Writers? Ready, Set, GO!

Pay or Passion?

  • I am a professional, I often get paid for my work which is often published.

    Votes: 0 0.0%
  • Nope, I write for the joy of it.

    Votes: 0 0.0%
  • Grocat...make love to me!

    Votes: 0 0.0%

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    0
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Grocat

Sergeant Knight
Hey all of you amateur and/or professional writers out there. Do what you love! Write a short piece of fiction. I like em' funny, but hey, it's your choice to write whatever you feel. Please don't submit anything too long. No one will bother to read it.

-Grocat the Incestuous Shakespearean Uncle
 
That son-of-a-***** made a mighty fine quilt. Now, you might be thinking, “Impossible, I make the finest quilt in town, just ask Aunt Bessy”, and you’d be justified to think that, but only because you ain’t seen this new kid work a quilt. His names Doug. He claims he’s from Iowa, but I know an Iowan when I see one, and I know that he ain’t no Iowan. I reckon he’s probably from South Dakota, they got a pretty distinctive smell, kinda pretty, but also kind of dumb. Now, don’t get to thinking I’m an authority on state sniffing, I ain’t sayin no such thing. Admittedly, I never smelled the kid, but he looked like he was giving off that kinda odor.
Anyhow, I reckon yall should come on down yonder to the pa-pa patch and check this youngster out. Might even get to see us some quilting. I gotta warn you first though. He’s allergic to photography, so don’t go bringing no cameras thereabouts. He also has to stay in a glass cage with a special breathing and feeding apparatus lest he be exposed to wind. And we don’t want that! He’d, just as easy as beating up Joe Henry’s seven year old daughter, disintegrate right on the spot. Nah, it don’t got nothing to do with politics, what it means is that he’d turn into little dust mites. Scoff at me now, but I done see it happen to Sally Sue’s old heifer not but a week ago, while I was fishing in the creek. Oh, you had her butchered? Well, damn, what’d you go get that done for? Weren’t no milk? Well…hell woman, oughta warn a man before letting him get to thinking that he seen it evaporate before his very eyes. Huh? Means the same thing as disintegrate. C’mon, the only one of us that don’t got at least a Ph.D. is old Ben, the town drunk, and he ain’t even here! Er…means you’re educated. I don’t know what it stands for, that’s just what the doc. calls it when he’s talking about his credentials. Yes, you are; you graduated middle school with me! You can’t go telling people you ain’t been educated.
Seriously now, any wind touch that boy and he’s as good as gone. Now don’t get into yo’ mind to be offing the competition! I seen that glint in your eye, Betty Jane! We all know you rigged the county fair pie contest. Ah, come off it, we all know you only won cause the other competitors was dead. I ain’t sayin you killed em’, just sayin’ old Misses Carter made a mean Upside-down Rum cake that woulda gotten first place if she hadn’t stolen your gun and used up two whole rounds on her back. Stop interrupting me!
Where was I? That wasn’t even funny Mr. Mueller, I suggest you take that back. Or else what? Or else we have an old fashioned wrastling match right here and now! That’s right you’ll take it back. You owe me one of them Hershey’s Bars too!
Damn it! What was I talking to you about? Nah, yall already met Doug hadn’t you? Really? Alright then. Er…ahem…Doug also excepts donations to help him deal with his debilitating illness. No, you can’t buy his quilts! How the hell would he be able to sell you a quilt, he’s in damn fish tank, boy! Well, I guess he just lets them build up until he can get to one of them special laboratories. I don’t know, no more questions.
I guess we better get to movin’ if we’re gonna get to see him before supper. Yes, I already told you he eats, and no, you ain’t feedin’ him, Betty Jane! Yeah, he can talk, but don’t embarrass the boy, he lives in fish tank for Christ’s sake!

-Grocat the Pathological Love Machine
 
hmmm,,,, i could write a 100 word story, i mean i;ll have to do one for english sometime this year, pay's to get ahead.
 
Grocat...make love to me!
:shock:

I had to resort to this catagory because there was no "I don't write professionally now, but maybe one day..." :razz:

Hmm. Maybe i'll put some stuff up some time.
 
*Start vain rant*

I write for my own personal joy :grin:

4 books right now, in progress...And maybe oneday for the sake of famous-ness I might just publish them or something...Maybe...turn them into movies aswell...Hmmmmm...

http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/24939096/

http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/24939155/

http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/28986986/

^ Only chapters uploaded so far of 'The Wormhole'

Yooouuuuu guessed it, it's about a wormhole.
Too long/big to post here, so, yeas.

Sci-fi-fantasy...o_o Enjoy, I suppose.
(Ps chapter three is the best XD)

*End vain rant*
 
Here's an excerpt of something I wrote about 6 months ago.

The inquisitor stalked broodingly through the muddy streets (or street) of Sodom-on-the-Wold. Or at least, he tried to stalk. He really wasn't built for it. Brother Francis felt instinctively that an inquisitor should appear as a powerful agent of God's justice on this earth, tall and thin and forbidding and clothéd all in black. It was unfortunate, therefore, that Brother Francis was a mere five feet tall and would only be called 'thin' when he was lying in his grave - even then, it was a long shot, as he insisted he was 'big boned'. As for forbidding, the good friar had a face more suitable for an innkeeper or possibly a white-bearded personification of Yuletide gift-giving.

At least he had the black robe right. Well, it was black at a sort of basic, proto-robe level; four years of traipsing around in mud and other unmentionable substances had left it a lovely shade of Evening Manure (available from all good DIY shops).

So maybe our statement requires revision.

The inquisitor waddled amiably through the muddy street of Sodom-on-the-Wold. He day-dreamed of a parish where there was some serious heresy for him to root out - he was convinced that deep down inside he had reserves of righteous anger to make the Blessed Dominic himself cower in pious fear.

The only thing he lacked was someone to try them out on - despite his well-intentioned attempts, the Gnostic heresy had never taken hold in Sodom. The inhabitants weren't overly religious, but they weren't going to have any of this namby-pamby 'God is everything therefore everything is good' stuff. What little religious inclination they had was to the fiery, brimstone-and-damnation stuff that Brother Francis could deal out in spades in his open-air sermons every Sunday - he'd hoped that maybe there would be some rebelliousness as a result of this for him to deal with, but no luck. God must be punishing me, he thought.
 
Here's the story I promised. Enjoy.

This is the story of our lives. Compared to some creatures on this planet we live short lives, we fill them with repetitive tasks serving a greater power than ourselves. Everyone in our society lives in the same construct, what it looks like isn't important, it's home. Everyone in our society has their own job, promotion is based on age, the youngest of us clean the construct, as we age we get more responsibilities we have to work all of our lives, to keep society together and flowing. Our jobs are extremely tedious and repetitive, work sleep, sleep work we have no time so socialize. Some day I will become one of the security force, keeping the entrance safe from unwanted visitors, but for now, I have one of the more enjoyable jobs, I'm one of the harvesters, this job needs no explanation. I harvest, simple as that, society needs food, it's our job to provide. Society needs regulation, it needs an order. Thankfully our society has an order, it has a flow. We would kill and die to protect our order. Even with all our security measures the wars continue, we are the weaker force. They distract the guards with smoke, most of us are scared of fire, we think that they are burning our stores, we try to attack but our strength diminishes with each wave of attack, finally they invade our stores. And we are forced to restart our lives. Force to rebuild society. Until the next war, generations later.

A cookie to the person who guesses the creature I am talking of.
 
Mechstra- I like...Just wondering, who would you say your influences are? Your style reminds me of Terry Prachet and Douglas Adams.

Busses- Bees? Or is this really a social commentary about mankind. How our society is slowly regressing into a hive-like state where individualism and basic liberties are removed for the good of the whole?

-Grocat the Herculean Loud Puppy
 
This isn't by me, it's by the person who sit's next to me in IT and he wrote it when he gor bored one lesson:

This graph shows that its mainly boys who don’t do activities. Once in a blue moon the astronomical adventures of the philosophical matters are analysed separately depending on the instrumental metamorphic rock syndrome. But I don’t think its appropriate. In the Elizabethan times only geographical products were analysed mnemonically according to the independent structure in the atomic philosophers stone. Many scientists believed that only twelve thousand anthropological chickens were forced to deliberate the sections in which they segmented. But research has shown that all of the scientists were digested through to the underworld in which several napoleons were slaughtered many years ago. Just after the Germans reflect ionised into their colonial matters, the homosapianists started a war with the pedestrians for the ownership of willy wonka’s chocolate factory. Several oompa loompas were disappointed in this decision as they were just starting to adapt to the revolution of this world. However the sectionisationers were still intact with sixty nine percent of the worlds population of women giving birth to triplets at the tender age of seventy four and over. But the equivalent pensioners were all signing up to join the military in japan. The phsycolololopathological matters were very happy. With the improvements to the improvisation in the music industry, only time will tell if the configuration is set at the approximate time , this will enable all the jews to initiate their original plans of world domination. A lot of commotion was caused at this matter, many fled to other countries in fear that the disease would spread to the undergrowth of the protagonists. In the sacrificial command that devastated the land filter, chloroplasts were demanding an uproar due to their undercut stockings.
 
Grocat said:
Mechstra- I like...Just wondering, who would you say your influences are? Your style reminds me of Terry Prachet and Douglas Adams.
Pratchett's a big influence of mine, certainly, but I wouldn't say that Adams is, particularly. I enjoy his writing but it's not a reference point for my own.

If I'm doing more serious writing, anything from Bernard Cornwell to Dickens can be an influence.

Also, I think Busses is talking about ants.
 
Well, sadly the creatures were bees, not a social statement. But a great observation Grocat.
 
Why should i post here something i wrote? Nobody here knows who i really are and so i wont get AnythinG out of it... :razz:

Oh and if someone does know... you are great and surely will succed in life and whatever and feel free to call me, i probably wont talk with you though. :wink:
 
I did write a 3-4 page story for english coursework last year. I'd post it, but I can't be arsed to go through it and improve the grammar.
 
I wanted to answer something fancy, but the dude who make the fancy answers for me is currently on vacation. :sad:

But my buttler came up with this : I dont know you nor what important you did. So i dont know if i should give a damn about your criticism.
Thats from me :
Also i would get more $$$ if i wont waste time to write something here, where i dont get $$$ for it, nor experts who can improve the crap to make more $$$.
Though i dont know what the hell i should do with even more $$$... so probably i wont write anything at all. But eat more.
 
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