
And that would be weirdly hot, and definitely intriguing. But why would she do that? What sort of shit and in how many kilograms of shit does Eris give about tables, and more specifically, this particular table? Why does she lick her lips at this table? Should the table be afraid at that?
YES
Yes.
YES.
Not to spag up your story, Joe, but have you considered making the TABLE your protagonist?
I once considered, in my more artistic days, writing a story that was from the perspective of a dollar bill, and the adventures that the bill went through.
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 11:28:02 PM
Quote from: Q. G. Pennyworth on January 06, 2015, 11:22:00 PM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 11:06:07 PM
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 06, 2015, 11:00:11 PM
At some point in the story, I would recommend Eris eye the table and lick her lips.
But that's just me.
And that would be weirdly hot, and definitely intriguing. But why would she do that? What sort of shit and in how many kilograms of shit does Eris give about tables, and more specifically, this particular table? Why does she lick her lips at this table? Should the table be afraid at that?
YES
Yes.
YES.
Not to spag up your story, Joe, but have you considered making the TABLE your protagonist?
I once considered, in my more artistic days, writing a story that was from the perspective of a dollar bill, and the adventures that the bill went through.
There's a movie like that. It's called Twenty Bucks, made in 1003.
Quote from: Hoopla on January 06, 2015, 11:29:53 PM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 11:28:02 PM
Quote from: Q. G. Pennyworth on January 06, 2015, 11:22:00 PM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 11:06:07 PM
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 06, 2015, 11:00:11 PM
At some point in the story, I would recommend Eris eye the table and lick her lips.
But that's just me.
And that would be weirdly hot, and definitely intriguing. But why would she do that? What sort of shit and in how many kilograms of shit does Eris give about tables, and more specifically, this particular table? Why does she lick her lips at this table? Should the table be afraid at that?
YES
Yes.
YES.
Not to spag up your story, Joe, but have you considered making the TABLE your protagonist?
I once considered, in my more artistic days, writing a story that was from the perspective of a dollar bill, and the adventures that the bill went through.
There's a movie like that. It's called Twenty Bucks, made in 1003.
This is why I left that boring wife of a Music for the harsh reality of science.
I have a more recently inspired story I'm working on in an entirely different style and genre.
When I get time I'll post it. Might even need some input on finishing it.
It is a theological tale that explores the possibility that Eris IS Nyx's daughter and not truly Hera's.
The title is On The Secret Genesis Of Eris. I'll take the time at some point this evening to open a thread and copy what I've got.
Quote from: Hoopla on January 06, 2015, 11:29:53 PM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 11:28:02 PM
Quote from: Q. G. Pennyworth on January 06, 2015, 11:22:00 PM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 11:06:07 PM
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 06, 2015, 11:00:11 PM
At some point in the story, I would recommend Eris eye the table and lick her lips.
But that's just me.
And that would be weirdly hot, and definitely intriguing. But why would she do that? What sort of shit and in how many kilograms of shit does Eris give about tables, and more specifically, this particular table? Why does she lick her lips at this table? Should the table be afraid at that?
YES
Yes.
YES.
Not to spag up your story, Joe, but have you considered making the TABLE your protagonist?
I once considered, in my more artistic days, writing a story that was from the perspective of a dollar bill, and the adventures that the bill went through.
There's a movie like that. It's called Twenty Bucks, made in 1003.
That's a really old movie.
That does somewhat speak to my creative originality and make me want to burn artistic bridges, to be honest.
Hmmm. Potentially new thread.
Quote from: Doktor Howl on January 06, 2015, 11:37:00 PM
Quote from: Hoopla on January 06, 2015, 11:29:53 PM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 11:28:02 PM
Quote from: Q. G. Pennyworth on January 06, 2015, 11:22:00 PM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 11:06:07 PM
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 06, 2015, 11:00:11 PM
At some point in the story, I would recommend Eris eye the table and lick her lips.
But that's just me.
And that would be weirdly hot, and definitely intriguing. But why would she do that? What sort of shit and in how many kilograms of shit does Eris give about tables, and more specifically, this particular table? Why does she lick her lips at this table? Should the table be afraid at that?
YES
Yes.
YES.
Not to spag up your story, Joe, but have you considered making the TABLE your protagonist?
I once considered, in my more artistic days, writing a story that was from the perspective of a dollar bill, and the adventures that the bill went through.
There's a movie like that. It's called Twenty Bucks, made in 1003.
That's a really old movie.
Oops. 1993.
Quote from: Doktor Howl on January 06, 2015, 11:37:00 PM
Quote from: Hoopla on January 06, 2015, 11:29:53 PM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 11:28:02 PM
Quote from: Q. G. Pennyworth on January 06, 2015, 11:22:00 PM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 11:06:07 PM
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 06, 2015, 11:00:11 PM
At some point in the story, I would recommend Eris eye the table and lick her lips.
But that's just me.
And that would be weirdly hot, and definitely intriguing. But why would she do that? What sort of shit and in how many kilograms of shit does Eris give about tables, and more specifically, this particular table? Why does she lick her lips at this table? Should the table be afraid at that?
YES
Yes.
YES.
Not to spag up your story, Joe, but have you considered making the TABLE your protagonist?
I once considered, in my more artistic days, writing a story that was from the perspective of a dollar bill, and the adventures that the bill went through.
There's a movie like that. It's called Twenty Bucks, made in 1003.
That's a really old movie.
Oldest move I've ever heard of, in fact. I didn't even know they had twenty-dollar-bills back then.
Yeah, but it was worth a lot more back then, as it was backed by real gold and not fiat currency run by the Templars and Jews.
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 11:37:12 PM
That does somewhat speak to my creative originality and make me want to burn artistic bridges, to be honest.
You mean build a bridge and then you burn it? CHECH YOUR PRIVILEGE ecocidal maniac
Quote from: The Johnny on January 07, 2015, 12:30:42 AM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 11:37:12 PM
That does somewhat speak to my creative originality and make me want to burn artistic bridges, to be honest.
You mean build a bridge and then you burn it? CHECH YOUR PRIVILEGE ecocidal maniac
Hey, I'm a a biologist, not an engineer. What happens after my suggestions isn't my problem.
Why the fuck did you hire a biologist to build a bridge anyway?
Quote from: Cain on January 07, 2015, 12:09:12 AM
Yeah, but it was worth a lot more back then, as it was backed by real gold and not fiat currency run by the Templars and Jews.
:lulz:
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 07, 2015, 12:37:51 AM
Quote from: The Johnny on January 07, 2015, 12:30:42 AM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 11:37:12 PM
That does somewhat speak to my creative originality and make me want to burn artistic bridges, to be honest.
You mean build a bridge and then you burn it? CHECH YOUR PRIVILEGE ecocidal maniac
Hey, I'm a a biologist, not an engineer. What happens after my suggestions isn't my problem.
Why the fuck did you hire a biologist to build a bridge anyway?
They hired me to build a bridge. So I planted a bunch of trees by the edge of the ravine and told them to wait for it.
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 07, 2015, 12:58:34 AM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 07, 2015, 12:37:51 AM
Quote from: The Johnny on January 07, 2015, 12:30:42 AM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 11:37:12 PM
That does somewhat speak to my creative originality and make me want to burn artistic bridges, to be honest.
You mean build a bridge and then you burn it? CHECH YOUR PRIVILEGE ecocidal maniac
Hey, I'm a a biologist, not an engineer. What happens after my suggestions isn't my problem.
Why the fuck did you hire a biologist to build a bridge anyway?
They hired me to build a bridge. So I planted a bunch of trees by the edge of the ravine and told them to wait for it.
But did they have high heels and an apple bottom ass?
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 07, 2015, 01:08:18 AM
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 07, 2015, 12:58:34 AM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 07, 2015, 12:37:51 AM
Quote from: The Johnny on January 07, 2015, 12:30:42 AM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 11:37:12 PM
That does somewhat speak to my creative originality and make me want to burn artistic bridges, to be honest.
You mean build a bridge and then you burn it? CHECH YOUR PRIVILEGE ecocidal maniac
Hey, I'm a a biologist, not an engineer. What happens after my suggestions isn't my problem.
Why the fuck did you hire a biologist to build a bridge anyway?
They hired me to build a bridge. So I planted a bunch of trees by the edge of the ravine and told them to wait for it.
But did they have high heels and an apple bottom ass?
(http://www.parentdish.com/media/2006/01/AB-D52701_PTR_ex.jpg)
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 11:28:02 PM
Quote from: Q. G. Pennyworth on January 06, 2015, 11:22:00 PM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 11:06:07 PM
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 06, 2015, 11:00:11 PM
At some point in the story, I would recommend Eris eye the table and lick her lips.
But that's just me.
And that would be weirdly hot, and definitely intriguing. But why would she do that? What sort of shit and in how many kilograms of shit does Eris give about tables, and more specifically, this particular table? Why does she lick her lips at this table? Should the table be afraid at that?
YES
Yes.
YES.
Not to spag up your story, Joe, but have you considered making the TABLE your protagonist?
I once considered, in my more artistic days, writing a story that was from the perspective of a dollar bill, and the adventures that the bill went through.
Far from it Twid! I really like the idea, the table was a mystery to me as well during the writing of this. A title already is upon me. The Ballad of Eris' New Table.
I'll try to put some interesting hogwash together as a ballad.
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 07, 2015, 01:35:36 AM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 07, 2015, 01:08:18 AM
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 07, 2015, 12:58:34 AM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 07, 2015, 12:37:51 AM
Quote from: The Johnny on January 07, 2015, 12:30:42 AM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 11:37:12 PM
That does somewhat speak to my creative originality and make me want to burn artistic bridges, to be honest.
You mean build a bridge and then you burn it? CHECH YOUR PRIVILEGE ecocidal maniac
Hey, I'm a a biologist, not an engineer. What happens after my suggestions isn't my problem.
Why the fuck did you hire a biologist to build a bridge anyway?
They hired me to build a bridge. So I planted a bunch of trees by the edge of the ravine and told them to wait for it.
But did they have high heels and an apple bottom ass?
(http://www.parentdish.com/media/2006/01/AB-D52701_PTR_ex.jpg)
Yowza!
Appearantly the Personal Protective Equipment meeting was unheeded... but not a total loss.
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 07, 2015, 01:35:36 AM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 07, 2015, 01:08:18 AM
Quote from: Mesozoic Mister Nigel on January 07, 2015, 12:58:34 AM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 07, 2015, 12:37:51 AM
Quote from: The Johnny on January 07, 2015, 12:30:42 AM
Quote from: Nepos twiddletonis on January 06, 2015, 11:37:12 PM
That does somewhat speak to my creative originality and make me want to burn artistic bridges, to be honest.
You mean build a bridge and then you burn it? CHECH YOUR PRIVILEGE ecocidal maniac
Hey, I'm a a biologist, not an engineer. What happens after my suggestions isn't my problem.
Why the fuck did you hire a biologist to build a bridge anyway?
They hired me to build a bridge. So I planted a bunch of trees by the edge of the ravine and told them to wait for it.
But did they have high heels and an apple bottom ass?
(http://www.parentdish.com/media/2006/01/AB-D52701_PTR_ex.jpg)
:lulz: