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Ha ha, all right, so either the last prompt was terrible, or we're all very busy lately...

I've decided that once a week is probably best - owing to the little amounts of people giving submissions, and how busy or tired or unconcerned we all are would make extremely regular updates a near impossibility. And it's okay if you can't respond to prompts immediately, though I feel you only get out of this what you put in.

How do you all feel about allowing more members in? Perhaps with more participants, the rest of us will feel more inclined to write more and participate often.

Regardless, I am going to present the next prompt, and in another week, I'll give another one, and another one after that. If people want to write about prompts that intrigue them, very well. I'm going to attempt to write for the last prompt, and I encourage you all to do the same, but if you can't, you can't.

Using only dialogue, describe a situation in which two or more people experience a car crash (or, alternatively, two or more people robbing a bank / an elderly woman) (or, fuck, whatever you want).

I figured we'd alternate between stylistic and theme-based prompts, and thus I chose this one. Leave any comments or IM me if you want to point something out or have questions.

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I know Val and MK haven't posted anything for the second prompt yet, but I figured I'd pick this next prompt because it's rather simple. As we haven't had this group for very long and we are still testing it out -- I have a feeling two updates a week will be best -- I figure we can work our way up to the harder prompts.

The prompt is:
Write about anything, as long as it involves a lamppost and a sunset.

I know that it's a stupid prompt, but I didn't want to pick a difficult prompt just yet, particularly of the plot-oriented prompts (some of them seem to demand a lot of writing, and I know that I at least am super-busy currently). The next prompt will probably not be until next Tuesday or Wednesday, so you guys have time to write this and finish the second one.

Also, don't be afraid to comment on others' stuff. I notice Adam doesn't get many comments (xD) and I also notice he hasn't really commented on anything [constructively]. I am still being a dick to him. That doesn't mean, though, that he's the only one not commenting. What's important is that every piece of writing has at least one comment on it.

Another additional thing - if you want to post any of your writing for constructive commentary, not just those born from prompts, feel free to! The idea of micro-opus is to help each other out, after all.

I think we should have another chatroom meeting soon - I'd like to see what is a good date for everyone, so if I don't get around to contacting you before you see this message, please leave a comment letting me know when you'll be online in the evenings. :D
Current Mood:
content content
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Submerged, I worked my oily whips, lashing through the water, parting sea before me as I sought the briny Father, his house enshrined in reef and reed, which danced the dance undying; leisurely, I billowed forth, and heard his children crying. He emerged, enraged, erupting from a steeple, showering coral shards and pearls down upon his people. The Father lunged as if to wed his trident to my heart; my tendrils wrapped his arms and throat, to rend the god apart. Whilst spinning in this grapple I recounted him his crime, his traitorous transgression, breaching concordat divine; for consorting with the merfolk, denizens of the deep, I dispatched the apostate and razed his precious keep. Adrift above abandoned ruins, I consumed his corpse, signed the seven sacred sigils with reticent remorse, and, having finished all my business, pulsed towards the portal- in silent celebration of a god proven mortal.
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The flying clown had eluded me for the last time, my infantile mind concluded. The creature was swaying at the end of a string, a mocking leer fixed on his plastic face, and I knew my uncoordinated lunges and grasps only amused him further. I took a moment to collect myself and repeat the words of the ancient order, a meditation that, to all others, would appear to be nonsensical babbling. It was then – with the fluid alacrity of a predatory cat – that I heaved myself upwards towards the careening demon, screaming as if I were immolated, and subsequently vomited all over myself. Of course, this would not be the entirety of my efforts. No, this was but the harbinger of the calamity that would come crashing down on the suspended jester, and he could sense it, and he quivered most fearfully before my wrath. Indeed, with the intensity of a thousand suns I defecated in my loincloth before proceeding to nap.
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or: "The professional organizations agree: the only way to distinguish between true and false memories is by external corroboration."

prompt 2Collapse )

my choice of word isn't a surprise. ugh, I'm embarrassed. and I feel sick.

Current Mood:
uncomfortable uncomfortable
Current Music:
Three Days Grace - Pain
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:| Yeah, so I guess I REALLY can't work well with stream-of-consciousness.

I've been stressing out over minute things the past few days and writing wasn't working for me. So I treated the 'noun/stream of consciousness' prompt more like a 'I'm going to write whatever my brain tells me to with an emphasis on particular nouns' prompt. Subsequently, it's really not much in the way of a work of art. @_@; What I'm saying is that I know this is crappy. xD;

Read more...Collapse )

Also, I'm going to put the next prompt up on around the 12th or 13th, to give Adam a chance to fucking post stuff. Fucking faggot.
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Alright, sorry it took me so ridiculously long to get this down (it's not entirely my fault - I was busy solving crimes and saying "objection" and shit like that). I've been thinking about my first memory for a while, actually, because I've got terrible short-term memory and nothing monumental has ever happened to me. I guess this is the first thing I remember, my timeline's a little off. It's spectacularly shitty writing, though, forgive me for that.

Here's what I've got, then.Collapse )
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I realize Adam and MK (and Matt, I guess, but he's getting settled in Paris) haven't responded to the first prompt, but that shouldn't limit the three of us who really want to write from writing. xD So, I propose we move onto the second prompt:

Pick any noun and write stream of consciousness involving or about it. (I figured we'd go for a stylistic prompt, and this one seemed a nice and easy one to start with. Also, I like stream of consciousness. 8D;; )

Additionally, if you want to post edits for your critiqued work, add them to the original entry but place them under an LJ cut (DON'T delete the original from the website). :D

Anyhow, I'm thinking either three times a week we get a new prompt, or one every two days. I'll try contacting Adam and MK to see what's up. :|

Question: How should we tag our entries? Should we tag them due to content matter, or according to prompts? (Or both? O_o; How does one tag creative writing due to content matter?)
Current Mood:
calm calm
Current Music:
"Mount Wroclai" - Beirut
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The plastic chair stuck to the back of my four-year-old legs. Tcch-tcch. Tcch-tcch. The chair made irritated sounds as I peeled my legs off the chair, one after the other, one after the other. My dad stuck his head out the door, nervous-looking and twitchy.

"Val, you all right? Bored?"

"Yeah." I twisted the little metal handle on the stuffed dinosaur. It began to sing. "Aunt Ruth gave me this music box dinosaur, though; she's Sally."

He nodded and disappeared back into the hospital room. I twisted the little metal handle again.

The hospital was noisy and rude. I hated the smells and the sounds and I was tired of sitting on the plastic chair and I didn't want to have to do it much longer. Tcch-tcch. Tcch-tcch. The sound was no longer amusing, and now I was just getting frustrated with the stickiness of the chair.

I moved to the floor, leant my head back against the wall. Sally sang at me; I wound her again, the little metal handle making noise as I turned it, as the springs tightened again. Tcccch. Tcccch.

Three hours later, I woke up to my dad shaking me. I had a crick in my neck, and told my dad so. He stumbled over some sentence that I think referenced not falling asleep on the floor with my head against the wall, and rushed me into the hospital room. My mom smiled at me tiredly and looked down at her arms, and then I saw my brother. He was tiny and red and wrinkled and was yelling at the top of his lungs, and I gave Mom a disgusted look.

"Why is he so little? I said I wanted an OLDER brother."

She laughed a little bit and my dad bustled me out of the room and told me to wait a little longer, and then he and I would go home.

I glared at him and sat back on the plastic chair. It was still sticky. Tcch-tcch. Tcch-tcch.
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Hi everyone! Here's my response to the first prompt... I'll try to refrain from talking too much about it. I really think we should put these things under LJ cuts to keep from stretching the page too much (lies - I'm just insecure about having my stupid writing on the page). I think using tags would also be helpful.

prompt 1Collapse )

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