Nobody of Consequence

Yui, these are truly excellent. I think you may have to aim for 500 freewrites, after all

Assuming neither of you is familiar with it, I think both of you would enjoy Kahlil Gibran's "The Prophet". Nice work - what Parmenion said, basically Oh, just one thing - couple of spelling mistakes in there. On the one hand that feels a bit pedantic, but on the other, you might not have realised.

To err is human, to forgive divine - think that's how it goes. I like the sentiment here. I also appreciate that you are nervous, but if it's based on your words, let me just say this: truthfulness is possibly the single most valuable thing to be found in writing, and on that account, you've done brilliantly.

Blame Zool. I wrote my first book when I was 5 (according to family myth) out of butcher's paper stapled together. It was written in crayon, and came complete with illustrations. Apparently, I used to point to my books and declare that I'd be doing this when I grew up, too. Still doing it. Still waiting to grow up

/me peers at LotG [/cynicism] My grandparents are celebrating their DIAMOND anniversary this year. That's right, 60 years of togetherness. They've not been without their trials, but you look at the two of them, and you _know_ they love each other.

/me rushes in to start the group hug You're welcome

Good idea for a thead. I'd have to agree with the premise Stephen King uses in his book "On Writing." A semi-decent writer can learn to become a good writer, but both dunces and geniuses are beyond outside intervention. I think one thing that is impossible to teach is the art of knowing what to leave out.

"We walk by faith, not by sight." St Augustine My own take is that knowledge is what we call the things most of us agree on

Psst ... Zool ... over here. I gots ya somethin' real good wot will beat Thermite, like, ya know? *hands Zool a business card with the number of a Petht Extherminator*

Easiest way to write with an eraser would be on carbon paper, surely?

I'm wondering if, as a result of this poll, we'll be changing the name of this forum to "The Keyboard is Mightier than the Pen"?

Blech ... lost again ... So, I guess this means I issue Annael a challenge?

You forgot one, Peredhil: love of icecream

Nice, but you need to proof it Oh, and I'd hazard a guess that body odours wouldn't be out of place

OOC: sorry this took so long, it's very much the kinda thing that's mood-based, for me. Secondly, Ashton - this is all 'In Character' - just so you know IC: (takes the mike from the monkeys and glares at them) I just want to thank my friends the apes for feeding this fool some more sour grapes. Did I say apes? I really meant monkeys. That's companion animals, not mere hired flunkies. Oh man, where to begin, where do I stick my knife and begin to skin the meat off the tired old bones of your predictable verse and tired old tones. No need to rehearse cos this is freestylin'. No need to take my words and chain em, that's what makes your sounds all the same. Here, let me give you some rope instead, and try not to hang yourself from your own head. There's a whole world out there, and you can walk it in the same old rhythm day to day, bitching and griping, "You, you're so gay." More to being a man than a penis. Who really cares what size his meat is? Sorry, I tell a lie, cos Ashton is that kind of guy. By the way, have you measured your 'light sabre' yet, today? Music isn't just rhythm, it's freedom to express yourself in the way that makes you feel best. If you wanna dis me for that, go be my guest. Just don't forget you're yet to show you know any other way to flow that doesn't involve a map of your road. You slowed. I see your stage, I call it a podium. I see your rhymes, I call em odium. I see your smack, I call it opium, then I throw it away cos I don't need junk to know how to play. Go ahead, lock yourself into the same old meter, and I'll keep spiking your drink with salt petre. Man, do yourself a favour: stop suckin' vanilla and try using some flavour.

I see your caffeine, and realise that neither paper, scissors or stone beat caffeine. This means that I've just used all three of them in my own posting in response to the challenge, whcih really means I've just cheated. And I'm not really a cheat. So just pretend that I actually rote vellum, shears and an oversize pebble, please .... Oh, err ... if you really like, just pretend that I wrote down stone, and that the reason (which is actually the real reason, as opposed to an excuse) is because I _tried_ so hard to adhere to the spirit of this game. Really, I did.

I liked it, especially the line "My feelings for you will be buried and hard to find". I think everyone can relate to the anger that comes at the end of a relationship, as you go through your 5 stages thingie. I'm curious if you constructed an irregular rhythm as a way of depicting the emotional turbulence, or was this more of a train of thought thing?

I'm loath to gush in detail, but I think I'll just have to grit my teeth this time Nice flow. The pacing felt about right. The suspense you built in the first third or so, then twisted, then rebuilt, then resolved, was nifty (world's most under-used word, is 'nifty'). And I'm glad to see the notion of demons being ice also appealed to others (though I can think of reasons why they would be firey, hehe ). Overall, I enjoyed it quite a great deal, and can think of nothing I personally would see changed. Thanks

Can't fault it, at all - length is really more of a problem in an on-line environment anyway. I think in a print medium, this would be sized just right. Thanks for the read

OOC: okie, understood - Ashton, up for an email 'battle'?

This is really good, very tight, very funny. Great job

Youch, man ... all my very best to your gf and yourself. :sigh:

A horde of cute lil monkeys screeches into the room, lugging a laptop with them. They chatter animatedly, then begin to hammer furiously at the keyboard. A strangely familiar voice begins to boom out of the laptop speakers ... Ashton is back! Ashton is back! Take your hand outta your pants, and stop playing with your hackey-sack. You bringing your rhymes back to these boards but they're gonna get wiped by this monkey horde. You're harder than clay? What is this? You got some viagra to make your whiz fizz? Clay's soft and pliable until it gets fired. Your rhymes leave you liable, it's time to retire. Ah, here we go, throw in a gay joke, follow it up with some hand-pump virility. Don't make us yawn. Your rhymes are not porn. Tired old tropes aren't proof of ability. Blades is back! Blades is back! Yeah, we can see his back. Cos he's grabbing his ankles, kissing his ass goodbye. Stuck his head in the earth and called it the sky. We see the place where the sun don't shine. Must be the place where you find your rhymes. Here, let us get you some paper and an eraser and here's some incence to disguise the flavour. King of Blades, you ain't no Ginsu. Brother, we own you, we want our money back. Tried to put you to use and you just cracked. Your crack pipe is clay? Is that your inspiration? Your use-by's today. Welcome to your expiration. The cute lil monkeys stop typing, then start playing "8 Mile" on the laptop's DVD, pauing every once in a while to look from Ashton to the screen and back with a raucous cheer. OOC: Had a read through this thread, and was impressed by what I saw. Hope you don't mind a challenge - this could be fun

Thanks, Wyv. Now that I've had a couple of days to ponder this, I'm beginning to think that perhaps I ought to go into greater detail in two instances: Caradoc's inital charge at Count Quain, and the duel Caradoc fights with the dandy in Cybinne? THink that would help? You're on the money with the scene setting, though. This story gets BIG, I'm afraid

A horde of cute monkeys descends upon a large stone ball, which lies at the foot of a mountain which has spontaneously manifested right outside the Cabaret Room. The monkeys swarm into the shape of a large hand, which brushes against the ball, until the large chunka round stone, that is, the ball, begins to roll up the mountain. As the cute lil furry critters (complete with prehensile tails, which are no less furry, nor less cute) roll the rolling ball, they begin to chant in a rhythmic fashion. She counts with an hourglass. She is far too polite to use an abacus. (you shouldn't 'cus, you know) Her warmth is like a waterfall, her joy coming from a great height to all diffracting sunlight in a ruddy glow. Her ruminations are geometric, but not shaped like your average geodesic. Slow when fast, fast when slow. She whispers long lost fairy tales, of searches for crosses and sacred grails. May her cup ever overflow. She loses herself in the superficial, sees a rose and yet thinks it a thistle. May her garden ever grow. I will pledge as she may drink, Pray we rise when our fears bid us sink, Unfreeze and bid we flow.