Scratch

Wickimen wrote:

Wow really?
All my ideas end up not being original after all it seems

It's near-impossible to make a completely original plot, whether you like it or not. The key is an original execution.

Also, all these are pretty cool but it's not so cool to just quote the whole durned story in your replies, in my opinion.

Also, oddly everyone person in my English class writes their stories on "edgy" things. My sci-fi story (we have to write one) will be about the value of friendship.

Last edited by luiysia (2012-02-23 20:21:49)

Bump.

I love writing!   

I'll post something later. Warning: I like writing cliche stories about cats. (Warriors for the win!)

fireheartocean wrote:

Prologue

There was nothing. Nothing but the youth in the middle of the darkness- He lay there like a stone. Silence filled the blackened Earth. The silence was then broken. Not by birdsong echoing through the trees. Not by the soft ripple of the crisp lake water. No, the silence was destroyed by a soft, unnatural sound. The sound of clinking metal rang through the once-beautiful Earth. A woman crawled through the grass, barely breathing. Her legs were linked together with rusted metal chain, and the glow of determination in her milky blue eyes was fading. Her voice was as harmonious as all of nature put together. "Young Star, your time has come," she whispered in the young boy's ear. "And with this, I give you what you will need to continue life." She shakily put an orb of glowing green energy in the boy's hand. "Farewell, Shooting Star. This is Hope and Nature. You will be given... given..." her voice grew weak and she fell to the ground. The boy's eyes opened. They were a sharp green color, matching the hot, gleaming orb. It felt good in his hand; Like fire, but without the danger of getting burned. All his instincts told him to put it down. It could be dangerous. But his heart told him something else, and he had always been told to trust it. He held onto it and made the only wish that could make him happy. "I wish there was nature."

Should I continue? That's not all of the prologue, anyways. :]

  Suspenseful and awesome!  Of course you should continue!

Nice writing style. 
You might like to break it into slightly shorter paragraphs though.

Wickimen wrote:

Thing I made the topic for and yeah

Chapter One: 13

It seemed to Will that that number, 13, had followed him around like a curse for bad luck as long as he could remember. It was said, of course, that there was no need for any sort of fear anymore, but old superstitions never did seem to fade. Everyone had a number, that was the way of things; they were so much simpler and more structured than cumbersome names. He himself was not actually called Will, but 13--if anybody besides Eyre talked to him. Names were not forbidden, but discouraged, so he kept his own borrowed name, William, hidden. He had to keep many things hidden, including his pale blue eyes, an unlucky and unwanted defect, beneath the brim of an old gray cap.

The morning was rainy and dark. A pale orange glow from the streetlights spilled down the wet cobblestone pavement. Arcade, read the dull red flickering letters on the sign of the building. Even in the downpour, none of the group waiting outside left; they jabbered incessantly and waited impatiently to be let inside. Will only watched them, lingering near the long-forgotten library.

To the casual observer, it would seem that this group was a mishmash of cultures, their clothing a jumble of coats and shoes of all sorts. People wore Victorian top hats, neon t-shirts, battered sneakers and vintage trench coats all at once. But if one looked closer, they would see only young faces, vapid brown eyes of the same shade and expression, the same pale complexions, brown hair of about the same length, and the same accents. For everybody was exactly alike.

In the distance the Bell tolled six times, signifying that it was six o'clock, and the doors to the Arcade opened, allowing the group to shove inside, still laughing and exchanging conversation with increasing rapidity.

When they had all filed into the Arcade, Will was joined by a girl whose hair and eyes were concealed by an aviator's cap and goggles.

"Hello, Eyre," said Will.

"Hi, Will." She wiped away the fog and rainwater smearing her goggles. "Let's go inside, then."

They pushed through the doors and walked in, their wet shoes clicking on the old hardwood floor. Dripping water from Eyre's soaked duffle coat collected a puddle on the ground. Inside, the library smelled strongly of dust and old paper. It was hard to believe that a little over half a century ago, many people had gone to libraries almost as frequently as they did.

Those books were the only window they had into how life used to be, before the disaster. Recalling his own old life was to Will like recalling the vaguest memories of somebody else's life. He couldn't remember anything past the age of eleven, or even if he had once been older than eleven, and his memories even then were very limited. Books were important; their names and knowledge came from books; but a book did not live forever, and Will and Eyre were careful to preserve them.

All of the books were important. Will liked Shakespeare's writing, and Eyre, Charlotte Bronte's, but they read them all. Sometimes they helped Will remember things from his old life. Strange, alien-sounding words, phrases, descriptions of both familiar and unfamiliar somehow connected in his mind. He had never in his current memory, for example, smelled cigarette smoke, but the word stirred something in his brain and allowed the ghost of a burning sensation to enter his nostrils. While reading a thick little brown volume by Jack London, another, more pleasant smell resurfaced: pine trees. It was associated with what he supposed was a happy day, mentioned in several books--a day called Christmas.

Even the dictionaries and encyclopedia had to be read; though they were considerably duller than most of the books, they contained by far the most...etc.

very nice! sucked me in. i like how you slowly revealed things as you went along with the story.

Last edited by ROSMan (2012-02-24 17:49:00)

Revisionness is on the scifi topic
Yay!
My shoulders hurt from typing o_o

^^Okay. Sad. Wanted to read more of that
Cool about the journal though

Alright yay

Wickimen, that story you wrote just for this topic... has anyone else noticed that Will likes Shakespeare? Will, Shakespeare? William Shakespeare. Just wondering.

BTW, I have an idea for a story, I'll probably post it soon.

I write all the time. I'll try and find some at least half finished stuff to post 


Writers with finished content, put it here: http://scratch.mit.edu/projects/wiimaster/2290748
Pwease?

wiimaster wrote:

I write all the time. I'll try and find some at least half finished stuff to post 


Writers with finished content, put it here: http://scratch.mit.edu/projects/wiimaster/2290748
Pwease?

Cool
Could I post my completed first chapter, or does the whole book have to be finished?

fireheartocean, awesome story!
Let the editing commence!

Prologue

There was nothing. Nothing but the youth in the middle of the darkness. He lay there like a stone. Silence filled the blackened Earth. The silence was then broken. Okay. That last sentence seemed a little awkward. How about you join it to the last one, so it says something like, "Silence filled the blackened Earth until at last, something disrupted it. Not by birdsong echoing through the trees. Not by the soft ripple of the crisp lake water. No, the silence was destroyed by a soft, unnatural sound. That was awesome The sound of clinking metal rang through the once-beautiful Earth.

New paragraphs will do nicely.

A woman crawled through the grass, barely breathing. Her legs were linked together with rusted metal chain, and the glow of determination in her milky blue eyes was fading. Excellent Her voice was as harmonious as all of nature put together. "Young Star, your time has come," she whispered in the young boy's ear. "And with this, I give you what you will need to continue life." She shakily put an orb of glowing green energy in the boy's hand. "Farewell, Shooting Star. This is Hope and Nature. You will be given... given..."

Her voice grew weak and she fell to the ground. The boy's eyes opened. They were a sharp green color, matching the hot, gleaming orb. It felt good in his hand; like fire, but without the danger of getting burned. All his instincts told him to put it down. It could be dangerous. But his heart told him something else, and he had always been told to trust it. He held onto it and made the only wish that could make him happy. "I wish there was nature."

Again, awesome
Oh yes, I remembered I said I'd edit Pluto's story
That I shall!

Last edited by Wickimen (2012-02-25 14:17:27)