Perhaps letterboxers are a naturally creative bunch, but it appears that a large number of us write professionally or for pleasure—and nearly all of us write clues!—so whatever the reason, if you like to write and want everyone else to know it, you've got a board of your own. =)

--Ryan

Come on? Raise your hands! What have you written? Where can we read your stuff? =)

While I didn't *write* it, I did get quoted in Time Magazine last summer. Which worked out really well for me, because then I didn't have to worry about speling and grammer and that kind of stuf. =)

-- Ryan

I've been writing articles for the Girls Series Magazine Whispered Watchword!
If you are interested in Girl's Series Books You could check it out!
Just read a neat book by Elizabeth George about her writing process. Had some great ideas for us novice writers!
-Amanda

Hi,

I really like writing all kinds of things, from short stories to poems to general prose to song lyrics blah blah blah. But I'm very hesitant to show my stuff publicly.

Still, glad to have this board to discuss aspects of writing.

Do you write in first or third person more often? What is your favorite genre?

Mark

Do you write in first or third person more often? What is your favorite genre?

*hehe* Usually, I write in the first person. Auto-biographical, mostly. ;o)

-- Ryan

Do you write in first or third person more often? What is your favorite genre?

*hehe* Usually, I write in the first person. Auto-biographical, mostly. ;o)


It is weird-I write short stories and poems and such in first person. For longer pieces, I build a character and write in third person. It is strange. And some prose pieces, writings that really don't fit any kind of category, turn out to be omniscient. Just random interjections and perspectives.

Hmmm.

Mark

Sooo..... why can't you post a short story for us that IS intended for the public? Nothing risked, nothing gained..... Do you write steamy sex scenes too?! Is that why you're so shy about sharing?! =)

-- Ryan

In my real life I am a third grade teacher. We struggle daily to write something better than:
I have a dog.
My dog is black.
His name is blackie.
Yes, some students are much better than that, but I'm sure you get the gist. I would be tickled to read anything you guys wrote and also hear of any experiences that let you to be good/better/great writers.
Thanks!
Corazon

hy can't you post a short story for us that IS intended for the public? Nothing risked, nothing gained.....

Gained? Nothing to gain for me. But I've never had anyone ask read my stuff. I thought about posting the sexy story, but I'll save that for another time. I leave you with the weird one.

Comments are welcome, of all positive/negative nature. Just don't throw stones.
Mark


Fiction-Ahab the Spider
They keep trying to persistently worm their slime into my life. The frequency of the attacks has become alarming, except for the increased times of spiritual contacts that balances their attempts. I feel them hunching around me, peering at me but seeing the glow. Enraptured in the shine of the inside, they lurk around me looking for a weakness in the surface. I have many weaknesses, so I constantly mend myself time and again. But they wait patiently, content to watch until I falter or fail. Some hang around in the background, biding their time; others confront me directly, hoping for an entry and a show of failure. They ride in on regret and fear and depression, creeping down these emotions like blood on a knife. I haven't been attacked directly before this except for rare occasions. But the attacks are becoming more frequent, and I constantly have to create new walls of defense and fresh routes of escape. They suck the innocent and unfortunate around me like snacks–appetizers of the flesh and spirit–to warm their palates for my meaty interior. I watch friends, family, coworkers, all disappear under their fangs and tentacles. I can show no emotion. Stone-face resolution guards the senses from misrepresented intruders, cancels out the wolves in sheep's skin. Defense, at this point, is my only offense. I protect what I am and hold inside, invisible even to me, except for the warmth I harbor when I connect with the good side. Watched by winged creatures, consoled by sunshine and warmth, bathed in rain, and prayers sent on ribbons of wind, I know that I am not alone in this fight or this quest. I had to develop a new fortification from the poison that they spread, resisting the evil with creative and unknown imagery patterns. This horrid gaggle is crafty-- I have to stay on my toes with a taut shell of tension for protection. Ahab the Spider was a real wicked bastard. If not for his dross exterior, he might have snaked me with one of his many circulating tendrils. His persistent poking and prodding gave away his position and his power. My reflex of fear captured his devious slight of hand light a phosphorescent flare. And I saw he was an octopus, a spider with innumerable legs; his one main tentacle was his most powerful, the rest of his legs were mere distractions to detract from his main life-sucking appendage originating at the center of his chest. One must be very patient with Ahab the Spider; one has to outlast his attempts at attack. Also, Ahab cannot look directly at his victim and control all of his tentacles, so he only watches from his peripheral vision. I didn't know how to use this information, but I noticed it upon first contact with him. The Spider embodies various puppets that he either captures or creates to distract attention from him and his constant probing and to drop the defenses of his victim through attention-deviation displays. After this confrontation, I walk with caution and alertness; I trust no one, not even myself.

Had to work myself up to reading that story. The lack of paragraphs is rather intimidating! =)

Not sure I really get it, though. Who's the narrator? Is this a normal sized spider, or a mutant spider that's 20 feet tall?

Seems like it reads more like a poem than a story. (A very dark poem, but it has that very descriptive while not descriptive feel to it.)

Thanks for posting, Mark! =)

Sooo..... anyone else up for sharing a short story or two?

-- Ryan

One of my hometown rags has what they call the 55 Word Short Story Contest. I've always enjoyed reading the entries they get. It's fascinating how a measily 55 short words can tell an entire story along with plot twists and surprises. Very cool stuff. =)

Perhaps we should try something like that here. Doesn't have to be a contest, but just something to do for fun. Because hey, it's only 55 words. (This includes the title!) Surely we can write a 55 word (or less) short story for the rest of us to read.....

I'll get to work on mine tonight. I must think of a good story to tell in 55 words. *thinking* =)

-- Ryan

Not sure I really get it, though. Who's the narrator? Is this a normal sized spider, or a mutant spider that's 20 feet tall?

Seems like it reads more like a poem than a story. (A very dark poem, but it has that very descriptive while not descriptive feel to it.)


Yep, it was an experiment with a Burroughes-type feel. The whole thing is about an annoying fat guy regular in a bar. He knows everyone there and plays on about 20 different conversations. He wants me to like him and I think he is evil. I'd say he's close to 15 feet wide, rather than 20 feet tall.

Most of my writings are dark.

Mark

The whole thing is about an annoying fat guy regular in a bar.

You know, I totally miss that part! =) Does this mean it's based on a true story?

-- Ryan

Okay, I kicked around ideas for a half hour or so and finally hit on something I thought might be fun. =) Okay, please be kind....

My entry comes in at a heavy 51 words, and it's my first piece of fiction since, gosh--school, I guess!

Tough Times
The layoffs. The divorce. Unpaid bills heaped in tidy piles. The man punched a hole through the wall. Enough was enough! Tonight he would rob his first bank! He glanced at gaping the hole, then turned to the Superman suit resting on the bed. "I'll need a new costume."


So.... What do you think? Should I start writing for a living or give up while the quitting's easy? =)

-- Ryan

Does this mean it's based on a true story?


Of course! All of my writings are true stories with slight tweaks. That's why the involved longer stories are written in third person I guess. I get sick of talking about myself for that long.

Yes, my writings are never imagined, they are generally lived or experienced or observed first hand.

Yeah, he was a real fat dumbass. I wrote there on the bar and used it as a shield to deflect his horrible intrusion into my life. Don't visit there much anymore these days...

Mark
PS-You should know my real life is crazy enough to be fodder for writing!

Personally I like your submission.

Pros: It is energetic, it explains desperation and anger, it leads the reader into wondering what in the hell happened to the caped criminal.

Cons: It is choppy as heck. There is only one comma in the story.

Other than that, I like it.

I'll work on mine now, but will post later.
Cya,
Mark
PS-Thanks for the cool idea, and for sharing. I liked where the story was going. If you had 20 more words you might have worked in a shotgun, a chicken, and vasoline!

Doesn't have to be a contest, but just something to do for fun. Because hey, it's only 55 words.

Deer In The Headlights
Darkness settled in on the wreckage. The blood was coagulating, but consciousness flickered. The car left the road, he flashed that action, but why? The side pulsed pain in red pourings, and weakness coated his hope, his life. Closing his eyes, he heard the crickets sound amidst the long, black shadows.

Mark

I liked where the story was going. If you had 20 more words you might have worked in a shotgun, a chicken, and vasoline!

Sounds like a challenge to me! *grin*

-- Ryan

Deer In The Headlights

Boy, you do have pretty dark writings! Well, at least I figured out what was going on this time. =)

Thanks for amusing me! Let's see if we can convince a few others to try writing a story or two....

Bueller? Bueller?

-- Ryan

I just write. I was first drawn to writing and the idea that I must create a "work", force all the pieces together and end with a bang. But, that didn't really reflect my life or my attitude. What works best for me is tuning all of my senses into "right now" and recording a single moment in all aspects physical and divine. Am I less of a writer because I can not create novels of characters who lead interesting non-contradictory lives? Hmmm... Maybe so. But, I am more myself this way and am content with my snippets, like home.


Needed

She is a kitten in my hair
Tugging the hippy mom tresses
And arching her back
Half closed eyes
Sleepy
Fighting
Scratching at the eyes of voodoo.
Rock-a-mmmm- I love you
I sing
And she kicks my ribs
Again.
My eyes close
But never quite so far away,
Never more than skin deep from her.
Wrapping her up serpentine,
Screaming
How dare I?
Broken hearted over the biggest thing
The every thing that I have.
And now the broken will, broken and falling
Asleep.

Hey..... that story has more than 55 words!!!!

Just kidding. ;o) I'm being dorky again.

But seriously, thanks for sharing!

-- Ryan

Hey..... that story has more than 55 words!!!!

Just kidding. ;o) I'm being dorky again.

But seriously, thanks for sharing!

-- Ryan
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A word too many?
How easy it is to slip your tongue
Over a snag,
Dangling having jumped up too high
Right over that soap box
Swinging, swinging
On what should have been a lullaby.

I know you’re kidding,
So am I.

he-he :)

crrreeAAK klump-klump klump-klump klump-klump sreeeck....slam!
shuffle shuffle shuffle shuffle shuffle shuffle shuffle shuffle shuffle shrik shrik shrik shrik shrik shirk crunch crunch crunch crunch klump-klump klump-klump ding-dong....ding-dong....huh? hooray!

It's a one-eyed, one-horn, flying purple people eater!!!!

I'm a tough guy to stump. Surely you can come up with better than? ;o)

-- Ryan

Gary's commute required him to use this highway overpass. It always stretched and hurt his mind.

Halfway across, he gazed down at the sluggish traffic. Where do they all come from? Where are they going? How many other people, in other cars, on other roads? The numbers humbled him.

He crossed the bridge, feeling alone.

Gary's commute

Hey, I like it! I ended up feeling sorry for Gary. He seems like a sad man, who is in need of public transportation for company if nothing else.

Mark

He seems like a sad man

Sounds like a story you could have written, Mark! ;o)

-- Ryan

What works best for me is tuning all of my senses into "right now" and recording a single moment in all aspects physical and divine.

I enjoyed Needed. I thought about it for 2 or 3 days now, re-reading it at different points to see different things. I think it is kind of like an abstract painting. But with abstract paintings, there is one painting and the viewer sees different things in it. With your writing style, I think, at least for me, you end up writing things that paint a bunch of abstracts into one movement or piece. Like having 4 radios on playing different classical pieces, and them all finding a off-beat pattern among them. But with emotions and ideas and feeling fragments.

Hey, it took me a while to respond, but I really like the stuff you've written and how my mind processes it.
Thanks,
Mark

For you budding novelists out there who feel that 55 words just is NOT enough.... this might be fun. =)

http://www.nanowrimo.org/modules/cjaycontent/index.php?id=2

It's a 50,000 word challenge to be completed in the month of November. =) You've already wasted a week, though, so if you want to join in, you'll have to get cracking!

Seems like a fun little challenge to do if you're into that sort of thing. *shrug*

-- Ryan

Thanks Mark. I chose "Needed" because it was the most recent. I find that most of what I write is so narrowly specific that I often wonder how it sounds outside of my head. I think the use of metaphor really opens it up for other people to identify with it out of the original context, which is absolutely okay. Transcendence outside of the literal is what validates its truth. That's not just how I write, but that's how I read, too.

Speaking of reading, I think you have the same knack for translation in what you have written. You definitely seem to be on the path toward that transcendence. From what I have read, you observe as if looking for something bigger than what your eyes are seeing.

It may have taken you a couple of days, but I guess it has taken me a couple of months to comment about your writing. So, finally, I wanted to let you know that I think you are a talented observer and writer. It seems you get more joy out of the observer role, with the writing as the validation tool. Which may explain the sincerity in it.
-Quiet Place