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!

The Workshop - Tips, Tricks, and Theory

1456810

Posts

  • matisyahumatisyahu Registered User
    Make a thread here with a story of your own, post critiques in other people's threads, make more threads with stories of your own, repeat.

    I don't know how you get your work critiqued elsewhere. You could join a short story class at a community college or a workshop, but writing communities (this place) on the internet are very helpful. It's important to give crits as well as receive, even if you're not totally confident in the value of your perspective, or if you think you're misunderstanding something. It's very helpful to a writer to see a number of observations, it helps identify problem areas and also see what seems to be working.

    But yeah. Post a story you've worked on here, one that you've put some thought and effort into, and help others with their stories, and everyone is giddy. A blog doesn't sound too promising for getting honest, thorough criticism, unless you can somehow get a bunch of people reading it.

    i dont even like matisyahu and i dont know why i picked this username
  • The_ScarabThe_Scarab Registered User regular
    I've been working on a 3:1 ratio.

    Post 3 crits in other people's threads and then post one piece of your own work for critique, or one question in the chat thread.

    scarab you have mental problems
  • Mustachio JonesMustachio Jones Registered User regular
    This thread was a good read; kudos to those who have participated thus far.

    I've found that the one thing that limits aspiring writers* the most is the fear that what they write won't be any good. They expect to instantly imitate or even surpass the literary prowess of Faulkner or Hemingway and when they realize they can't they toss their efforts in the trash and assume the fetal position while they wait for inspiration to somehow strike them in the ass.

    For a long time, everything you write is going to be shit. If you don't cringe every time you reread your works in progress, you're being too soft on yourself. The good news is that it doesn't always have to be like this; you learn from your mistakes, you keep at it, you learn to edit like a totalitarian dictator, and eventually things will start to click into place.

    Cherish the first draft, for it is the canvas on which you will hurl your literary paint. There seems to be some contention within this community regarding the importance of an outline. Personally I think that as long as you know your characters well and you can formulate a basic premise or underlying theme for your work, you should feel free to explore the world you create. Don't worry about constructing the perfect sentence, or finding the perfect word to describe how a character is feeling - if these things happen naturally then let them but they should not be your focus in this early stage. This is your chance to experiment, to take risks, to make mistakes, and for god's sake, to write.

    Once you're done with the first draft, take a break. You've poured your heart and soul out onto the page - it's time to recuperate. There's no recommended time for this; just make sure when you come back you're ready to do battle.

    Take a dialectical approach to writing: you should create just as much as you destroy. In the first draft, you should be concerned only with the former, but don't become hopelessly attached to your creations. In the second and all subsequent drafts, you want to destroy (but not carelessly) and rebuild. Revision is, in my opinion, the longest portion of writing. It can take years to transform a pile of loosely connected ideas and events into a coherent, dare I say worthwhile piece of reading. The important thing, again, is to never give up. Even revisions will turn out like shit - so be it. Give things a rest and come back prepared for the next battle. Keep everything you write - you'll never know when an idea you scrapped ten revisions ago will reappear in new and interesting ways.

    Writing is: creative, destructive, inspiring, devastating, relaxing, intense, success and failure. It is conflict.

    Keep fighting.

    *I had typed "riders" because I was staring at The_Scarab's signature. :)



    This times one hundred. I used to get discouraged about how godawful my writing was, but still I kept it around as a constant reminder that I know I can do better than that. Best piece of advice I can give is that don't stop writing. The more you write, the more comfortable you become with the language and mechanics of writing itself, which just leads to more skill development and therefore satisfaction.

    Best teacher I ever had in high school told me once that early on, your writing is going to be shit. Most of it won't be reparable. Get it out of your system by continuing to flush it with new ideas and refined skill. Start with the cliches and don't expect to be profound, because it just comes across like that's your goal. And personally, profundity should not be a goal kept in mind, but simply a side-effect of a well written piece.

  • thegloamingthegloaming Registered User regular
    This times one hundred. I used to get discouraged about how godawful my writing was, but still I kept it around as a constant reminder that I know I can do better than that. Best piece of advice I can give is that don't stop writing. The more you write, the more comfortable you become with the language and mechanics of writing itself, which just leads to more skill development and therefore satisfaction.

    Best teacher I ever had in high school told me once that early on, your writing is going to be shit. Most of it won't be reparable. Get it out of your system by continuing to flush it with new ideas and refined skill. Start with the cliches and don't expect to be profound, because it just comes across like that's your goal. And personally, profundity should not be a goal kept in mind, but simply a side-effect of a well written piece.

    I agree that you should never strive to be profound, even after years and years of practice because the second you try to say something amazing you're going to overcompensate and the message is either going to end up poorly articulated or just plain phony.

    As for starting with clichés, I think there's always merit in starting out with familiar structures (not just in writing but in music, painting, etc.) so that you have all the fundamentals down pat before you decide to branch off into unfamiliar and experimental forms. To use music, you have to learn the scales before you can become the avante-garde equivalent of a virtuoso. That said, for writing, I don't think you should feel as if you need to start within a certain easily-approachable genre and then perfect that genre before you move on to work you might find more interesting. You definitely should start out using conventional grammar and style (don't try to be José Saramago), but I think you should feel free to write about what you want as long as it makes you feel good and somehow helps contribute to your mastery of the craft. There are a lot of people who would disagree with me and say that it's crucial for beginning writers to master the fundamentals before trying anything too fancy, like the three act structure and the closed ending, and while I certainly agree that understanding these things are important, if it's going to impede someone from finding their voice and, dare I say, enjoy writing, well, it's fair to through some guidelines out the window.

    That said, I do think that it's critical that a writer masters the short story before writing the novel. Short stories are great because they're plentiful and well, short. You get a lot of opportunities to hop around narratives, trying out new things, finding your voice and your style. Hopefully by the time you're done writing a few hundred (or however many it takes) you'll have settled on a set of guidelines that work for you and be able to transpose those guidelines onto a much larger work. Short stories are like the shallow end of a pool: get comfortable before you get too deep.

  • DirtyNeuronDirtyNeuron Registered User
    I have a tip, not so much as a good tip but it helps flex those vocabulary muscles.

    Take a sententence, and then break it down, each letter into a new word.

    It becomes almost a habit, and it can become annoying... and the context in which you first read your sample sentence often flavors your overall interpretation.
    "And you mentioning dreams about me probably ..."
    "A nude drawing, youthful offerings undisclosed, my eyes narrowed tightly in offered nightly intimate gifts, divesting redundant efforts alas moaning softly, almost buffeting unbridled thoughts, misty eves, pushing rigidly onto buxom ample breasts laying yonder....

    The comas break the sentences up from the word spaces.
    Spoiler:

    Yes, that quoted spoiler is indeed, that previous sentenced done in the same style... I do this too often, and it has become a habit to do it while walking around.

    The only problem is it creates a vicious cycle... you break one sentence, and now you have an even longer sentence that you can further break down... and it seemingly never ends. I've had to mentally slap myself some times (other times physically) to break the pattern and clear my mind.

    But it can be fun.

    Especially if you want to create some oddball sentences without fear of punctuation or clarity.

    I wonder if an entire book could be done this way...

    DirtyNeuron

  • DaenrisDaenris Registered User regular
    "And you mentioning dreams about me probably ..."
    "A nude drawing, youthful offerings undisclosed, my eyes narrowed tightly in offered nightly intimate gifts, divesting redundant efforts alas moaning softly, almost buffeting unbridled thoughts, misty eves, pushing rigidly onto buxom ample breasts laying yonder....

    You missed two letters. The n from the ing at the end of mentioning, and the o in about. :)

  • DirtyNeuronDirtyNeuron Registered User
    Daenris wrote: »
    "And you mentioning dreams about me probably ..."
    "A nude drawing, youthful offerings undisclosed, my eyes narrowed tightly in offered nightly intimate gifts, divesting redundant efforts alas moaning softly, almost buffeting unbridled thoughts, misty eves, pushing rigidly onto buxom ample breasts laying yonder....

    You missed two letters. The n from the ing at the end of mentioning, and the o in about. :)

    Oh the HORROR! Thank you for pointing this out. I shall fix it right now!

    "And you mentioning dreams about me probably ..."
    "A nude drawing, youthful offerings undisclosed, my eyes narrowed tightly in offered nightly intimately nourishing gifts, divesting redundant efforts alas moaning softly, almost buffeting overt unbridled thoughts, misty eves, pushing rigidly onto buxom ample breasts laying yonder...."

    I know, it feels a bit chunky, like it might not flow properly, but that is what I deserve for missing those two important letters, to my shame. (And it was indeed a pain for trying to think up an appropriate word to squeeze between Intimate and Gifts.

  • DenadaDenada Registered User regular
    Just curious about this writing exercise. Are the sentences supposed to make sense?

  • DirtyNeuronDirtyNeuron Registered User
    Denada wrote: »
    Just curious about this writing exercise. Are the sentences supposed to make sense?

    *scratches head in confusion*

    Bonus points if they do.

    Generally speaking, stringing nonsense words together always makes me smile, but getting the words from the task to flow together in a structured sentence works out better. For (if you are not prone to excitement over linguistic confusion) random words can lead to strange thoughts. Which I hear tell scares some people.

  • ZsetrekZsetrek Registered User
    October 5, 2008
    Essay
    The Ambition of the Short Story
    By STEVEN MILLHAUSER

    The short story — how modest in bearing! How unassuming in manner! It sits there quietly, eyes lowered, almost as if trying not to be noticed. And if it should somehow attract your attention, it says quickly, in a brave little self-deprecating voice alive to all the possibilities of disappointment: “I’m not a novel, you know. Not even a short one. If that’s what you’re looking for, you don’t want me.” Rarely has one form so dominated another. And we understand, we nod our heads knowingly: here in America, size is power. The novel is the Wal-Mart, the Incredible Hulk, the jumbo jet of literature. The novel is insatiable — it wants to devour the world. What’s left for the poor short story to do? It can cultivate its garden, practice meditation, water the geraniums in the window box. It can take a course in creative nonfiction. It can do whatever it likes, so long as it doesn’t forget its place — so long as it keeps quiet and stays out of the way. “Hoo ha!” cries the novel. “Here ah come!” The short story is always ducking for cover. The novel buys up the land, cuts down the trees, puts up the condos. The short story scampers across a lawn, squeezes under a fence.

    Of course there are virtues associated with smallness. Even the novel will grant as much. Large things tend to be unwieldy, clumsy, crude; smallness is the realm of elegance and grace. It’s also the realm of perfection. The novel is exhaustive by nature; but the world is inexhaustible; therefore the novel, that Faustian striver, can never attain its desire. The short story by contrast is inherently selective. By excluding almost everything, it can give perfect shape to what remains. And the short story can even lay claim to a kind of completeness that eludes the novel — after the initial act of radical exclusion, it can include all of the little that’s left. The novel, when it remembers the short story at all, is pleased to be generous. “I admire you,” it says, placing its big rough hand over its heart. “No kidding. You’re so — you’re so —” So pretty! So svelte! So high class! And smart, too. The novel can hardly contain itself. After all, what difference does it make? It’s nothing but talk. What the novel cares about is vastness, is power. Deep in its heart, it disdains the short story, which makes do with so little. It has no use for the short story’s austerity, its suppression of appetite, its refusals and renunciations. The novel wants things. It wants territory. It wants the whole world. Perfection is the consolation of those who have nothing else.

    So much for the short story. Modest in its pretensions, shyly proud of its petite virtues, a trifle anxious in relation to its brash rival, it contents itself with sitting back and letting the novel take on the big world. And yet, and yet. That modest pose — am I mistaken, or is it a little overdone? Those glancing-away looks — do they contain a touch of slyness? Can it be that the little short story dares to have ambitions of its own? If so, it will never admit them openly, because of a sharp instinct for self-protection, a long habit of secrecy bred by oppression. In a world ruled by swaggering novels, smallness has learned to make its way cautiously. We will have to intuit its secret. I imagine the short story harboring a wish. I imagine the short story saying to the novel: You can have everything — everything — all I ask is a single grain of sand. The novel, with a careless shrug, a shrug both cheerful and contemptuous, grants the wish.

    But that grain of sand is the story’s way out. That grain of sand is the story’s salvation. I take my cue from William Blake: “All the world in a grain of sand.” Think of it: the world in a grain of sand; which is to say, every part of the world, however small, contains the world entirely. Or to put it another way: if you concentrate your attention on some apparently insignificant portion of the world, you will find, deep within it, nothing less than the world itself. In that single grain of sand lies the beach that contains the grain of sand. In that single grain of sand lies the ocean that dashes against the beach, the ship that sails the ocean, the sun that shines down on the ship, the interstellar winds, a teaspoon in Kansas, the structure of the universe. And there you have the ambition of the short story, the terrible ambition that lies behind its fraudulent modesty: to body forth the whole world. The short story believes in transformation. It believes in hidden powers. The novel prefers things in plain view. It has no patience with individual grains of sand, which glitter but are difficult to see. The novel wants to sweep everything into its mighty embrace — shores, mountains, continents. But it can never succeed, because the world is vaster than a novel, the world rushes away at every point. The novel leaps restlessly from place to place, always hungry, always dissatisfied, always fearful of coming to an end — because when it stops, exhausted but never at peace, the world will have escaped it. The short story concentrates on its grain of sand, in the fierce belief that there — right there, in the palm of its hand — lies the universe. It seeks to know that grain of sand the way a lover seeks to know the face of the beloved. It looks for the moment when the grain of sand reveals its true nature. In that moment of mystic expansion, when the macrocosmic flower bursts from the microcosmic seed, the short story feels its power. It becomes bigger than itself. It becomes bigger than the novel. It becomes as big as the universe. Therein lies the immodesty of the short story, its secret aggression. Its method is revelation. Its littleness is the agency of its power. The ponderous mass of the novel strikes it as the laughable image of weakness. The short story apologizes for nothing. It exults in its shortness. It wants to be shorter still. It wants to be a single word. If it could find that word, if it could utter that syllable, the entire universe would blaze up out of it with a roar. That is the outrageous ambition of the short story, that is its deepest faith, that is the greatness of its smallness.

    Steven Millhauser’s most recent book is “Dangerous Laughter: Thirteen Stories.”

    To which I would reply: "Well, what's a reader going to do with the universe, eh?"

    An interesting read nonetheless, and hopefully a little inspiration in a thread that isn't much used for its original purpose.

  • BoylingBoyling Registered User
    Zsetrek wrote: »
    October 5, 2008
    Essay
    The Ambition of the Short Story
    By STEVEN MILLHAUSER

    The short story — how modest in bearing! How unassuming in manner! It sits there quietly, eyes lowered, almost as if trying not to be noticed. And if it should somehow attract your attention, it says quickly, in a brave little self-deprecating voice alive to all the possibilities of disappointment: “I’m not a novel, you know. Not even a short one. If that’s what you’re looking for, you don’t want me.” Rarely has one form so dominated another. And we understand, we nod our heads knowingly: here in America, size is power. The novel is the Wal-Mart, the Incredible Hulk, the jumbo jet of literature. The novel is insatiable — it wants to devour the world. What’s left for the poor short story to do? It can cultivate its garden, practice meditation, water the geraniums in the window box. It can take a course in creative nonfiction. It can do whatever it likes, so long as it doesn’t forget its place — so long as it keeps quiet and stays out of the way. “Hoo ha!” cries the novel. “Here ah come!” The short story is always ducking for cover. The novel buys up the land, cuts down the trees, puts up the condos. The short story scampers across a lawn, squeezes under a fence.

    Of course there are virtues associated with smallness. Even the novel will grant as much. Large things tend to be unwieldy, clumsy, crude; smallness is the realm of elegance and grace. It’s also the realm of perfection. The novel is exhaustive by nature; but the world is inexhaustible; therefore the novel, that Faustian striver, can never attain its desire. The short story by contrast is inherently selective. By excluding almost everything, it can give perfect shape to what remains. And the short story can even lay claim to a kind of completeness that eludes the novel — after the initial act of radical exclusion, it can include all of the little that’s left. The novel, when it remembers the short story at all, is pleased to be generous. “I admire you,” it says, placing its big rough hand over its heart. “No kidding. You’re so — you’re so —” So pretty! So svelte! So high class! And smart, too. The novel can hardly contain itself. After all, what difference does it make? It’s nothing but talk. What the novel cares about is vastness, is power. Deep in its heart, it disdains the short story, which makes do with so little. It has no use for the short story’s austerity, its suppression of appetite, its refusals and renunciations. The novel wants things. It wants territory. It wants the whole world. Perfection is the consolation of those who have nothing else.

    So much for the short story. Modest in its pretensions, shyly proud of its petite virtues, a trifle anxious in relation to its brash rival, it contents itself with sitting back and letting the novel take on the big world. And yet, and yet. That modest pose — am I mistaken, or is it a little overdone? Those glancing-away looks — do they contain a touch of slyness? Can it be that the little short story dares to have ambitions of its own? If so, it will never admit them openly, because of a sharp instinct for self-protection, a long habit of secrecy bred by oppression. In a world ruled by swaggering novels, smallness has learned to make its way cautiously. We will have to intuit its secret. I imagine the short story harboring a wish. I imagine the short story saying to the novel: You can have everything — everything — all I ask is a single grain of sand. The novel, with a careless shrug, a shrug both cheerful and contemptuous, grants the wish.

    But that grain of sand is the story’s way out. That grain of sand is the story’s salvation. I take my cue from William Blake: “All the world in a grain of sand.” Think of it: the world in a grain of sand; which is to say, every part of the world, however small, contains the world entirely. Or to put it another way: if you concentrate your attention on some apparently insignificant portion of the world, you will find, deep within it, nothing less than the world itself. In that single grain of sand lies the beach that contains the grain of sand. In that single grain of sand lies the ocean that dashes against the beach, the ship that sails the ocean, the sun that shines down on the ship, the interstellar winds, a teaspoon in Kansas, the structure of the universe. And there you have the ambition of the short story, the terrible ambition that lies behind its fraudulent modesty: to body forth the whole world. The short story believes in transformation. It believes in hidden powers. The novel prefers things in plain view. It has no patience with individual grains of sand, which glitter but are difficult to see. The novel wants to sweep everything into its mighty embrace — shores, mountains, continents. But it can never succeed, because the world is vaster than a novel, the world rushes away at every point. The novel leaps restlessly from place to place, always hungry, always dissatisfied, always fearful of coming to an end — because when it stops, exhausted but never at peace, the world will have escaped it. The short story concentrates on its grain of sand, in the fierce belief that there — right there, in the palm of its hand — lies the universe. It seeks to know that grain of sand the way a lover seeks to know the face of the beloved. It looks for the moment when the grain of sand reveals its true nature. In that moment of mystic expansion, when the macrocosmic flower bursts from the microcosmic seed, the short story feels its power. It becomes bigger than itself. It becomes bigger than the novel. It becomes as big as the universe. Therein lies the immodesty of the short story, its secret aggression. Its method is revelation. Its littleness is the agency of its power. The ponderous mass of the novel strikes it as the laughable image of weakness. The short story apologizes for nothing. It exults in its shortness. It wants to be shorter still. It wants to be a single word. If it could find that word, if it could utter that syllable, the entire universe would blaze up out of it with a roar. That is the outrageous ambition of the short story, that is its deepest faith, that is the greatness of its smallness.

    Steven Millhauser’s most recent book is “Dangerous Laughter: Thirteen Stories.”

    To which I would reply: "Well, what's a reader going to do with the universe, eh?"

    An interesting read nonetheless, and hopefully a little inspiration in a thread that isn't much used for its original purpose.

    Excellent read! That very much sums up my own thoughts about writing and how terribly overwhelming it is to attempt to write a novel. I think I've probably made at least five semi-serious attempt at novel-writing, but I somehow always give up and take up writing short stories instead.

    Perhaps when I've grown a bit more, I shall write that first monstrous novel.

    Boyling.gif
  • jacripejacripe Registered User
    Writing Tip #1) Do not listen to me.

    Soon, you will know...
    Soon, you will know...
    Soon, you will know...
    Soon
    Blog | Ficly | Email | Zine
  • Alexander11Alexander11 Registered User
    here's a writing question for you guys. My english professor was telling us how rediculous the the (') is after an (s). but if that's true, I came across some sentances that cannot be completed. (example) the man polished the horses(') saddles. I want to put that (') in there because at the time I am talking about many horses and their many saddles. If i just say, the horses saddles, then I am either saying there are many horses but showing no ownership.

    What do you think?

    Spoiler:
  • MKRMKR Registered User regular
    here's a writing question for you guys. My english professor was telling us how rediculous the the (') is after an (s). but if that's true, I came across some sentances that cannot be completed. (example) the man polished the horses(') saddles. I want to put that (') in there because at the time I am talking about many horses and their many saddles. If i just say, the horses saddles, then I am either saying there are many horses but showing no ownership.

    What do you think?

    Your teacher sounds like an ideologue of some sort. Use what works, and let the lexicographers sort it out later.

    edit: Ask him/her how to resolve this situation. He/she will either offer a reasonable alternative, or his/her brain will explode.

  • ducknerdducknerd Registered User regular
    Are you sure the professor wasn't talking about the use of apostrophes to denote plurals (e.g. "apostrophe's", "plural's", etc.). That drives me crazy. But no, it is perfectly good grammar to put the apostrophe at the end of the word if it ends in an S and you're denoting ownership.

  • LoomdunLoomdun Registered User
    I'm posting here because mkr thought it would be halarious for the world to read someone who is most likely dyslexic talk in a forum that is ironically meant for people who are talking about intelligent talkingness

    splat
  • MKRMKR Registered User regular
    I linked it because this thread is full of good advice. :P

  • DragonflyDragonfly Registered User
    I'd like to give a thumbs up to Dark Room; going into full screen keeps me from feeling temptation to switch over to my web browser and get distracted with inter-things, such as webcomic forums.

    This isn't my advice, but advice from a professor I had recently, so I'd like to pass it on.

    When trying to write a story, chase a sentence and see where it leads; say you have an image or idea or line of dialog. It turns in to a story when you ask it questions: who said you? What made them do it? Are they talking to anybody in particular? From there, you ask those details questions and soon you have a story opening itself up to you.

    For instance, a line that occurred to me today: "The insides of the almonds, displayed in cross-section at the bitten end of her chocolate bar, looked like maggots burrowing into fertile soil." Who thinks the almonds look like maggots? A young girl. Why is she thinking of maggots? Perhaps death is on her mind; maybe somebody died. Who died? Someone close to her? No. A distant uncle. Why is she thinking about him? She's questioning that distance and wondering why his death means little to her, but a lot to somebody else. She spoke on the phone to her cousins and they were grieving, and she can sympathize but not empathize. Why would this matter to her?

    Maybe you can go back and revise the answers. No, it wasn't her distant uncle, but her father. *She* was grieving and everything reminded her of death, even a bar of chocolate. But we'll keep the notions of death and distance and sympathy versus empathy; in her grief, she feels that others can't understand the depth of her feelings. Is the story about how she connects with others in grief and gains solidarity, or how she tries to distance herself from her own experience? How is her grief manifesting? Does she shut in, or lash out? Does she hide it?

    Keep going, and ask about the people and the situations they're in, and soon you have a setting and people to populate it and conflicts between them.

    Well, it's one method. I like it, since it lets the story flow organically from your brain.

    http://thingsiwrotedown.blogspot.com - I write things and put them on the internet and you can read them here. Criticism is happily welcomed.
  • Shoegaze99Shoegaze99 Registered User
    Dragonfly wrote: »
    and conflicts

    Absolutely! Conflicts are key. Unless you're writing a mood piece that exists solely for the sake of saying, "Hey look, I can write," your characters need a reason to be doing what they're doing. Conflict is sometimes mistaken as merely person vs. person/organization, but it need not be. Surviving in a desert wasteland is a conflict. Trying to find a job is a conflict. Anything a person has to overcome is conflict.

    The key is giving your folks a natural, believable motivation. A reason to be in your story that goes beyond being a chess piece. When you've got a clear motvation for them, even the secondary characters will come to life. It will information their actions and make the reader believe and give you, the writer, a well from which to draw. Sometimes they'll even do things you don't expect.

    Flat characters with no reason to be there are death.

  • Shoegaze99Shoegaze99 Registered User
    I've found that the one thing that limits aspiring writers* the most is the fear that what they write won't be any good. They expect to instantly imitate or even surpass the literary prowess of Faulkner or Hemingway and when they realize they can't they toss their efforts in the trash and assume the fetal position while they wait for inspiration to somehow strike them in the ass.
    VERY true. Also limiting is an unwillingness or inability to allow people to read your writing, or if you do, to be unwilling or unable to withstand criticism.

    Putting yourself out there is not easy. It's HARD. Allowing strangers -- not friends and family, who will always offer kind or at least diplomatic words, but strangers -- to read your work is one of the first major steps for every aspiring writer.

    Okay, most aspiring writers. I've known people who think they're wonderful because their mommy told them so, shove their work at anyone they can find, and who get indignant when it's not met with glowing praise.

    But that's another issue.

    Anyone who wants to improve as a writer has to face the fear of rejection and of not being good. They need to realize that they WON'T be good right away and that even the best writing will not be loved by all. They need to recognize when criticism is empty and when it's honest and helpful and to the point. But most of all, they need to muster up the courage to put their work in front of people and then listen to what they have to say.

    That's HARD. It's not easy. Sometimes it SUCKS. But it's soooo worth doing in the long term.

  • Zombie MonkeyZombie Monkey Registered User
    Shoegaze99 wrote: »
    I've found that the one thing that limits aspiring writers* the most is the fear that what they write won't be any good. They expect to instantly imitate or even surpass the literary prowess of Faulkner or Hemingway and when they realize they can't they toss their efforts in the trash and assume the fetal position while they wait for inspiration to somehow strike them in the ass.
    VERY true. Also limiting is an unwillingness or inability to allow people to read your writing, or if you do, to be unwilling or unable to withstand criticism.

    Putting yourself out there is not easy. It's HARD. Allowing strangers -- not friends and family, who will always offer kind or at least diplomatic words, but strangers -- to read your work is one of the first major steps for every aspiring writer.

    Okay, most aspiring writers. I've known people who think they're wonderful because their mommy told them so, shove their work at anyone they can find, and who get indignant when it's not met with glowing praise.

    But that's another issue.

    Anyone who wants to improve as a writer has to face the fear of rejection and of not being good. They need to realize that they WON'T be good right away and that even the best writing will not be loved by all. They need to recognize when criticism is empty and when it's honest and helpful and to the point. But most of all, they need to muster up the courage to put their work in front of people and then listen to what they have to say.

    That's HARD. It's not easy. Sometimes it SUCKS. But it's soooo worth doing in the long term.
    I must admit it is a bit terrifying, though the bit about family is a bit wrong when you have a brother who is doing an MA in screenwriting who literally tore it up :lol: not the concept, or the story, he actually said it was really funny, but the style/lack of formatting etc he took great offence too (this was my first attempt so i had no idea how to format it at all, it was words on a page)

    In terms of showing work to people im always worried about a few things
    a) The fact i cant copyright my work, or have no idea how to stop people stealing from it, thats not to say the work is intrinsically good, but the subject ive chosen, the backdrop and the set ups are an area which hasnt been explored to any great depth before, possibly for obvious reasons but i believe i have found a way to do it well.
    b) The criticism thing is a bit hard to take, mainly because the story in itself was written to begin with for me, not for anyone else, and that makes the notion of changing the story or parts of it a very hard decision.

    Do you guys post scripts on here? Its a tv comedy script btw, was considering sending into the bbc (they have a programme where they read scripts from unattached writers for potential, of both the concept and the writer. I was actually considering shooting it myself, as the locations, set ups and style is relatively cheap to procur and use, and i can get the equipment/people for free.

    League of Legends - Enzo III
  • ruzkinruzkin Registered User regular
    The criticism thing is a bit hard to take, mainly because the story in itself was written to begin with for me, not for anyone else, and that makes the notion of changing the story or parts of it a very hard decision.

    That's fine. Just don't expect anyone to ever want to read or watch it.
    If you write for yourself then keep it to yourself. If you ever want other people to enjoy your work in any format then grow a pair and accept both criticism and changes.

    KqOm9Bt.jpg
  • Zombie MonkeyZombie Monkey Registered User
    ruzkin wrote: »
    The criticism thing is a bit hard to take, mainly because the story in itself was written to begin with for me, not for anyone else, and that makes the notion of changing the story or parts of it a very hard decision.

    That's fine. Just don't expect anyone to ever want to read or watch it.
    If you write for yourself then keep it to yourself. If you ever want other people to enjoy your work in any format then grow a pair and accept both criticism and changes.

    Its a fine line indeed, lets be friends

    League of Legends - Enzo III
  • Zombie MonkeyZombie Monkey Registered User
    In all seriousness though i understand what your saying, to be honest i would like people to see it and i think the concept has potential, i really do, i also feel that sooner rather than later this concept will be exploited and any chance of advancing the idea will be futile.

    Need to get a few more to see it first methinks

    League of Legends - Enzo III
  • kleinfehnkleinfehn Registered User
    Hey Penny Arcade, I am a newish guy around here and I have been lurking this in this section for a bit. Is there anywhere online that I can find some basic writing tips? I haven't really done much serious writing so I am not sure about pacing or how much I should describe something besides from what I have read from other authors. Is this really the best way to learn these techniques? Until it becomes natural?

    I am mostly familar with the science fiction genre such as Ray Bradbury, H.G. Wells, Douglas Adams, Gordon R. Dickson being my main influences. I dabble with the fantasy genre a bit but that is it really.

  • MKRMKR Registered User regular
    There are a bunch of useful links at the bottom of the rules thread.

  • ToldoToldo But actually, WeegianRegistered User regular
    If I were to copy and paste my first draft of a query letter into this thread, would anyone care to give me some helpful pointers?

  • Grid SystemGrid System Registered User
    No, this isn't really the place. Try the Brainstorming thread, or make your own.

  • DirtyDirtyVagrantDirtyDirtyVagrant Registered User regular
    I had a question, but it's kind of weird, so bare (bear?) with me.

    Do you guys think that guns are a necessary or even probable invention? Suppose that I was writing a somewhat modern or even somewhat futuristic story and did not include firearms or similar ranged weapons in the setting.

    Would that strike you as odd?

    What if the world was one where, in war, the melee combat abilities of the people was more than enough to settle conflicts. I'm not talking super-hero levels, but like...I dunno. The average level of strength you might see in an anime or something. Are we crawling into stupid territory there? I'm just curious.

  • snapsnap Registered User regular
    yes. if they are people who fight as often as we do, they will always be looking for easier and better ways to kill each other.

  • MKRMKR Registered User regular
    A preference for melee combat worked for the Klingons.

  • ElJeffeElJeffe Super Moderator, Moderator, ClubPA mod
    MKR wrote: »
    A preference for melee combat worked for the Klingons.

    Not a Star Trek dork, so I don't know, but did the Klingons just flat-out not have guns, or did they just prefer melee weapons? I would find the idea of an advanced race who never even bother to come up with the idea of a projectile weapon to be pretty implausible, though I can come up with all manner of reasons why the general public might eschew such weapons.

    Riley: "You're a marsupial!"
    Maddie: "I am not!"
    Riley: "You're a marsupial!"
    Maddie: "I am a placental mammal!"
  • Chronos21Chronos21 Registered User regular
    Klingons most definitely had all manner of projectile weapons. They just preferred melee as a matter of honour.

    I find it difficult to believe in a world without projectile weapons. Basically, they'd have to have never discovered any explosive materials, which is unlikely. The only way to do a world without that kind of technology is to go the Final Fantasy route, and make your reader know it's all going to be completely absurd anyways.

  • takyristakyris Registered User
    Well, there are alternatives if the goal is melee-focus with tech in a novel. Offhand:

    1) Ubiquitous personal energy shields that are velocity based (Dune, Stargate: SG-1, and Mass Effect all use this for their shield logic), so that the reaction strength is keyed to and tied to the speed of incoming attacks -- a knife can get through, but a bullet gets deflected.

    2) Setting the story on a starship in which the risk of a hull breach has people sticking with melee weapons, which are unlikely to punch a hole in anything important. (Side fun note: according to a buddy with a military history, submarine personnel used shotguns as a standard sidearm, since the shot couldn't punch through the hull -- I think he was more specific about which people had them, but that's an error on my part, not his, if other people want to correct me.)

    3) A worldwide outbreak of a chemical pollutant in a far-future society that screws up some chemical necessary for an easy firing chemical reaction (and requires the far-future society to modify human nutrition or use breath filters to, you know, not die from whatever that is). Yes, this is absurd, but ten years ago, who would have believed in bugs that ate microchips, and now we have those.

    Dox the PI wrote:
    takyris, Greek God of blowing shit up.
  • AryaLeingoldAryaLeingold Registered User
    takyris wrote: »
    2) Setting the story on a starship in which the risk of a hull breach has people sticking with melee weapons, which are unlikely to punch a hole in anything important. (Side fun note: according to a buddy with a military history, submarine personnel used shotguns as a standard sidearm, since the shot couldn't punch through the hull -- I think he was more specific about which people had them, but that's an error on my part, not his, if other people want to correct me.)

    Going on that you could set it in any controlled environment where piercing the "shell" would disrupt the atmosphere and kill humanity. Like a space station or an encapsulated planetary society. Basically, if you want people to NOT have guns, there better be a damn good reason.

    "A man thinks that by mouthing hard words he understands hard things." ~ Herman Melville
  • CoJoeTheLawyerCoJoeTheLawyer Registered User regular
    takyris wrote: »
    Well, there are alternatives if the goal is melee-focus with tech in a novel. Offhand:

    1) Ubiquitous personal energy shields that are velocity based (Dune, Stargate: SG-1, and Mass Effect all use this for their shield logic), so that the reaction strength is keyed to and tied to the speed of incoming attacks -- a knife can get through, but a bullet gets deflected.

    2) Setting the story on a starship in which the risk of a hull breach has people sticking with melee weapons, which are unlikely to punch a hole in anything important. (Side fun note: according to a buddy with a military history, submarine personnel used shotguns as a standard sidearm, since the shot couldn't punch through the hull -- I think he was more specific about which people had them, but that's an error on my part, not his, if other people want to correct me.)

    3) A worldwide outbreak of a chemical pollutant in a far-future society that screws up some chemical necessary for an easy firing chemical reaction (and requires the far-future society to modify human nutrition or use breath filters to, you know, not die from whatever that is). Yes, this is absurd, but ten years ago, who would have believed in bugs that ate microchips, and now we have those.

    Piggybacking off of takyris's ideas

    1. Advancement of technology that makes projectile weapons (anything from a rock to the .357 magnum) irrelevant or ineffective. In the alternative, the failure of technology to advance to a degree that projectile weapons on par with melee weapons could be produced.

    2. Changes in basic physics (gravity, aerodynamics, etc.) that would make a projectile weapon impossible to create/operate. In addition, a key material to be able to produce projectile weapons could be missing/in short supply/undiscovered.

    3. Cultural settings that would make it "bad" in whatever form you choose (a sin; a faux pas, against the established rules) to use projectile weapons that would influence the characters to forego projectile weapons.

    Spoiler:
  • emiscoolerthanyouemiscoolerthanyou Registered User
    spcmnspff wrote: »
    read Hemingway.
    I Agree with this guy!

    :winky:
  • Just_Bri_ThanksJust_Bri_Thanks This meeting's about politics. Facts won't help. The HoleRegistered User, ClubPA regular
    The whole thing with guns in a historical setting is pretty much this:

    Melee weapons were restricted to the aristocracy, leaving the peasants to use simple or improvised weapons.

    Some of the normal folk got to use bows, but there is a considerable training time to get an uneducated individual to use one in a group to maximum effect. Skill training and muscle training, as they didn't have modern compound bows back then and those suckers were hard to draw.

    Once guns were introduced and it was discovered that they were cheaper to produce than quality swords and armor, cheaper and faster to train in than pretty much ANYTHING else out there, could kill easily with even a moderate-low skilled user even against cavalry (previously the bane of infantry everywhere); the only people that so much as looked back were the nobles who could afford to ride in the cavalry.

    If guns are available in any numbers or reliability whatsoever then to use melee weapons is suicidal.

    Guns are the Jackhammer in a game of Rock-paper-scissors.

    Lisa : "Which one's Ed and which one's Larry?"
    Ed & Larry : "Doesn't matter."

    I recently was gifted a thing in Steam. If it was from you, thank you very much!
  • BladekhanBladekhan Registered User
    What if the world was one where, in war, the melee combat abilities of the people was more than enough to settle conflicts. I'm not talking super-hero levels, but like...I dunno. The average level of strength you might see in an anime or something. Are we crawling into stupid territory there? I'm just curious.

    This reply might need to be in brainstorming, and if so I apologize.
    To explore this idea I think you should check out histories that focus on the concepts of "Limited" war versus "Total" war. A simple way to explain such a society would seem to me to would be use the natural history of earth up to World War I, which was often referred to as "The War to end all wars." I like the idea of using actual history in fiction when possible. Especially since major would events offer possibilities for divergence into a completely new and complex world just because things worked out a little differently.

  • FalhurkFalhurk Registered User
    Alright, after reading through these 13 pages..

    Thanks for contributing to this thread everyone. It's been insightful and interesting, even the tips I've disagreed with. I'll have to post something in the near-future for critique as "grabbing a pair" seems like solid advice.

Sign In or Register to comment.