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Brandon Sanderson / Re: Official Wheel of Time/ebook reader Photoshop contest thread
« on: February 03, 2010, 09:45:21 AM »
Who knew Brandon Sanderson was so popular with the Aes Sedai.
News:
Max is a Shadowblade, a supernatural--and supernaturally competent--warrior bound to protect her witch Giselle. As a Shadowblade, Max doesn't age. She is better, faster, stronger than any ordinary human being. And she hates it. Giselle betrayed her trust to make Max what she is, and though she is magically compelled to protect Giselle and follow orders, Max works against her witch in every way she can. Continue reading Bitter Night
Review by Silk
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Writing Group / Re: Writing Prompts!
« on: May 14, 2009, 07:43:08 PM »
I was hoping more people would post there prompts. ill just have to keep posting until someone else does too 
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Writing Group / Re: Writing Prompts!
« on: May 04, 2009, 03:06:04 AM »
Well, I may be the only one posting these prompts, but I'm having fun.
Give us Winnie the Pooh’s big death scene. On a destroyer in the South Pacific:
The Captain watched sunlight glint off brilliant cerulean waves. The S.S Hundred Acres drifted lazily in the South Pacific Ocean. Captain Pooh took a long sip of his honey, leaning on the railing and thinking of the past. Little did he know there wasn’t much time left to reminisce. When Tigger burst onto the forward deck, C4 strapped to his chest and madness in his eyes, Pooh reacted without thought. That willy, nilly, silly old bear ran toward Tigger, who was shouting at the top of his lungs,
"Ill blow you all to pieces, F U double Ka ers!"
In a final heroic effort, Captain Pooh tackled Tigger, sending them sailing out over the waves. The ensuing explosion only rocked the ship, while the crew stared on in shock. Brave Pooh had saved them all, even his glass of honey, still balanced on the rail.
Give us Winnie the Pooh’s big death scene. On a destroyer in the South Pacific:
The Captain watched sunlight glint off brilliant cerulean waves. The S.S Hundred Acres drifted lazily in the South Pacific Ocean. Captain Pooh took a long sip of his honey, leaning on the railing and thinking of the past. Little did he know there wasn’t much time left to reminisce. When Tigger burst onto the forward deck, C4 strapped to his chest and madness in his eyes, Pooh reacted without thought. That willy, nilly, silly old bear ran toward Tigger, who was shouting at the top of his lungs,
"Ill blow you all to pieces, F U double Ka ers!"
In a final heroic effort, Captain Pooh tackled Tigger, sending them sailing out over the waves. The ensuing explosion only rocked the ship, while the crew stared on in shock. Brave Pooh had saved them all, even his glass of honey, still balanced on the rail.
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Writing Group / Re: Writing Prompts!
« on: May 04, 2009, 01:01:41 AM »
Here's another one. Prompt: Write about a passionate egg.
Gregg P. Yoke had known Meggan Whites since their first day next to each other in the crate. It was love at first sight. He realized life was short when the clouds opened up and God reached down to grab Meggan. He watched as she was cracked in half and her innards cooked into a delicious scrambled masterpiece. God grabbed Gregg next.
At least I can join her in blissful gourmet sleep, He thought. "Journeys end in lovers meeting! I come to join thee sweet Meggan!"
Crack.
Gregg P. Yoke had known Meggan Whites since their first day next to each other in the crate. It was love at first sight. He realized life was short when the clouds opened up and God reached down to grab Meggan. He watched as she was cracked in half and her innards cooked into a delicious scrambled masterpiece. God grabbed Gregg next.
At least I can join her in blissful gourmet sleep, He thought. "Journeys end in lovers meeting! I come to join thee sweet Meggan!"
Crack.
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Writing Group / Re: Writing Prompts!
« on: May 02, 2009, 10:31:09 AM »
Prompt: Howard gets attacked by monkeys.
Please take no offense with the following story, I had very little to go on when I wrote Howard. Your podcasts are awesome and I have nothing but respect for you guys! My goal was to write without planning, I just wanted to have fun and get some practice. Enjoy.
-----------
I suppose this story starts off like any other story. It was a rainy night, in a dirty town. I was at my favorite watering hole, the Sunken Sailor. Whiskey on the rocks. A bitter drink for a bitter man. My name is Charles Stone. I'm a PI, Private Eye, whatever you want to call it. A lot of people call me Bedrock. Why? I dunno, guess they think I'm a solid kinda guy. All I know, my night was going swimmingly, until he showed up.
He came in through the front door, drawing everyones attention. Dripping water formed a puddle under his feet. First thing I noticed was his head, shining in all its balding glory. Two beady eyes peered from behind a pair of small glasses, broken in the center and missing one lens. Through the smokey haze of the dirty bar I watched him scamper over to the closest drunk. He had a twitchy bearing, as if every noise spooked him. He spoke to the drunk, briefly. Apparently he didn't get what he was looking for. Hop skipping to the next patron, he mopped his lustrous head with a dirty handkerchief, smearing grime across his forehead. Darting eyes attempted to watch everyone in the bar while he hurriedly inquired with his newest acquaintance. The bar bum hitched his thumb over his shoulder, straight at me.
Great, now I'd have to be polite.
As he hurried over to me, he attempted to straighten what little hair he had left, as though to compensate for his disheveled state. As he neared, I noticed scratches crisscrossing his fantastically polished pate. All along his neck, arms, and it appeared his legs as well. Small tears covered his muddy clothes, and a water logged notebook stuck up awkwardly from his pants pocket. He stopped in front of me, silent for a moment. He adjusted his glasses with ink-stained fingers.
"Ahem..." he started. "I'm told you are Charles Stone?" His voice reminded me of a strung out librarian.
"You were told correctly...unfortunately." I muttered.
"Ah, great...er, what was that? you trailed off at the end."
"Nothing, my streamlined friend, nothing. What can Charles Stone do for you?" I asked.
"Ah... yes. of course. yes...well, my name, good sir, is Howard Tayler, I am and author and an artist...uh...yes, um, I have need of your reportedly exception detective skills."
The entire time he spoke his eyes flicked rapidly around, searching for some unknown danger, and wringing his hands. Something had spooked this man something fierce. Perhaps this case would be interesting after all.
"What is it exactly that you require of me?" Who knows, I thought, Maybe this could be my big break.
"Well, uh, you see, Mr. Stone, uh...well...I was attacked earlier this eve, and uh...need your help finding the fiends who perpetrated this heinous uh...crime. yes."
"Well, lets see Howard. What can you tell me about these attackers?" I took a long drink from my Jack, waiting for his answer.
"Uh, yes...well. uh....they were monkeys, if I recall correctly."
Why do they call me Bedrock? maybe its because it takes a whole lot to make me crack. Howard Tayler cracked me up so thoroughly I nearly choked to death on an ice cube I started laughing so hard. Good thing for me he was a sport and clapped me on the back 'til I coughed it up.
Please take no offense with the following story, I had very little to go on when I wrote Howard. Your podcasts are awesome and I have nothing but respect for you guys! My goal was to write without planning, I just wanted to have fun and get some practice. Enjoy.
-----------
I suppose this story starts off like any other story. It was a rainy night, in a dirty town. I was at my favorite watering hole, the Sunken Sailor. Whiskey on the rocks. A bitter drink for a bitter man. My name is Charles Stone. I'm a PI, Private Eye, whatever you want to call it. A lot of people call me Bedrock. Why? I dunno, guess they think I'm a solid kinda guy. All I know, my night was going swimmingly, until he showed up.
He came in through the front door, drawing everyones attention. Dripping water formed a puddle under his feet. First thing I noticed was his head, shining in all its balding glory. Two beady eyes peered from behind a pair of small glasses, broken in the center and missing one lens. Through the smokey haze of the dirty bar I watched him scamper over to the closest drunk. He had a twitchy bearing, as if every noise spooked him. He spoke to the drunk, briefly. Apparently he didn't get what he was looking for. Hop skipping to the next patron, he mopped his lustrous head with a dirty handkerchief, smearing grime across his forehead. Darting eyes attempted to watch everyone in the bar while he hurriedly inquired with his newest acquaintance. The bar bum hitched his thumb over his shoulder, straight at me.
Great, now I'd have to be polite.
As he hurried over to me, he attempted to straighten what little hair he had left, as though to compensate for his disheveled state. As he neared, I noticed scratches crisscrossing his fantastically polished pate. All along his neck, arms, and it appeared his legs as well. Small tears covered his muddy clothes, and a water logged notebook stuck up awkwardly from his pants pocket. He stopped in front of me, silent for a moment. He adjusted his glasses with ink-stained fingers.
"Ahem..." he started. "I'm told you are Charles Stone?" His voice reminded me of a strung out librarian.
"You were told correctly...unfortunately." I muttered.
"Ah, great...er, what was that? you trailed off at the end."
"Nothing, my streamlined friend, nothing. What can Charles Stone do for you?" I asked.
"Ah... yes. of course. yes...well, my name, good sir, is Howard Tayler, I am and author and an artist...uh...yes, um, I have need of your reportedly exception detective skills."
The entire time he spoke his eyes flicked rapidly around, searching for some unknown danger, and wringing his hands. Something had spooked this man something fierce. Perhaps this case would be interesting after all.
"What is it exactly that you require of me?" Who knows, I thought, Maybe this could be my big break.
"Well, uh, you see, Mr. Stone, uh...well...I was attacked earlier this eve, and uh...need your help finding the fiends who perpetrated this heinous uh...crime. yes."
"Well, lets see Howard. What can you tell me about these attackers?" I took a long drink from my Jack, waiting for his answer.
"Uh, yes...well. uh....they were monkeys, if I recall correctly."
Why do they call me Bedrock? maybe its because it takes a whole lot to make me crack. Howard Tayler cracked me up so thoroughly I nearly choked to death on an ice cube I started laughing so hard. Good thing for me he was a sport and clapped me on the back 'til I coughed it up.
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