Forum members show great promise

[baddad]

I've noticed, aside from being quite well read, that many forum members display a certain knack, often funny, often brilliant perspicacity (love that word, and any version thereof) and have a quick personal perspective and approach to their postings. I thought it might be interesting to post a few paragraphs of original works, something composed at one sitting, a little fictional prose to show your stuff, a little something just for us to share here on the forum. Nothing fancy, nothing you may want to copyright, but something you judge well written......to share. Yay/nay?

Perhaps I'm just running out of things to read...............(love that little button that makes dots.........)

[subterranean]

with this little brain i have..no idea what the purpose of this thread

Cheers

[Isagel]

There is poetry (I had to edit - realised I spelled poetry potery ) and some prose by forum members in the Personal poetry section. But perhaps you mean something else?

[baddad]

si, gracias for pointing out my aimless ramblings.....ees not first time I ramble on bout no thing........

Actually I'm curious to see a little fiction, short 2 paragraph (or more, whatever floats your boat) blurbs constructed by the brilliant minds loitering in this forum. NO point wasting all those English Lit/English Composition lectures. After all, we paid good money to hear those professors shpeak.........

[ajoe]

I'd write fiction, but I'm awful at it.

Hey, baddad, were you inspired by verybaddmom?

[subterranean]

inspired...? on what..?
suppose each of us could post a line or two, but those lines must be connected to each other in order to make a story....

[nome1486]

If it's an ongoing story you want, there is a short one in this section started by Jessika called "Writing our own story?". I thought baddad might mean individual works, like things we've done in class before or something. But come to think of it, I don't think I have written any fiction since elementary school. I'm like you ajoe.

I like your avatar baddad!

I'll find my Comp. 110 portfolio and see if there's anything in there that would work.

[baddad]

Hmmmm. The idea here is not to contribute to an ongoing collaboration, but instead, I'm just curious to see the writing abilities of the many creative minds visiting this site. And truth be told, I had in mind something created just for this thread, as opposed to past works, something like a short, short story.Too much to ask you think???

AJOE: Yeah, truth be told, verybadmom has inspired me quite often. In fact, she turned me onto this website. And although we are now sepetated by 3000 kilometeres and 4 provinces (only a small strip of this gigantic country) we are friends who both once attended a University in British Columbia, Canada.

Re: my new avatar: an avatar, according to 'Websters New World Dictionary' is a manifestation on earth,of a god. I thought the little angel appropriate......

My real inspiration (aside from verybadmom) (wonder where she got the inspiration for her forum name?) is life. My goal is to write fiction for a living. I've written a novel, as yet unpublished, and have several more in various stages of development. But worry not, I'm not shopping for ideas with this thread, nor would I plagarize, not even an idea. I'm a big believer in Karma, good and evil energy, and the consequences of ignoring both........

Really, I'm just curious.......there seem to be so many quite brilliant minds attending to this forum...........it may be astonishing to see what some of the folks come up with......

[verybaddmom]

AJOE: Yeah, truth be told, verybadmom has inspired me quite often. In fact, she turned me onto this website. And although we are now sepetated by 3000 kilometeres and 4 provinces (only a small strip of this gigantic country) we are friends who both once attended a University in British Columbia, Canada.....My real inspiration (aside from verybadmom) (wonder where she got the inspiration for her forum name?) is life.

i inspired you?? im flattered and pleased man, especially considering the changes in my life prompted by you (mostly good, too. lol)

anyhow, ajoe,i snitched baddad's name long time ago, before i had any idea that we would be sharing a message board. it has sort of stuck since then and im verybaddmom everywhere i go.

as far as the gigantic country "sepetating" us.....my friend, what's up with that anyhow? when are you going my way again?

i will try and get some fiction worked up for you, dad. but dont hold your breath right now....

[nome1486]

You should give us a sample of your writing to get us started baddad. :) Not the ones you're planning to publish, of course. Some people don't pay proper attention to building good karma like they should...

[verybaddmom]

oooh good idea. a sample of the master's stuff
i second the motion

[baddad]

.........ok.....

[ajoe]

baddad & vbd: o, that's really cool. :D

[baddad]

Tears flow constantly, not always visible, more often on the inside where they stain only her heart. But she can't deny their existence. She feels their moist presence, the pea under the mattress.
There seemed so much promise offered by life when she was a child, promises and a tantilization by mainstream media and friends, repeated fairy tales meant to sway, parent's drawn pictures of a society true and bold, anything possible. All that was required on her part was a willingness to participate, a real commitment to conform.
Of course that was the nub of it, the root of her problem. She found herself born to a world without honour, a world without a soul, a duplicious, greedy maw of life demanding conformity, demands for a bowing, scraping, self-induced pathology of one's 'self'.
So what do you do if you can't bend without breaking, what if you cannot even conceive of compromising your prinicples and morals, and what if, god forbid, you don't give a damn about money, or belongings, or material net worth? Where do you fit in?
She cannot bend, cannot compromise, cannot comprehend how to even approach such a state, and instead wonders if it is all just an illusion, this easy conformity those around her perform.
"Surely people cannot be so easily molded", she thinks. And because of her 'flaw', her inability to be 'one with the masses', her inability to subjugate her soul to the latest moral breach now morphed into a fad, life has been difficult. Because of this flaw she assumes the rest of her life will also be constantly teared. And she is frustrated.
Standing on a sandy shore in the middle of a moonlit night, soft waves of the warm Atlantic rushing onto the beach, she has strayed into deeper water and her body is now awash up to her hips. The light summer dress she wears clings to her body below her waist, a cream coloured print, so light compared to her mood.
The need to get away for a few days has compelled her to come to this deserted spot, has chased her away from the city for the weekend. Here the stars wash across the sky in trails of truth and light and constance. Footprints last only moments then the trail washes away and this never changes. There exists here only the realities nature provides, life, death, change, acceptance.
It is acceptance occupying her mind this evening. There are no facades here, no boundries molding humanistic truths, nothing stopping her from being herself. Here she can be weak, or strong, or butch or bloody angry with a mind to vengeance, all without someone suggesting she may be unstable, or too stressed and 'How about one of my valiums"?

Alrighty then. Here is the idea of this thread The above little ditty was composed and posted in one simple sitting using the 'post reply button. None of it existed prior to the twenty minutes it took to write it and post it here. It was composed strictly for fun and fiction of it. Simple, nes se pas'?

[Koa]

Wow, this is poetry. Very deep and 'realistic' to me... Beautiful way to put it all into words :) Thanks baddad for writing a story about ME, you shouldn't have... ;););)

[billhicks]

he was driving home from work.
the early evening dimness of winter was all around. suffocating
the glow from the streetlamps, hung in orange pools on the sides of the road.
the car felt good in his hands, powerful, it responded to him, he was in control.his mind drifted as minds tend to do when faced with monotony. he must have driven this road a thousand times, but something was different this time, he didnt know it of course, wouldnt know it for the next seven and a half minute, in fact. yet somewhere he had always known, he had in fact been waiting all his life for tonight, always suspecting that just behind this dim curtain of life, reality was waiting. a reality that diddnt include george webster (prick) or his recently relapsed alcholic wife (recently? really?) something in him had been sleeping, no that wasnt quite right not asleep but not really awake either, perhaps just waiting, but for what.
and thats when he saw them.

very short but im sat at work at the moment so it had to be ?
what do you think

[wokeem]

He hadn't yet began to ponder the existence of his mortality, or had to deal with the consequences that followed such thoughts. He was six, and his father was an alcoholic. The father wasn't abusive, nor did he neglect his responsibilities, but he was quite often drunk, as many alcoholics at this time period found themselves to be. The boy couldn't yet appreciate the ramifications of having a constantly inebriated father, at this point all he could pick up on was the joyful roughhousing that followed his father's return home from the bar, and the tears that would ensue when in his drunken playfulness, the father caused the boy harm. The severity of which often varied from that of a small bruise resulting from the boy slipping from his arms as he wheeled his child about through the air, to a broken arm, though this happened only once. The mother lived on the opposite side of town. She was a local newscaster, a bright cheery smile that projected from the television. In person she was more akin to a sea urchin, an individual who's vile nature and self-serving outlook followed her like a cloud. She divorced the boy's father after he came home from work and found her sleeping with a stranger. At this point he had yet to drink on a basis or in amounts that earned one the distinction of being an alcoholic.

[Brad Coelho]

Fun...why not?

The sand spuds pillowed my feet with their cakey specks that curled up under my toes like powdered cream. The sandbar was an illusion, as if we’d been traipsing through a dessert that was submerged in oasis film. We flew w/ a tug, through clouds of spectral waters, shifting their colors from aqua, green, violet, purple...I found an imaginary gift of calm, tangible and discrete. All the tension & fight of my nerves softened and soothed under rolling pin breezes. I felt just as one does right before sleep, when the moment comes to close your eyes and all the weight of the mind filters beneath the spiral core. All wrath was born to dissolve acridly, into seas of pebbly putrefaction. I am rinsed clean, gripped in atmospheric faith.