Katzaniel

Hm, that's a really good way of doing it. Are we allowed to choose the same topic? (Though I'd have to specify which, seeing as how I had two before... I'm not sure why I thought that was what you wanted, but anyway...) Hrm. Not that I did very well in that area, anyway. I might consider a different topic.

Whenabouts might this start? (I'm thinking about joining... just thinking... but I *really* need to catch up around the Pen first...)

If you're like me, and you've read the story I posted here, you're itching to get at Dennor's story with a red pen and make it better. Go on: I challenge you! Starting at the beginning, take a sentence or two and translate it into a better story. You can take bits from later on, but try to keep it relatively parallel to the way it goes now, so that other Pennites can add on where you left off. The story, without the pauses and such: There once was a girl named Sanda, She had this rabbit. Its name was Whiskers. One day, she was cleaning Whiskers' cage, and she had just finished, and she turned around and he was gone. Now, Sanda was really very attached to her rabbit. She loved him dearly. So she knew she had to do anything she could to get him back. She hurried to put away the cage and then rushed out of the house. She looked every which way. Finally she saw some footprints. She hurried off after them, knowing in her heart that this was the way that Whiskers had gone. Eventually she came upon a group of soldiers. They were gruff-looking men, unshaven, and disgruntled. When Sanda saw them, she was scared. They were in a clearing in a forest, and they were fighting each other with sticks. She didn't realize right away that they were only practising, but still she didn't run. She felt strangely attracted to what was going on. She wanted to see more. Sanda sat down as quietly as she could, behind a tree, and watched. When she saw that they were practising, she began to cheer them on. Quietly, of course. In her mind. The big man with a beard, a short red beard, he looked sort of friendly. He seemed, I mean he almost seemed to be cheering on the rest. Teaching them, maybe. Maybe he was the captain. Anyway, Sanda watched him and she wanted very much to join them, to be taught by him too. But Sanda knew that there was no chance of this. Women were not allowed to be soldiers, and never mind a child like her. Still, she wanted it so much. Finally she got up the courage to go up to them. She would kill two birds with one stone. 'Please, sir,' she said to them, which grabbed their attention very fast. 'Please, I've lost my pet rabbit. Can any of you help?' She looked right at the man with the red beard as she talked. 'Why of course,' he said, throwing down his stick. 'We'll find your pet in no time.' Sanda was very happy. Not only was one of them going to go with her, but it was the red-bearded man himself. He introduced himself as Ragn, and she was so happy, she made it into a little song. 'Ragn, Ragn, what a wonderful man,' she sang, hopping along. 'He helps people out whenever he can. He lives in the forest and fights with a stick, He really is cool, he's really quite slick. Ragn, Ragn, he's going to find Whiskers, He'll do it whatever the risk is. He lives in the forest and helps people out, He's such a great man we should all do a shout!' Sanda did, indeed, end her song with a shout. Ragn's whole face went red, but he kept smiling as they walked along. He was much quicker at finding Whiskers' tracks than she was, so they went along very fast. Anyway, they followed the tracks for a while, and eventually they found Whiskers. He was just sitting under a bush, chewing on some leaves. Sanda became very happy and she went and picked up the rabbit and cuddled him. Ragn watched for a moment, then turned to leave. 'Wait,' cried Sanda. She grew very embarrassed about what she was about to say, but she knew she would regret it her whole life if she didn't ask. 'Sir, I saw you practising, fighting...' Ragn nodded. He had no idea what was about to come next. Sanda paused for a moment, then finally blurted it out. 'Will you teach me?' Ragn's eyes widened. This was unlike anything he could have expected. 'You?' he said, unable to hide the surprise. Sanda hung her head. 'Yes,' she said. 'I'd like to learn, very much, sir. I think I could do it.' Ragn thought it over. 'I don't suppose I see why not,' he said. Sanda grew very excited. 'Wow, really, sir? You won't regret it!' She began to sing her song again. 'If you keep singing,' said Ragn laughing gently, 'I will regret it.' And so Sanda returned with Ragn to the camp. It took years before everyone else accepted her for who she was, but by that time she was one of the country's best sword fighters. And she defended the country many times in wars before she died, of old age, having ushered in a new age of equality for men and women alike. Any takers? (Remember, I'm hoping this can be a collaborative effort. Just a few sentences at a time, and it's alright if it diverges from the original.)

OOC: Sorry, this isn't taking place on your stage... it was hard enough for me to find a reason for Dennor to be telling a story, never mind be at the Pen. And it was nearly finished before you put this post up. Anyway, while I'm in OOC, I wanted to apologize that a lot of this will probably not make a lot of sense to anyone who... well, to anyone, I guess, since it's not even quite explained yet in The Ten, the story that I've taken Dennor from. Anyway, I think I've put in enough explanation that you'll understand what Dennor's motives are, if not why. And for me to explain why, well, that would take a long time and ruin some suspense from The Ten. Suffice to say that this takes place before that story does, and you don't need to have read any of that story, just as long as you realize that this isn't entirely standalone. Thanks. IC: The room was large, with clean white walls all around. There were no windows, no paintings, and only one door. It was furnished only with chairs and one table, just long enough to comforably seat the five people who lined it, expressions blank. Three men and two women, they watched carefully as Dennor entered, closed the door behind him, and stood facing them. His cheeks were smooth, his mouth set just so, avoiding any expression just as effectively as they. Neither did his posture give anything away; his arms were neither crossed over his chests, nor his hands wringing, nor even clasped behind his back. He stood, apparently at ease, either hand to either side. But his apparent lack of emotion did show something about him, whether the judges noticed or not. It was indicative of his fierce personality, his unwillingness to cooperate or let them know what he was feeling. For Dennor would be the most stubborn of any they would interview, and he fully intended to make them work hard for any information they wanted from him. Unfortunately for him, the five-person panel was quite clever. The test they had devised for today involved the telling of a story, made up on the spot. This would be ensured by the fact that it had to include certain elements. This precluded one-word answers or terse responses of any sort, and would guarantee showing something of the person who told it, if only by the words they chose, the beginning and ending of the story, and the amount and type of creativity involved. Dennor's already-thin lips pursed involuntarily when they told him his task. His green eyes flashed, though he resisted the urge to frown or gulp or brush a hand through his short black hair. Instead, he spent a moment to watch the panel, not wondering what story to tell so much as how to twist it so that they would judge it as he wished. His quick mind had already come up with a basic plotline upon hearing the elements he had to include: it had to start with a rabbit, involve the colour red, include a rhyming poem at least 8 lines long, and end with a sword. He knew just the thing. "There once was a girl named Sanda," he pronouced, intentionally starting off with the least creative statement he could make, and with one of the least creative names he could imagine. He pretended to stall before continuing, "She, uh, she had this rabbit. Its name was... Whiskers. One day, she was cleaning Whiskers' cage, and she had just finished, and she turned around and he was gone." It was actually very difficult for Dennor not to use longer words or more verbose sentences. But this was one contest that he did not want to win. Nor could he afford to make it obvious that he was trying to fail. So he plunged onward. "Now, Sanda was really very attached to her rabbit. She loved him dearly. So she knew she had to do anything she could to get him back. She hurried to put away the cage and then rushed out of the house. She looked every which way. Finally she saw some footprints. She hurried off after them, knowing in her heart that this was the way that Whiskers had gone. "Eventually she came upon a group of soldiers. They were gruff-looking men, unshaven, and disgruntled." Dennor cursed inwardly. He had lapsed and described the men the way he was thinking of them, and not in the childish prose he was trying to accomplish. "When Sanda saw them, she was scared. They were in a clearing in a forest, and they were fighting each other with sticks. She didn't realize right away that they were only practising, but still she didn't run. She felt strangely attracted to what was going on. She wanted to see more. "Sanda sat down as quietly as she could, behind a tree, and watched. When she saw that they were practising, she began to cheer them on. Quietly, of course. In her mind. The big man with a beard, a short red beard, he looked sort of friendly. He seemed, I mean he almost seemed to be cheering on the rest. Teaching them, maybe. Maybe he was the captain. Anyway, Sanda watched him and she wanted very much to join them, to be taught by him too. "But Sanda knew that there was no chance of this. Women were not allowed to be soldiers, and never mind a child like her. Still, she wanted it so much. Finally she got up the courage to go up to them. She would kill two birds with one stone. "'Please, sir,' she said to them, which grabbed their attention very fast. 'Please, I've lost my pet rabbit. Can any of you help?' She looked right at the man with the red beard as she talked. "'Why of course,' he said, throwing down his stick. 'We'll find your pet in no time.'" Dennor paused again, here. He took another moment to catch his breath, eye the reactions of the judges, and pretend to be wondering how to go on. He even wiped his forehead as if he had been sweating. "Sanda was very happy. Not only was one of them going to go with her, but it was the red-bearded man himself. He introduced himself as Ragn" - again, he used a very common name - "and she was so happy, she made it into a little song." Dennor bowed his head, making it seem as if the pressure was really getting to him. In truth, it was an effort even for him to make up a rhymed poem on the spot, but he wanted it to seem like more of an effort. The average person, he knew, would crumble under this sort of pressure. "'Ragn, Ragn, what a wonderful man,' she sang, hopping along. 'He helps people out whenever he can. He... he lives in the forest and ... and fights with a stick, He really is cool, he's really quite slick. Ragn, Ragn, he's going to find Whiskers, Er... he'll do it whatever the risk is... He lives in the forest and helps people out, He's such a great man we should all do a shout!' Sanda did, indeed, end her song with a shout. Ragn's whole face went red, but he kept smiling as they walked along. He was much quicker at finding Whiskers' tracks than she was, so they went along very quickly. Er, very fast." Dennor realized that he had probably overdone it with reusing words. He scolded himself and resolved to do better. "Anyway, they followed the tracks for a while, and eventually they found Whiskers. He was just sitting under a bush, chewing on some leaves. Sanda became very happy and she went and picked up the rabbit and cuddled him. Ragn watched for a moment, then turned to leave. "'Wait,' cried Sanda. She grew very embarrassed about what she was about to say, but she knew she would regret it her whole life if she didn't ask. 'Sir, I saw you practising, fighting...' "Ragn nodded. He had no idea what was about to come next. "Sanda paused for a moment, then finally blurted it out. 'Will you teach me?' "Ragn's eyes widened. This was unlike anything he could have expected. 'You?' he said, unable to hide the surprise. "Sanda hung her head. 'Yes,' she said. 'I'd like to learn, very much, sir. I think I could do it.' "Ragn thought it over. 'I don't suppose I see why not,' he said. Sanda grew very excited. 'Wow, really, sir? You won't regret it!' She began to sing her song again. "'If you keep singing,' said Ragn laughing gently, 'I will regret it.' "And so Sanda returned with Ragn to the camp. It took years before everyone else accepted her for who she was, but by that time she was one of the country's best sword fighters. And she defended the country many times in wars before she died, of old age, having ushered in a new age of equality for men and women alike." Dennor watched the judges very carefully as he finished, but still they refused to show much reaction. The one in the center dipped his head once to acknowledge that the story had been heard. "Thank you, Dennor. Your next test is three days hence, at the same time. Do not be late." OOC: If you're like me, you're itching to get at Dennor's story with a red pen and make it better. Go on: I challenge you!

Is this where this goes? Please feel free to move it, if not. I have five PM's that I can't read. And some of them look important. And I don't want to trust this to a PM, since I don't know what's wrong with it... PS. If you are Wyvern, Tanuchan, Alaeha, Mynx or Gyrfalcon, and you happen to have a copy of what you sent me, could you resend it to my email? parmeisan AT gmail DOT com. Thanks.

A note on the separated-sentence one: "It's raining," he said, "raining hard." This is correct, but so are all of the following (if you felt like sprucing it up a bit): "It's raining," he said, slipping on his jacket, "raining hard." "It's raining." He slipped on his jacket, then continued: "Raining hard." "It's raining." He slipped on his jacket. "Raining hard." "It's raining," he said, slipping on his jacket. "Raining hard." It's sometimes harder to figure out what to do with it when putting in two people. They always teach you in school that you should separate it into paragraphs, as shown: "It's raining," he said. "Raining hard," she added. But I'm pretty sure you can also do these: "It's raining," he said. "Raining hard," she added. "It's raining," he said, and she added, "Raining hard." "It's raining," he said, slipping on his jacket. She added, "Raining hard." And I don't think you should do this: "It's raining," he said, slipping on his jacket. She added, "Raining hard." unless there's a good reason for that to be a new paragraph, besides the speech. Also a note about hyphens: Most people prefer ellipses for interruptions, but I've never been satisfied with them - they never feel abrupt. I can't remember who I got this from, but it was someone around the Pen, I think: it may or may not be technically correct, but you can use a hyphen instead. "It's raining really..." he started to say. "Really hard!" she exclaimed before he could finish. "It's raining really -" he started to say. "Really hard!" she exclaimed before he could finish.

This is really good. I'm going to leave my comments almost exclusively to grammar/punctuation, but I should mention that the poem itself is, in my opinion at least, very good. Brother, today, I am as old as you were Extra comma, in my opinion. I think it works better without a pause after "today": "Brother, today I am as old as you were..." My hairseems too straight, too black—too alive Just a typo, but I thought I should mention it. "My hair seems" And how the coroner had to shear off what was left This reads awkwardly. I don't know why, but I think it would work better as "had to shear off the remainder" or even "shear away". The "what was left" just throws me, though again, I can't say why. And my small scars too well hid My instinct says that you want a dash here, "well-hid" or perhaps just "well hidden". Can anyone else tell me whether this instinct has any basis in actual grammatical rules? But that caved in temple, Shattered left cheekbone, And broken eye socket Refused to fill despite the ample applications of wax. I actually like the "ample applications" bit, unless you do change the whole sentence around as Quincunx suggested. Anyway, if you do keep as is, you might want to consider a comma after "fill". (Remember, the simplest way to think of whether or not you want a comma is by thinking whether or not you want a pause there). You might not, but I think it reads better with one. Your skin was lighter than mine Some said you could pass for an Italian While others thought me an islander or Hispanic Non-grammatical - but this part confuses me. Does it matter that these are different people who thought this? Because that fact makes a comparision difficult, makes it easy to accidentally read "others thought you" the first time and then have to reread it to figure out the meaning. Today, I am as old as you That day you died And I cringe to I think That I’ve caught up with you Only to leave you behind I really like this part. Though I agree with Quincunx's suggestions (those, as well as Wyvern's, mainly seem very good, so I'm trying to ignore things they've already said) I think it ends it very nicely.

I don't think you have access to the forum with the Pen Recommends in it, yet, but you ought to know that this piece has been nominated & seconded to be a candidate for the Pen Recommends list. It would still need to be put to a vote to all members, and you would have to give permission for it to go to that vote. I suppose if you're still planning on doing heavy editting, you may wish to decline until that's done - anyway, that's up to you. In the meantime, feel very proud. Regardless of the length of the story, it really was an excellent piece. * adds to the clapping *

Congratulations, Tavarilyn! It was very well deserved. And this certainly produced some good reads, so thanks to you three for hosting and judging - and giving such good quality feedback.

Why, yes it is. I have 5 participants so far (though only one, as far as I recall, who has written the story and linked me to it). The due date isn't for another month, though, so I'm not concerned. (It's so far away because I know I'm going to be very busy immediately before and after finals, so the end of April is the soonest I can work on writing the connecting piece).

The rabbit's eyes bugged out and its nose twitched so much that it looked like an asterisk. It was eating french fries in an unsuccessful attempt to to deal with its coffeine addiction. Ever since the advent of coffeine - extra-high caffeine content coffee - the whole world was addicted. Mwahahaha! Erm... more words... (and these will actually be words, not phrases, you crazy people) mwahaha sail glass honey

Note: Cenobyte has done her dare, but she can't post it until she has applied to the Pen, because it's really not appropriate for anything but the Scarlett Pen. We'll have to do a linky thingy. So yes, I told her to pass the dare on.

There was a guy named Vigil Who wrote something with a title That brought me to peek, But failed to succeed, In living up to its pull. (Heh.. I just mean that I expected a series of Limericks on various Pennites, but it's hard to hard to express that within the confines of a limerick. Nothing against what you did write. )

W00t, I got a dare. Lost, in the caverns of the blackness of the day Gone, from the story of the people of the Way I am forgotten, I am lonely, I am history, a stone. I remember, all the things that I should have, would have, done, but there's nothing, no there's nothing, in the blackness of the caverns of the things I do this day. For I am lonely, I am history, as forgotten as a stone. Wow, I have no idea where that came from. Not quite fitting with the dare, but close enough. I dare... cenobyte. Yes, I've seen you lurking. Let's see if I can't inspire you to post something.

And as for the responsibilities of a member.. well, not very much. We hope that you can contribute writing every so often, but recognize that RL (real life) always comes first; if you disappear for 5 years and come back, you'll not have lost any respect, and if you made enough friends before you went, you'd probably be welcomed back with open arms and tacklehugs. Your only real responsibility is to treat others with respect. That could mean by providing feedback to other author's pieces, or it could just mean being polite. If you contribute regularly, you'll soon enough find yourself being promoted to Page, and eventually Quillbearer. As a quillbearer, you would be required to complete a quill-quest before being promoted to a full member. As a full member you encounter your next responsibility, which is to vote on promotions when you can (but even this is not required) But, you'll find that many of those who wander the halls here are Honoured Guests (has an account) and Initiates (has applied by writing a piece in the Recruiter's Office) and so forth, and they are just as respected as anyone else. No one expects you to write any more often than you're comfortable doing, or have time for. For more questions: The FAQ. We hope that it's sufficient to explain things to you (if not, tell us, so that we can improve it) but the best way to get to know us is just to start posting. There's not really any way to screw up too badly... if you post in the wrong place or something, we'll tell you, and move the piece. I hope that answered everything? Welcome to the Pen.

My biggest problem in any RP is always the balance between moving the plot forward in your post (or at least not leaving it in a place where no one else knows how to move forward from there) and not using other people's characters. Assuming for the moment that we can't communicate outside these forums, this is a difficult issue. (I often don't know what I'm going to write until I sit down to write it, and won't have time to write again until who-knows-when, so it's very hard to find and talk to everyone that the post needs to include... nor can I just let their character sit there and do nothing during whatever events are happening. I mean, having too much happen automatically assumes that no one did anything to prevent it. Even having a character talk for very long assumes that no one interrupts them - and this is no small assumption. So basically I would like some way to practice this balance... perhaps via a format where we're supposed to push it, and see what happens? I don't know. I just know I want to get better at it. Thanks, Katz

I'd like to mod the first open game after mid-April/early-May. (I suspect it's safe to say XXXI/XXXIII (Do you want the former or not, Tanny?)) I haven't decided on a theme yet (maybe I'll think of a few and we can have a vote) but I'd like to try something very different: Everyone knows all the roles, and we play it by pure RP. You'd need very strong characters for it. On the other hand, I figure if someone wants to play multiple characters, then that's okay. Only major concern I can think of there is that part of it is that if we get too many people, we may need to shorten the phases. And I can probably just give the big roles to those who have had the least opportunity to do so, or maybe those that make the most sense IC (or maybe those who bribe me the most ). Does anyone else think this would be interesting to try? Note: Orrr, we could just run this alongside one of the other ones, and let it go as long as it needs to go. Maybe even lengthen day phase to 3 days or some such? Because I've been thinking I'd probably need to rework Baner/Seer a bit, and it might not seem much like a WW game when I'm through...

Why, oh why, did I ever sign up for the army? I'm 26, my whole life in front of me, and these stupid farmers are sending us in because they can't deal with this themselves. If I were a farmer, and I discovered a pack of bugs on my land, I'd just pack up and move. Instead, I'm just a lowly marine... trying to impress Martha... shouldn't she be impressed enough by my Master's in physics? No, I have to go risk my life... But that's not really fair, is it? She never asked me to go out here. It was my own testosterone, is what it was. I thought, I can't propose to Martha when all I do is study. I have to show her that I'm well-rounded, or she'll never accept me. So here I am, in an army 99% clones, just trying to fit in... Gah! A bug! And I haven't done any of the procedures yet.. okay, there's my gun... where's the trigger?! Got it... oh, phew, someone else shot it already. And now Sarge is shouting at us to be more prepared. Man, those bug guts are ugly. Who thought they'd bleed green goo, either? It's just like the movies... only less fascinating, more slimy. God, dear God, if I live through this, I swear I'll never do it again. I'll go, propose to Martha, and invent some napalm that doesn't scorch the ground. There. Save my life, and I'll save many more... Who am I kidding? I don't believe in God. Not like my parents do, not even as much as Martha does. Why would she ever accept me, when I don't share her religion? Sure, I guess I can accept maybe there's something up there, but whatever it is, it sure couldn't care less about us. But... if believing will save me, I'll do it. Sure. If I survive, I'll convert. Go to church every w... well, every second week. Every third if it's a bad month. But I swear I won't miss more than that! And - EFFIN' GOD where's my GUN - sigh those things are grotesque. Where are they even coming from? I can't stand this. I can't stand it any more, and we haven't even been walking for more than half an hour. It's hot, and I'm tired, and this bag is heavy and this gun is chafing at my hands, and I just know I'm going to die.

"Sir, can you tell us what the Kinetic Biomatter Orbitron actually does?" Jeff Waxworthy wiped his brow. "What 'n a who now?" "Explain your work, sir." "Oh. Yeah. Well, er, it works on the quantum level, uh, by uh, looking at the, er, the parts inside of you that make up your soul. It-" "Sir, can you explain that further? What physical components have you found for the soul?" "Er... what?" "What parts, Mr. Waxworthy?" "Er..." The examiner sighed. "Get him out of here. His whole report is fluff. He's not getting a passing grade from me." Sorry... New words: switch history aquamarine newt

The SWG has decided to encourage its members to post away from the Hearth (which is hidden from non-guildmembers) if they feel comfortable in so doing. As a part of this, we have reworked our promotion guidelines, our policies on feedback, and found out from our members which of the old stories, posted before this change, they would be comfortable in having moved. Unfortunately, because they are all old, they are buried deep in the respective rooms. That is why I am posting the following links. If you haven't checked these out, consider doing so... I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. New in the Assembly Author Kapplication Katz Always claimed to be an author first... Tralla My application Solivagus Application Vanessa New Under the Oak Tree Author The Ten Katz New at the Scarlett Pen Author Alaeha's App. Alaeha

I let the sun in: The light makes all things certain, Its warmth on my skin. Crisp air echoes sound, Colours swirling all around - Leaves cover the ground. Shining, sparkling snow - I regret the tracks that show Everywhere I go. Like a carefree fling, Fresh new buds and thaw do bring Love to everything. (Freeze and thaw, you see, Cycles to eternity - Sun returns to me.)

"I could be riding around on a brontosaurus," mused Jason. "I could be soaring the skies on a pterodactyl. I could...!" He stopped when I put my hand on his shoulder. "Time for your vitamins," I told him, handing them over with a glass of water. "Ah, this apple looks very juicy," he replied, taking the items from me and swallowing down the pills. He immediately started speaking again after, lamenting about all the things he would do if he weren't in jail. "Hate to be blunt," I interrupted, "but you're not in jail. You're in a mental institution!" Ever had a crazy person look at you like you were insane? OOC: Hope that wasn't too long. New words: five simulation delineate (Definition, just in case) dizzy

Thank you. Even if that's all you can say, it's really nice to hear. Thank you for taking the time to respond and letting me know that there's a reason I take the time to write these things down. It is sort of a common theme, isn't it? Do you think maybe the in-between comments are overdoing it? Good. It's worth a lot. They are all very different poems (well, 2 of them are actually 1 broken apart - you might be able to tell which ones) and I wasn't sure if I should try to tie them together or not. Anyway, I know that's not exactly what you meant, but I do really appreciate any feedback I can get. I thought about that as I was writing it, and again when I was rewriting it, and now again after your comment. But I don't think I can change either the first sentence ("the post that's coming after you"..?) or the second ("coming at you like mad"...?). Neither sounds right to me. Can't quite say why. So I thought maybe the slight change would offset the repetition.. or something... or maybe I'd better figure out a better way to say that. As if I could stop, while I live, if I tried... But thank you all, too.

Wow you guys, this feedback is awesome. Definitely makes me wish I had enough time to go over the story again. I think when I finish university you will see me reworking quite a few pieces around here. That's really interesting. I wrote the whole thing in the order it appears, so I'm not sure why it would seem that way. I suppose he seemed a less central character to me, so I didn't bother to understand his motives as well? If I reworked it, perhaps I could either remove his parts or try harder to understand him. Part of might be that I don't have a very good idea what a negotiator actually does... a little bit of research wouldn't go amiss. Although, if I rework it the parking ticket bit will have to go, I think. It seems way too out of place, even as a reason for Officer Jackson to miss Alexander standing up. (Plus, what happened to the snipers?) I don't remember whether this was before or after Spik, but it was that story and this one where I realized I actually find first person easier. I'm not sure why. Thanks though. Cool. Of course I always try to make it realistic as possible, but I never know if it comes across that way to others. I guess I should keep doing what I'm doing, then, as far as dialogue goes. (Though I don't usually include swears, and that could be a large part of the realness of this one....?) I was just thinking today about how I try not to have too much of a style, rather aim my "voice" toward however the teller would speak. But even so, I can see that this is radically different. Well, I can thank you guys for the inspiration for that. I always do like to stretch myself as a writer. *laughs* Yeah. Yeah, I'm aware that I'm bad at describing the setting. For me, the surroundings don't usually play a big part, and that includes any visual description at all, really. But I need to work on realizing that my readers don't know what I don't tell them, and they like to be able to picture things, and they usually need a description of the setting and characters in order to do that. When I go over this again (knowing me, perhaps I should say "if" ) I'll need to look into that. (Though this part will be harder in first person, and I'd like to keep it in first) *nods* I can see what you're saying. I think this might be more because Jeoffrey is a softer personality. He doesn't emote as much. I'll have to think about what I can do to tell you about him. Presumably more from his own point of view would help, but how much more is there to tell from his view? Well, anyway, I'll take that advice to heart. It's good advice. *grins* Well, that's just Alex for ya. Other participants? Like others with an apartment in that building? A sniper? Thank you. I think that's mainly because he's so screwed up from no sleep. There was no real reasoning there. I'm glad it didn't come across as confusing or anything. Good story. I want more.Well, they're both dead now... If you're saying it would be better longer, then I'm not sure whether I agree with you. Maybe I'll seek out more opinions about it. Anyway, thanks. I'm looking forward to hearing from Panther, too. Thanks for this, guys. EDIT: Why on Earth don't my quotes work any more? EDIT2: Apparently we're limitted to 10 quotes so that last one is getting a "code" designation.

Something. That comes after nothing. Or rather, not much. There's nothing then something then something again. Last night I got angry at my mother. Have you ever had blood all over? It's nice to have blood all over. To feel the need to turn your shirt around, so you don't have blood all over. To be alive to feel the need to turn your shirt around. To turn your jacket inside out. I wear a reversible jacket. It's good, because then I can be alive to feel the need to turn my jacket inside out. I sort of yelled, and stormed out of the room. Sleeping, eating, driving. It's the in-between that gets you. It can get you real hard. Sleeping. Eating. Driving. The driving is what got me. There really wasn't any reason, just a whole lot of stress. There was a truck on my right. Some kind of big truck. A semi, perhaps. I don't think that guy even knows what happened. He's the one I was trying to avoid, you see. The snow. I think it's the snow that did it. It's hard to remember, you know? Because it's the in-between that gets you. And you sometimes don't think about it until you need to. Until they ask you to remember. I think my wheels went over a ridge of snow. You see? Because then I was trying to keep going straight, beside a great big truck, trying not to hit the truck, trying so hard to go straight. But it's hard, you know? Because the next thing you know, you're sliding both ways, trying to steer clear of the guy on your right, trying not to hit the ditch, and braking. Braking like mad. I couldn't even tell you if I was pumping the brake. I simply don't remember. And then you are in the ditch, you're past the ditch, you're sliding like mad, and you're trying not to hit the vehicles coming at you on the other side. Now you're *trying* to hit the ditch, because it's better than where you are, and you're still sliding like mad, and braking like mad, and I think it was my back end that hit the parked vehicle. One of huge road construction vehicles, and the impact jars you but you're still moving. You're still going, and you've spun every which way, and you're still braking like mad, and you can't get out of the way of the huge post that's coming at you. Coming after you like mad. And your life doesn't flash in front of your eyes. Instead, you're thinking, "I might not live through this," and doing everything you can not to die. Then you hit it, or you think you do. It's hard to tell, because that's when everything goes blank, with a sickening crunch and a great big pop, and there's smoke everywhere, and I'm not even sure if I stopped right then or spun a bit longer. Then you're sitting in your car, and it's stopped, and you're trying to figure out what exactly happened, and make sure you're all right, but there's still smoke everywhere and it smells like something's burning, you see, so you fumble for your seatbelt and the lock, and you tumble out of the car, and you stand there in the snow trying to signal to the other drivers that you're okay. You're still alive. You car might be totalled on both ends, but God, it's good to be alive. But you don't even think that just then, you know? Because you're wondering what comes next and trying to convince the helpful people with their phones that you're not in shock; trying not to bleed all over; agreeing that maybe they *should* call an ambulance; being told that all that smoke is just from the airbags; being steering back to your car and made to sit down; and asked lots of questions. I came back to her after I stormed out. What day is it? Wednesday. Where were you going? To class. Can you pull on my hands here? Okay. Does it hurt when I push on your neck? No. I came back, and apologized, before I went to bed. Everyone in the waiting room has a story. Nobody asks, because they mostly look so glum. Or already have someone to keep them company. Or you smile and share a glance, but for some reason no one asks. Sometimes there's a friendly old lady, telling her life story to a younger man. A son? A son-in-law? Or just a friend? I never asked. Or an infant, being held by a worried mother. He stops crying when I wave at him, though I think he's mostly just confused. But they've all of them, *all* of them, got a story. But if I hadn't apologized, and if I had died today, she would have thought I'd died angry at her. I managed to bruise my pinkie. I have two scrapes on my left knee. They're not bleeding; just red. And a broken nose ... "Good news about your x-ray!" No, not even that. A sore nose. I'm told to be careful for the next 24 hours. And follow up with my doctor. And a bit of a headache, that may last a few days. But other than that, and my car, things will soon be back to normal. It just makes you think, doesn't it? OOC: Yes, this is all true. This Wednesday I was in what could easily have been a fatal car accident, but thanks to my seatbelt and the airbags I am virtually untouched, physically. I wrote these poems that same day, when I finally had a moment to take it all in. There's a sort of symmetry at work, here. Had I died, my Pen account would have been frozen forever at exactly 2,000 posts. Weird, huh? So I have waited until I had these typed up and to my satisfaction before making my 2,001st post. If all goes well, I will be around to make at least 2,000 more. But yes, I am going to be all right.