{ INKLINGS } A Thread For Writers

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What grabs your attention on a book cover?

I usually look for people on book covers - I like the personal note of them.
33
8%
I like simple covers, with colors or an easy background.
50
12%
I love book covers that have one object on them.
32
8%
I could really care less.
13
3%
Something different - out of the ordinary.
137
34%
I love books that look shiny!
24
6%
So long as the inside description is good, I really couldn't care about the cover.
104
26%
#Idkwhatsgoingonhere
14
3%
 
Total votes : 407

Re: { INKLINGS } A Thread For Writers

Postby Silverhart » Sat Sep 08, 2012 9:18 am

Fanged wrote:I need some advice, please.
Sometimes, when writing, I write too many thoughts, as in the character calculating how the other person will react and that. Any idea how to avoid that?

Advice: Don't. A page of gobbley-gook is worth ten times as much as one concise paragraph. Don't ever tell yourself to do less. Go off on every tangent and idea you have. Explore every path because you can always cut it and back track. But if you try to find that one idea or sentence again you'll never find. So always write as much as you want. You can fix it in editing.

-Simple Sparrow-, I think you need to write more, not less, no matter what your teacher says. There is nothing you can gain from writing less. Imagine if J.K. Rowling had decided to write less!

Maybe your stories have a few too many details, or too many things happening at once that make it jumbled, or it just needs better organization, but those can be fixed in editing. And the only way you're going to get better is if you write and edit more. Even if it is just rambling. Just write all your ideas down and edit out the unimportant parts, and fix up the rambling bits. And Fanfed, since you say your story is too thought-heavy consider having stuff happening while the person is thinking. Even if it's just getting a glass of water. It might help the action better. Instead of writing out the actual thought as in, "Wow that was really funny, Joe thought." you might try having them act out their thoughts: "Joe laughed at Tommy's joke." Or instead of "He felt hungry", you could write "His stomach growled". I'm sure your writing is a lot better then that, but I think you get my point. It's easy to forget using actions instead of words when you're writing a big complicated sequence.
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Re: { INKLINGS } A Thread For Writers

Postby eden . » Sat Sep 08, 2012 9:21 am

-Simple Sparrow- wrote:Oh, it really wasn't that bad, seriously. I just am super picky about the stories I read. I've dissed a few of the utterly most popular, best-written book on earth. I betcha people will heart it, because you really did do a good job, but for me, well, I've seen you write better, and like I mentioned, I am picky. LOL


      psh, guuuuuurl it's okay. don't sweat it.
      honest to god, I probably should've put in more effort, anyway. ><''
      I need to set standards for myself. .-.

      ah, thanks. hopefully I can keep going on that trajectory...XD
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Re: { INKLINGS } A Thread For Writers

Postby crescent + cheep » Sat Sep 08, 2012 9:23 am

Thank you for the advice, Sparrow and Silver, though it was very different in opinion :)
Anyone interested in reading my current story?
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Re: { INKLINGS } A Thread For Writers

Postby eden . » Sat Sep 08, 2012 9:48 am

      kk, advice time!

      this is just a drabble wrote: “His daughter died, you know, when she was only six. Tumor, I heard. Patches of her hair just kept falling out. Disgusting, isn’t it?”

      “I heard his wife was leaving him. Killed the daughter out of spite.”

      “No, you misheard. He killed the wife, not the daughter. Why would he kill the daughter?”

      “Because I’m sure you know all about it, then?”

      “Why can’t I? I even heard the Doctor and the coroner having a row.”

      “What are you all talking about?” a soft voice wheezed a little away. The three nurses jumped and guiltily glanced at each other before clearing their throats, the more outgoing of them saying, “Just gossip, Doctor. Nothing a man should worry about.”

      “I see,” the Doctor wheezed again. His voice was like dust: dry and intangible. One had to strain to catch the words he was saying, and his breath came in short, forced puffs, as if it was a struggle for him to even breathe. He sounded hopeless, defeated, and his shoulders sagged under an invisible weight. The Doctor was perpetually stooped over, a hump beginning to form in his back, his head jutting out with a clear overbite. Whiskery, uneven and disheveled hairs sprouted from his chin and jaw in such a way that it looked as if he had shaved half and left the other to grow how it wished: wildly. His eyes were hooded, downturned, and lifeless. They were a pair of flat black stones full of self-loathing, but for what no one could be sure. The Doctor’s hands were gnarled and awry, clearly being taken over by the first few signs of arthritis, but anyone who knew him would also know that he could handle the most delicate instrument with such fine precision that it was like he was channeling another man—a man that was careful. A man that actually gave a damn.

      “Come,” he huffed with great effort. “We have work to do.” Without giving a second glance, the Doctor turned and began to shuffle away, his hands hanging limply in front of him as if he were the walking dead, his feet dragging and the scuffing of his soles against the floor echoing through the cold and empty hall. Exchanging an uncomfortable look, the three nurses trailed after him, making sure to stay a few feet behind him, their shoes clicking thunderously with each step. None of them could help but cringe at least once at the sounds.
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YOU CAN FOLLOW US TO PARADISE
JUST STAY AWAKE. STAY AWAKE.


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Re: { INKLINGS } A Thread For Writers

Postby deer;; » Sat Sep 08, 2012 9:50 am

an asian to the knee wrote:
      kk, advice time!

      this is just a drabble wrote: “His daughter died, you know, when she was only six. Tumor, I heard. Patches of her hair just kept falling out. Disgusting, isn’t it?”

      “I heard his wife was leaving him. Killed the daughter out of spite.”

      “No, you misheard. He killed the wife, not the daughter. Why would he kill the daughter?”

      “Because I’m sure you know all about it, then?”

      “Why can’t I? I even heard the Doctor and the coroner having a row.”

      “What are you all talking about?” a soft voice wheezed a little away. The three nurses jumped and guiltily glanced at each other before clearing their throats, the more outgoing of them saying, “Just gossip, Doctor. Nothing a man should worry about.”

      “I see,” the Doctor wheezed again. His voice was like dust: dry and intangible. One had to strain to catch the words he was saying, and his breath came in short, forced puffs, as if it was a struggle for him to even breathe. He sounded hopeless, defeated, and his shoulders sagged under an invisible weight. The Doctor was perpetually stooped over, a hump beginning to form in his back, his head jutting out with a clear overbite. Whiskery, uneven and disheveled hairs sprouted from his chin and jaw in such a way that it looked as if he had shaved half and left the other to grow how it wished: wildly. His eyes were hooded, downturned, and lifeless. They were a pair of flat black stones full of self-loathing, but for what no one could be sure. The Doctor’s hands were gnarled and awry, clearly being taken over by the first few signs of arthritis, but anyone who knew him would also know that he could handle the most delicate instrument with such fine precision that it was like he was channeling another man—a man that was careful. A man that actually gave a damn.

      “Come,” he huffed with great effort. “We have work to do.” Without giving a second glance, the Doctor turned and began to shuffle away, his hands hanging limply in front of him as if he were the walking dead, his feet dragging and the scuffing of his soles against the floor echoing through the cold and empty hall. Exchanging an uncomfortable look, the three nurses trailed after him, making sure to stay a few feet behind him, their shoes clicking thunderously with each step. None of them could help but cringe at least once at the sounds.

    I like it. c:

    But see, with my writing, I don`t actually start a new line when someone talks. :'P

    Any advice for the first part of my story?

    The dragon stood on all fours, it`s glistening green scales flat on it`s back. The dragon opened it`s eyes the second the girl entered the forest. Bree, it called out with it`s thoughts. The dragon moved, it`s scales rubbing against each other as the rusty dragon moved off it`s perch in the center of the forest. The green scales blended into the forest, making it easy for the dragon to hide. He, for the dragon was male, spread his massive wings and took a step back lifting up his front legs in a rear. He jumped, flapping his wings, straining to keep up. He wasn`t used to flying, he had sat on that rock for years on end, looking for the one girl that would change the world.

    Bree entered the forest, bow at the ready. She looked around, watching for any sign of movement. Bree had gotten only so far into the forest when she heard something inside her head, something saying Bree. She looked around, already frightened. Breed had never been inside this forest before, she knew this forest was darker and more denser, but the rewards were great for those who hunted here.
CS will never forget kurloz, you were a hero,
you were the best deer ever, you know that bby?


(banned for multi-accounting to troll the forum "To: Khal-H'rath okay, i`ll go on an alt acc and start yelling?" "To: Khal-H'rath okay~ i have six, maybe seven?, alt acc from previous trollings.")
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Re: { INKLINGS } A Thread For Writers

Postby crescent + cheep » Sat Sep 08, 2012 9:54 am

an asian to the knee wrote:
      kk, advice time!

      this is just a drabble wrote: “His daughter died, you know, when she was only six. Tumor, I heard. Patches of her hair just kept falling out. Disgusting, isn’t it?”

      “I heard his wife was leaving him. Killed the daughter out of spite.”

      “No, you misheard. He killed the wife, not the daughter. Why would he kill the daughter?”

      “Because I’m sure you know all about it, then?”

      “Why can’t I? I even heard the Doctor and the coroner having a row.”

      “What are you all talking about?” a soft voice wheezed a little away. The three nurses jumped and guiltily glanced at each other before clearing their throats, the more outgoing of them saying, “Just gossip, Doctor. Nothing a man should worry about.”

      “I see,” the Doctor wheezed again. His voice was like dust: dry and intangible. One had to strain to catch the words he was saying, and his breath came in short, forced puffs, as if it was a struggle for him to even breathe. He sounded hopeless, defeated, and his shoulders sagged under an invisible weight. The Doctor was perpetually stooped over, a hump beginning to form in his back, his head jutting out with a clear overbite. Whiskery, uneven and disheveled hairs sprouted from his chin and jaw in such a way that it looked as if he had shaved half and left the other to grow how it wished: wildly. His eyes were hooded, downturned, and lifeless. They were a pair of flat black stones full of self-loathing, but for what no one could be sure. The Doctor’s hands were gnarled and awry, clearly being taken over by the first few signs of arthritis, but anyone who knew him would also know that he could handle the most delicate instrument with such fine precision that it was like he was channeling another man—a man that was careful. A man that actually gave a damn.

      “Come,” he huffed with great effort. “We have work to do.” Without giving a second glance, the Doctor turned and began to shuffle away, his hands hanging limply in front of him as if he were the walking dead, his feet dragging and the scuffing of his soles against the floor echoing through the cold and empty hall. Exchanging an uncomfortable look, the three nurses trailed after him, making sure to stay a few feet behind him, their shoes clicking thunderously with each step. None of them could help but cringe at least once at the sounds.


Hm, a bit confusing really, but it does set the atmosfere. It could so somewhere :)

//Calestii

Hm, its a bit... boring.
I don't know, missing the atmosfere to actually make you feel the sensation bree is having :/
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Re: { INKLINGS } A Thread For Writers

Postby eden . » Sat Sep 08, 2012 9:55 am

      thanks, guys.
      haha, fanged, it's meant to be a little disorienting. I kind of throw you into that, don't I? cx
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YOU CAN FOLLOW US TO PARADISE
JUST STAY AWAKE. STAY AWAKE.


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Re: { INKLINGS } A Thread For Writers

Postby team free kick sass » Sat Sep 08, 2012 9:57 am

Silverhart wrote:
Fanged wrote:I need some advice, please.
Sometimes, when writing, I write too many thoughts, as in the character calculating how the other person will react and that. Any idea how to avoid that?



-Simple Sparrow-, I think you need to write more, not less, no matter what your teacher says. There is nothing you can gain from writing less. Imagine if J.K. Rowling had decided to write less!



But honestly, I agree. I don't mean cutting out everything, but not just writing about off-topic stuff. Which really isn't what Fang was having troubles with, but I guess my problem was quasi-related. I guess.

J.K. Rowling didn't go on about everything, she was short and too the point in Harry Potter. [good] but to get enough text to fill a book, she just had many ideas. That was really her key to success.
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Re: { INKLINGS } A Thread For Writers

Postby deer;; » Sat Sep 08, 2012 9:59 am

    Thanks Fanged. I`m trying to add some things now, this a bit better?

    Bree entered the forest cautiously, bow at the ready. She looked around, watching for any sign of movement that could lead to potential disasters. She started walking, looking around at the large, dark trees. Bree had gotten only so far into the forest when she heard something inside her head, something saying Bree. She looked around, already frightened. She shivered. Was someone following her? Watching her every movement? Was a sorcerer trying to get inside of her head. To take control. She crouched down carefully, looking around before looking at the animal tracks that lay by her feet, made by a herd of deers. Bree had never been inside this forest before, she knew this forest was darker and more denser, but the rewards were great for those who hunted here. Plump animals roamed here, and berries were always ripe, ready for picking.
CS will never forget kurloz, you were a hero,
you were the best deer ever, you know that bby?


(banned for multi-accounting to troll the forum "To: Khal-H'rath okay, i`ll go on an alt acc and start yelling?" "To: Khal-H'rath okay~ i have six, maybe seven?, alt acc from previous trollings.")
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Re: { INKLINGS } A Thread For Writers

Postby eden . » Sat Sep 08, 2012 10:01 am

      @calestti: hm, I noticed that you used "The dragon" and "Bree" and "forest" a lot. It's also kind of a bad thing to say "it" and "it's" a lot, but maybe some variation in diction? that really spices up your writing. =3=
      also, the phrases "...step back lifting his front legs in a rear" and "...straining to keep up" didn't make sense to me. the first flat out didn't make any sense and the second was just because I wasn't sure why you used that particular wording. he's not really keeping up with anything or anyone. I understood that he was straining to keep in the air, though.
      also, I feel like "...for the dragon was male..." isn't really necessary and kind of interrupts the flow of the sentence.
      all in all, I personally wouldn't be too interested in a story like this...I've seen similar ones. however, I'm rather picky about what books I read nowadays, so...

      edit; crap, ninja'd. okay, well, "was a sorcerer..." should have a "?", as well as "to take control". also, I don't understand how she went from worrying about how her mind was about to be taken control of to studying animal tracks. personally, I would've found the former trumping the need for some deer at that moment.
      can't do a thorough thing right now. I have to get going. XC
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YOU CAN FOLLOW US TO PARADISE
JUST STAY AWAKE. STAY AWAKE.


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