Our new Indie Games subforum is now open for business in G&T. Go and check it out, you might land a code for a free game. If you're developing an indie game and want to post about it,
follow these directions. If you don't, he'll break your legs! Hahaha! Seriously though.
Our rules have been updated and given
their own forum. Go and look at them! They are nice, and there may be new ones that you didn't know about! Hooray for rules! Hooray for The System! Hooray for Conforming!
Posts
You can see all of the novels and poems at http://www.popplepress.com under archives, or just on my personal website http://www.johnbjorling.se, where I've linked to each text.
And hey, we're also interested in others' contributions, of course. We've already published two people who found us through my banner here at Penny Arcade. I would love to hunt down the talent that's present here, but I don't think the mods would like that
made a quick account and basic uploaded everything I've done of the novel I'm working on. So far the people who have seen it enjoy it, and I'm looking for feedback from anyone at this point for how to improve upon it in a second draft. (the two chapters or so are a little crappy, but it gets better)
I liked it as much as I liked one of my mexican soaps, and that's saying a LOT though.
doesn't mean the narrative is any better than a mexican soap.
here's my link
http://lagrantostadax.com
There is a rather large link to the story located on the index page of the site.
Chu'Mesa Studios
Doesn't quite qualify as a fanfic for obvious, Cthulu-orientated reasons- at least, not when I'm the only writer for it
I was meant to have got Chapter 26 up for Halloween, but failed miserably. Hence the team are going to come after me with pointy things...
Damn thing WON'T DIE!
Catch it every Saturday, here
Oh, hey I'm making a game! Check it out: Dr. Weirdo!
Check out:
- classic Taiwanese period piece/coming-of-age drama/tragedy A Brighter Summer Day
- little-seen fairytale anime Princess Arete
- the collected short films (well, quite a few of them) of Studio 4C
Read my book. (It has a robot in it.)
I have a blog, and right now i've got an extensive article on BOTTING with an interview at VCL of ModKore fame. Also a rant on newbs in general. I'd like to get some criticisms or opinions of any kind. The site is pretty bare atm but hoping to make this into a weekly blog-post
http://gfnproject.com/game/
Scroll down on the main page for our table of contents.
http://lore.ceylesa.com
Attack
Magic > Breakdance 2
Item
Flee
My Zombie film script. Not completed, about 40 pages in..please PM me with C&C!
"The Muslim and the Robot." It's kind of a fable. Criticism is welcome!
I'm the douchebag that basically got called out for spamming because I posted for the first time with a link to the above mentioned site. I swear I'm not really a douchebag, at least I don't try to be.
I'm a big fan of this board and the regular users of it, please don't let my lack of posts make you think that I'm unfamiliar with it. I'm going to start posting frequently so you guys don't think I'm a creep. Hopefully.
At least I'm writing something again. Enjoy.
http://www.patrickrothfuss.com/
Y'all can check that out if you want. There are quotes from authors, sample chapters from the novel. Etc etc.
--Tad Williams
"THE NAME OF THE WIND marks the debut of a writer we would all do well to watch. Patrick Rothfuss has real talent, and his tale of Kvothe is deep and intricate and wondrous."
--Terry Brooks
http://nameofthewind.com/
This is a collection of true stories I have written. Please feel free to critique as to the quality of writing. I can't change the plots etc, as they are true stories, but any advice on writing techniques, or errors are welcomed.
There was a time in my life when I was a young lad of ten years old. During this time I lived in Little Rock Arkansas at an upscale apartment complex my dad managed. Good times. Many things happened at these apartments that I will never forget, for example; The time I got beat up by a girl, the time I watch a friend of mine get hit in the face by his dad, the time a girl tripped me and I fell on a metal grate (in my rage I chased her for 10 full minutes), the tragic time I bought Basken Robbins ice cream (orange sherbet, it taste of the sun) only to wreck on my bike right in front of my house and see my ice cream land against the ground, the time to deaf men got confused with each other when they tried to throw my friend into a pool only to have the person holding his legs not let go and in turn creating motion that would allow my friends head to crash against the ground, the time I stole cassette tapes out of a unlocked truck with two of my friends (this is how I discovered Kenny G), and finally the time where me and my friends hid behind a wall and squirted on coming cars with super soaker's. All of these pale in comparison however to the fond memory I have of my first and only babysitter _____ (this is where her name would go if I could recall it).
I insisted to my mother I didn't need a babysitter, after all, if tv was to be believed they were all ugly and mean. She wouldn't have any of it of course and assured me I would like her. B-Day, or the day when I get babysitter, approached rather fast from what I remember. I didn't know how to handle the situation at hand, so I stayed in my room in the back of the apartment huddled under my covers playing Desert Strike on my jet black Sega Genesis. 7Pm came and gone and I thought that maybe my parents had second thoughts about the babysitting business in general. Not long after the thought, an angel of 14 walked through the door to my room and ever so genitally said, “Tripp” as if asking a question she already knew the answer, because, angels know those things. I looked up from my pixilated helicopter to take in the full sight of heaven. It was good. “Yes, I am that man” I wish that’s what I said, instead what came out was more of “Yeah are you sitting me tonight?”. She smiled delightfully. It was at this time she looked on my bed and saw the power ranger toys I would have hidden had I known someone of her stature was coming to keep me safe. “I love power rangers!”. She said that, she said that. “ ME TOO. WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE!”. Before she responded I already knew the answer, it was like we had a connection...I could tell she fancied the color green. “Tommy is my favorite!”. It was like we were meant to be.
Time passed and we kept connecting. We played toys, talked about the rangers (the power ones), and even played a few games of Sonic Spinball. We were old and married and this is how we spent our Sunday afternoons. With all these activities born out of our love, I of course grew tired. The babysitter, being who she was (an angel) noticed this and asked if I would like to watch TV till I fell asleep. Why wouldn't I? The Simpsons were on and would be the soundtrack to the first time I slept with a girl.
I feel asleep quickly while the babysitter sat up and watched tv. At one point I woke up and looked over and saw that now she was asleep...laying down next to me...on my bed. Damn it sure felt good to be a gangsta.
I awoke that morning from dreams of my future with my lady, sadly what I found was not in keeping with the happy feeling my dreams gave me. My lady was not to be found. There was no note explaining her actions, no phone number on my nightstand which to call her, nothing. My heart ached and it ached slowly, every second that passed as I walked through the house seemed like 12 years.
The Story of John Jacobs
It's 5am and the sun is just about to rise. This day would be the same as any other day for John Jacobs, if it wasn't for the fact today would be his last. As John slowly gets up, his mangled gray hair falls in front of his eyes. His elbows fall against his knees in much the same way they have been lately. He pushes his foot down hard against the wooden floor to bring himself up. A loosely button shirt comes undone and John's chest feels air for it's first time that day. With grace, John's rough hands move and pick up his belt; on it are two revolvers. Memories of his youth flood back to him, before he knew what he was doing with his life and when he took his first life. His head forcefully shakes off the memory. The sun blistered arm of John's stops right before it pushes open the door, he takes one look out his window. 'There must be dozens of them out for this' he thinks to himself. 'I'll give em a hell of a show'.
“If it isn't the famous John Jacobs of the south. What do you say old man, are you ready to give in or die?”’A pompous asshole' are the only words John could ever use to describe Edward Black.
“Son. I rather die 10 times on this here earth than give in to any wish from you”. The way the words come out of Johns mouth mimic a preacher who has had enough of lying to his congregation.
“Have it your way then, I assume you brought your girls?”. Edward Black takes his name to a point. His all back suit comes together with a black tie; the sun seems to avoid him.
“I haven't left my girls behind in over 36 years, I'll be damned if they miss daddy's finest moment.” Johns left and right hand respectfully move down to his revolvers. 'The daughters I've never had'. It's a thought he has repeated to himself since he first received them. John killed his first man with his bare hands after, he can't even recall the name of the man, drew a gun on him and accused him of sleeping with his wife. To hell and back John doesn't remember if he did or not, but he knew just then he hated the idea of a gun being drawn on him while he was empty handed. After breaking the mans finger while he was holding the same gun pointed at John, a question was asked. 'Fella, do you have a second gun on you?' Yes was the mans response and John pulled it out from his coat. 'Reason I ask is because I've never held a gun before, let alone two. You see, I have always wondered what would happen if a man, like yourself, had both of his thumbs shot off at once. Which one would hurt more? My guess, the one you use to pleasure your self when your whore of a wife is sleeping with another accused man'. John never forgave himself for all he did to that man before he killed him; then again, he never really cared.
“Come on John, don't just stand there people are watching.” They take their place back to back on a line drawn in the sand. '10 steps, seems like waste of energy just to kill a man'. From what he can remember, this is the 17th time he has had this thought. Each of these times John thought it would be his last time to ever even have a thought.
The steps don't come quick enough. John feels his good mother earth who has been kind to him all these years resisting his steps. The wind is at his back. 'Hell for luck today I suppose'. John's right boot lifts up after the ninth step; dirt falls off like a calm rain. Two ticks of John's heart come slowly. During the first tick John turns. During the second his daughters come to his aid standing front in center in the mist of his eyes. Edward Black is ready to meet whatever doom approaches.
John Jacobs closes his eyes and lets his throat crawl up to his mouth. Skin rips. John doesn't hear anything as he opens his eyes. He doesn't see the dozens of people standing around mindless with their jaws hung open. The only thing John sees is Edwards head snap back and bring the body shortly after. John is about to die. The only thing John Jacobs says, the thing that will be his last, “I am the last American cowboy.”
The Reflective Property That Thankfully Has Yet to be Actually Discovered by a Conventional State. Other Wise Known as Hark the Great Spark! It Does Not Turn Back to Time For It's Simple Needs! Burn the Ghost Burn the Ghost Burn the Ghost; This Time Calculating Won't be Backwards!
He sits haunched over unthinkingly playing with himself.
GRAPES.
In ways, take part in ways, Grapes are in the mind. Maybe zeros walk backwards from the negative place.
As an action he forgets to take part in, he spits against the wall.
SPLAT.
SPLAT SPLAT.
It could have been worse. It could have exploded amongst the wall and back into his face.
Images tumble downward without remorse to his thoughts.
“There is shit everywhere”
Sure it isn't the most delicate of sentences but take into account it gets the point across. Looking out the back right window of a suburban could be the same as killing fireflies in the night; it's not. The window brings me cows, cows who shit everywhere on everything. BORN AGAIN IN ALL CAPS.
Ghost ghost ghost ghost ghost ghost ghost ghost ghost. I want to see through a door into a girls room and stare at her body! Stare I say! A mighty stare!
But
This
IS
kinda
like
FALLiNg
only not as lame!
Guts.
Flesh
Thoughts
Feelings
Awkward moments
Speech
Death
Shapes.
“But the earth will
DIE.”
I DO
“What should about that?!”
“LEGENDS. WE USE LEGENDS.”
Lets.
Weed.
Out.
The.
Bad.
Because we must weed out the bad stuff before we can move on. For there to be (WATCH ME NOW) perfection, we can not expose the bad. Bad bad LEEROY BROWN.
How will that help our cause?
We are (HUMANS) dying.
So much within us.
Feels like it will take forever to go through it all.
Six of the smartest left on the planet.
The only six (LOOKS LIKE SEX) still left.
IF WE CAN NOT CREATE the perfect human;
it will all happen again as it has before
The world is ending.
We are the cure and the last chance in one.
We are the problem.
In a lab at an undisclosed location, six scientist are all the hope the world has left.
They are the last remaining humans on earth.
They charged themselves with creating the perfect human,
the one thing that would bring the human race back to glory.
None of them understood how hard it would be. None of them
took into account what actually made up a human. Stupidness over took them in
the smartest of their nights. It is only now they SEE CLEAR AND UNDISTRUBED
that they are the problem. They created everything and nothing all at once. While witnessing
the test subjects behavior and thoughts they think aloud how well they have done despite how obviously wrong they are. Days and nights are still to be spent.
THIS IS NOT A VIEW ON OUR WORLD. EARTH IS A SUBJECTIVE IDEA. THIS PLANET WE SEE HERE DOES NOT EVEN EXSIT.
I'll make a hole in the bottom of the boat and plug it with my eyes.
A Fantastic Journey of a Crazed Man Who Doesn't Really Know Better but in the End Goes to Great Lengths to Find the True meaning of Attacks on Paper! Or the Way Kittens don't go to College (a reprise of tales from playgrounds).
When you are a freshman in high school, many truths become known to you; you will never date a cheerleader, theater kids have lots of sex with each other, you will never have sex (even if you are a theater kid), and your dad has a porn magazine somewhere in the house that you live.
I recall the days of sitting holding a playstation controller in a wait that was the same as getting sacked by vikings. This was the wait for my parents to both leave the house. You see, the second they both left the house I would turn on my Sherlock looking glass and head directly into my parents bed room, no stopping. As my eyes turned gracefully toward the door knob to my parents room I take notice of my small dog staring disapprovingly at me. “To hell with him” I must have thought to myself, I was about to see breast. Lots of great and bountiful breasts that may or may not be real. It's a chance I was more than willing to take.
I was like a hawk when I entered the room. Screw that Sherlock Homes crap, I know where to go and how to go about it. Before I made the first move however, I stood in the middle of the door frame and gazed at my next stop, the laundry basket. Even from several feet away I could see the corner of the colorful pages through the holes of the laundry basket (it was one of those cheep plastic ones that had holes so big in them that a person could fly threw.
The floor creaked defensibly of my going any farther. I took a second and only a second to double check the state of the front door, it was closed. My hand move down and I quickly lifted up the layer of clothes that buried my desire for that moment.
There it was. There it was with its (they are praying in chapel as I write this) crisp, bright, and bare pages. The name of this now familiar publication was Fox. Some might ask how after all these years I remember such I thing, I ask, how could I forget? I grabbed it as I have pillows and made my way to my room where light would soon be made to shine.
It would be nice if that was the end of the story. After all, it's as good of a stopping place as any. To the joys of literature around the world, the story does not end there. This isn't a simple tale of happiness and events but a sad tale of destruction and woe. Think dark. Think awful. Think menacing. Think a flashback episode from a edgy TGIF TV show.
It was a Saturday like any other. Me and my friend Mike were up to are usually youthful ways of playing Magic the Gathering at his house. As with any good game of Magic, the game became intense. Realizing i was fighting a losing battle, I asked if he would mind stopping by my house for a second so I could embellish my arsenal of Magic cards. He obliges, fate has a way with words.
We pull up to my off white house with its off balance floors to a sight that was a wonder to behold. Across my floor what, under a different circumstance would have been a glorious sight, was a living room floor that was simply covered in torn pornographic images. Every few inches was a different set of breast or a penis finding its way into some mound of flesh. Sitting on the couch was the source for all of this sitcom mayhem; the magazine that all of these blissful images came from was there on the couch resting nicely in my dog Tyson's mouth. I burst into awkward laughter with my friend.
Truthfully, this was not (Someone just said damn in chapel. A collective sigh of exacerbation was heard) an occasion where I should be laughing. What comes to mind first is that my star player, my go to guy, was now perpetually out of the game. Frantic images flashed across my mind of the near future. In these images I was sweating hard and twitched like a ran over cat. As I bend down to start picking up the “trash” that now littered the living floor a second thought comes to mind that bares down on me hard. Lets say I pick up the trash and throw it away (an act that would have brought me to tears in those days). When my dad comes home I have to explain to him what has happened. In doing so I would confirm what I am sure is a fear of my dads, that I know he owns images of women in the missionary position. No no, this will not do, it will never do. My next thought was that I could clean up the disaster and return in wounded creature to its home in the laundry basket. Again, this would surely bring up an awkward talk with my dad.
So I did what any one in my position would have done; I grabbed my Magic the Gathering cards and escaped with speed and vigor.
When I returned home that night (I made sure many many hours went by before I walked by through my front door) my mom was cooking dinner and my dad was walking around the kitchen. The epic events that we all three knew happened were never mentioned.
The Journey of Birth
“Fuck”, I thought to myself.
If you know me at all, you know that words like 'fuck', don't really escape my mouth. So that's why I am just thinking it, over and over to myself. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck.
“Heaney man, are you all right?”
I am sure my face looks like the equal of a turd the Incredible Hulk just shit out, only I doubt if I am as warm. So I say the only response that is fitting to my feeling right now. In this moment.
“Shit”
Let me take you back a day until we get to the events that lead up to my brilliant opening line. I suppose a lot of kids look back and say, “I couldn't control who's womb I came out of”. Well trust me when I say, I know the feeling. I know it like a stripper knows its pole.
When your parents are in the business of killing people, you are bound to not be liked. When I was eight years old I saw my dad dig a hole about two feet deep in the backyard. Being eight, I waited till he left and I took a dump in it. Three hours later I go back outside with the intentions of adding urine to my new found hole only to find my dad cementing some mans head in the hole. I doubt if the bastard even so much as even thought about cleaning up my poop.
At fourteen, my parents both set me down and explained to me that they...
“Heaney, me and your mom have something we want to tell you”.
“What are we moving again?”
My mom interjects.
“No honey, no no.”
You have to love the way mothers think repeating information makes the next set easier to take.
“We are sorry for all the moves as of late. They were, unavoidable”.
Dad chimes back in.
“Sit up and take this. Me and your mother...me and your mother kill people. We are professional assassins”.
“Fuck.”
That last part, that was me.
It was here my dear mom reared back and slapped me across my face while my dad repeated the old tale about how we don't use that sort of language.
The next five years of my life were different than most. My favorite moment was when I took my then girlfriends virginity only to find out my mom slept with here dad only to shoot him between the eyes right after, on the same day, the day before I sex'ed. For some unknown self righteous reason, I felt it was my duty as the good boyfriend to tell the girl what happened. We moved the next day. As a side note, I heard a few months later from an old friend that she was pregnant.
Here we are, my 23rd birthday. I've lived a normal life for four years now. I naturally have decided it is best to go on to graduate school. On this night me and my only good friend Alex decide to just hang out at my apartment and watch T.V.. A few hours pass of watching girls fanatically take off their clothes. Things were normal until about ten o' clock, things then quickly went south.
Seeing a shotgun blast go threw your front door is a humbling experience. It could have been me I thought, but instead it was just a large plank of wood. Some guy I have never seen before walks through my front door. Good looking guy with long hair walks ever so closer toward me. When he gets to Alex, he takes his shotgun and hits him across the head with it, knocking him out. Tad of a bastard thing to do. All I can think about as my friend bleeds to death on the floor is how I wanted to cap off my birthday by masturbating after reading people magazine. As the unknown gunman starts the action of hitting me in the face, I get a little worried about the events that are about to take place and wish I had done said deed earlier that morning.
“Fuughhauc”. Note to self, don't cuss (or attempt to talk for that matter) with a broken jaw, you will end up sounding like a Muppet.
“Shut your mouth and stay on the floor”.
He doesn't really have a way with words this gunmen on mine.
It's not in my nature to piss off people with a shotgun, so I do as he says. The asshole didn't make it easy though, he kept hitting me in the face.
It was here the lone ranger of a gunman start to explain ever detail about why he was doing what he was doing. I should have known this was a big moment in my life and actually listened to him. Instead however, I watched COPS through a little opening out of my right eye. Some ecstatic women called the police about a snake in her yard. Why on earth would you call law enforcement about a damn snake in your yard? And here I am being hit in the face.
“I am getting my knife. I am then going to come back and gut you slowly. You will know what pain is before I kill you.”
Good sir, I assure you, I have a good handle at this very moment on what pain is.
As he left, I took it upon myself to snap my jaw into place. I imagine he will get pissed when I ask him for his explanation of these events.
“Heaney man, you alright?”
This is the point where I just think 'fuck' over and over.
“Shit. Alex, listen to me, you have to get out of here. That guy is going to come back and kill us both.”
“What is going on, why is he doing this”
“Alex. I slept with his mom, now leave.”
Truth is, I never had sex with this mans mom. I do not even know this man as I have said before, but it seemed like a thing you would guy someone over. Alex gets up and runs, shouting about how he will get help. It was here I wish I would have told him that my soon to be killer is most likely right outside.
There is a rather loud sound from outside followed a minute later by footsteps and mister shotgun walking back in.
“I want you to know, I broke your friends leg and rolled him down the hill in front of your apartments.”
“Thats great, really it is, but why are you doing this?”
My chest was the soccer ball and he was David Beckhem. I can hear the Spanish announcer crying out goal at the top of his lungs. Personally, I wet myself. Right before he drives the knife through my thorat I think about how badly I would love to have some string cheese.
Being dead is nothing like I expected. What I expected, well i have no clue; maybe some long tunnel of light, not this endless walkway of white string cheese. I know it was string cheese because the moment I woke up, I got on my hands and knees and took a bite out of the ground.
Another odd thing about death is that there is no source light, everything is magicaly illuminated.
Why is my name Heaney? What unbirthed sin did I commit to have such a name? Sounds like the genital region of an alien equivalent to a dog.
“There is so much cheese! I suppose I could eat my way through the floor till I find something more interesting”. No one ever says sentences when alone by themselves, but with so much string cheese, one has to say something.
So I eat. I realize after forty or so feet of eating that I am not getting anywhere. It's like the episode of the Simpson's where Homer is forced to eat donuts for all of eternity. Wait, it is nothing like that.
Wait. WAIT. Why am I not wearing any clothes.
It's a strange thing noticing that your once safe cheese valley is folding up with you inside. It is even worse when you notice the cheese container you are in starts to fill up with blood. I couldn't talk in all this blood, even if I wanted to. I have lost all forms of understandable speech.
NOW I ARE LOSING MY SMARTS.
I this hate.,.,.,,;
I see lgiht. NO!, NOW., . I see a gnait HNAD!.
I DONT WANT TO BE EAATEN.
I asked the doctor not to smack my new born child on the ass. Jerk did it anyway. There is just something degrading about your first moment alive being a passing slap on your ass. I hope my journey of birth wasn't like that.
A Marvel of Time and Space. Here, there is no Marvel. EXPLOSION EXPLoSION
First he takes the knife as he would his lover. Behind the off white mask he hides behind, I can tell he would rather be anywhere in the world. For that, I can forgive him. He wipes the knife for a third time across his apron. A finger goes up , slowly, to push back the glasses he wears. The game has begun and there is no one left but him.
He starts by pushing the loving blade down against the top of the forehead; In the exact spot he outlined 10 minutes earlier with a black marker. The edge cuts around the whole perimeter of the face before finally stopping where it began. A hand comes up to brush away the sweat on his coarse brow. He draws his lover in close, then wipes if a second time on his apron. The job is yet to be done, there are still black marker around the eyes, more, and mouth. Again he grasp his lover and moves it across the marks as if committing adultery.
Minutes later he reluctantly places the love of his life on a cold steel tray. He swear under his breath, his mask, about cleaning it off. Seconds pass that seem like years before his two hands lower toward the now seemingly mangled face.
A lite drumming motion emits from his hands on to the face. With each tap, tap , tap of his fingers, whom he teats like bastard children, the face ripples to the open seems. He makes his way up toward the cut in the forehead like he move a hand up a womens dress. He arches his back and grabs at the loose skin as hard as the world will him. He can feel his index finger with his thumb through the skin that separates them.
My vision blurs as he rolls my skin past my eyes. He takes notice of my squinting and pulls the mirror above my head in a bit closer. I fell victim to a man and his lover. I fell victim to a man and his love.
I am sorry for the lack of editing I am sure this need, however, I am working on a paper for class and just saw this forum for the first time somehow...so...yeah.
Also I the babysitter and
A Fantastic Journey of a Crazed Man Who Doesn't Really Know Better but in the End Goes to Great Lengths to Find the True meaning of Attacks on Paper! Or the Way Kittens don't go to College (a reprise of tales from playgrounds) are both non-fiction things I just read for some freinds once. I know this isnt a thread of crits and what not but I do feel odd never posting here before and then asking for crits on these stories, but if you have anything just pm me.
http://www.daydalus.net/writing/
|daydalus.net|
==========
Check out the blog. I destroyed most of my earlier work and blogs, so now I restarting on myspace. It is my hope to capitalize on the early pubescent member base of myspace.
Most of the posts are self referential nonsense -- please do not read my blog if you lack a sense of humor and/or are a 600 pound transvestite named LaTonya-Steve.
Me and two other friends post the stuff we write here: http://www.freewebs.com/prometheussonofiapetus/
Some of Prometheus' and Theia's stuff is either an actual event that has been recorded or is strongly based off an actual event. Miguel Moraleta's stuff is completely fiction and some fan-fic.
Mind you that we are all three teenagers and are doing this for fun and are considering maybe in life publishing some of our stuff together so please don't be harsh in your comments. Below each story is a shoutbox and you can post comments and such there without having an account.
We appreciate all the constructive criticism we can get.
Prometheus_Son_of_Iapetus
Prometheus | A Collection of Stories and Fictions
NSFW: violence and sex!
Zombies have devoured mankind. And the few survivors would be better off dead because a clan of vampires, bloodthirsty and vicious, have captured the remnants of humanity for livestock. In an apartment building barricaded with wrecked cars, concrete rubble, and snarls of barbwire, the vampires breed lobotomized amputees. Ann, the secret blood slave of the maternity doctor, has evaded this fate, yet her sister Ellie has not. Though she longs to escape, Ann cannot abandon her sibling and unborn niece. But she may have to if she wants to survive. The living dead have found a weak spot in the barricade and are quickly invading the building. Shade, the vampire monarch, defends her kingdom, while Frost, Shade's general, plans to migrate to an island where they can breed and hunt humans. In their path stands a legion of corpses, just now evolving into something far more lethal, something with tentacles--and that's just the beginning.
* Sample chapters
* Author interviews
* Teaser video (low quality)
* Teaser video (high quality)
"[A] marvelous dark fantasy—filled with ruthless vampires, flesh-eating zombies, and enough action to leave you breathless."
—Jonathan Maberry, Bram Stoker Award-winning author of Ghost Road Blues
"[A] rock solid tour de force of exceptionally well-crafted writing."
—Joe McKinney, Author of Dead City
* More reviews
“Violent and visceral…beautiful and eroticâ€--David Moody
The web's first magazine devoted to stories about life in giant artificial structures created by forces beyond human comprehension
That's my personal website's writings main page. There are NSFW stories, and some that are safe. And there are lots of poems. I think the poetry spans from about 8th grade, until last year. (so 1995-2007ish). of course i was dumb and never dated any of my older stuff.
Feel free to critique, comment, etc. if you want. Or just go to enjoy.
I have two victorious NaNoWriMo novels linked on the front page of the site too. /index.html neither of them are finished, or edited, or anything....
You have to fight through some bad days, to earn the best days of your life.
http://www.gamers-tavern.com/index.php
Just your average video-game article/review site.
A flash-fic story in Vestal Review
A short story in Strange Horizons
And, of course, the obligatory video-game pimpage: Mass Effect, my first video-game writing credit
http://www.KurnDerak.deviantart.com
Thought about posting something or a few things here for some more criticing, but A) I know I'm lazy and most likely won't chance much if anything, and B) I can't decide on what. So, this gives me a happy medium for now.
I read books. So you don't have to.
Its where I write my humorous little articles.
http://www.amazon.com/gp/registry/wishlist/TY5DML75RJ18
Rants and webcomics of mine.
Thanks for checking it out, I'd love some critiques!
here are some of my personal favorite posts:
introduction
Pokéman loves Pokéwoman
comic book shenanigans
poetry, of an important nature
"I'll never forget the words my Grandfather said to me that fishing trip,
Sometimes I sleep with a knife taped to my dick, in case I'm attacked by a sexy burglar."
thoughts that i have had .blogspot.com
http://lyssabit.deviantart.com
http://lyssabit.deviantart.com
"This is Jezabel in Hell. I wanna kill you- I wanna blow you... away"~ Poe
"Who is this irresistible creature who has an insatiable love for the dead?" ~ Rob Zombie
I also occasionally post videogame reviews for earth-2.net, like this one here.
I’d like to hear harsher criticisms about my writing; it’s something I’m rarely happy with, but I’m not sure which areas I really need to improve in.
Find it here: http://digitordont.wordpress.com/
Have a nice day(or night).