imursecretbaby
Resident
Not exactly a haiku but I probably could work it into one. That was an off the cuff.
L
Lupine
Guest
A long, long time ago on a writer's forum far, far away, I was trying to improve my literary skills when I was given a piece of advice.
A writer is no more than an emotion generator. The objective should be to make the reader feel something, happy, sad, angry, excited.. etc
If the reader does not feel 'moved' to feel, the writer failed.
I've tried to ensure I never forget that. I may not always succeed but I will always attempt to succeed.
Ls x
A writer is no more than an emotion generator. The objective should be to make the reader feel something, happy, sad, angry, excited.. etc
If the reader does not feel 'moved' to feel, the writer failed.
I've tried to ensure I never forget that. I may not always succeed but I will always attempt to succeed.
Ls x
P
Pistil
Guest
The advice I remember from a writing mentor is to keep in mind two questions - "So what?" and "Who cares?" This has been invaluable to me.
And then Raymond Chandler - “In writing a novel, when in doubt, have two guys come through the door with guns.”
And then Raymond Chandler - “In writing a novel, when in doubt, have two guys come through the door with guns.”
L
Lupine
Guest
So this piece has been going round in my head for days. It's changed and morphed and normally it's something I'd hand write out but I don't feel like it..
My life is but a penny,
Dropped upon the floor,forgotten.
Laying in the vain hope.
That I'm picked up and used to make a better life.
Short and aimed to make people think a little..
My life is but a penny,
Dropped upon the floor,forgotten.
Laying in the vain hope.
That I'm picked up and used to make a better life.
Short and aimed to make people think a little..
L
Lupine
Guest
I haven't written anything for myself in ages and technically this was written for a company who decided they didn't want this one piece. Its fine as I wrote 45 pieces like this to fill 30 slots and they used more than they said. The books are based around ideas of Nordic folklore.
Hergal moved slowly in the snow. The way his father had taught him some 30 winters back. They
were harsh lessons that every child had to learn if he wanted to ensure they ate. The wrong noise at
the wrong moment would scare the Deer away and then that could be another day without meat
and the swift strikes of his father’s hand.
Adjusting his grip on the bow he ensured his fingers didn’t cramp. Made sure the arrows were ready
if he needed more than one. It would happen, the Deer would sense something at the last minute
and might turn. An old wound could slow the arrow from the right point. A sudden gust of wind.
Hergal marveled at the fates and how life could be changed my man things out of his own control or
even his understanding.
Hergal knew the songs of heroes, he could like any man recite the songs of new beginnings and of
the parting of the spirits. Those used for births and deaths. But of the songs of creation, his wisdom
was nothing or those of calling or a hundred other matters he had heard the wise people talk about.
But they were things he wondered on but knew were not his path in life. He was a warrior when the
call went out and beyond that, he hunted like others, turned the land when the sun made it warmer.
Shaking his head he knew he had become distracted his thought had drawn him away from what he
was here for, the Deer. Food for his family and the skin would make his wife some new boots.
Moving again he drew the bow, slightly sideways on so that it wouldn’t catch on the tree and drop
fresh snow on him. He let his breath slowly drain from his body and then the arrow was gone.
Ripping through the air and only stopping when it struck the Deer, straight and true.
Walking now with purpose Hergal covered the distance to the prize. They would have fresh meat
again and along with the fish they had enough for maybe 8 or 9 days. Hefting the Deer he headed
home once more, his thoughts lost on the day..
The idea in these was to keep the language simple and not overly complicate it, remembering a culture that was around over a thousand years ago and more.
Hergal moved slowly in the snow. The way his father had taught him some 30 winters back. They
were harsh lessons that every child had to learn if he wanted to ensure they ate. The wrong noise at
the wrong moment would scare the Deer away and then that could be another day without meat
and the swift strikes of his father’s hand.
Adjusting his grip on the bow he ensured his fingers didn’t cramp. Made sure the arrows were ready
if he needed more than one. It would happen, the Deer would sense something at the last minute
and might turn. An old wound could slow the arrow from the right point. A sudden gust of wind.
Hergal marveled at the fates and how life could be changed my man things out of his own control or
even his understanding.
Hergal knew the songs of heroes, he could like any man recite the songs of new beginnings and of
the parting of the spirits. Those used for births and deaths. But of the songs of creation, his wisdom
was nothing or those of calling or a hundred other matters he had heard the wise people talk about.
But they were things he wondered on but knew were not his path in life. He was a warrior when the
call went out and beyond that, he hunted like others, turned the land when the sun made it warmer.
Shaking his head he knew he had become distracted his thought had drawn him away from what he
was here for, the Deer. Food for his family and the skin would make his wife some new boots.
Moving again he drew the bow, slightly sideways on so that it wouldn’t catch on the tree and drop
fresh snow on him. He let his breath slowly drain from his body and then the arrow was gone.
Ripping through the air and only stopping when it struck the Deer, straight and true.
Walking now with purpose Hergal covered the distance to the prize. They would have fresh meat
again and along with the fish they had enough for maybe 8 or 9 days. Hefting the Deer he headed
home once more, his thoughts lost on the day..
The idea in these was to keep the language simple and not overly complicate it, remembering a culture that was around over a thousand years ago and more.
JustifiedSinner
Well-Known Member
What happened to this thread?
Could it be restarted as a flash fiction thread?
Perhaps someone comes up with a theme or topic and everyone comes up with a story 200 words or less?
Could it be restarted as a flash fiction thread?
Perhaps someone comes up with a theme or topic and everyone comes up with a story 200 words or less?
PhantomStranger
Member
Alright how about flash fiction about being hungry?
Howler02
Member
Not a writer but, here’s something I scribbled down a while back in a moment of discuss.
Given everything needed to exist with the ability to adapt to changing conditions. Evolving as time passes yet only thinking of themselves as if it all belongs to them. Arrogant towards the reality of life as they make changes that only help them. Always needing more than what has been given. Taking with no regards as to future effects to life. Believing they can repair the damage caused by their actions. Asking for forgiveness, help and understanding for things they choose to ignore as problems they have caused. Always wanting more and giving nothing back. Destroying theirs and everything's future because they believe it is their right to do so.
Who are they?
Given everything needed to exist with the ability to adapt to changing conditions. Evolving as time passes yet only thinking of themselves as if it all belongs to them. Arrogant towards the reality of life as they make changes that only help them. Always needing more than what has been given. Taking with no regards as to future effects to life. Believing they can repair the damage caused by their actions. Asking for forgiveness, help and understanding for things they choose to ignore as problems they have caused. Always wanting more and giving nothing back. Destroying theirs and everything's future because they believe it is their right to do so.
Who are they?
Howler02
Member
Hello
