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PostPosted: June 10th, 2006, 3:11 am 
Balrog
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You have more time to write after contest starts.

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PostPosted: June 10th, 2006, 1:49 pm 
Dunadan
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Sorry, but I can't seem to follow this discussion. What contest are we talking about entering?? Could someone explain, please??

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PostPosted: June 10th, 2006, 1:53 pm 
Balrog
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I am gonna do a contest about writing any story about anything. By June 17, I will open it and you can join afterwards if you want to.

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PostPosted: June 12th, 2006, 11:54 pm 
Ent
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My story about how I became a writer:

When I started writing about three years ago, I wrote for people who were my friends. I fought the urge and creativity to write until I wrote "Beyond the night sky" then after that I got on roll and couldn't for a few months. I when I started writing "The Hooded Archer" I really relazied where my gift was and I made oath to God and to myself that would not write anything Obscene or digusting or demeaning to God. I ever since then I never have, it's been a long, hard fight, but it is well worth it. I'm contining to write. If you make a comment about my writing, I will be mad. I had two icdents where one person mad a comment about my writing, two days after she makes a statment about my writing, I fled as fast I could even though she made me as mad as a bull.
I still writing to this day.

Thats my story. I'll let someone else share theirs.

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PostPosted: June 13th, 2006, 12:03 am 
Half-elf
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lol ^nice story. my story is long and my fingers hurt from writing all day, so i won't share right now.

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PostPosted: June 13th, 2006, 6:06 pm 
Vala
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My story? I don't really have any. I just write when I feel it,, when I have a lot of ideas and I want to get them down on paper. I really like writing parodies on the life storys of some of my friends. I did a really good one about my friends and I called "Lordess of the Flies" It all stemmed from a lunchtime conversation about how we (meaning my friends and I) would react if we were stranded on a desert island, just like the boys in "Lord of the Flies" It was pretty funny. We even met Johnny Depp, dressed as Caiptain Jack Sparrow. I am very open to constructive critism, mostly because I know my writing style needs refinement. I also tend to go comma crazy. After the semi-colon, the comma is my favorite puncuation. I don't know why I like semi-colons so much. I have been using them a lot lately.


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PostPosted: June 13th, 2006, 6:51 pm 
Elf
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Hmm... my story...

Well, a friend of mine is really into writing (more poetry than anything though) and she was telling me about this really long story she was writing that she wanted to get published someday, and I got to thinking about how I should finish a story I had started years ago. It sorta, well, died, 'cos I was really bad back then, but I'm happy to say that I've improved.

and here's a story I just started writing! woo!

It had been three months since Emily died. Will hadn’t blamed her, or the driver of the mini van. The roads had been icy, and the snow was coming down so hard and fast that no one could have seen her coming. Will didn’t blame anyone, because there was no one to blame. He told people he was fine. He was doing all right, he didn’t need anything, he would move on. In time, he would heal. Will Brighton had never lied so much in his whole life. He still woke up, going over it all in his mind (was that normal? Probably.). The day that Sheriff Ed Ketchum had come bearing such bad news.

I could have stopped it. I could have called her, and saved her. he would think to himself.

Ah, but you didn’t did you? You just shrugged it off. It’s your fault. something in his mind told him.

No, no, it’s not my fault! he would tell it.

Oh, but it is Will. You could have told her. You could have called her and stopped her. But no, no you didn’t. You’re a murderer Will.

I’m not a murderer! I didn’t kill her!

Maybe not. But you as good as. You knew the storm was coming, and you could have called and told her to stay in Walker’s Town.

He had had this argument with himself nearly every night since Emily had died. The first night, he had thrown the glass ball with the orchid in it that Emily kept on her desk across the room, breaking through the pale green wallpaper. It had been three months since the day that Ed had come to the door. He and a pale, shaken looking young man had come to tell him that Emily was dead. The young man, Chris Matthews, had of course apologized over and over, but Will hadn’t needed it. He didn’t blame Matthews, then or now (though, he reasoned, it might be nice to have someone to blame). He had hit Emily head on. He had never seen her coming in the old VW Bug she used to drive. Will had told himself to move on, to stop moping around their-… his house, but it hadn’t worked. He knew that he had to just keep living. He had to get up and breathe in the morning, or else he’d waste away. But he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t live in the house anymore. Everywhere he looked, he saw Emily. From the cinnamon scented candles on the mantle, to the collie puppy he had bought for Emily for Christmas, to the pale green wallpaper that coated the bedroom and bathrooms. She was everywhere. Will was almost sad to leave. He and Emily had finally moved into their dream home only two months before… before the accident. A fresh coat of paint still gleaming on the walls, Will had sold the house. After a week of living in their tiny vacation cabin in the Colorado Rockies, he saw it. It was perfect. Not only beautiful, but the perfect price for his current budget. Nestled into the trees, well away from the main road, was the house. A wide, open porch, brown panelling, red trim, green shingles, and blue shutters on every window. Sure, it was bit much for a single man, but he fell in love with it. He fell in love just by looking at the exterior. Besides. It looked just like the house in the book he was writing. The book he was writing for Emily.
~~
Emily Williams was insatiable when it came to murder mysteries. Ever since reading ‘Secret Window, Secret Garden’ by Stephen King, she was hooked. She could be found roving bookstores and yard sales in her constant search for new material. Then William Brighton came to the surface, she wasn’t simply a fan. She was obsessive. Every time Will Brighton came out with a new book, she was at the bookstore, hours before it opened; to be sure she was the first in Waynesboro to get the new copy. She owned all his books, first editions, second editions, hard cover and paperback, and some even in different languages. So when she literally bumped into him coming out of the Waynesboro bookstore, a brand new copy of one of his books in hand, she was very excited indeed.
~
“Hey! Watch it buddy!” said Emily Williams angrily as a stranger bumped into her.
“Oh, I’m sorry miss…” she heard the man mutter, stooping to pick up the fallen book and retrieve the fluttering jacket. “The Aspen Grove. Not one of my best, or one of my favourites.” said Will, handing the book back along with one of his trademark grins.
“Owhuh?” the sound escaped before she could do anything to stop it. “Y-you’re not- you mean you’re? You… you’re William- you can’t be William Brighton!” she managed to stutter. Will grinned and laughed.
“Well, last time I checked, I was. It says so in my wallet, and it’s never lied to me before.” Emily couldn’t help but laugh at this. It came out high-pitched and little girlish. She felt rather light-headed and giddy. The way she used to get around boys. How long had it been since she felt like that? 6 years? 5 years? But, looking at the face of her favorite author in real life (was it real? She pinched herself on hard on the arm. Ouch! Yeah, it was real.), it was easy to tell why. He was taller than her by about 5 inches. She looked up into his chocolate brown eyes with a kind of wonder. His hair was in need of a trim, his face in need of a shave, and she could smell cigarettes on him, but, despite all that, he was the handsomest man she had ever seen.
“So you’ll want a signature then?” he said with a wink, pulling a red fine tip Sharpie.
“Um… yeah…” said Emily, rather shocked by her good fortune.
“Well, I’ll need your name.” Will grinned as he took the book, his pen ready.
“Oh- Emily. Emily Williams.”

“For Emily,
If you liked this book, you’ll love my new one.
Yours,
Will Brighton” he said as he scribbled on the title page.
“Thank you.” said Emily rather breathlessly. “Um, why do you not like The Aspen Grove?”
“Because I know I can do better.” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I hadn’t written anything in a while, so my agent made me write something. The critics hated it, most of the fans disliked, it and I wasn’t its biggest fan, honestly.”
“I liked it.” said Emily simply.
“That brings the tally up to a grand total of three. You, my agent, and my mother.” said Will with a laugh. “Hey, listen; could I buy you a coffee or something?”
~
And so Will and Emily met. 2 years later, they were married. Will and Emily were more than husband and wife. They were best friends. Will was especially glad for having her around when writer’s block reared its ugly head. She was (in Will’s eyes) much smarter than he was. So when she died, 13 years after they were married, it was a blow to Will both emotionally and for his career. Will felt as though someone had ripped out his heart and fed it to him. It was hard for him to accept, that was for sure. The house felt strange for Will after Ed Ketchum told him the news. It was empty, yet strangely full. It was full of Emily, and full of memories. The memories, no matter how happy, brought tears to his eyes and sadness to his heart. Within a month, Will had packed and moved into the tiny vacation home in the Colorado Rockies.
~~
Will lay on the bed, staring up into the rafters of the vacation home. He could no more sleep here than he could in the Waynesboro house. Had he really expected it to be better? He knew now, oh, did he ever know now, that he couldn’t escape her. He supposed he had always known that, though. The vacation home was as bad as the Waynesboro house. He remembered buying it with her, decoration it with her, spending fishing trips and camping trips and God knows what else with her there. He could see her everywhere he looked. The paint, the bed, the deer head on the wall, the 4 foot bass that hung next to the deer, God, she was everywhere. He was tired, desprately tired, and wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and never wake up again. But he knew it wouldn’t happen. Also, he was angry, pointlessly, incredibally angry. He was angry at Chris Matthews for killing her. He was mad at Ed Ketchum for being the bearer of the news. He was mad, God was he mad, at himself, above all. Because he knew, or part of him knew, that he could have saved her, could have stopped it. Another part told him to stop worrying about the ‘could’ve dones’ and the ‘should’ve dones’, but the other part, the larger part, just couldn’t do that. And so the arguing started again.

Why don’t you just admit it Will? You killed her. You know this. the voice told him.

The Hell I did! I’m not a murderer! he told it.

But you are. You had the chance to stop her, you had the chance to call and tell her. But you didn’t. And now look at where you are. Murderer.

I’m not a murderer! I’ve never killed anyone!

You’re a murderer, and you know it. Face facts Willy.

Leave me alone!

Oh, but you are alone. and then silence. After several minutes, the voice spoke again.

You’re a murderer, and you killed your wife.

“I am not a murderer!” he yelled to no one. He found himself on his feet, his fingernails biting into the palms of his hands. Sitting down again, he put his face into his hands and cried.

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PostPosted: June 14th, 2006, 2:25 pm 
Vala
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Ohhhhh...........that's really good. You have a great writing style. I really like the joke about his wallet. Very funny. And his sudden break down! I feel so sorry for him! A little tear came to my eye!

You know, now I'm going to want to know what happens, and how he knew the strom was coming, and all that stuff.


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PostPosted: June 14th, 2006, 7:49 pm 
Istari
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Can I join?? I love to write and I hope to be an author or journalist someday. I'm surprised I haven't seen this club before...

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PostPosted: June 14th, 2006, 8:16 pm 
Elf
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Of course! Welcome!

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PostPosted: June 14th, 2006, 10:51 pm 
Maia
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That's a great story, Captain Jack! I love the writing style, and how you use flashbacks.


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PostPosted: June 15th, 2006, 12:31 am 
Ent
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All I can say is: :jawdrop: :-o

That is an amazing story. I love how everything is in order, and flashbacks put you in the moment.

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PostPosted: June 15th, 2006, 8:55 am 
Dunadan
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SAW wrote:
I am gonna do a contest about writing any story about anything. By June 17, I will open it and you can join afterwards if you want to.


Sounds cool, I'll join!

As for sharing my story ... what kind of one do you want and how long shall it be? I have basically anything from 1 page to 20.

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PostPosted: June 15th, 2006, 9:07 am 
Balrog
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Actually I did not think about the rules since I concentrate on my exams. However, I can say that only thing I thought of the time limit. The time limit will be about 3 weeks or a month something. You know the plot is free as long as it is explained in a logical way. You have to make me believe. Anyway, I do not have a clue about how the contest starts and what will be the rules. I guess I will make up on the day(when is June 17 or 18) I opened the contest. You better think of the plot from now on. And thanks for the people who showed their concern to the contest. That encouraged me.

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PostPosted: June 15th, 2006, 11:20 am 
Vala
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Hee hee! I have a great story! It makes me all bubbly inside. I can't wait for the contest. It will be hard, competing against you all. I'm sure that there are quite a few pwople whoe are better than me. But has that ever stopped me? Well, yes, on a few occasions, but it won't stop me now! Muahaha!


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PostPosted: June 15th, 2006, 5:51 pm 
Maia
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I might join the contest if I have enough time to write something. I'll be gone from the 18th to the 24th, but if I think I could get something done, I'll probably join!


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