View Full Version : Authors or Potential Authors in the Playground!

2009-05-26, 08:21 PM
I'm sure there have been threads of the sort in the past. Didn't see one, and I thought I'd start another.

I have considered a book for a long time, the ideas for which were established when I was walking somewhere with a friend and talking. We reached the point where we would have to walk in different directions and paused to talk. I got back to my house about two hours later with the basis for Apocalypse.

The book is a series of short stories which are remarkably dark, set over a gigantic period of time on a Niven ring (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ringworld), with the stories of numerous societies on the abandoned megastructure, with each story ending with the apocalypse of a society. There will also be a possible prequel with a similar dark short story format, covering the civilization building the ring, The Founders.

A friend of mine is currently in the process of writing a book, which is one of the best things I've ever read. It's actually being posted on the internet in a blog format. There's a thread for it in the Arts and Crafts section. (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=110989) This novel, Colorshock, is hopefully to be finished and published sometime later this year. Honestly, much of the purpose behind this thread is for this book, as it is amazing and I hope to get others to read it.

2009-05-26, 11:58 PM
I'm actually working my first book myself, but I don't really want to give away many details so that no one steals my ideas.

sorry, I'm paranoid like that.

but here is a summary: basically its sci-fi/fantasy set in an infinite universe where humans don't exist but magic does, filled with various aliens, where the entire universe is currently recovering from an Age of Revolution that ended
an Age of Imperialism, and is basically about this genius criminal who just goes around stealing and building technology, however its not supposed to be overly dark or light-hearted, just sort of this grey-hearted, realistic kind of series.

that is pretty much all I can tell.

Innis Cabal
2009-05-27, 12:26 AM
Working on some stuff...its not meant to be in proper format...or english or anything like that. Give it a read.....

“My name is Vasae Ikaru, twelfth son of the Ikaru line, blessed by the spirit of the celestial cat and its sign *what follows is a small symbol, it origin unclear*. What I hope to do in this book is to speak to you, dear reader, of the world that exists that you simple ones cannot see. My eyes were opened wide to the facts the world hold, and there is little truth in what you might read here save for that which you will read between the pages. Cover your eyes, gaze long into that abyss, that soft abyss that would seek to envelope you in the The Wheel of Fate and it hung in the air spinning as wheels do. Turn turn turn it did…and I watched it ever curious as to what it would land upon. And it landed down, and I wept for the man, taking forth the last of my cards that night, and it would be only a Tower that rose from the ground, and the man begged for his life, for only one card could truly act upon a person at a time, and he was struck by a force like ten elephants running in step. And he was spread out onto the floor, the stones breaking through bone and flesh alike, and his body oozed his vile and wicked life. And I left them all there dead and broken to see him, the Breeze that clears my mind, but I did not speak of these cards or actions to him, for he would hate me for them all. I know he would, and I would not strain that which I can hardly keep on my own power…I sit in this allyway…and I see the dripping halls of rancid beer…hops stinging my nose…the acrid pipe smoke of so many who have allowed their dreams to filter away so much like that puffy white that I can hardly stand to look into the air, least I see ones desires come solid. But I did not partake of such things…because I do not wish to grow weary of this world as they have, for if I did my hate would be slaked…and grow weak…and I cannot have that….no I can’t…for my blades would grow weak….and I would wither like a bitter tree…so tired…am I in this place. I left them all there…to weary to even bother taking away their pathetic lives they waste in dens of pride and self loathing…no bars to hold them, for their very souls are a cage they’ll never break free of.

The King has tried these things, and I have attempted to stop him in this…for it is not a right or proper thing to allow into ones body in such amounts as they. I cried that night for he spoke to me kindly…to kindly for my soul to take. And I know I am changed, I feel it…I know it to be so true to you and I Oh World that the glory in its truth leaves me humbled. I am humiliated in this fact. So ashamed that he would trust a thing like me…why oh King do you not understand that I desired not to change, for my alliances can no longer be called certain, or right. You are a hateful thing to me…but you are the only one that I could call close….you are Justice. You are Virtue. You are my friend, and I will guard you. You and your Garden…I saw a vortex today…grand in its fury, and terrifying in its glory. It gaped wide into a world not true, and I saw how the world would end. And I knew terror. The forest of Darkness crept along my vision as the wings of leather flapped in the air, cutting………cutting……cutting……cutting…..into my skull, I wanted them to stop. But I had no wings of my own to follow, and they ran, away from my net and away from the grumbling in my stomach that would never cease. Gilded Silver swam through torrents of white, and I dove into them, cut by their sharp sides, and bled into those torrents that were red. And in the distance the Vortex spun, and monstrosities the likes of which never seen poured forth, and through the veil over my window I saw them as what they were. Nothing. And all that lay around them grew Nothing….and I sought to flee from such a fate. But to slow were my legs, weary from the red…the beast still in my chest betraying me like baying dogs for a convict. And then I was nothing to. Home…home and away to those trees where I grew up….12 were the number, 13 born….only I left. Mother, father I do not hate you.

I choose this life, for I am marked. And I must suffer as they do. How petty a thought I know, oh Sigil, but you are amused? You laugh in the window…and I hear it. Let me speak to you of the things I have seen…I awoke on a shore, alone and cold as always, the Sun not present to warm me. Where did you go oh Sun? Did you hide to from that which was not…I want to cry but it stole the will of those to burst forth….and that was the saddest of all. I saw a man and child today, the child smiled and laughed, its sound grating…grinding…smashing down, eroding the safety in my soul. I wanted it to end, the sound the child now became. What was that sound for? Did it spring forth from joy or ignorance. Ignorance it had to be. And I ceased it. Cut it short, and the other man to. Their laughter no more ringing forth. And I laughed into emptiness. For I knew not what it was that I had done, I assured myself. But the red that soaked my gloves told me…and I understood the step I had taken. But they were unmarked, and meant nothing to this world. My blood slicked hands have issue with this pen, Oh World…you see…I have commited sin today. There was a child crying for its cat in a tree. And I brought it down. The boy thanked me not for my trouble, he ran away in fear when he saw the eye that could not look back, and shouted I was tainted…That –I- was cursed by an unspeakable evil. Was that not an amusing joke I thought, and chased the boy so he would know I laughed at his joke. That I found it too funny for words. But the boy ran harder to its home, and I sprinted with my long stride…and removed the fan with the Eye upon it, and cut the thing down. How dare it so unmarked judge me who was? I made sure to assure his family that his life was better spent dead but they cried and attacked me. Such simple things. The torch the man carried into the dusk exploded, I had made sure to awaken the elemental inside to attack him, and it did. Wrapping around his throat with vice like wire flames, burning and choking him with ash and flame. The woman looked on in horror, and I covered my eyes with a hand, laughter erupting from my lips like a torrential rain, pelting her loss with even more elation. She took a knife to cut me, and I removed it from her, slapping her for her effort. She wept bitter tears and I spoke to her Oh World.

The moon rose above the horizon and I knew it to be an eye….and Drinal rose second and it to made me feel watched. And I motioned to them both, the gods in their heavens….who so left us when we required their aid the most. We all begged for their help, huddled under insane marks of justice and tolerance. The ground pitched and shattered, and the moon so weak in its present form burst like a harvest bloom and fell from the sky…an avenging angel of dirt, steel and stone. And the pathways that crawled through those powerful places ceased, and the world so vast and so small became vaster, swallowing up the smallness in its hateful hunger. And where was I Oh World? I was crying in fear, knowing not my higher purpose…Now ask me who it is I wish to sit atop that peach tree, who would dine on the flesh of the fallen and bring charity to the world where there was none…I know the answer to it….the world loves me to tell me.. But it torments me…for only through this can I see….and no one else. So I will give it forth to the King. For the King must see what I see. And the Queen who is so close, her falcon….me….seeing the pearl top of the dome….she must never see what the falcon sees. so many hours given to its research. I have killed to get the information. Stolen inside the places of great learning….to know what I know now. I have seen answers to questions to dark to speak. I know who sits beyond the void. Her name is Sul. I know who seeks to destroy us, its name is the Void….and they together will fight my Tyrant…and my King…and they will lose. Why do you ask Oh Sigil? Because there is Nothing in them, and Nothing can never be higher then something in this world. They are the basest on this cycle, beneath even the creatures of the earth and sky, they are more wretched then I.

But I am amused to see these Void Creatures now…no longer am I in that forest of Darkness…no longer afraid am I to know their place. For they have fallen to my fans, to my magic…and I know a place where they bastion, and it is covered in fire. Fire to burn them should we present a united front! The Sigils will fight there….yes…we will….and we will win. Because that is the right way of the world. We are higher in station and power and in this….we have earned the right to throw them back against the tide of the world. They will break on our surf…be blistered by our fires…Loving charity. The sigil breaks the spirit of its owner, wrapping its destiny in a way that only the most masterful of servants could possibly do. The eye that is marked gazes into the world dead…it seems almost as if that tell me “I am wrong” and that my other eye is right, seeing a world of greens and purples and an orange yellow sun. The moon cracked and shattered mocks me here in this plain, and the stars it swims with only add to its laughter. The cold wind pass’s through the grass and it whispers soft words to me, the comforting words I sought so long to hear. “Watch over them, and take them to her…for she is the ruler that will set this world right Vasae. Vasae! Listen to our words for we are the children of the mother you forsook, Tunare would take you back, but you follow another, and she is the Queen that will reign the Sigil bearers in. The snake and the circle..coil not just in my window. It sits on the bodies and souls of others. The Sun shines forth, marred only by its scar…and its father to. A link? Surely this is something to report. How could the link be so….like chain? Binding? Perhaps? Speak forth little spirits…and tell me what you see. The world is silent, the empty that fills between gnawing, only its screams answer me now…how long ago on the Island did it speak so clear. The fire crackled, the water sloshed…the earth so silent yet to strong to stay…and the wind….always the wind! It sang in terror! It whispered in my head and no matter how long I clasped my ears it fit between my fingers, so subtle….it sang….it SANG TO ME!!!

No one else! Why?! WHY JUST ME! Gods……I want to see this world right….would it all end?This suffering? Would he, the King, be alright? Would the Blood he spoke of end with a whimper, and fall into the torrent that not months ago mine did? Would that make them mingle? Would that make us flesh? Or would forth born be created another, to strange for us to name? Where is your answer oh wind? Do you find it to hard to speak back to me? No….you know…I know you know….you always knew….but you will not tell….for I know too. Nothing would come. All is ash in flame…all is water in water. Shadows….send me to sleep again? Where is the Nothing that would return me…had they gone? Or had they moved…I search forever for them now….for only can they tell me the answer. Who rules now….who sits on that empty throne. Could it be…them? Men and Women both seek to bring about a universal equality…how stupid and uncaring. Are we equal to a dog? Or a child? No. We are not. We are stronger due to age and wonder. And why should we be equal with that which we eat? Why must we be equal to one another? Are we not born to be different? I think we are….I know we are. I am no leader, but the King and the Tyrant were born to be. Who am I to stand in the way of such an order? I am a Cat….an Empty Vessel. That is what I am. And will always be….forever until the day I die. He told me, the King, to not call him such…to stand with him and be his friend…but why? I am what I am, is the King meant to rename me? Could I be renamed? No…there is never such a hope…ever in this world we are only what we can make ourselves be…no King has the power to change ones station. But the real question is…do I want my station changed? Do I want to be an equal with those rulers? Could I hand my old life away to another and take the mantel of leadership? I think not…so I can never be equal to the King…never be able to beat the Tyrant, for it is not my place to take on that who could make this world right.

I am the shield bearer…I am the spear presenter. I am he who stands next to the Lord or Lady, and I am the one who will take the arrow meant to slay them. For my life has no value in the light of theirs, and it never has. I am a wretched individual, but I stand above those unmarked. Even the Sigil is meant to decide who is better, who is more right, in this world. I know this to be fact, I have seen its power in places even the Tyrant has not. I am the true viewer of its power, that is why I am kept around, for I seek the answers…I seek the right path for this Sigil and all who bear it! So many notes…thinking this mark in my eye to be nothing more than fated disaster. But a path I found and wish I had not. The Sigil is not that of a kind master, it is a cruel and twisted plot…to bring us together. For we are destined to be friends, though we may not care for one another at all, it matters not to the Sigil….nothing matters to the Sigil. But friends we will be. For it is what the Sigil desires, laughing in that window to gaze at the World, and to see what it does, for it will do what it always has….it will unite. Unite and bring forth clarity through murky solitude and silent companionship. It blesses the body and the mind with its image, but grants nothing to help us, denying us even our simple senses to make us ready for our new life! We must suffer….be in pain and to worry, to hope for a better life for that is the bitter harvest the Sigil tries to bring to bear. We are nothing more than a grove of limes, and we are not yet ripened, our pith to bitter and our juice to small to be worth taking from that tree. But worry not Oh World…we are not the sort to fall to the plagues of insects and the torrential weather to not bear our fruit! We are powerful trees that will stand in the path of the world that seeks to drown us in chaos and void. Have you heard? The call of the Sigil? I have seen monsters, upon which no story could be made. They are made from the wicked things you dare not view, and feed off the injustices of the world. No Oh World! Monsters are not that which destroy…they are those that bring order!

For only a monster would desire the world to be created in their image, only a true monster would be possessed by its own will to do harm to others to make a vision of a world that no one else can see. You say then that I would a monster be? Nay, I am a servant to the pantheon of perverted images. Nothing more am I. I am but an empty vessel for the World…you, and all others to work through. And I choose to do so with a will that no other creature can possess for I am the one who Hangs for the sins of the Monsters. The sin that only carries with it the hate of this disastrous world. So many Sigil Bearers exist in the world, and I…I am commanded to find them all, calling forth through the darkness to find the points of light that will make a new sky! But do you understand why it is that I am afraid? Afraid of a World, Oh World, ruled by a Tyrant…a Queen so devoid of things that only a ruler of a cruel magnitude could lead? No…you would never would you? Because you are not possessed of a tyrannical will, you do not employ those that would push you to form such a worrisome World view….would you? Of course you wouldn’t. That would be cruel to you, so young and small in this time. You did not yet even see the leaving of the gods, knowing only that they did such and now return. The darkest of all things is not the sky at night with no moon and only cloud. It is not the human heart least what those with more….romantic views would have you believe. It is friendship. Friendship will lead you away from paths you would normally take, to take your heart and make it not of your own soul or mind. It is a darkness that gnaws warmly through you…and it is a darkness you have no choice but to invite into your own life. It is insidious…it is a serpent….and we are nothing but empty circles. Be it that I had friends before with a World view without the Sigil, but I know now that this is folly for all without the mark are to be buried when the world is remade in the image of a Tyrant or a child. Hail to three, the marks of those who could take the reigns of the pitching Chariot…hail to two who will, and to the one who lays broken under the wheel...

I give you my sorrow and sadness…for you were the best after the child to take control of what you could but now..our hopes rest on the shoulders of a child not old enough to shave. I write my sorrows for him as well; for he is one who must know sadness…I do feel so sorry…could he forgive me for the things I did? Yes…he could but will he? No…I don’t think he would…its not like him to forgive such a thing. Betrayal…is that all that I can do? Sigil…is this your fault…do you make it so we suffer no matter what we do in our lives? I have cast aside so much for you to show you what I will do…to make it so that She is on the seat of power…but yet you desire more? My sacrifice was not enough….yes I understand, for it was my own will to do so….and that means that it did not count…didn’t ever count. I was a fool….but not the largest of them. I am more the hanged man every day, condemned by my own actions….controlled by a string I never wanted to see…fate…so funny…do you laugh more at me now for my actions? Or do you think it amusing that I would jump at the shadows I so long ago slept in with little issue? Cruel are you Fate to allow me such worry…I hate you…and this world most of all. Can we free ourselves…from the Sigil..I had always wondered…if it were possible to do such a thing. If we could what then? Would this eye of mine see the world for the first time? Or would it remain blind, like all the hurts and harm that we would suffer through to deal with this unkind wind that blows across the plains we find ourselves so alone in. Would the voids end? Would she leave us be and try to take another world down? No…The Tyrant seeks only to bring about the end of this chaotic world and right it again. And I must help for that is what I was born for. The perfected unity of the world….all things in its place….its so broken A village once sat on the sea, fishing its life away as its homes were devoured by salt.

There was nature there. There was life. But the Sigil it said to me “Vasae….how pitiful you are….slay them, they bring diastour into the world.” And though the Queen not commands me, I will bring them low to humble grace. Months passed as I grew into them, years….so long….they loved me…trusted me. And I watched their hateful actions, the young boys taken to slaughter in the name of “Gods”….the young girls…so young as to be budding, bear children by the same boys….hateful….disgusting….their actions corrupted the world….it brought those black torrents….they were the source of the nothing. Should they have had the Sigil it would clean their sins. It would show them to me….to save them. I can save them…but they would bring the torrent back to the world. I cut them from the world, one by one. Slowly. Ever…so slowly. And their bodies…bloated by hate…..fell to birds. Birds my message come forth to me, and seek her who knows only the answer that she should know. Wings of purity…forgive me, it hurts this divine job. It is not the empty that makes me sad. It is that no one would tell me “You are wrong!” for me to say forth “I KNOW!” We all know the Sigil. We see it…feel it everyday. It is always there. Dark Gods….the Sun….what could it be? I know. I know I know. It is a binding…that links all those loved by the world together. It knew we would fall to adversity alone but together we strive to fight harder. It is this Sigil that binds us. But they must have suffered. Why do they always suffer. It makes it hard to reconcile the fact that they will die if they do not follow the source of true suffering. A TYRANT! Queen Tyrant, I see you. I feel and here you. I know you. I will not gaze into the monster. Through this sash I have seen A wraith of darkness and hate…spiraling forward to devour me and the King. He speaks so nice but it is lies. Lies and slander to the world. He is to dangerous…a monster of the top order. But none were like the one I took it from. A swirling demon…mouths so many stood…open and screaming….The Devourer….the Soul Devourer….and the sad truth…he was hope. Blood walking…shadows and voids that stepped like man.

Wolves who were not wolves…demons in the skin of children….made from insects that boiled in feces…disgusting brats. Mothers breast feeing from vipers. The world is rotten like an apple left to long in the sun…and its reek of sweet decay fills my nose. Was the sash a good steal? Or was it destined for me to take? I ask myself this every now and then, but the answer comes up empty…like everything else. But that’s the amusing part isn’t it Sigil? I too empty, so is my reflection on the world casting my opinion? Or is it the world that reflects on me leave those lands for a while. But in time I did, further into the sky I roamed…further to the cold reaches. And I found myself surrounded by night. Below me was cold…around me was frost and above me…..I felt kinship in the sky. An empty star filled expanse looked back at me…so close and without the eyes I so longed to not see. How could it be? Where was I? How was I….here….alive….and others to. Monstrous dragon men and spiders…and the basilisk that I could identify….what were they all doing here. Then I saw them….the invaders before the Void….insects…locusts….and I knew that they were nothing before the Void, and I did seek them to be one with them. They were pure they were they were they were….for through the sash only the image of hunger showed, and it was clear on them without it as well. They wanted to feed and to live, so like the natural creatures, but so much smarter. What were they….where were they…how they were there….I hated them for not telling me the answer. How could they deny me that. And I beat them to death with a corpse of a gnome I had found half eaten. And they sliced at me but the waters I summoned soothed me…they healed me and I was fine…drown in the air that we will force into their lungs..and be torn rough by the sand and rock we hurtle at them. The void they have shown us will be brought to bear once more against them and the very forces of death will stand to fight you back! You hear me and know fear for I herald in the end of your lives…you pathetic creatures….you know nothing of what you have awakened in this world. But I do….and I will find them all….find them all and crush you.

Then –I- Will decide who it is who will rule. For only one may be on that seat…..and it will be the one I care for most by the end of the battle. More Sigils must be out there, blazing away Oh World…could you fortell to me the locations of their existence! Tell me now oh world where they dwell and I will hunt them, bring them to Her, and to the King…for they are his as well. A might of forces…a solider of swords….a follower of the coin….staves and a feast from the cups of life….a bounty spilling over to a world undecided…how wonderful could that be Sigil in the Window? Would you writhe in hate and fear? Would you know me to be more powerful then you thought? That’s right oh Sigil….Oh World….show it they are weak in the path of life…show the Sigil Oh World! Show it the power you have been granted by itself, and show it the others will forever raise to strike against it in joy! For that is truly how things must be done…we know it to be so…we know it will forever be that way and fool ourselves that we could not think otherwise. Hate…fear…they are emotions that only make that which is not stronger. Fuels the gods…the void…and their petty squabble….they are afraid of our happiness… they are scared of us all. They want to bury us….I want to bury them back. I sat in the sky…in a palace of green, more wings…more cutting…..cutting….slashing….keen sound like glass on glass. Plants moved…and not rustled. Never rustled only walked. Wings of water sang forth to cease the walking. No idea how to live in –this- world. Must flee. Must….what was that? A creature swimming, a toad made of liquid….how can liquid swim….through more liquid. It boggles me. I will keep it.

Date marked 2 weeks in the future

I crushed it, that water moving water.

I said to her “Why cry? Your people are worthless to this world and to the Tyrant, your deaths are hallmarks that will usher in a world new to you and me both. Be joyous in your hate of me, but do not blame me for their demise. It was fated to happen. Just as yours.” And Oh World, I slide that blade across her throat, and watched her die in my arms. Can you imagine the look upon her face? Shock and fear….fear that her life was leaving her, and shock that such a kind face as mine was the one who took it. So pitiful are these people who think an outward appearance would mean the world to me. I have seen beyond it, and through the sash I am aware of so much more. They were dirty things. The Husband cheating on his wife with another younger man, and lying to her about his faithfulness. The boy burned and cut animals and laughed at their pain. He would have killed the cat I assure you Oh World had I not killed him, and what a terrible thing to do to such precious things. The Wife in her own way knew all of this and did not put a stop to it. She sinned, Oh world, she sinned so much it fell off her life dirt. Her appearance was made certain ever so but that statement, created of sludge and grime, with a heart of gold. She could have been a good person, she could have saved them from themselves like her rightful station demanded. But Shattered….broken again is my mind in this sorrow filled place. I see creatures of the void seeking the land of Lava…I left the King in this place. Did I do right your mighty Highness?

Tell me the answer for I am losing my way…from you….and to her. If she finds out….I will be killed, and you will follow to save me, as you promised. Why did you do that oh King? I am a servant and nothing more…..you dated to bring me to give me hope and you will throw it away….like dust….like ash….you make me pity the world….all I can say is this…I hate this world….that birthed you into the child you were. And I hate this world…for making you have to come to me….Why…for I to am corrupted….because it is the way of the world…so long in my wanderings….that I would be as you but not. And now you as me shall do nothing but what is meant to happen. And in the gathering of the Sigils….shall we unite the front for the vision of Peace to see. And the gods will be humbled before us and our might….for they will know we were their chosen….we are not they who they were never to be. I cling to the fear they will know of us. And come to speak. The spirit world…the world of the elements is tainted. I can feel it in my pull and draw….they hate us. They fear us.

I seek salvation in their fury, but empty as always am I. Xiava is Queen, and I bend my knee to her. She is that which will right this world to its proper and expected form, and when all sets into its purity of form, the sun will set for good, and I will cry only tears of pity for I know what I do is wrong. She will kiss the children with lips stained with rust, the Sun and its father will lay in chains, and Ghosts of the past will surge forth to carry her words like gulls dying at sea. And I….the empty one….will gaze back once more into that abyss….and I will ask it to gaze back into me. For the purity its folds hold can only wipe me clean of the monstrosities I have committed in the name of the Sigil…and the world that I so hate…for it has birthed a child like you. I would almost pray for rage to fill me, to show me my actions are more than just shadow plays built to amuse her. For the Queen will see all when the sash is granted to her, for only in time can such an event not transpire. But the King will raise in the south, and do battle with her, and he will lose…for I seek only to place the right one on the Throne that will stand at the top of the tower that we call Norrath. they were dead and I was not. I took their jaws for my own, putting them in my sleeves so that I could keep it for the memories..and maybe use them later in my scroll ink…do you think they would make a good ink these things? Maybe they would or not….tell me later when you can. I crawled down from the sky….it took me days to find the way home. But I did it…and all the better for me was I to know the secret place where I could see the sky and myself in it. It soothed me…it calmed me…and for a time I thought perhaps I could heal. But Empress…Oh Empress of the Foul Land…he Empress of the domain of the Sigil….can you hear it all? The jokes I spout….the fear I feel? All the way in that gilded dirt stained city can you hear me?

I can hear all of you…I hear your cries for help in the sky, for the air is rich with the perspiration of loathing, it falls down in buckets on streets lined with the entrails of a dog, and it does not wash the blood away, it only makes the smell foul still. The air is chocked with the dust and grime of so many weary feet….and I know my own steps have added to the miasma of apathy that gripes this land. More stories….I know them all so well. Two hundred years….two hundred and nothing done. Am I so useless like they said? The Cat, they spoke to me, saying the lazy would be my path, and pampered I would wish to be. But I live in velvet and pillows, a warm and soft Breeze comforting me when I am troubled, and the King to guide. The steps….they are so far apart. Who am I following….and why is he walking before me? Can you answer that? Whoever walks before me….why…? she did not act. She did nothing, and I punished her for it. And as I let her fall I laughed harder, setting fire to the houses of their village, to clean them of the filth this family had spread like a plague. But I felt wrong doing it, though amusing it was Oh World. For I know the difference between right and wrong, I do…I simply regret to tell you now that you will listen to the ramblings written that I care not for what I do. I cannot, for the Tyrant would command me to do worse if she willed it so. I merely do things to fill that hole in my heart that nothing can fill. I am empty and the world knows this, these villages and towns….they are merely there for me to see…and to destroy should they be judged incorrectly. For that is my job for this world and I do so with pride.

But I cry at night in the bed of Breeze’s when he rests his eyes…so that he cannot see the mirthless joy I take in that which I do. And I tell the King that I can be serious, the notes here do not show my mirth, and he does believe me, telling me it is sad when I must be…that I must be the clown, but does he not know..it is an act? Does he not understand that it is painful to smile all the time when I must do these jobs for the Sigil? Does he not understand that in me is the face of a killer and a priest and a lover and a hedonist and *The text goes further on with other names and lists of people*. But it is the nature of the beast to grow weary from the shuffling demons, so tired and weighed down are they that they seek only to bury…to be buried…to dwell in soft tombs of shadow…of darkness…of nothing….clothed in its subtle lack of light that only a true lover could bring. Do not find me sad that I think of such things, for it is not the idea of which that would comfort me. Your tears would not abate the sanity that ebbs in my mind…nor would it heal me…for I am not worthy…not fated to be such. Gods…do I long for a simple time where the mind could once more think freely without hoping to be brought succor or salvation….nor do I desire it…though I beg and plead. I truly want…truly need…forever will ask….for the death of those that would make this world crumble…fall…shatter….destroy….and never be known as The World again. But it will always be such for the ignorant claim stupidity as their trump card…and all I have is the deck I await…and I will go there now…for it is the time I bring the Sigil to bear on those who would harm me.

Date Marked Yesterday.

I have them, these cards of mine. Have spent hours working on them with my magic…to make them more then even they were before they were in my hands. The fans I have in these sleeves call out to be remembered, and how could I forget them? They are the only thing about me that have two working eyes. So funny that they would be meant to bring death….so funny as they that would close like eyes, and open to bring forth charity and love through violence. But I let them stay there and looked at these 23 cards…and called them each by name. For it was my job to know all the faces that were drawn here in. And it is I who will show them to them. There are blanks..but my magic will take care to remind the faces who they are to look like, windows now….soon to be filled, like my own is. I wanted to test them out, I wanted to show the world my toy…the toy that would bring forth new life…and I planned and plotted and found the sinners and the darkness in the ally of a city that’s name made certain to cast it as a mockery of its true self. A port that would be free…how amusing you are sitting here on the ocean, your ships come and go as if the name meant something at all. But you are not free…you are the home of the Tyrant. You are the home of a woman who will enslave you further. D’Lere…you are unmarked, as is the Queen in her city whose name spells out S and o and n and y with the letters of E and Q all together in….but I forget myself Oh World….the cards….yes the cards and those fool beggars that tried to take them and all my possessions and my life. I struck the first man across the face with my powerful hand, and broke his jaw, he fell screaming but the guards not minutes away cared…this was normal. His friends did not pause like so many others….and I was glad.

I removed the card of me and placed it on the ones face, and he lurched into the sky with a strangling sound, and I waited for him, more to come so soon. I took out the Sun from my sleeve as I danced around their grimy knives, kicking out and shouting its name, and a torrent of flame and heat burst forth, burning the others alive, the smell of their world and mine making me want to eat, I do not understand why the idea came over me. The man on the floor had regained himself, and lunged at me, taking me off my feet, and in the next instant I produced that faceless card of The Star, and the man did beg for forgiveness, his eyes so moved by my grace he bowed to me and asked me to do with him as I would. I told him his friend strangling on nothing and hoisted upside down in the air wanted to be kissed and saved, and the man took his knife and placed the most kind kiss on his friends forehead I had ever seen, and began to care out his chest with the broken and rusty knife as I went to get a bowl of hot stew and a loaf of bread. I returned to the mess, full of food in my belly so the growling did not stir the dead, and the man struck by stars looked to me, and told me he had done well. But I told him he was wrong, for to do well he would have to resist the ill fated light that hung over his head, so I removed the next card ,faceless and motionless as well Maybe he does…maybe he does not, but the other Sigil members only see one face. None can ever see them all. How could they be so close to do that? Only the Queen….only the Tyrant is high enough to see such. For she is the one who commands my hands…and my soul. I am hers forever so long as she is the one on the throne. And it burns me inside to know I must follow a true monster, for at once I was a gentle soul. I refuse to hurt those who do not deserve it, but I have been told I have. That is a lie. That is such a lie I cannot begin to explain it.

I went to that island in the sky again. With the cutting hard shelled birds and the water frogs. I wanted another…but I killed it again in my joy, choked it with my hands and it splashed through my gloves as its body burst forth with clear liquid guts. I wondered how it tasted. I’d not eaten at the home of Breeze that day and cooked it. It boiled to nothing, and I was left to kill 10 more before I made a soup out of it and several of the flying hard shelled cutting cutting birds. The soup tasted foul but I ate it, for I was not going to I hate this world…..that would birth a child like you. And forever be the servant you desire most, for I rather bend knee to Kind then to Uncaring.

2009-05-27, 12:57 AM
Yeah, it's reasonable to keep your descriptions to a minimum for such a concern. Although, I believe writing down the idea on a forum technically copyrights it. Even so.

That's...long. I'll read it tomorrow.

H. Zee
2009-05-27, 04:55 AM
I've written one novel, but that was several years ago and looking back it's only real good point was that I managed to finish it. Okay, one or two of the characters were good too, but that's it. I'm currently working on another one, which will either be titled Clockwork Armies or Vir Ex Machina. It's a very GrimDark fantasy tale - the epic battle between good and evil is over, and evil has won. Now all that remains is a civil war between the forces of evil over what remains of the shattered world.

Cheery stuff, I think you'll agree, but there's a definite humorous, satirical edge as well.

2009-05-27, 05:16 AM
By U.S. law, if you wrote it, you own the copyright. Talk about it as much as you want.

My first book's technically done at 55,000 words. I keep adding more now and again. An agent's looking at my query now (which doesn't mean the agent likes it).

As for what it's about, it's a sci-fi fantasy, wherein a very nice, scientific, civilized cyborg from a stellar colony finds himself on a brutally post-magical-apocalypse Earth.

2009-05-27, 05:19 AM
To heck with the novel, if those snippets in the "what's on your clipboard" are any true indicator, it's your essays I want to read, Icewalker.

2009-05-27, 06:31 AM
I've written three books, although it really only counts as one because the third was a rewrite of the first two. I even had an agent for a while a few years ago, but nothing came of it. I've been trying to finish up the book's sequels before I try to pitch it again.

I also have about a dozen short stories, mostly in the sci fi genre. I haven't tried to publish them yet.

2009-05-27, 08:05 AM
I wrote a 300 page book but only the last part is actually readable, since I was basically learning structure as I went. According to the only person who has slogged through it, some guy who appears only once and in the last 50 pages had more character than a major love interest who appears throughout the first half :smallfrown:.

It was basically a fantasy version of 18th century Europe written with the aid of tvtropes, with a world where things exist because the story needs them too rather than for logical reasons and things happen just because they don't happen very often in other fantasy novels.

I've written one novel, but that was several years ago and looking back it's only real good point was that I managed to finish it.

Mine's pretty much like that too, except I wrote it this year.

I should write some short stories but I'm too busy wasting time on the internet and fiddling with my book.

2009-05-27, 08:09 AM
I'm an author in training, raised on wild Eddings and Alexander and weaned on Tolkien.

I haven't written anything novel-length yet, but I have written a few short stories, and I've got several concepts for novels bouncing around in my head...

2009-05-27, 08:25 AM
I've got a book published with Lulu. To be fair, it was really just a case of "Might as well get the irrational feeling of having one's first book published out of the way so I can start getting serious".

If my fanfiction that I've still got on the Internet -- which I've kept up there as proof of how far I've come -- is any indication, it's really just more of the same but in a form I can slap myself with.

Let's see what I can dig up... I haven't edited this piece yet, and I don't suppose I'll ever bother since it's going to be adapted for the webcomic.

“What you gonna do with that rake, boy? Rake me?”

Yezzik had problems of his own, most of them revolving around the fact that – aside from Jozam – the rest of the village was hopelessly outclassed and outnumbered. These were farmers and labourers, not soldiers or mercenaries. His own bad luck featured a close second. If he had put off returning to the village to run some errands until later, he might have avoided this.

“Close enough. Trust me, you'll be sore in the morning – if you live that long.”
He wanted so badly to surrender, to just throw away his “weapon” and beg for clemency if he had to. His nerves were frazzled from an overload of pure terror and fear for his life, his vision was blurred from all the sweat that ran down his face from his forehead and it was all he could do to prevent himself from vomiting from the smell of flesh, urine and other bodily substances that never should have been exposed to the air.

“That tongue of yours'll be the first piece I remove.”

He was a farmhand, so he was used to vile smells and occasionally sights – but this was a whole new level of disgusting. All around him the bodies of dead and dying friends and acquaintances greeted him like a macabre tapestry of blood, flesh and bone. Old Man Renke's gut had been gouged open, his stomach torn apart and part of his intestines exposed for the world to see. Thank the gods for small mercies, his dying screams of agony had been quick to fade away. He didn't even want to think about what had happened to Haro.

Yezzik fell silent. Not only did he not trust his voice to remain steady at the moment, but he also had a lack of things to say. The characters in the books Renke had lent him to read never had such a problem – they were all wit and confidence in their battles, battles which coincidentally glossed over the dirtier, filthier aspects of war and violence. It was all about the style and glamour.

“What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

A quiet, choked sob from behind reminded him yet again precisely why it was he hadn't already thrown himself on these bandits' mercy. He knew exactly who was there – the surviving members of the family who had originally taken him in and helped him recover his good health. He owed them so much, more so even than this entire village. He owed them his life, and that was one debt he was in no hurry to run away from.

“Eh, you're no fun. Guess I'll have to make this fun myself.”

The bandit was upon him in an instant, swinging wildly with his axe. Yezzik attempted to block the blow with his rake, only to be met with disappointment as his impromptu weapon shattered into pieces from the attack. The bandit swung again, this time aiming for Yezzik's arm. He didn't stand a chance.

The axe's head slammed into Yezzik's elbow with such force that it knocked him down and away, skidding slightly across the ground. The bandit pressed his advantage, raining strike after strike down on Yezzik without pause. The besieged youth did his best to fend off the attacks with the only weapons at his disposal – his limbs – while attempting to get away from his attacker.

His left arm was crushed, his right almost severed near the elbow and held on only by pieces of flesh and muscle that hadn't yet been obliterated. Blood flowed freely from his wounds, and he had no chance of victory against this opponent. The bandit ceased his attacking, his assault having had the desired effect. Yezzik was curled in a ball on the ground, trying frantically to stem the flow of blood from what remained of his arms.

He was terrified and in a state of shock, so much so that he was crying and mumbling incoherently to himself. The family he had attempted to protect looked on in abject horror, both for their own lives and for his.

“Get up, Yezz! Please!”

The youngest of the family, four-year-old Kella, screamed for him to stand as if it was that easy. Her mother attempted to shush her, drawing her and her other children as close to her body as possible. The bandit stepped over the fallen youth, slowly approaching the cowering family. He drew his approach out for maximum effect, to elicit even more panicked responses from them. Yezzik struggled, but his shattered body simply refused to move. He managed to raise his head enough to see the strange man he had met earlier that day approaching him.

Jozam was stunned. Of all the emotions he had seen on Scrayal's face, from happiness to sadness and everything in between, he had never seen him cry. It was just something he didn't do, ever. And yet the beaten and broken youth lying in front of him was crying, tears running in rivulets down his bloodstained and mud-caked face.

He can't be Scrayal then!

As he rounded on the bandit who had all but killed the boy, something caught his eye about the youth's almost severed arm. It was... glowing slightly. Lengthy experience with magic had drilled into him the general opinion that glows where there shouldn't be glows was a Very. Bad. Thing, but this glow in particular unnerved him more than usual.

It was familiar. No, scratch that. It was exactly as he remembered it. It was the yellow glow of pure Elemental mana – the sort that could only belong to one person – and its presence contradicted the opinion he had just formed regarding the youth's identity.

He is Scrayal?!

This... made things complicated. Sensing danger, Jozam barely had time to protect himself and the cowering family by summoning twin walls of rock and stone before the leaking mana erupted from the hole in the youth's arm and expanded outward. The skin on his arms, face and neck shone with that same glow, except for certain patches that faded to black for a brief moment. Within seconds they too were glowing that same shade of yellow, the blackness fading away entirely. His mundane senses tingling as well, the bandit turned to see what was amiss.

“What the?!”

A corona of red light exploded from his victim's body, filling his vision as the temperature rose. A feeling of numbness in his left hand caused him to take a look, only to find it had melted away into a fleshy stump. The temperature rose further, and the bandit could only look on in horror as his arms began to follow suit. He let out a scream of rage, pain and terror that was cut off abruptly when his voice box started to melt.

The molten flesh spilled down his throat, incinerating and melting more and more of his body as it went. It filled his lungs and what was left of his digestive system, the macabre semi-liquid destroying his body from the inside even as the incredible heat seared it into oblivion from the outside.

By the time the light and heat faded and Jozam dared glance around the protective wall he had summoned, the bandit's body had vanished completely and Scrayal lay unconscious on the ground. It was just as well for the future mental stability of the still-cowering children that they hadn't witnessed such a painfully foul deed.

He's definitely Scrayal, much as I hate to admit it. The only question now is... what do I do about it?

After a moment's deliberation, Jozam picked up Scrayal's body and walked off. That bandit had been the last one alive, and what was left of the village could handle the issue of rebuilding. As for himself, he had some very important news to deliver to both his superior and his employer.

Pain greeted Yezzik as he woke, twin searing pains in his shoulders that made it almost impossible to concentrate on anything at all. He opened his eyes and took stock of his surroundings. The room was small – uncomfortably so – and clearly made of metal, with a single door that looked pretty solid. There were no windows, and the only source of light came from the tiny gaps where the door met the wall. He attempted to reach out and touch the door, but found he couldn't. He lifted his right arm to the half-light to see what was wrong.


The scream echoed throughout the room. The longer he stared at what remained of his arm, the less he found himself believing it was true. His right arm was no more, ending in a stump of flesh that had once been his elbow. A quick glance at his left revealed that it was still completely attached, just almost impossible to move without extreme agony. The door burst open, revealing a rather large man brandishing an equally large nightstick.

“Quiet down!”

Panicking even more, Yezzik ignored the sensible urge to obey the man with the weapon and made a break for it. Ducking between the large man's legs, he broke into a run down the corridor. He ran like his life depended on it, changing direction repeatedly to run down random corridors in an attempt to evade pursuit. The light fittings embedded in the ceilings turned red, casting an eerie glow over the corridors and making them look as if they were stained with blood. A siren went off in the distance, and one by one others repeated the sound until he could barely hear anything else.

“There he is! Get him!”
The corridor ended and he slammed into a door at full speed, winding himself as it opened violently. He fell to the floor, slightly dazed. The sound of many loud footsteps just behind him told him that his captors had caught up to him. Yezzik glanced around for anything he could use to get away, but he saw nothing that would help.

“Ah, Scrayal. So nice of you to join us.”

That voice was familiar... but where the hell did he remember it from? And why did he call him “Scrayal”, anyway? He didn't have a clue, but he was certain about one thing – he was nothing to do with this mess, whatever it was.

“Please... just let me go!”

Hoisted to his feet, presumably by some of those who had chased after him, Yezzik saw the room in its entirety for the first time – and the man who had called him Scrayal. The room was large and clearly made of metal, just like the corridors and his cell. The sheer amount of computer hardware in use was staggering, and on the opposite wall was a massive video screen. The image of clear sky it displayed was impressive indeed, but the fact that there was no visible ground was slightly off-putting.


The man grinned wickedly, and all too late Yezzik realised he might just have dug himself an early grave.

“I see Jozam was wrong about you. He had some crazy notion that you might have forgotten us. Well, since you do remember...”

Whatever Rugar was going to say at that moment was cut off by a high-pitched clarion call. Saved by the bell... I hope. Rugar pressed a button on a nearby console, and the picture of clear sky on the screen was replaced by that of a room not dissimilar to the one they were currently standing in. The screen's display was focused on a grinning man sat in a chair that looked extremely comfortable.

“Ah, my dear friend Rugar Cairne. Am I to assume you have been sent on another errand?”

The man in question was dressed as a king, wearing a crown that appeared to have full-size headphones and a microphone incorporated into it. Yezzik could see at least two people stood on either side of the man – presumably they were some of his guards.

“Who is that?”

The man paused for a moment, and Yezzik was certain he was looking directly at him.

“Ah, it would appear you are an equal-opportunity employer, Rugar. How splendid. Let me introduce myself to your new blood. Good sir, I am Baron Riff – some call me the Duke of Dance.”

Yezzik was almost speechless. Almost.

“...You're ****ting me.”

“Let this be your only warning. You break out of here again and we will kill you.”

They had thrown him back in prison, although it was a more high-tech type of cell than before – if they had only known how he had escaped, they wouldn't have bothered. No doubt the guard in question had wisely chosen to stay silent on the matter. As if that wasn't enough, for added security they had shackled him to the wall.

“Well, well, well. Look who we have here. I didn't believe it at first.”

This cell was the sort that came with a window, although the only view was of the corridor. Presumably this was to allow easier gloating over captured prisoners. The woman standing in the corridor wasn't much younger than he was, and he had the crazy feeling that he knew her from somewhere, just as with Rugar.

“Dad told me I wasn't allowed to kill you. He said nothing about not making your life a misery.”

2009-05-27, 09:04 AM
I began writing something a while back, but like most things I do, I never completed it. I might revisit it someday, it had interesting characters. I write Warcraft fanfiction, though (see banner in sig).

Cristo Meyers
2009-05-27, 09:46 AM
By U.S. law, if you wrote it, you own the copyright. Talk about it as much as you want.

The only caveat being that unless you register the copyright in the US you can't sue for monetary damages for copyright infrigement.

A work is protected as soon as it's put into a fixed format, including websites.

2009-05-27, 04:31 PM
I have a big project about an immortal "lich" and a civil war in the elven empire that I have been leaving and returning to for years. But until I have honed myself enough to not have a constant urge to rewrite over and over, I know it is not going to advance in a meaningful fashion.
These days, I stick to short stories (mostly fantasy but also others) and poems. My big problem is disciplining myself to write enough and to not leapfrog into other projects every few days.
Even if just reading it makes me blush and shake my head, my first lengthly work was a fantasy novella involving my classmates as protagonists, sprinkled with a lot of Mary Sueism. But it got me started seriously so it must be a necessary part of evolution.

As for stealing ideas, I don't think ideas get stolen. It's natural to think that you have a goldmine, once-in-a-lifetime idea but my opinion is, anyone can come up with an idea. They're not worth stealing.
A publisher won't steal it because it is useless to him and a single copyright infringement suit would destroy him, and a random person won't steal it because it is writing talent/skill that ultimately determines success, and idea is only cream on top of it. A quality writer can take a most mundane idea and make something interesting out of it (or should be able to).

2009-05-27, 04:42 PM
I've got a ****ton of ideas floating around, and my main vice is that I haven't written much of anything because as soon as I start on one idea I keep thinking about all the others.

off the top of my head:

1) first story I ever actually thought of seriously writing, it started as a sort of gallows-humor parody of fantasy and got more intricate as I thought about it. It follows the story of a triad of adventurers shanghaied into the position of prophesied heroes and their idiot chaperon, as they unwillingly embark on a quest to defeat an overly clever dark lord. the idea as I have it has some fun poking holes in standard fantasy and RPG plots, e.g. at one point they go through a dungeon to retrieve an important artifact only to find it was taken several weeks ago by another group of adventurers.

2) Story about superheroes and supervillains. Re-imagines super-leagues as sort of sports team style rivalries. Main characters are a guy who got stuck with unwanted superpowers and is pursued by rather forceful recruiters, and a would-be supervillain trying to stop someone from destroying the world before he can take it over. Possibility of a Daft Punk cameo.

3) Fusion of cyberpunk and urban fantasy. Main Character is a policeman who wakes up after a drunken bender to find that he accidentally declared a coup at the height of his drunkenness, and must escape the machinations of an overly paranoid dictator.

4) Vampire Aerialists run a traveling circus in post-apocalyptic Europe, spreading joy and occasional undeath to the mutant horrors and errant refugees of the wasteland. return of psychotic, moon-dwelling vault survivors leads to conflict.

2009-05-27, 04:43 PM
I'm creating an "Anti-Book."

2009-05-27, 04:43 PM
I have a project I've been working on, but I'm undecided as to what medium to portray it in. On the one hand, I feel it merits graphic representation, beyond the capacity of a novel. On the other, I'm more comfortable in my ability to write than my ability to draw.
So yeah, I might be working on a novel!

2009-05-27, 07:02 PM
I'm creating an "Anti-Book."

so something that is not about any protagonists, doesn't have a setting, no clear beginning or end, makes completely no sense and breaks the four wall.......

or just a book where there is an anti-hero and an anti-villain and its not really clear who is which? :smalltongue:

2009-05-27, 07:36 PM
so something that is not about any protagonists, doesn't have a setting, no clear beginning or end, makes completely no sense and breaks the four wall.......

Isn't that the dictionary? Think about it -- no character development (Or characters), no concern for the plot, wall-to-wall references to real life, no start or end, makes NO sense when read in order and no setting at all.

or just a book where there is an anti-hero and an anti-villain and its not really clear who is which? :smalltongue:

That's not quite it. :P

2009-05-27, 07:42 PM
so something that is not about any protagonists, doesn't have a setting, no clear beginning or end, makes completely no sense and breaks the four wall.......

or just a book where there is an anti-hero and an anti-villain and its not really clear who is which? :smalltongue:

It has no words and it destroys other books when it comes into contact with them. Only the illiterate will be able to understand how it works.

It can only be safely handled by a mime....

2009-05-27, 07:48 PM
Yay! Self-plug time!

I have an Elfwood account (http://www.elfwood.com/~death_dragon) (not actually my real name, by the way), and a brand-new account on Fictionpress (http://www.fictionpress.com/secure/account/settings.php).

Actually, I've been meaning to update that Fictionpress series all day today. I should go work on that . . . next up is Cinderella.

Innis Cabal
2009-05-27, 07:55 PM
That's...long. I'll read it tomorrow.

Would greatly like to hear what you think. Have posted it several other places but the Playground's opinion is never unwanted

2009-05-27, 08:16 PM
It has no words and it destroys other books when it comes into contact with them. Only the illiterate will be able to understand how it works.

It can only be safely handled by a mime....

ok then.......good luck with that.....

2009-05-27, 09:34 PM
Well, there's Vatsy and Bruno, which I finished, and the sequel, which is on the way.

And another project, The Vulture's Journal, but I don't talk about that. Because it's secret.

And Ghost of the Machine, but I don't talk about that. Because it sucks.

That's about it. So, yeah.

Vatsy and Bruno.

2009-05-27, 09:57 PM
Yay! Self-plug time!

I have an Elfwood account (http://www.elfwood.com/~death_dragon) (not actually my real name, by the way), and a brand-new account on Fictionpress (http://www.fictionpress.com/secure/account/settings.php).

Actually, I've been meaning to update that Fictionpress series all day today. I should go work on that . . . next up is Cinderella.

Err, I can tell by looking at your Fictionpress link, that it doesn't link to your profile. The address should look like this: http://www.fictionpress.com/u/580740/Zeful rather than link through /secure/account/ since that will redirect to either the login screen or their account if their logged in.

As for the topic, I'm also an aspiring writer, but I have so many ideas and don't really know how to implement them that I often write two or three pages of material and then stop. Right now I'm working on a plotless characterization excersize so I can get the feel for writing again.

2009-05-27, 10:12 PM
Had an idea that I'm currently writing (if you want to call it that, more typing out rereading and getting annoyed at how terrible it is) a gritty fantasy story. Though after I finally wrote down a chapter that I liked a friend showed me A Game of Thrones which succeeds in doing everything I wanted much better than I could have.

Oh well, I'll still toy with this thing till I die I suppose.

2009-05-27, 10:18 PM
Forgot to enclose a link to V&B, in case it wasn't clear that's what I'm linking to from my sig.


2009-05-27, 10:21 PM
I wrote three Books, helped make a paper Comic, and working on a little something something when I'm bored.

F.H. Zebedee
2009-05-28, 10:56 PM
Lesseeee... I'm one of those guys that buries himself in projects, and lets natural selection weed out all of the duds. Then I cannibalize the dead ideas for the good, and use it in later projects. (For one, Remora, a world concept that flopped for an eighth grade writing project, got reincarnated as a setting for an RP later on, quite admirably, too.)

My current list of projects? Two multipart novels (series?) centered on a group of people around me and reality basically caving in. One of them is being written in cooperation with my sister (we've almost finished Book 1, which, when properly spaced, comes out to like 350 pages. After adding the last two chapters, epilogue, and bonus story? We'll break 400, maybe even 500 easy.), while the other set is being written in opposition to her, and hasn't even been put to paper yet (we're having a contest to see who can write a better "Save the World" story).

The afformentioned series I wrote in collaboration with my sister has had a few hints about it up here (check my backlogged post for a game starring all the protagonists, though there's heavy spoilers for when the story goes up.) It's basically a self insert fic sort of thing, though pretty far from Sueish (unless you get into eye tropes. AHEM.)

It's your basic mystery/sci-fi/suspense/action plot, with stylish pseudoscience and insane villains pairing with the reality that composes the Middle Atlantic United states getting torn to shreds. It's loaded with details that let readers slowly figure out what's going on, kinda an ontological mystery sort of deal with action and humor to taste.
It's a fun romp, though I do admit that the characters are just TOO talkative at points. (at one point, a main character is dieing. Everybody else continues bantering over his prone body, making morbid jokes while staying entirely in character. Ruined the drama and impossible to rewrite, but so far, everybody that read it rates it as one of the two funniest scenes, sooo...)

As for projects that I've got more confidence in, let's see... I've got the groundwork for a Super Robot Taisen: OG fanfic mostly pulled together. It was supposed to be the core of a game, but I stopped rooming with a programmer and an art major before I could get it off the ground, so now I'm just gonna write it up on my own. It's kinda... More military feeling than the games, and with more of a focus on the background of the conflict than the main characters of the series. Since it's so far from writing, well, it's hard to gauge length, but I'd put it at a 150-300 page range, depending on how it evolves as an idea.

Finally, as my first professional work, I've got a selection of short stories. Conceptually, they're mostly finished, but I'm doing the afformentioned vanity projects first just to hone my skills.