Writing share

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Writing share

Post by Guest on Thu Jun 18, 2015 2:58 pm

A thread for people to share stuff they've written, either directly or by linked. Poetry, stories, essays, novels, theses... whatever moves you.

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Re: Writing share

Post by Guest on Thu Jun 18, 2015 2:59 pm

"Currency"

Just a slim skin of metal
with two faces.
One whole -- two voices
the opposite of opposite
Faces in a crowd
in opposition
Separated by a skin.

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Re: Writing share

Post by Hirundo Bos on Mon Jun 22, 2015 10:06 am

I have fooled death
and so can all of you
said Death
smirk without a face

and I look back (who wouldn't
look back) to the motivational
seminar where those words

first fell. The speaker's face
disguised by bandages then
but now what do I say
I mean, what can one say

to something like that?
"Ha ha, you got us there?"
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Re: Writing share

Post by The Wisp on Thu Jun 25, 2015 2:34 am

I like those poems, guys!

I just wrote up a long piece on my blog about my mixed feelings about going to graduate school in philosophy, complete with some discussion of the state of academic philosophy. I would call it creative non-fiction, I suppose.

Be warned, it's pretty long (about 3000 words), and it's mostly philosophical and personal navel-gazing. You might find it interesting anyway, though Razz

Link: https://marcusseldon.wordpress.com/2015/06/25/doubts/
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Re: Writing share

Post by HSavinien on Thu Jun 25, 2015 8:19 pm

I write fanfic for a bunch of different media.

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Re: Writing share

Post by waxingjaney on Thu Jun 25, 2015 10:14 pm

I wrote some really terrible Nascar slashfic one time.

Don't read this.:
Dale Jr. climbed out of his racing suit after a long day of testing.
He was tired, and still a bit sore from the accident at Pocono. He gingerly eased his battered body into the hot tub.
The warm bubbly water soothed his bruised legs.
Junior relaxed and closed his eyes. He drifted gently into a sort of twilight sleep.
Soon, he heard a slight commotion. He opened his eyes and looked up.
Kevin Harvick quickly stripped out of his suit.
Junior gazed at Kevin just a bit too long.
Kevin was young and fit, and had a stamina to match. He had heard stories about Kevin's marathon lovemaking sessions with Delana.
Junior rested his eyes on Kevin's penis, thinking about what Kevin's wife did with it, what he might like to do with it.
Kevin slipped into the hot tub alongside Junior. "Tough day?"
"Yeah," Junior replied. "Still kinda sore."
"I find that the water jets help me relax," Kevin said. He reached over to turn on the jets, his thigh brushing against Junior's.
Junior momentarily stiffened as the water jet burst against his anus.
Junior quickly relaxed as the pulsing of the jet did its work.
"Feeling better?" Kevin asked. "Oh, ah, yeah," Junior mumbled.
He hoped that Kevin had not noticed the beginnings of his erection.
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Re: Writing share

Post by lonelyoffices on Thu Jul 02, 2015 2:04 pm

At bedtime,
I kiss her curls and touch her cheek
and look into her searching eyes,
just in case.

Who knows what
night may bring. Sweet dreams, or nightmares
battling on her bedroom wall, and me
so far away.

As I stand,
she speaks her fear, shimmering through
the night time air, "monsters daddy,
please make sure".

Just in case,
I peer beneath the bed.  A duck,
a fire truck, a bouquet of crayons
resting well.

"No monsters",
I tell her, and her tiny teeth
gleam like truth between us as I
tuck her in.

She always
breaks the darkness.  She's grown now,
but I still look beneath her words,
for danger.

We sit down
the restaurant an insect din,
my eyes searching hers for peril,
but she smiles.

Jane and I
are a couple, she sings, holding
my hands in her knowing grip,
and I sigh,

I love you.
I repeat the words and see her
searching eyes and I need to check
beneath the bed.

Just in case.

Just in case,
I'll love her somehow more. This world,
so blessed and fearful and wounded,
frightens me.

Who she loves
somehow matters to the monsters,
everywhere frothing in the dark.
But I smile.

"No monsters".
Her eyes narrow and her lips move mutely.
The restaurant spins around us and we sit in the center of it all.
I hold that threadbare Wish, with her hands in mine,
and tell myself she's strong,
and the season is here.

So reassured, and knowing it's always been me I'm reassuring, I let go of her ancient hands.


Last edited by lonelyoffices on Mon Jul 27, 2015 2:15 pm; edited 4 times in total

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Re: Writing share

Post by CP96 on Thu Jul 02, 2015 3:38 pm

I wrote this back in school for a ghost-story creative writing assignment. I liked it so I kept hold of it through the years.

The beach is long and flat. The waves lap gently at the grey sands. If you look to the north, you can see an island.

The island is a crag of rock that juts from the sea foam. On the island is a building, squat and crumbling. It is built from the same dull stone as the island itself. Inside the building is a room.

The room is barred by a door. The door is built from iron-hard oak. It is very heavy and very thick. If you open it you will see the room is small. There is no furniture. There are no windows. Inside the room there is a man.

The man has no eyes. He tore them from his own head a long time ago. He has no tongue. The villagers ripped it from his mouth, terrified of the secrets he might speak. His skin is burnt and raw. Blood and pus fill the cracks.

Every day, the man tries to scratch a message into the wall. He has long since worn his fingers down to stumps. The wall remains unmarked.

It is said that the man was not always like this. Once he was wealthy, and fat, and happy. A lady came to his door of a night. She was lost on the road. The moon was fat and the wolves were abroad. The man was not unkind, and allowed her in.

It is said the woman was dressed all in pale lilac and wore a gossamer veil that obscured her features. Her dress did not stir in the breeze. She left no footprints. She cast no shadow.

It is said that as the man slept before the fireplace, the lady came to his side. She knelt and leant forward. She raised her veil and whispered in his ear.

The words that she spoke to him are unknown. They are unknown to the foolish and also to the wise. The devils in their pit do not know them, nor the angels in their choir. The almighty on high perhaps knows them. Perhaps.

The man does not eat any more. He does not drink. He does not sleep. It has been many years and he lives on yet. It may be that death will not come for him whilst he knows the words. The reaper is wise and he too fears to hear them spoken.

It may come to pass one day that the man's tale is forgotten. One day the stones of prison may crumble and the man will walk free. Perhaps he will swim to the shore, somehow, in his ruined body. Perhaps he will find some cursed traveller on the road. Perhaps he will conspire, in some twisted way, to pass on his message. Perhaps the words will be heard spoken aloud across the world.

But then - and we can only pray, my friends - perhaps not.

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Re: Writing share

Post by Hirundo Bos on Wed Jul 22, 2015 9:00 am

As a writing project this year I'm trying my hand at erotic romance, and it seems to work better than any long format fiction I've written before... and I thought, maybe I should try to post a relatively SFW excerpt? I just wrote this today, and I story starts to feel mature enough for bits of it to be shared with others.

Previously on: They know each other from online, and have met on one occasion face to face. She is aching for something casual, but he's a bit more into her than that. He was a bit wary of her advances, but they end up kissing before they part, and this scene takes place around a week later. We enter the conversation as she brings up the fact that they kissed.


*

”We did,” he said, as if he was simply stating a fact. Or could she see his face open up a little – or it had been quite open all along, but open up in a different way, like people do when they share something together?

Maybe it did, or maybe she just imagined it. She still went on with what she had intended to say. ”I've been thinking about what to tell you if we met again. Or if I should have said something about it on the blog, but I didn't have the courage for that, but now you're here and I don't... you know, I just want to say I'm sorry if I was pushing too hard.”

He looked confused for a second or two, and who wouldn't be after that confusing jumble of words? ”Pushing too hard?" he asked. "I thought I did the most pushing in the end."

"You did? I only remember that I tried to kiss you, you turned away, and then I went and tried it again later... that's not something I'm happy about."

"In my memory, I started it the second time, or I'm not sure. But what I do remember is that I was ready for a kiss by then. I don't tend to end up kissing someone unless I want to."

She let out her breath, she hadn't even realized she'd held it. "I'm really, really glad to hear that."

"You worried about this a lot?"

"Well..." She tried to explain. "I've felt like, that entire evening, I went with this enormous need inside me. Or even before that. Since around the time I wrote that post. And it started to feel as if the need was growing far beyond me, like a bubble that would suffocate anyone who got near. And then, well. You got near."

"And I'm still breathing. Now, I did loose my breath there for a while, but for very different reasons."

"Thanks for telling me that," she said. "No, that came out wrong. I didn't mean it was just something you were telling me, only that..."

"Relax. It was a good kiss. I enjoyed it. You've got nothing to worry about." His voice was kind, his eyes also. He reached out his hand, as if to lay it on top of hers, but drew it back when she stiffened at the gesture.

Why did she stiffen? He was right, she had nothing to worry about – except, the sense of need still tore at her. Her limbs ached with it. Her mind boiled with it, her conscious thought tossed around as if it was a small object on the surface. His presence hadn't caused this, only stirred it up from whereever she kept it stored away. Only, it did seem to happen every time he was close.

He sets you in that state of mind where you're bound to make rash decisions. But that's what you're after, isn't it? The nature of your quest, as it were. To become the kind of person who makes rash decisions.

For yourself, yeah. But some decisions you also make on behalf of others. Your needs aren't about this particular man, even though he's got a knack for setting them off. It won't be fair of you to pull him into it. You also want to be more like the kind of person who takes other people's perspective into consideration?

He'd been quiet, while this went through her head. So he, apparently, already was that kind of person. Someone who picked up on other's needs. That made her relax, made him into someone she could relax around. Then tense up again. It meant he would be vulnerable to her needs.

And she'd only come in for a cup of coffee before work.
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