Blab about your story

Thread for talking about what you've got written, what your story's about, and for asking questions and throwing yourself on the mercy of the internet's guidance (Always a good idea. Always.)

Doing Angel Starr detective noir, have made it to a bizarre scene two that will probably end up pared down or cut completely. But I have a pressing question for the next important scene:

Should Angel attempt to seduce Franziska for information (y/n)?

And should she succeed?

INQUIRING MINDS WISH TO KNOW.

Angel should TOTALLY attempt to seduce Franziska for information. It would be awesome if she succeeded at the seduction part, anyway.

MEANWHILE in my story (and also in a scene that will probably be heavily trimmed later on), Apollo is intimidated by older!Machi, who's all tall and hairy and stuff.

I know nothing about any of these people but I say attempt to seduce, fail at the seducing, but get the info anyways.

So far my story is scenery porn. Lots and lots of scenery and culture porn

Not to worry. Mine is currently a character called Chekhov hanging a gun over a mantelpiece. It's pure waffle.

Urban paranormal romance featuring a time mage. Right now she's cleaned up the store she works at, had a meeting with her mentor and a team of witch doctors backed by an African thunderbird (trading dinosaur bones for a rug--it makes sense in context, I think), touched the dinosaur bones and mentally flashed back 65 million years--which really screwed her up. Meanwhile, a blind man is hiding in a shipping crate on a ship that's just docked. And the Headless Horseman hasn't even shown up yet.

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Heartily recommend changing the thread title to "Celebrate my badfic!"

Tungsten Monk wrote:

Urban paranormal romance featuring a time mage. Right now she's cleaned up the store she works at, had a meeting with her mentor and a team of witch doctors backed by an African thunderbird (trading dinosaur bones for a rug--it makes sense in context, I think), touched the dinosaur bones and mentally flashed back 65 million years--which really screwed her up. Meanwhile, a blind man is hiding in a shipping crate on a ship that's just docked. And the Headless Horseman hasn't even shown up yet.

This sounds eerily like my very first Nano project. Although mine was rather disjointed, a self-insert, and did not involve a blind man in a shipping crate.



Let's make this a little more exciting; post your biggest WTF excerpt so far, either something intentionally silly or something silly that just sort-of sneaked into the narrative during the process of word-farming.

Quote :

"Orizaba's a good ship," she nodded. "Maybe I'll give you a tour sometime."

"I think that would work better the other way around." Laughing, Dylan thought about just what would happen if he set foot on Alliance property right now. "I'd be liable to get arrested."

"Maybe," she answered, stepping out of the way when a pair of kids that had been playing on a snow bank ran by. "She's got a nice gun, though."

Shaking his head, Dylan answered, "Sometimes I wonder why you didn't join the Marines, Mom."

"Wanted bigger guns," Hannah shrugged. "Besides, it's just about the only kind of gun I get to play with these days."

"Mom!" Dylan tried to glare at her, but his mother was one of the few people he could never stare down. He blamed it more on motherly magic than anything else, considering he was a foot taller. "I don't need to know that!"

"Honey," her voice turning dry, she gave him a look. "After all the times you and Timothy assumed I couldn't hear you in your room when we had base housing on Watson in that pre-fab with walls thinner than paper, I think you can handle it."

Finally pulling his hands out of his pockets, Dylan scrubbed his palms up and down over his face until he could feel heat from the friction, but he resisted the temptation to shove his thumbs into his eyes. Suddenly, the snow under his boots wasn't nearly loud enough. "I really could've gone my entire life without hearing that, I just want you to know. This is worse than coming out. Wait, was this before I told you? Did you know?"

By way of confession, Hannah shrugged innocently. "I figured you'd tell me when you wanted me to know." Under her sunglasses, she rolled her eyes, at herself more than anything. "Maybe I was hoping you were going through a phase. After your father passed away, I just...really looked forward to you starting a family."

"I'm seeing someone," he wasn't sure if this was a good answer to what she'd said or if he just wanted to say it.

"Really?" Her interest piqued, Hannah glanced behind them. "That turian that's been following us?"

"What? Garrus?" Glancing back himself at where Garrus was nonchalantly leaning against a wall after keeping track of them this far, Dylan's eyes went wide. "No, why would you think that?"

"I don't know, I thought you liked rugged men, maybe you've been experimenting." That said, Hannah added, "Honestly, I'm just relieved you knew he was there, otherwise we'd have a problem."

WTF excerpts? I can top that. Here's my opening paragraph:

Quote :

The novel begins with a character named Chekhov hanging a pistol on a wall. The character is completely unaware as to whether the gun is loaded. The reader knows that the gun is loaded. The author is not sure as to whether it is correct to call a pistol a gun, as it is quite possible that the word “gun” only applies to large weapons like cannons.

Mine has a bizarre scene in a supermarket. Keep in mind, the narrator is an alien who hasn't been here too long and has no idea what any of the stuff is:

Quote :

I wanted to peruse each aisle individually, but Miri kept steering the cart towards one particular section where all the foodstuffs (if that’s what they were) came in brown wrappers. No matter how many times I said, “No, Miri!” and tried to wrest the cart away from her, she would always gravitate back to the same place, as if drawn there magnetically. Finally I gave up and let her take her time there.
She grabbed fistfuls of the brown packages, all the while crooning something that sounded like “Choklit.” What was this choklit, and why did she want it so badly?
“This must be very valuable to them,” Norg offered. “Mine are just as excited about it.”
“Scan it and see what it is.”
“You scan it.”
“I’ve done everything else we’ve selected. It’s your turn.”
“Very well.” He picked up one of the brown things and ran it under the analyzer. “No nutritional content . . . high carbohydrates . . . full of chemicals, just like everything else. Is there no real food left in this world, that these humans have to subsist on synthetic nourishment?”
“It’s no good, then.”
“No.”
“Fine.” I began taking the packages out of the cart. As soon as Miri saw what I was doing, she uttered a cry of utter horror.
“Choklit!”
“But it’s no good for you --“ I said, forgetting that she couldn’t understand me. I settled for a simple “No.”
“Choklit!” She proceeded to grab every single package on the shelf and throw it into the cart, then hunched over it protectively.
I looked at Norg, who shrugged. “Oh, let them have it. It makes them happy. If they’re happy, they won’t fight us.”
“But not so much.” I tried to put some of it back, and Miri actually screeched. The sound went through my head like a laser blast, and I covered my auditory receptors in pain.
“No, Miri! No!”
“Choklit!”
She was like an unruly child, refusing to listen. Unable to understand. I had to find a way to communicate with these people before they drove *me* insane.
I took her by the arm and pulled her away. “No,” I said firmly. “No choklit. No!”
She glared at me with the intensity of a thousand suns. “Choklit,” she said, the word a low, dangerous growl.
“One,” I said, taking out a single package from the cart. “One choklit. One.”
She looked at me, and then she pulled away and spewed a string of syllables that I couldn’t understand, but knew had to be some sort of curses.
I looked over at Idi, standing obediently by the cart, and hoped that she wouldn’t join in this madness. But she stood aloof, as always, waiting for my instructions. Norg’s females, while all this was going on, were taking the opportunity to scoop up every bit of choklit that I tried to put back. Norg himself was standing there with a look of amusement on his face.
All I could think was We should have brought the males. They would have been more reasonable.

I protest the idea that chocolate has no nutritional value. It has...sugar and....stuff...

Goddamn aliens.

Quote :

The novel begins with a character named Chekhov hanging a pistol on a wall. The character is completely unaware as to whether the gun is loaded. The reader knows that the gun is loaded. The author is not sure as to whether it is correct to call a pistol a gun, as it is quite possible that the word “gun” only applies to large weapons like cannons.

Yeah, you can call that a gun. Just don't call the magazine a clip.

Of course, this is the best gun.

Here's my rambling, heavy-handed poke at the choice of localization setting:

Quote :

I stepped out into the early November drizzle, resolved to sniff around the Cohdopian embassy to see what I could find. Used to be that Los Angeles proper was always in the range of balmy to hot, sunshine most days regardless of season with a touch more rain in the winter months. The weather over the past few years had been, quite frankly, completely bizarre. I thought I’d never see snow here in my lifetime, but then the winter froze us solid three years in a row. It rains more, too. Climate change is really killing us; you should see the traffic panic it causes to have snow on the ground.

^This paragraph is utterly pointless.

Ok, I have one for you. I'm going to be writing a Zombie Apocalypse novel which... as you know... zombie movies are almost "carefully"* concealed social commentary. I have a couple of issues I want to write on, in this vein, but I need a couple other issues that people might feel strongly about. Any ideas?





*Haha, "carefully" concealed most of the time means downright obvious.

It feels rough, but it gets the point across.

Quote :

Sivok felt his face flush and his ire rise. “What is the meaning of…”

His tirade died in his throat as he saw the muzzle of a Bajoran phaser pointed at him, held by a gloved hand appearing out of the darkness. “I take it that you’re not satisfied with your reward?”

Sivok reined in his temper, though a part of him wanted to lash out. The rational part of him, the part that once made him a effective deep-cover Romulan agent, noted that he would never succeed before the other person burned him down on the spot.

“Much better,” the other person said, their hand never wavering. “Now, I suppose you want to know why I’m double-crossing you and what purpose I would have in exterminating such a useful spy?”

Sivok arched his eyebrow, “Why would I ask such a ridiculous question? The answer is quite obvious – I am also a witness to my own actions, and if captured by Starfleet or Federation forces might divulge that information in exchange for some form of lenient treatment.”

Another laugh, “Bravo, Talik. And here I thought you couldn’t be as pedantic as a real Vulcan. However, you are absolutely correct. I can’t allow the plan I’ve set in motion to be interrupted on the off chance you end up in a brig somewhere. And before you ask, I’m not going to permit you a Right of Statement. I have a feeling that it would simply bore me.”

Sivok stood, knocking his chair to the floor, “Well then, get it over with and shoot me.”

“As you wish.”

In the moment before the beam took him, Sivok remembered the final words his teacher had spoken to him. Spies never get to walk away.

Maximilia wrote:

Ok, I have one for you. I'm going to be writing a Zombie Apocalypse novel which... as you know... zombie movies are almost "carefully"* concealed social commentary. I have a couple of issues I want to write on, in this vein, but I need a couple other issues that people might feel strongly about. Any ideas?





*Haha, "carefully" concealed most of the time means downright obvious.

The continued existence of the common law system in a world with mass literacy.

Quote :

“And you think melodramatic poetry is appropriate for this situation,” the Rau'meli deadpanned.

“I think that one is,” she grinned. “Mieron's 'Falling Pillar'.”

“That can't be right,” the Almodian interjected. “Wasn't Mieron's entire body of work pronounced anathema and burned two hundred years ago?”

“And him with it,” the strange little woman agreed. “Bit of an overreaction, I'd say. He wasn't that great of a writer, but he wasn't that bad, either.”

For some reason, I have this character who, just 5000 words in, developed the habit of reciting obscure poetry in tense situations. The other characters' reactions vary.

Wtf excerpts? Well, er, I sort of fell asleep while writing but didn't stop typing somehow and it resulted in some incomprehensible drivel.

Quote :

What they especially didn’t realize was that right out there among the happy, there are just as much provided to mean. They regcognized by shows I mea shoes. There are netative people as well and try as he mihg to be a good influes, Valleruann try as he might to be a good person he went out evven if he would cath the influesn he had to see her. he could not remember what her hads felt like i his

sorry just ramblig want to talk about donouts smelled the non smarmy way

jysk my NaNo is not actually about a heroic boyfriend going to see his girlfriend in spite of the influenza threat. or shoes. or shows. or donuts. And my protagonist isn't named Valleruann.

My whole story is sort of at a consistent level of WTF, so nothing really stands out from the rest. I kind of like this moment, though:

Quote :

I met Amanda by the back door. She had retrieved a long, heavy package from under the counter, but was clearly struggling a little with it; I quickly put my arms out, and she dropped it into them with a sigh. “You had to use the twill backing,” she said conversationally.

“They requested it.”

“They've got no taste, then. A person only puts a backing on a rug like this if they're planning to walk on it, not hang it on the wall like they should.” Amanda snorted, clearly unimpressed with the idea. “Come in drunk at god-knows-what-in-the-morning, fall down and spew everything on God's green earth all over a rug with the threads of time woven into it, you're going to have a hell of a hangover and flashbacks to the First Afghan War. Keep a hold of that, Gracie, until they've paid.”

Skipping ahead to the end of part one because fuck you

GLOVESLAP

Quote :

Larry leaned into Criselda, who turned slightly away from him, a bored expression on her face as she slid her pair of gloves out from under her belt. “You know, I’ve been chasing Lamiroir, but I’m willing to aim a little lower, if you know what I mean…”

Criselda turned sharply, following through with her arm, a loud SLAP echoing in the room as she connected with her target. Larry went sprawling on the floor in front of her. At first Apollo thought she had punched him, but then he saw the gloves dangling from her hand.

“Uncle Larry!” Trucy exclaimed, crouching next to him. Apollo joined her. “Are you all right?”

Larry stared up at them both, a dazed expression on his face. “…I…I just got a flash of inspiration!” he replied. “The long-awaited sequel to Franny’s Whip Lash Splash...” Apollo and Trucy helped him back on his feet. “…Selda’s Glove Slap Trap!”

...Having only played Apollo Justice, I have to say... that sounds perfectly normal for those games.

And now, provided entirely without context:

Quote :

“Fuck me,” Dildo breathed

LET'S ANNOY THE KLAPOLLO SHIPPERS:

Quote :

Ema reached over and placed a finger on the cardboard coaster Apollo was playing with earlier, and slid it over to her. “How are you?”

Apollo stared into his drink.

“People keep asking me that,” he answered after a few minutes. “I don’t know what to tell them. Gavin and I…” He broke off, and blew out a short sigh. “People expect us to have some kind of relationship – like the kind Mr. Wright had with prosecutors. And we…didn’t.” Apollo glanced at Ema, a guilty blush on his cheeks. “He wasn’t a long-lost childhood friend who needed saving. He didn’t hate my guts or want revenge on me – even though I’m the one who put his brother in prison.”

Ema nodded. Apollo had a mouthful of beer, and wet his lips.

“He was…an acquaintance,” Apollo continued. “And now he’s dead – murdered…and I don’t know how to feel.”

oh my god epic fantasy
I'm having a hard time convincing myself I'm not ripping off George R.R. Martin with this multiple POV characters thing. I've had this plot for a while, but I was having trouble deciding how to portray everything and so just said "Fuck it, ASOIAF does it, why can't I?"
I also have no idea if I'm presenting the magic mechanics of my world well, but FUCK IT EDITING IS FOR DECEMBER