~lhhog introduced me to this cool site. It’s basically multiplayer writing.
I started a story, and it’s grown rather hilariously. Feel free to continue it by a little or a lot. :D
Archive for the ‘Writings’ Category
Sam and the Satanic Sandwhich
Wednesday, May 5th, 2010Cantor’s Hotel, day 15ish
Thursday, April 29th, 2010So I tried Script Frenzy again this year, but just couldn’t get into the screenplay groove, so I gave up on about April 13th. But I still liked my idea, and my gross inability to prioritize would not let me give up on it. So I started again in novel form, and I’m giving myself until May 15th to get to 50000 words.
I’m staying pretty well on schedule. Here’s some of my favorite lines so far:
It was time to get reverent.
The three spent the day together as a family, playing board games they used to hate because they were the kind that had families on the front of them having more fun than they were because they had TWO kids, those pricks.
Startled, Steve said, “So?”
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” she said 28 times in row, by Erica’s count.
The first thing he said was, “Got a shower I could use?” And everything about him said he richly deserved one.
“Mmm… Chlorine.”
“Ms Pac Man. Makes no sense. Why not Pac Woman?”
Erica thought that if this was a movie, there would be hopeful music rising right then.
“Just because I’m in love, and you’re my best friend, does NOT mean you automatically know everything.”
My five favorite weathers(ish)
Monday, April 5th, 20105. Plain rain
No hail, no lightning, no floods, no funny business. Just some rain so I have an excuse to stay inside and not have to unplug my computer or fix the roof. Bonus points if it comes out of nowhere, pours, and stops one minute later.
4. Crazy colored skies
When the sunset or sunrise takes hallucinogens and turns into a 2nd grade art project, except it actually looks really cool. Most of my sky photos are of these.
3. Melting snow
Winter is mostly bleh. One of the best times is when it starts to melt, and it’s wet everywhere and the roads shine. Best when there’s no clouds. The piles of mud afterward, not so much.
2. Warm, humid and windy
The start of spring, and signal that the end of the school year is near, so this brings back lots of good memories. The windier the better – blast the warmth! Punch winter in the face.
1. Rainshine
Sometimes during a rainstorm the sun will come out while it’s still raining. This is the coolest thing to watch. I don’t think I’ve photographed this, and I’m not even sure if there’s a professional sounding name for it. I hope it’s this. That would be awesome.
Thyragnis
Friday, December 11th, 2009I’ve been playing Spore lately, and came across a curious problem. Here it is in story form.
“Hello Omnipotent! You look fabulous as always…” After hearing it basically word-for-word a thousand times, the compliment wore thin.
“Yes, thank you. I’ve come to discuss diplomatic matters,” said the Suna pilot.
The Green Empire’s representative’s tinny voice continued. “Anything! Name it.”
“Well, as you know, we’ve been in conflict with the Notcute for some time now. It’s usually no trouble chipping away at their dozens of T0 planets. But there’s a particular planet which we’ve lost three spaceships to. Not by any virtue of their defenses, of course. For some reason, all the ship’s computers cease function when we near it. Thyragnis, it’s called.”
“Very curious! What would like us to do?”
“We’d like you to attack that planet, and capture it. And keep it. We don’t want it.”
“We’re big fans of disorder! We’ll do it. We need 52000 dollars.”
But Omnipotent had 99999999 dollars on board that he preferred to bask in a little while longer. “How about I just give you this one purple spice and call it good?”
“Done!” Suckers, thought the Green Empire.
Green was oblivious to the Suna’s obvious goal to take possession of the entire galaxy, or at least one arm of it. The two Empires were about the only ones left in the local bubble. The next day, a Suna ship arrived as close to Thyragnis as possible and launched their communicator.
“Hello Omnipotent! You look fabulous as always…”
“Yes yes, I was wondering if you’d like to set up a trade route.”
“Would we ever!”
And in no time, the Suna bought the planet for a nice price of 3000000.
Then they promptly began to clean the Green empire off the map. The Green Empire still happily considered them allies, even after they bombed their fourth planet. But then after the humor wore off they retaliated.
“Omnipotent!” yelled another Suna on board. “They’re attacking!”
“It’s just pirates again. It’s always pirates. You know, why don’t they just say, ‘It’s pirates – don’t worry about it’? And don’t get me started on those blasted ecodisasters.”
“No, this one’s not pirates. I swear. It’s the Green.”
“Well, by the time they take one of our planets, we’ll have taken five of theirs.”
“They’re about to take Thyragnis.”
And they did. Even though the Suna now owned every other system, The Green empire had a tight hold on Thyragnis, and the Suna could do nothing about it. Their onboard computers scrambled on each attempt to approach the planet.
“Crocodilus, I’d like you to attack someone for me…”
This planet did indeed crash the game every time. Buying Thyragnis solved the problem, and they didn’t really make an attempt to get it back, but I thought it would have been a real cunning trick on the part of the developers if they did.
The Raspaka Renaissance (draft)
Tuesday, December 1st, 2009
It’s the birth of the modern nalvot world. A war has just ended and Raspaka is the hotbed of civilization.
Oli, a warmswimmer from a small shoreside farming town, heads to Raspaka to get an education. But he’s in for much more, including sports, art, journalism, love, and a newfound spirituality. Follow him as he makes friends, spars with professors, and experiences life in the city.
This was my third attempt at Nanowrimo, and it was pretty different this time around. I got over 100,000 words, and I tried something I thought was downright impossible – to incorporate Christianity (or an allegory of it) into a completely alien setting. I didn’t do illustrations this time, but I did come up with some sketches at HexFactorial. Over there’s some excerpts too. It was fun speaking in an ‘uneducated’ voice. I’m glad I did it in first person, but now I’ve started talking like Oli. XD Third person next year.
Click here to read (1mb .doc)
Nano 09 day 3
Wednesday, November 4th, 200910015 words. And even more apologies to all my writing buddies. Please oh please can we still be friends? :<
I’m shooting for 100k this time.
HexFactorial has some sketches and excerpts. (Just one right now, I’ll try and make more.)
Nano 09 day 1
Monday, November 2nd, 2009Woohoo! Nano is finally here!
On Day 1 I got 3355 words. My novel is called The Raspaka Renaissance. It involves the nalvots and takes place at the birth of their modern civilization. A warmswimmer farmboy, Oli, gets sent to the academy in Raspaka to get edjumacated.
Lib-mo
Wednesday, August 5th, 2009Inspired by the month I spent helping out at a summer school program.
—
It is the future. Cars still cannot fly, and students still ride the school bus to Reyfort Middle School.
Far overreaching the budget, the school purchased “Lib-mo”, computerized technology that provides an accurate reading of a student’s interests. This was in response to years of failed attempts to coax students to read. They needed to improve test scores somehow; Reyfort couldn’t afford to lose its funding.
The device plugged into the computer and looked about as friendly as a dentist’s chair. Children lined up single file for their brains to be scanned. Andy was first. After a few seconds, the computer selected three books about football. One about the history of the sport, one fiction, and one very dated directory of teams and athletes.
Mrs. Richardson took note of the call numbers, rounded the shelves, and delivered the books to Andy. He turned and walked toward the checkout, holding the books like a tray of rancid school lunch. Ryan stepped forward for a scan. Another selection of books appeared on the screen, mostly on ancient warfare.
Mrs. Richardson broke into a relieved smile, seeing that all the barriers to reading had finally been removed.
Once home, Andy raced up the stairs, slung his bookbag into his room, leaped back down the stairs, flipped on his TV and began playing Madden Football ‘23.
Tom 7
Wednesday, July 15th, 2009The lab: a closet. No coats or hangers, only a single light bulb and messy figures in sharpie on the white walls.
“Your first call lasted about how long, 30 seconds?”
“Yeah.”
“And a minute later, you called back.”
“Actually-”
“Then not quite 24 hours later, the pager. Close to instantaneous. We’ll say the message was 1 second in length.”
“Okay.”
“And how long before you sent the page?”
“Probably one minute.”
“Then the radio show. How long were you on?”
“About a minute there too.”
She organized the data in some free space:
D__________L ___ I
9:30am ____.5 ___1
1+8:55am __.02 __1
1+9:02am __1 ___?
“The third time’s the charm,” she said with a grin. “Once you call that show, that’s when things get interesting. The time gap is an irritating thing, but very easy to predict once we get the first three dates, lengths and intervals.”
“So… when do I call the show?”
“The sooner the better. Trust me. The longer you wait, the more likely it is that our enemies will catch on.”
Tom’s eyebrows shot up. “Enemies?”
She just wore a grim expression.
“Do you have a phone?”
“Over there.” She motioned to the rotary phone.
He approached it. “Ah, I don’t know the number of the radio station… I could look it up. Have a phone book?”
“‘Fraid not.”
“There’s one at my office.”
“Then go. Come right back to me as soon as you get yourself the message.”
“I will. Um, by the way, what’s your name?”
“Terri.”
“Thanks Terri… it’s good to know I’m not crazy.”
Tom jogged back out to his car, and was relieved to see it hadn’t been vandalized. He drove to work, and endured three entire “songs” before the radio station finally cut in and announced: “Got a request? Call us at 405-KTOK! That’s 405-KTOK!”
He rushed into the office, sat down at his desk, scribbled down the radio’s number so he didn’t forget, and switched on his monitor. A pleasant surprise – in the corner of the screen:
***Wise Quote of the Day***
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
-Omar Khayyam
Until then he hadn’t even realized that he had forgotten the password-quote completely. Tom smiled widely; fate favored him today. He put on his headset and dialed KTOK.
“…tell us The Phrase That Pays! Hello, who am I speaking to?”
Tom saw his boss wander out of his office and shoot a glare at him.
“Tom, it’s yourself. I don’t have much time, because they’ll cut me off soon. Listen: The time gap is getting bigger.”
“Whoa there, pilgrim! How’d this one get through?…”
His employer strode closer.
“Turn left in 12 minutes. Number 67. Tell her this: ‘The Moving Finger writes: and, having writ, Moves on, nor all thy Piety nor Wit-’”
A fat finger pressed the ‘end’ button on Tom’s phone machine.
“Sorry about that, folks. Someone’s getting fired for that one! UH-OHHHHH!”
Tom 5
Sunday, July 12th, 2009Previous
It was 9:02. The instructions were vague. Turn left in 12 minutes? Was he to assume that he would continue his normal route until then? And how did that quote go?
A dreadful thought hit him.
Given the situation, it’s understandable that he’d be a bit on-edge. Of course, as a telemarketer, he was good at keeping his cool under pressure. But his voice on the radio sounded unusually panicked, as if his actions were being forced by someone more aware of this phenomenon.
Road work barred his way. 9:06. He spun like roulette through the streets, making several left turns, just in case his timing was off, looking for a number 67, and trying to decide if he should just forget this whole thing and head to his office.
9:14. The two-lane street seemed to belong to Tom. To the left, a small apartment complex. To the right, corn.
He drained his coffee, and turned into the gravelly lot.
The bricks were the color of burnt toast. Broken windows, scattered garbage, and silence. Tom shivered, but drew a slight bit of comfort from the fact that he must have lived long enough to give himself those directions.
He found the door to room 67 and knocked.
“Get away from here! I’m warning you!” shrieked a voice which sounded like his grandmother on the day he shattered her entire collection of ceramic horses.
“I… um… The finger of something writes, something, having written… and some Deity comes along, and says…”
The door clicked, then slowly squealed open. “Close enough,” said the voice.
Tom 3
Thursday, July 9th, 2009Tom shrugged it off, and the rest of the day continued as usual. He sold several vinyl siding deals, stays at five star resorts in Tallahassee, and even convinced a few dozen people to vote, although elections weren’t for five months. And he didn’t mispronounce a single name.
He drove home in his Camaro and turned on the radio. But most music bored him. He listened to the commercials instead, and flipped between stations just to hear them. The secrets to good sales are there for the taking, he thought.
Tom pulled into the driveway of house 553 in the suburban haven of Emerald Hills, greeted his wife Janice with a kiss on the cheek, and turned on the news.
“Honey,” called Tom, “need any help with dinner?”
“No thanks, but if you could take the garbage, that’d be a huge help. And the trash truck comes tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
The next morning, as he pulled out of the driveway, his pager beeped. He braked to look at the number – it was his own.
A second later, the clanging garbage truck barrelled within an inch of his back bumper.
Shaken, he idled for a little while, then, paged his own number.
“Sent,” it said, then the backlight disappeared and it went silent.
Tom ch 001
Wednesday, July 8th, 2009(This is the start of a tag-team story between me and Mike.)
Tom was a telemarketer.
That wasn’t his job, it was his career. He excelled at selling things over long distances, whether it be by phone, television, or the new innovation known as the World Wide Web.
His main specialty, however, was by phone. This is normally seen as a temporary job, normally occupied by young adults drawn in by the promise of good pay and of leaving with some semblance of self-esteem. But Tom has never been fired or laid off, mainly because he has made more sales for virtually all of them than anyone else in their histories. Rare was the occasion when he recieved impolite remarks, let alone raging rants, from the other end of the phone. He also knew every joke and ruse used against telemarketers, and would usually respond to the joker by laughing and saying “That’s my favorite.”
His current employer: KLPDBGR Telecom. It was June, and he’d been there since January. He’d abandoned his suit and tie for shorts and tee, and strode through the maze of cubicles, greeting several co-workers by name. He sat down on his spinny-rolly-chair (source of endless amusement), switched his computer on, donned his headset, and got ready to make a thousand new friends.
Bugbee
Thursday, July 2nd, 2009In April I participated in Script Frenzy. The goal was to write 100 pages of script – whether it be screenplay, stage play, TV script, etc. I didn’t quite succeed, but I ended up with a screenplay which I had a lot of fun with: Bugbee.
In this story, Cole Bugbee aims to start his own soda company, while his brother Chase, after being captured, tries to solve a mystery the humans can’t.
I initially titled it “Birds”, after this comic, with the intention of parodying every talking-animal movie ever. I couldn’t quite get into that mode, though, so after two pages I started over. I still played with many of the genre’s cliches as well as the things I loved about them.
I haven’t revised it yet, so the pacing is all a mess and whatnot. I’ve put in some of my own notes for revision.
See if you can identify all the game shows. Read it here!
Hiksaditi’s tomb
Sunday, June 28th, 2009It allows you to make text adventure games, or for the more sophisticated, “interactive fiction”.
And it has the easiest code language ever: plain english.
Paper Clips is south of Theatre. The description of Paper Clips is “For all your office supply needs… or perhaps just one or two of them. It looks like the whole store has been picked clean. You can’t even find paper clips in Paper Clips!”
A candy is in Paper Clips. “There’s a piece of candy on the desk.” The candy is edible.
The description of the candy is “Tempting chocolate.”
If you were to type these exact lines it would create exactly that.
It’s CRAZY.
Last summer I threw together my very first IF. It’s a short puzzleventure called King Hiksaditi’s tomb. It’s really not that great, sometimes trying to find the right wording is a pain, but it’s pretty short otherwise.
How to run the file:
1) Read this guide. It will save you plenty of frustration. [link]
2) You need a program that reads z files (Called an interpreter) to play this game. Download one here: [link] They have one for just about every platform. I recommend Windows Frotz to windows users; it’s included in the zip file.
3) Click Download on this deviation, and save it to the desktop.
4) After you have installed the interpreter, run it, then select the file on the desktop (or wherever you saved it.)
5) Sit there and wonder why you can’t get ye flask.
Oneword
Thursday, June 25th, 2009oneword.com is a great writing exercise. You get one word and only sixty seconds to write about it.
Here’s some of what I came up with.
VILLAIN
My father was not to be trusted. I reached for the crossword puzzle and he, not putting down his paper, grabbed the salt. In the squares I read the subtle clue that my mother had left. It was almost too late, but I was able to leap catlike out the window before the house fell to the ground.
STICK
I don’t — why — how ?
I don’t want to know how that stick got there.
The stick is ugly and I want it out of my mansion.
No. Get it out of there. Get the butler, the maid, anything! I won’t have a little piece of nature uglying up the foyer.
What do you mean?
Ugh. I don’t care if it’s my son’s fault. Clean it up.
CRAFT
The craft of Yeelfo art is an exciting one. It is passed down from generation to generation. To find it you will have to leave the comfort of America and travel to Obscuristan, where you will be taken on alpaca-back through the mountains and witness this amazing thing for yourself, which not even the NatGeo photographers are lucky enough to report on because it’s so awesome.
VINTAGE
He called the guitar “vintage”, but this was an outright lie. Same thing with the t-shirts several of the concert attendees were wearing. You know the kind with the old 50’s style people saying things like “Sarcasm — just one of the free services I offer”? Har har har. And while we’re on that note, antiques. How the crap do those appraisers know so much about what’s brought to them?
I think there’s a bunch of deception going on when it comes to artifacts of recent history.
SURF
Surfing is tough with a hundred legs.
I had to get a custom board, but it was good because I could get my own cool design on it. It’s of the Terminator.
That friggin’ millipede makes it look so easy. I hate him.
Bumper
Friday, June 5th, 2009A true story, which I wrote for a local contest.
–
“You idiot!” she yells at me. I can’t argue with that.
Our cars blink hazards on the busiest road in Wichita on a wet, gray afternoon. I slink back into my white SUV and dial my dad’s number. Dad always makes sure I have everything I need for all kinds of situations, like when I got stopped for driving with headlights off past ten, or again because a sticker on my license place had the wrong month. That doesn’t keep me from worrying as traffic clogs up behind me. She parks hers nearby and summons the police.
Dad’s voice is calm, and he says he’ll be right there.
In this time I reflect on the circumstances. I was not speeding, but my writing project, lunch, and everyday sights distracted me. When my attention turned back to the road, red lights on a maroon van warned me to floor the brakes just in time, and yet, too late.
This is why I never wanted to learn to drive in the first place. But in that shaken moment, I said to myself, God, there has to be a reason.
The car refuses to start. I get out and take a look at the bumper: nicely mangled. I click some photos of it then get back in and try to start it again. Soon, Dad arrives in his silver car. It’s unsettling to see him act so normal. Fifty hours of stern driving instruction seems to have gone out the window.
The best we can do is to push the car into the central turn lane. Then we formally meet the owner of the van. (Dad handles the conversation.) Her van’s hitch had absorbed most of the impact, leaving a single dent on the back.
A policewoman rolls up and gives us our paperwork, and we duck out of the drizzle and into the pet supply store to fill it out. Dad has to help me through every other item in between phone calls. I bring the paperwork back out to the policewoman, and I notice she has a computer screen for sending typed messages to other police cars, specifically the one monitoring my car. On the screen is: “waiting for this retardo to finish paperwork then I will releave u”.
Afterwards, we rest in the sheltered bus stop. Dad gives me some parting instructions and, for comfort, mentions my sisters’ car incidents. Then he heads back to work.
Twenty minutes later a tow truck rolls up to give me and my car a ride home. During this ride, as the freeway zooms by and as I worry about insurance rates and other things I can’t change, something occurs to me. This was a best-case scenario. Somebody could have gotten hurt or even killed. The windshields could have shattered or the cars’ inner workings could have quit. More cars could have piled up. A million things could have happened, but didn’t. Every future turn of the ignition carries these same risks.
There was a reason for this: God wants to make me a better driver.
And not a retardo.
