Project #5

First off, I would like to welcome DAN!! I also have a project for us.

-------------------
Project 5:
First: You must submit a poem that tells a story. You MAY NOT use Poe, that's cheating. Dig deep, find something interesting that we may not have heard of before.

Second: Write a poetic story inspired by the one you post, and post it as well. No word limit, you don't have to rhyme every line, have fun.....and........GO!

Erik's late Haikus

Drinking and Haiku
Creates logistical problem
The second line? Eight!

Football is soothing
Watching other people run
Then it ends- sadness

Work is essential
Just a portion of your life
Shouldn't ruin free time

My time is money
Yet I am a salary
My time is mine now

Technology works
Makes life faster and quicker
More time is mine now

Blogging can be hard
And dial-up is only worse
Haiku with interest

Re-Writer Animadversion - Gabe Haikuzes!

this is just a start
from here things just get deeper
like Alice you know

brushing snow off ice
scratching at the surface now
all I see is white

white gives way to dark
deep and foreboding the thoughts
pensive I wait still

still for the presence
of the one who is holy
giving light to all

Steve's Haiku

She is in my head
I see her everywhere
Yet I don't see her

Need to make it stop
It is driving me crazy
Why can't I see her

The girl of my dreams
Her face has eluded me
I want to see her

If I try to see
My vision becomes blurry
I'll never see her

Giles' Haikus

I do hate Haiku
What a big waste of my time
Who's bad idea

Why must I do four
Gabe is getting really bored
Must have lost his mind

Pointless excersize
Trying to expand my style
I'm getting quite tired

Final one is here
Enjoy my writing attempt
Great! I am done now!

-----------------

Heh, that was fun:-)

My [extended] Haikus

I stand here, disturbed
By the things in front of me
Too many lie dead

Battle makes no oaths
No promises, guarantees
It gives you a chance

Whether man or beast
Each of us shall meet his end
And find salvation

Why is it each time
That I am victorious
Covered in their blood

It's wrong to want death
But is wanting mercy wrong
Am I to be damned

I face them again
And I stand alone, alive
All 'round me, silence

How long will this last
Tormenting me, forever
Will this ever end

When killing is all
Life loses all the meaning
Becomes death, itself

Sorry, I got going and just couldn't stop until I had some kind of pseudo-resolution. The character is a bit scary. I blame Giles because ever since the shoehorned "I am immortal" in his story I've been having all these weird anti-hero thoughts.

Late Again! Crap!

Ok, last week went well, good submissions methinks. This week is another simple one.
----------
Project 4: Haiku to You!

Ok, four standard, American haiku that relate to each other somehow. Remember the rules of American Haiku are 3 lines with 5, 7, and 5 syllables respectively.

Akire's Journal - side project for Erik

Ok… This is going to be rough because it’s pure concept and it’s not going to actually be written until I get a little further in my story. The idea is actually inspired by Gabe’s Flatiron Jack; A separate blog that advances the main story. What I hope to do is actually have two of them going for the two main characters. The rough part may be when I decide to change who the main characters are. Take for instance this first entry, Akire is devious… how long will she last? I aint sayin’. I wouldn’t update them that often, probably every 4-5 posts or so… about one ‘day’ in the story. They’d be journals for the protagonists. Like I said, this is as rough a draft as it can get because developments in the story will influence it. It will be a nice escape for me… get in the character’s heads. Help me understand them better. It will also be a complete change of writing style – third person to first… and I won’t be as obsessed with painting a picture with my words. (Note: I’ve passed my 110 word minimum… so I’m not sure how much effort I’ll put into this now :-D)

Akire’s Journal entry –

Journey day 45.

My attempts to track my target down have been much harder than anticipated. I assume that’s why the idea of a mobile business and home was so attractive to him. My plans were almost foiled by those drunken idiots tonight. Someday I’ll have to go back and clean up that stupid death letter that’s out on me. Dead men can’t pay warrants. Despite the fact that these men recognized me, I was taken in to my target’s own lair, and now I am excrutiatingly close to finishing what I set out to do. I’ll have to pick my time carefully though, because it would only be worse to have another death letter out for me. I’m slowly working towards completing all my goals, and I do hope to find a home someday. Can’t do that if I leave too long of a crimson trail in my wake. I’m playing fairly innocent for now, so I have to head off to bed… I can’t sleep… Haven’t in days… but playing the beautiful-weary-traveler can only help my goals.

Ok… so I’m not overly happy with what I’ve written, so it’ll probably be entirely different when I do write it.

And why would someone like Akire keep a journal that could condemn her? Writer’s convenience.

Gabe is thinking too hard.

Pathetica Poetica
- Gabe Thexton

Rhyming all the time can be a boring game,
Line after line all sounding the same,
Feeling like your words are getting lame,
Like your poems are flowers tame,
Writing so bad you'd change your name.

Pen and paper, keys and screen,
Thought you had rhyme and rhythym mean,
Something rare something unseen,
To make 'em go 'Wow, that's keen',
When all you did was split their spleen.

Letters and words to stanzic disaster,
Hung up the hat, you're not the master,
Shamed by wit thicker and lips much faster,
Left you hanging like drywall plaster,
Finding that nothing else rhymes with the last word.

Gave up on poems and moved on to prose,
And don't really care if the whole world knows,
Writing for papers and speaking at shows,
Still find yourself staring at your Frodo toes,
Wondering how you got so deep in word woes.

Take back up your pen and pad,
Write not caring if it's good or bad,
Like some PhD or Oxford grad,
Knowing that it makes you glad,
Knowing that it's not half bad.

My answer to this week's assignment

Ok, so a few months ago, this movie about two famous brothers who wrote stories about the adventures they had in Europe inspired me to write. This is what I came up with....or to be more acurate, what I've polished it into. I want to do something with this eventually, but it may be a while.

-------------------------

An early night, I guess. Sun's just barely setting, but I think I'll turn in. How did I get here anyway? Oh! That's right; it all started six years ago, on a warm, starlit night.

She sat with her back to me; the lanterns grew dim as the fuel ran low. The innkeeper hollered out, "Time to go, the lights are low, now get out, or I'll kill you!"

He sang that every night, I taught it to him, learned it in my traveling days. He thought it was funny, so did I. Where was I....oh yeah, the girl. As the tavern patrons made their way home, she just sat still, head bowed, her beautiful red hair concealing a sad smile. "It's time to leave," I said. "Rooms are all full, and I know you're not renting a single one."

A tear dropped onto her table.

"That's not going to get you a room-"

"You knew my father, didn't you?" She looked directly into my eyes, I nearly fell over.

Yeah, I'd known her father. We were bounty hunters together, but that was another life, I didn't even fight anymore, and I said as much.

"Please help me," she smiled.

I had to choke back tears; her green eyes glistened in the fading light. "I can't help anyone any more." I turned to go to my room, but she placed her hand gently on my arm.

"I don't need much. Please, for my father."

I motioned for the innkeeper to bring us another pitcher of ale. I told him I would close up when we were done. I sat across from her and looked in those pretty green eyes. "Tell me what you need."

She reached up her hand and placed it on my cheek. She leaned over the table and kissed me. Not as a lover, more like....a...sister! My heart nearly stopped in my chest. I'd never experienced this kind of tenderness from someone before. "Just give me a place to stay."

What can I say? You'd like to think I would do the right thing. Did I? Many people would say I did, but I’m not sure I would agree. I took her back to my room, gave her my bed and curled up on the floor for the night. In the night, I heard screams, both of pain and of sorrow. Soon, I heard a sound that chilled me to the marrow: the cry of a banshee!

The light of the moon faded, and the windows flew open. A raging wind swept through the room. The girl sat up in bed. “What have you done?” I asked. I knew the banshee cried not for me: I’m immortal.

“The lord of the manor desires my company,” she smiled calmly.

Not exactly what I wanted to hear. They say that when the lord searches you out, you never return, and I’d just pledged my aid to one of his victims. Sure, I only gave her a room, but I couldn’t let her turn into the walking dead now, could I? After all, I had known her father, and I owed him my life!

“You are of no consequence to me!” I heard a bone-chilling voice outside the window. “Leave the girl for me, and I will let you live.”

“Like hell!” I screamed, drawing my sword.

The banshee matched my scream and swooped through the window. “You will soon know the cold hand of death!”

I grinned; the demon flew toward me, taking an ethereal form. A white flash filled the room and the banshee froze. A great gash spread from her left hip to her right shoulder.

Freestyle...?

Here goes. I wrote a poem.

Untitled

At first I thought that we were destined to be at odds
O, The many days we fought over right and wrong
And why shouldn't a person disagree or misunderstand
When they have no one to help explain the "why"

When innocent and guilty were the same as heaven and hell
Things were more simple than they are today
We hid behind our enmity and bathed in our anonymity
Though there was nothing to make us clean

There were tears back then and angry words
Cries and no relief in sight
If there is something more horrible than being alone
It is the length of time that one must feel that way

Should you hate someone for making you who you are
Is it proper to begrudge someone for shaping your life
If one used encouragement rather than misfortune
Wouldn't we praise them instead of curse

We constantly search for meaning and resolution
But we refuse to appreciate the things we already have
Though our pantries are full and our stores overflowing
We are always on the hunt for a tastier morsel

Each day I hope we are reminded what it is like to be without
So that we can appreciate the one force that makes it possible to "have"
Without a desire no understanding can be reached
And without sacrifice nothing can be learned

Whoops! ... Wait a minute, that's a good idea!

- So we went with a pretty hefty project last week, and I was glad to have some of us get in on the action. Steve and Todd missed out, but that's ok. This week we're getting a late start on things, and I couldn't for the life of me think of anything. Erik and I have an idea, but it needs some work. Steve has one, but it too needs work.
- Where does that leave us? With what I originally thought would be an excuse project, but now seems like a good idea. I think this will be a recurring thing...
----------
Project 3: To each his own.

- Not having an idea for the project, I thought I'd cheat and have everyone write something that they wanted to write. Anything! That makes it easy for us to contribute along the lines of whatever we're working-on/dealing-with this week. Then it came to me that we're a writers group, and projects can help us refine, but sometimes we need to share freeform. Let's do this monthly. 110 words min. (Including explanations/descriptions etc.) Ready ... Set ... Think!

Gabe would never write this because he'd hate to read it.

- Nathan Persimmon is fabulously wealthy, he comes from old money and an established family. They've been in New England since the earliest of times and come from England with a history that goes back to a valiant hero on the losing side of the invasion in 1066. He has a beautiful girlfriend named Alayna Shathmore that comes from an equally wealthy family, but they're of new money.
- The conflict comes when Nathan decides to be the common man and forsake his wealth and family history. He's tired of being the rich kid and wants some adventure. Alayna leaves him because of it, and though he loves her he gives up on it because it's part of all that he doesn't want to be part of.
- Nathan goes west to California and meets a young artist named Mary who shares his new worldview. She loves his fancy body and she is shallow, but she's not what he came from so he believes that fortune has smiled on him and takes her as his wife.
- When Mary dies of an unfortunate disease, Nathan returns to the now-vacant family home and searches for his lost love Alayna. What he finds is that she's married his arch-playground-enemy and that they have a litter of six children. Nathan is shattered anew and sells the mansion, goes back to California, exhumes Mary, has her embalmed and sleeps next to her glass coffin for eternity.

- The whole story is filled with the high-talk of the Old-New-Englanders and with contrived attempts at Artist-speak that reek of the wrong era and shallow research. It's one of those books that makes you squirm once a page because the characters are such hollow a$$-holes and have a completely unrealistic worldview. They seek an Earthly Utopia when none is possible. I hate when writers do this, it shows that they completely don't get our world. Perfection will not happen in our world, it's not possible. Rant, rant, rant.

Erik's horrible novels

This is actually almost too easy for me. I’ve had a few failed novels… and they weren’t just ones that I never got off the ground. I actually started writing a novel twice and gave up both times. I know exactly why I failed, too. It was a mixture between being too self-centric and a lack of imagination. The two are almost completely intertwined. I have a hard time coming up with ideas for stories on my own, so I was doing the easiest thing and trying to write something at least partially based around myself. The first try was at least partially imaginative. Gabe and I have discussed my problems getting unique ideas for writing. We decided that my strength would actually be in writing fan-fiction, or stories based on someone else’s original ideas i.e. Star Wars novels. That’s not something that I’m really that interested in doing, but it’s exactly what I tried to do when I was about 15.

Back when I was a much more obvious nerd, I (and my friends) were very into the Star Wars Collectible Card Game. At one point, someone realized that we could use a regular pencil eraser to change the cards. We started making funny cards and cards that were doppelgangers of ourselves. I made a card named ‘Lord Erik’. It was a simple Imperial Pilot card that I modified to be invincible. Twisted, I know. The funniest thing that happened while I was making the card though. I ended up exploring this made up character’s back-story. I had so much of it mapped out. Where he was from, how he got where he was… the whole thing. So during the summer, I actually did attempt to write it. I don’t recommend a Texas Instruments calculator as a medium for writing though. It’s slower, and that can really curb your inthusiasm.

Despite all of this, I did push out maybe a chapter and a half’s worth, if I remember right. It’s hard to remember because I really had so much of it in my head. Anyway, two words: Horrible Plot. The whole thing would’ve ended with Darth Vader defecting to Lord Erik’s side after the first Death Star blew up, and it was really a clone that died in the battle with an emperor. Retarded stuff, really.

The second failure was self-serving by the very definition. I had just been blown away after a failed relationship and was very depressed. I started writing a mix between a retrospective on all my past relationships, and a look into the semi-near future. The story actually took place about a year from the time I started writing. That was really the only really horrible part of the story… it was like a utopia… it was my hopes and dreams, for the most part. I don’t consider this writing to be a total failure though. I was writing because I needed to regain perspective on my life. I was looking at my past relationships, and looking at where I wanted my life to go. It was really a good thing for me, and I think I completed much of what I needed to in this instance.

The novel was a failure (would’ve been boring anyway), but my project wasn’t.

Giles' "unfinishable" project

The story about a young man torn between his dream and the woman he loves. The hero (let's call him Max) wants to become a translator in Japan, but his girlfriend (we'll give her the name Jill) wants to be an English teacher in Paris. Max currently works for a local electronics company, translating instruction manuals for imported video equipment. Jill is about to finish school and has a job waiting for her in France.

On the day of Jill graduation, Max approaches Jill, saying that they need to discuss their future. Jill absolutely refuses to go to Japan, breaking Max's heart. She breaks up with him saying that if he really loved her, he would do whatever it took to get the job of his dreams while supporting her wholeheartedly.

Dejected and confused, Max goes home where he finds an e-mail in his inbox from a large electronics manufacturing company offering him a job translating their manuals into English. They would e-mail the files to him, and he could work on them from anywhere in the world, he would only have to fly to Tokyo for four weeks a year to meet with the board at the home office.

Thrilled, Max calls Jill telling her he has to talk to her. She agrees to meet with him, and Max starts to drive to her place. Unfortunately, he gets hit by a large semi on the way, breaking his neck and putting him in a coma. His condition declines over a few short weeks, and he dies without having the chance to patch things up with Jill, who waits next to his bed until Max is gone. The end!

-------------------

Unfortunately, garbage like this actually exists, and because I realize this, at some point (in a few years, mayhapse) I'll probably put this into action, and become so disgustingly rich that you all will become sick....as will I. This is what we like to call Classic Liturature....garbage that has NO plot whatsoever, and really leaves you feeling like you want to kill yourself, partly because the ending doesn't resolve itself, and partly because you wasted AAAAALLLLLLL that time reading the stupid thing. If I sound cynical, it's because I HATE THIS KIND OF WRITING!!

Wilkommen!

Welcome Todd to the crowd. Leave comments or something, just don't scare the guy off!

Success and Continuation

- Last week has to be considered a phenomenal success. All four active members made it in with at least one contribution, Erik even put two up. What is even cooler is that two not-yet-members (hehe) were inspired to write 69ers alongside us (Robyn via Erik in a comment, and Todd on his MySpace blog). The only thing missing was Karina, and we'll blame that on Steve because (we can) he is supposed to show her the ropes in this world of blog (when they get a chance, I know, I know). Way To Go Quill & Think!!!

- On to this week. Let's go for two in a row! Erik says that he has an idea for a project, but needs to formulate it further, and I haven't gotten around to asking Giles or Steve if they have ideas yet. So I will gladly bear the burden of providing the project for a second week (If I like it this much, just wait until we get the ball really rolling, we'll be fighting for the right!)
----------
Project 2: It'll never happen! -

- I often sit and contemplate how to write a novel, more specifically, how a slacker like me would even halfway finish the job. I usually end up with the thought that I would have to have the perfect idea, that's the only thing that would motivate me enough. But what happens to all those imperfect ideas? Are they trash? And who among us hasn't read an imperfect novel or ten? Or even an utterly crappy one, even if you never finished reading it, it still counts as a crappy novel that was completed. This week we'll address the crappy novel. You'll do it by writing a description or synopsis of the novel that you will never write, or the one you will never read. I'm thinking 150-300 words is reasonable. This one should be good for some laughs.
----------

“You could compile the worst book in the world entirely out of selected passages from the best writers in the world.” - One of my favorite authors and theologians - G.K. Chesterton

“A book may be compared to your neighbor: if it be good, it cannot last too long; if bad, you cannot get rid of it too early.” - Rupert Brooke

“It is far better to be silent than merely to increase the quantity of bad books” - Voltaire
I must stop there, but there are about a hundred more quotes that I could use for today.

- Gabe

Steve's 69er

Alone In The Garden

At least that’s what I thought. My back is to the stairs. I hear a noise behind me. I speak to the one who comes for me, “I know who you are and why you are here. I am sorry for hurting you and I forgive you for what you are about to do.” As I turn to face her the world goes black. I drift into eternal sleep.

Giles' 69-er

It’s a good day, I guess. The people are nice, they don’t complain. It’s just coffee. “Do you want whipped cream?” The woman shakes her head. “Enjoy,” I smile as she walks out the door. I grab a wet rag and wipe down the counters, another rush will come in a few minutes, I need to prepare. Looking around, the tip jar’s full. That’s what a smile will do.

Gabe's 69er ... Yeah.

Snowday
- Gabe Thexton

There were seven of them. They exhausted the snow from four driveways and six yards. They exhausted themselves. Four real mugs and three improvised from heavy plastic cups were filled with steaming hot chocolate. Marshmallows replaced snowballs. The dogs had their fill, threw up, and at mothers insistence the marshmallows went only into human mouthes and human mugs. This is a snow day, this is winter at it's best.

First feeble attempts

The 69er -

He sits there, reading and reading. He goes to this site and that. Finally he does what he promised. He opens up a word document and tries to think of what to write.

Nothing comes, nothing comes.

He does his regular blog instead.

Eventually he decides to write something.

Harder than it sounds, he doesn’t get anywhere.

The Boss comes in – “What in blazes are you doing?”

Er… Um….


Quill and Think

It’s worked – everything has ever dreamed of came true – What luck!

He writes with a bunch of friends, just to be better, just to support others.

Discovered by publishers, their combined works make the bestseller!

Things couldn’t be better – simple life, but much more money. Finally a good car.

Money doesn’t buy happiness, but not having debt does help!

He opens his eyes… damn dreams – shouldn’t sleep at work.