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- Whirlygig
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
SWC Megathread || Nov. 2022
Main cabin daily 21 - truth or dare
November 21, 2022
For this daily, @xc-egg dared me to write exactly 99 words about the origin of Stan and who gave him the magic juice, and @HydroHype dared me to write a poem about the drawing closest to me. So I did both. Enjoy this 99-word poem about how my trashy old sketchbook came to life and gave Stan the magic juice.
November 21, 2022
For this daily, @xc-egg dared me to write exactly 99 words about the origin of Stan and who gave him the magic juice, and @HydroHype dared me to write a poem about the drawing closest to me. So I did both. Enjoy this 99-word poem about how my trashy old sketchbook came to life and gave Stan the magic juice.
There once was a fish in a faraway landExactly 99 words!!!
Whose name was Magnificent, Marvelous Stan.
Stan wanted to walk, write, and read,
But when he was on land, he couldn’t breathe!
Luckily, someone could save the day:
Stingray’s sketchbook that should be thrown away.
‘Twas a flaming and fiery beast
By the name of “old art” - terrible! Sheesh!
This monstrous beast felt misunderstood
And terribly wanted to do something good…
So it took the magical juice from the shelf,
And gave it to Stan, thinking it might help.
Now Stan could go on land and make friends…
The End.
- gooseful
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
SWC Megathread || Nov. 2022
╔══ ≪ daily twenty-one ≫ ══╗
The squirrel scratched wildly at the walls enclosing around it, gulping with its little dark eyes darting around the empty space. Nobody would be able to save it, nobody would be able to do anything. Its breaths became shorter and quicker as it slowly relaxed, panic still flashing in its eyes.
Around it, the grey began to move and shift.
And the world began to beep.
The squirrel squeaked anxiously as red began to flash in its eyesight. However, the noise just echoed around, seeming to echo for all eternity. The sound seemed to ring for too long, giving it a lasting headache. Nevertheless, that wasn't as important – what was important was the red and green lights, the mechanical voice starting up, murmuring incomprehensible words in that same robotic tone. This was scary enough so that the squirrel scrambled forward, stood on a button, and then the whole world began to rock again – this time, it was even more touchy, and it went hurtling backwards and lay there, panting.
On the outside, what people had originally thought to be a bin began to make a whirring, grinding noise, and uneasily everyone around it departed. So, there was no one there when the red and green lights came on again, when the squirrel pressed the button the second time, and it climbed out of the hole it had rested in for four years and began to trudge down the park's main pathway.
(241 words)
The squirrel scratched wildly at the walls enclosing around it, gulping with its little dark eyes darting around the empty space. Nobody would be able to save it, nobody would be able to do anything. Its breaths became shorter and quicker as it slowly relaxed, panic still flashing in its eyes.
Around it, the grey began to move and shift.
And the world began to beep.
The squirrel squeaked anxiously as red began to flash in its eyesight. However, the noise just echoed around, seeming to echo for all eternity. The sound seemed to ring for too long, giving it a lasting headache. Nevertheless, that wasn't as important – what was important was the red and green lights, the mechanical voice starting up, murmuring incomprehensible words in that same robotic tone. This was scary enough so that the squirrel scrambled forward, stood on a button, and then the whole world began to rock again – this time, it was even more touchy, and it went hurtling backwards and lay there, panting.
On the outside, what people had originally thought to be a bin began to make a whirring, grinding noise, and uneasily everyone around it departed. So, there was no one there when the red and green lights came on again, when the squirrel pressed the button the second time, and it climbed out of the hole it had rested in for four years and began to trudge down the park's main pathway.
(241 words)
- Whirlygig
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
SWC Megathread || Nov. 2022
Weekly 3!!
Part one summary - time management
Part two - Motivation (I joined the encouragement group!)
Part 3 - self-care checklist and persuasive thing:
Part one summary - time management
For this part of the weekly, I utilized time blocking to plan out my afternoons from 3:15-11pm from Saturday to Tuesday. I stopped at Tuesday because my schedule is generally the same after then, and I figured that if the time-blocking technique worked well for me, I could continue it after then. After I’d made my schedule, I zoomed in on one block: 5:00pm to 6:00 pm on Saturday. I decided to use the Pomodoro technique to efficiently clean my room. It was around 5:20 when I began - I did fifteen-minute blocks with five-minute breaks in between.366 words
I feel like I was very productive over the blocks I did. In each fifteen-minute block, I worked on cleaning my floor and my dresser. In the future, I’d like to use this technique to clean my desk and closet, but those monsters are for another day. Distractions I encountered were the magazines I was trying to pick up (I would always start to read them), and my dog (whenever I went downstairs I would be distracted and want to pet him or play with him).
I think the place where I failed on the Pomodoro technique was the five-minute breaks: To successfully recharge, I think I needed to take a true break and stare at the wall contemplating reality. Instead, I was still productive, but in other ways. On my first break I updated my spreadsheet. On my second break I tried on a new pair of shoes.
One thing I learned from this is that playing music as I work really helps me focus! I turned on my Spotify and it really helped me get in the groove, and made cleaning my room more bearable.
Part of self-care and time management is knowing when to stop! By failing on the take-a-break part, I did burn myself out - I was really exhausted from my swim meet and it was dinnertime anyway. In conclusion, the Pomodoro technique worked really well for me. I think I need to wait a few more days to see how time-blocking plays out. In the future, I think I’ll try the Eisenhower Matrix to prioritize tasks I have to do.
Part two - Motivation (I joined the encouragement group!)
“Trying to finish the weekly, add 500+ words to a random story and participate in the daily. In a day :"D HOWW??”305 words
> You got this!! If I were you I'd make some time for each of them. Figure out which one of them is most important, and do that one first. Take 30 minutes or so to work on it, then after that's done, look at the progress you've made and figure out what you're going to do next. All of that is possible in a day, but you need to make sure you're using your time wisely so you don't get burnt out ^^
“similar to what re mentioned below, i'm writing a novel, but i can't get past the first page </3 i'm not sure how to plan it at all and i need some help with motivation <3”
> hey skye <3 planning everything out beforehand is a good idea; what also might help is writing the parts of the story you're most excited about first, then writing the other stuff that connects those.
“As of now, I do need to work on myself. My time management is quite bad which leaves less time for me to do work while I procrastinate. I'm pretty much covered in motivation for everything, but I do need more words of encouragement in practicing my extracurriculars.”
> Hi! I don't know what extracurriculars you do, but for me (I play violin) what helps most is setting a schedule for practicing and sticking to that schedule. For example, if your extracurricular is theater and you need to practice your lines, try reading through them when you get home from school before you start homework. If you get in a routine of doing what you need to do every day, it'll be easier to get yourself to do it if that makes any sense. Time management and procrastination are things I struggle with as well, but if I were you I'd look at the time management workshop that Moonlit didD I'm sure you used it for the weekly, but the techniques in there are really meant to help you /all/ the time /outside/ of swc, not just for one weekly that you'l do once! Anyway - I 100% believe in you - whatever you need to accomplish, I know you have it in you to do it <33
Plus, my comment:
hiii! It would be great if I could have some motivation to study for my math test and work on my comic <3
Part 3 - self-care checklist and persuasive thing:
My checklist:(558 words)
Get at least eight hours of sleep
Exercise - go to swim team each night (until we get a break for thanksgiving lol)
Listen to music - if I’m stressed, I’ll try listening to music to calm myself down
Journal about my day - at least once in the next three days, I’ll write a journal entry about what’s going on in my life
My argument:
Self-care is an important part of being a functioning member of society. Seeing as I’m only a functioning member of society about fifty percent of the time, I am being a bit of a hypocrite; however, when I am a functioning member of society, I like to do a good job of it. Some of the things I will commit to doing to help insure my societal functionality over the next 3-4 days are getting at least 8 hours of sleep, exercising at swim team, listening to music if I’m stressed, and journaling about my day at least once this week.
Out of all these things I’ve mentioned, the most important one by far is sleep! I do a lot of different activities that require me to be at one hundred percent, and I can’t do that if I’m tired. Seeing as that’s how the human body works, and most of the people who will be reading this are humans, your brains and bodies probably work like that too. When I’m tired, I am an unproductive mess. I get headaches and mood swings, I eat too much sugar (leading to /another/ energy crash), and generally I get nothing done. Sometimes it can be hard to get enough sleep, especially with sports, extracurriculars, SWC, and homework, but it’s always worth it to try. The benefits of a healthy sleep schedule far outweigh the time inconveniences. For me, getting eight hours of sleep requires going to bed between ten and eleven each night, which is something I will commit to doing every day this week.
Stress management is something I’ve struggled with in the past, and I’m sure it’s something others have struggled with too! My favorite techniques for stress management are listening to music, exercising, and journaling. These are all things on my checklist that I’m going to do this week. Listening to music can help calm you down, and according to the workshop, it helps process your emotions. Listening to music as you do tasks like homework or cleaning can put you in a good mindset. Exercising also is something that always puts me in a good mood. No matter how I feel going into something like a bike ride, I always feel better coming out of it. I’m able to get good exercise most days by going to my school’s swim team practices. They are a hard workout, but they always leave me feeling refreshed and ready for a snack and sleep. You should try to exercise, because not only is it good for your mind and mood, it’s also very important in keeping you healthy!
Journaling has been a stress management trick that I’ve used for a long time. I like it because it’s a way to get my feelings out without telling them to a person. Bottling up your feelings is very detrimental to your mental health, but sometimes you don’t feel comfortable telling a person how you’re doing. This is why I recommend journaling - it’s like talking to a friend, but you can know for sure that your journal won’t go telling your secrets to anyone. Journaling helps me think through things and it can help me relax and process my day.
I hope this has convinced you to try some of these self-care techniques, and I hope they help you in the future!
- ForestPanther
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
SWC Megathread || Nov. 2022
The sky outside was dark, but Orion had yet to fall asleep. A weak light illuminated his pale face.
Despite the alluring presence of warm, soft sheets and a fluffy pillow, Orion was sitting at his desk, determined to stay awake. Through all the pollution fogging the atmosphere, tonight, Orion would be able to see a meteor shower. His parents hadn’t seemed interested when he had eagerly explained it over dinner— and, as usual, they had- past tense =D seemed to forget everything he’d said about a millisecond after he’d said it. This time it was a good thing, though. It meant that after his mom had closed his door at 8:00, they hadn’t thought to check he was actually in bed when he was supposed to be at 9:00.
With another tired, too-long blink, Orion continued to stare at the clock, forcing his eyelids to stay open until the moment came.
It would begin at 11:43. (With a little thrill, Orion thought that would be the latest he’d ever stayed up.) I don't think this has to be in brackets, as it's not adding extra info in a way that requires an interjection=)
Right now, it was… Orion blinked, trying to focus his weary eyes…
11:25.
(With another thrill, Orion thought how close he was.) Neither does this, but I can understand it may be a stylistic choice?
Agonizingly, the minutes drew on, until… 11:40. Maybe add something that makes it seem like more of an exciting thing? It's obvious Orion is excited, but just saying ‘… 11:40’ is slightly anticlimactic. A simple line change could keep the suspense, or saying something about how the clock finally changed =)
Orion jerked from his slouched position, realizing he didn’t really feel tired at all.
(The adrenaline, part of him reasoned. The rest of him drowned that thought out with an inside shriek of excitement, shared only with himself. The tingling sparkles of excitement, orrepeated word, if you wanted two adjectives maybe use a synonym for excited adrenaline, bounced around inside him—like meteors, he thought, with another inward scream.)
Orion rushed over to the window. His jacket was already on, and moving around too much might disrupt his parents. He had the advantage of a room on the ground floor. Hands shaking a little from effort and excitement, Orion heaved on the wooden frame, This may be better replaced with handle or latch which creaked a little in protest.
“Shh,” Orion hissed, tugging until the edge left marks in his fingertips. But the window finally opened.
With a last glance inside to check that his Pillow Self was concealed neatly in bed, I think I get what you mean, but a little description could be useful on what the ‘Pillow Self’ is Orion dropped to the ground. He tiptoed around the hydrangeas, shining pale in the light from the front porch.
The night breeze was chill, caressing Orion’s cheeks in its cold embrace. Despite the jacket, Orion shivered slightly. Still, the warm elation inside carried some of the familiar coziness from his bedroom.
Bouncing from foot to foot, Orion gazed up at the sky, though he knew the meteor shower wouldn’t have begun yet. He was met with the frustratingly dull, black sky he’d expected. Orion hoped the dark, matte color wasn’t because of clouds—and he didn’t think so… not really. But a flicker of unease was a dash of ice water to the fire of his excitement, which sputtered but continued on, just less fiercely than before.
Surely he would be able to see an elusive star if there was no cloud coverage—right? But they were much more distant than the meteors, he reminded himself.
Trying to focus on finding a more comfortable vantage point, Orion jogged forward. A huge field stretched out before him, vaguely blue from the nighttime caste. Mispelling? Finding a tamer patch in the tall grasses, Orion sat down. A few prickly stems jabbed into his thigh, but he hardly noticed, his eyes having returned to the sky.
Sometimes, it seemed he was always looking up.
His parents would tell him to keep his head down, to focus on his responsibilities, just do his school and his chores and that there was no need to do anything else—to? think about anything else—and everything would be fine. But he’d seen too many empty stares from adults. Work didn’t make them happy, at least not most of them. Sometimes, it really seemed that no one was happy at all. Looking up gave Orion hope that happiness was possible.
Who could deny the happiness a distant star felt, that it sparkled so brightly? Again I get what you mean by the phrase but a linking or explanatory few words would clarify why the sparkling of the stars showed how they ‘felt happiness’
They were never alone. Constellations and galaxies were their families.
Orion had only seen a handful of stars in his lifetime . . . but he already yearned to be part of that family. He wondered why the universe had put him in the wrong one.
His thoughts trailed off into wonderment as something bright streaked across the sky.
A falling star . . . .
Reaching between clouds and layers of pollution. Straining to join the dust below.
The weak, dying atmosphere took longer than it might once have to burn away the speckle of light. Whaat I love this sentance it gives so much depth to the world =0
Orion leapt to his feet, feeling the almost irresistible urge to reach out, to touch the trail of mere dust that sparkled like fresh snow under sunlight.
His fingertips brushed the distant fires of heaven.
Straining to join the stars above.
Great piece! It really serves well as an origin story, I can see the characters of Orion, his parents and the rest of society clearly. There are some really nice hints to a disaster (or maybe not disaster, just something not great the happened/is happening) that had dulled the spark of life. I loved it! It's wonderfully written, though some more description on what exactly attracted Orion to the stars in the beginning and why may be helpful =) I'm glad I got to critique this piece! Haha sorry about the nitpick style =)
Despite the alluring presence of warm, soft sheets and a fluffy pillow, Orion was sitting at his desk, determined to stay awake. Through all the pollution fogging the atmosphere, tonight, Orion would be able to see a meteor shower. His parents hadn’t seemed interested when he had eagerly explained it over dinner— and, as usual, they had- past tense =D seemed to forget everything he’d said about a millisecond after he’d said it. This time it was a good thing, though. It meant that after his mom had closed his door at 8:00, they hadn’t thought to check he was actually in bed when he was supposed to be at 9:00.
With another tired, too-long blink, Orion continued to stare at the clock, forcing his eyelids to stay open until the moment came.
It would begin at 11:43. (With a little thrill, Orion thought that would be the latest he’d ever stayed up.) I don't think this has to be in brackets, as it's not adding extra info in a way that requires an interjection=)
Right now, it was… Orion blinked, trying to focus his weary eyes…
11:25.
(With another thrill, Orion thought how close he was.) Neither does this, but I can understand it may be a stylistic choice?
Agonizingly, the minutes drew on, until… 11:40. Maybe add something that makes it seem like more of an exciting thing? It's obvious Orion is excited, but just saying ‘… 11:40’ is slightly anticlimactic. A simple line change could keep the suspense, or saying something about how the clock finally changed =)
Orion jerked from his slouched position, realizing he didn’t really feel tired at all.
(The adrenaline, part of him reasoned. The rest of him drowned that thought out with an inside shriek of excitement, shared only with himself. The tingling sparkles of excitement, orrepeated word, if you wanted two adjectives maybe use a synonym for excited adrenaline, bounced around inside him—like meteors, he thought, with another inward scream.)
Orion rushed over to the window. His jacket was already on, and moving around too much might disrupt his parents. He had the advantage of a room on the ground floor. Hands shaking a little from effort and excitement, Orion heaved on the wooden frame, This may be better replaced with handle or latch which creaked a little in protest.
“Shh,” Orion hissed, tugging until the edge left marks in his fingertips. But the window finally opened.
With a last glance inside to check that his Pillow Self was concealed neatly in bed, I think I get what you mean, but a little description could be useful on what the ‘Pillow Self’ is Orion dropped to the ground. He tiptoed around the hydrangeas, shining pale in the light from the front porch.
The night breeze was chill, caressing Orion’s cheeks in its cold embrace. Despite the jacket, Orion shivered slightly. Still, the warm elation inside carried some of the familiar coziness from his bedroom.
Bouncing from foot to foot, Orion gazed up at the sky, though he knew the meteor shower wouldn’t have begun yet. He was met with the frustratingly dull, black sky he’d expected. Orion hoped the dark, matte color wasn’t because of clouds—and he didn’t think so… not really. But a flicker of unease was a dash of ice water to the fire of his excitement, which sputtered but continued on, just less fiercely than before.
Surely he would be able to see an elusive star if there was no cloud coverage—right? But they were much more distant than the meteors, he reminded himself.
Trying to focus on finding a more comfortable vantage point, Orion jogged forward. A huge field stretched out before him, vaguely blue from the nighttime caste. Mispelling? Finding a tamer patch in the tall grasses, Orion sat down. A few prickly stems jabbed into his thigh, but he hardly noticed, his eyes having returned to the sky.
Sometimes, it seemed he was always looking up.
His parents would tell him to keep his head down, to focus on his responsibilities, just do his school and his chores and that there was no need to do anything else—to? think about anything else—and everything would be fine. But he’d seen too many empty stares from adults. Work didn’t make them happy, at least not most of them. Sometimes, it really seemed that no one was happy at all. Looking up gave Orion hope that happiness was possible.
Who could deny the happiness a distant star felt, that it sparkled so brightly? Again I get what you mean by the phrase but a linking or explanatory few words would clarify why the sparkling of the stars showed how they ‘felt happiness’
They were never alone. Constellations and galaxies were their families.
Orion had only seen a handful of stars in his lifetime . . . but he already yearned to be part of that family. He wondered why the universe had put him in the wrong one.
His thoughts trailed off into wonderment as something bright streaked across the sky.
A falling star . . . .
Reaching between clouds and layers of pollution. Straining to join the dust below.
The weak, dying atmosphere took longer than it might once have to burn away the speckle of light. Whaat I love this sentance it gives so much depth to the world =0
Orion leapt to his feet, feeling the almost irresistible urge to reach out, to touch the trail of mere dust that sparkled like fresh snow under sunlight.
His fingertips brushed the distant fires of heaven.
Straining to join the stars above.
Great piece! It really serves well as an origin story, I can see the characters of Orion, his parents and the rest of society clearly. There are some really nice hints to a disaster (or maybe not disaster, just something not great the happened/is happening) that had dulled the spark of life. I loved it! It's wonderfully written, though some more description on what exactly attracted Orion to the stars in the beginning and why may be helpful =) I'm glad I got to critique this piece! Haha sorry about the nitpick style =)
Last edited by ForestPanther (Nov. 21, 2022 21:20:25)
- ButterflyWings22
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
SWC Megathread || Nov. 2022
nov 16-22 weekly
I thiiiink I did this right? :’)
Part 1
I did:
Eisenhower’s Matrix
Pareto Analysis
Part 2
Chose Time Pressure :>
Part 3
Sleep
Healthy eating
Reading
Spread affection
Sleep (277 words)
Ugh, I’m not feeling it today. I slept in late and was in a cranky mood all morning. And in science, I nearly fell asleep— not because I was bored, I was just tired! And when I got home from school, I crashed on the couch instead of finishing homework…
Sleep is extremely important for not just your physical but also mental health. Getting at least 8 hours of sleep is important and it affects your mood for the next day. Also, it’s harder to wake up the next morning when you stay up late. You end up being cranky if you get less sleep. Also, did you know that sleep can help your brain think better? Sleep helps your mind refresh and clear itself out, and if you’re struggling with something, then they’ll suggest “sleeping on it”, giving a good rest before trying again. Your mind will be full of new ideas when you wake up! Not only that, but if you stay up late multiple nights in a row—or worse, stay up all night—it’s going to cause a very unhealthy sleep schedule and mood, and it will cause your eyes to hurt. And remember, it’s always better to sleep than get a good grade or get points for your cabin. If you’re staying up late a lot to work on assignments, you should remind yourself to start working as soon as you get home instead of saving it for later. And if you’re staying up late to work on the writing competition entry or a weekly or daily, don’t worry about that. Sleep > SWC is always right no matter what jokes anyone makes.
I thiiiink I did this right? :’)
Part 1
I did:
Eisenhower’s Matrix
Pareto Analysis
Part 2
Chose Time Pressure :>
Part 3
Sleep
Healthy eating
Reading
Spread affection
Sleep (277 words)
Ugh, I’m not feeling it today. I slept in late and was in a cranky mood all morning. And in science, I nearly fell asleep— not because I was bored, I was just tired! And when I got home from school, I crashed on the couch instead of finishing homework…
Sleep is extremely important for not just your physical but also mental health. Getting at least 8 hours of sleep is important and it affects your mood for the next day. Also, it’s harder to wake up the next morning when you stay up late. You end up being cranky if you get less sleep. Also, did you know that sleep can help your brain think better? Sleep helps your mind refresh and clear itself out, and if you’re struggling with something, then they’ll suggest “sleeping on it”, giving a good rest before trying again. Your mind will be full of new ideas when you wake up! Not only that, but if you stay up late multiple nights in a row—or worse, stay up all night—it’s going to cause a very unhealthy sleep schedule and mood, and it will cause your eyes to hurt. And remember, it’s always better to sleep than get a good grade or get points for your cabin. If you’re staying up late a lot to work on assignments, you should remind yourself to start working as soon as you get home instead of saving it for later. And if you’re staying up late to work on the writing competition entry or a weekly or daily, don’t worry about that. Sleep > SWC is always right no matter what jokes anyone makes.
Last edited by ButterflyWings22 (Nov. 21, 2022 22:20:10)
- cxtton-moon
-
Scratcher
24 posts
SWC Megathread || Nov. 2022
november 21 daily
i was dared to write 100 words about why tomatoes hate french fries, and also one about how my character has two very distinct personalities and doesn't know the other one exists… so I tried to smush ‘em together.
Tomatoes hate french fries. Why? They should go together, like cookies and milk! But noooo… tomatoes hate french fries because french fries are the reason that tomatoes have to get smushed into ketchup, and the tomatoes hate that. Especially Fred, who is a tomato. But little does he know, that in another dimension, he loves getting squished into ketchup and having french fries that get smushed into him because, the smushers feel like a massage, but in Fred’s current dimension, it feels like the worst thing ever: like your insides are being grinded and pushed about. Tomatoes hate french fries.
total words: 100
i was dared to write 100 words about why tomatoes hate french fries, and also one about how my character has two very distinct personalities and doesn't know the other one exists… so I tried to smush ‘em together.
Tomatoes hate french fries. Why? They should go together, like cookies and milk! But noooo… tomatoes hate french fries because french fries are the reason that tomatoes have to get smushed into ketchup, and the tomatoes hate that. Especially Fred, who is a tomato. But little does he know, that in another dimension, he loves getting squished into ketchup and having french fries that get smushed into him because, the smushers feel like a massage, but in Fred’s current dimension, it feels like the worst thing ever: like your insides are being grinded and pushed about. Tomatoes hate french fries.
total words: 100
- booklover883322
-
Scratcher
1000+ posts
SWC Megathread || Nov. 2022
Critique piece:
The Hero’s Journey
I have a question for you. Has a story ever changed you? Has a biography ever inspired you? Has a novel ever made you sit down and think deeply about our world? My answer to all three questions is yes. I hope for you it is the same.
Stories build and shape our world. Don’t believe me? Fiction and non-fiction alike surround us. Novels, like Harry Potter and the Hunger Games, are beloved by many. People also love going to the movies, and, believe it or not, the movie on the big screen is a story. In schools, there are history textbooks filled with real stories from our world that build our knowledge about this planet we live on. Stories here, stories there, stories everywhere.
One particular type of story structure that I’d like to focus on today would be the Hero’s Journey. Used as a basis for many different stories, the Hero’s Journey is a fundamental part of fictional culture. Perhaps this seems unfamiliar to you, so I’ll elaborate. The Hero’s Journey story structure, first appearing in Joseph Campbell’s book “The Hero with a Thousand Faces” in 1949, is a three act structure for a typical fantasy novel (though it isn’t limited to just that genre). It consists of three acts with smaller substeps that dictate things about the story.
To sum up a typical story using the Hero’s Journey, it starts with a normal person living in what they perceive as normal, a status quo. They get pulled into a new and strange situation that rocks their sense of safety. They make friends along the way towards a goal. Then finally, they are able to succeed after lots of strife and hardship.
Boom, done. End of speech. I just explained all that you need to know, you can go home now, right?
Wrong.
The Hero’s Journey, while seeming formulaic, is actually filled with areas to add nuances that can make your story unique and vibrant. There are many different variations to the hero’s journey that we’ve seen in fiction. That’s the beauty of it!
Let’s start diving into this iceberg by talking about the mastermind behind the concrete idea of the Hero’s Journey, Joseph Campbell. On March 26, 1904, he was born in White Plains, New York. He died in 1987 due to cancer. In his most famous book, the Hero of a Thousand Faces, he analyzed the different trends in myths. A quote from the Joseph Campbell Foundation says, “In this study of the myth of the hero, Campbell posits the existence of a Monomyth (a word he borrowed from James Joyce), a universal pattern that is the essence of, and common to, heroic tales in every culture. While outlining the basic stages of this mythic cycle, he also explores common variations in the hero’s journey, which, he argues, is an operative metaphor, not only for an individual, but for a culture as well.”
While he didn’t create the Hero’s Journey, he analyzed the common themes in different myths and stories and made a concrete list of those common parts of stories. Here’s the list he created.
Act 1
Ordinary World
Call to Adventure
Refusal of the call
Meeting the Mentor
Act 2
Crossing the first threshold
Test, allies, enemies
Innermost Cave
Ordeal
Reward
Act 3
The road back
Resurrection
Return with the Elixir
Let’s go a bit more into depth about each of these segments of the Hero’s Journey.
Let’s start with act one.
Let’s create a story together. I’ll start us off with this.
Jane was a normal girl. Jane loved a good read. She liked Science Fiction and Thriller novels, yet her heart would always belong to Fantasy.
Jane, in this case, would be our protagonist, or the main character of the story. She, right now, is in the normal world, what she’s used to. Authors can go many different places with this. Jane could be unhappy with her life. In that case, I’d write this.
She longed to jump into the novels she read. She wanted to experience these things for herself. Jane wanted something new and different.
Then comes the call to adventure. If we were to stick with the ‘Unhappy with her life’ thing, then I’d write something like this.
Weekend nights with rain were Jane’s favorite part of every week. All of a sudden, there was a knock at the door. She sighed, put down her book and walked over to the door. She looked through the peephole, and there, in front of her, was a tall man with long gray hair. He said in a deep, booming voice as soon as she opened the door. “Jane Locklan, our world needs you.”
This is where I’d lump together the next two steps, the refusal of the call and meeting the mentor. The mentor, in this case, would be the tall, gray haired man, who I’ll name Melvin the Wise.
The refusal of the call can happen for many different reasons and in many different ways. Sometimes, the refusal of the call comes from an obstructing force, not the main character themself.
Since I have time constraints, I can’t truly flesh out this segment like I really want to, so let’s just go with what we have right now.
Moving on to act two.
Let’s utilize a little timeskip, shall we? Melvin the Wise coaxes Jane, after she insists that he must have the wrong person, into coming with him to his magical fantasy world, called MagicLand. This is crossing the first threshold. He explains that she is the chosen one, due to her love of stories as they travel towards a place called the dark realm. The middle act consists of a lot of different events that go on during the course of the story. The basic structure of the first half goes a little like this: try to get something, fail or succeed, things get worse, take a quick break, repeat until we reach the second half of the second act. Along the way, Jane would make friends, gain enemies and learn more about MagicLand. All this time, Jane has the goal of saving MagicLand, and now that she’s a bit more comfortable with the world, she’s excited to do so. But now, she’s ready to approach and enter the innermost cave. Tension has built up significantly, as shown in this little scene.
“I would call Gerrand to fly us to the top, but he’s still quite injured from the ordeal at the giant’s castle.” Jane huffed. “No worries.” She caught her breath and stopped for a moment. “He did great. We can get to the Dark Realm on our own.” “But he sure would’ve been helpful.” Muttered Misty, Jane’s new elven friend. She hobbled up the mountain with her crutches clicking on the stone.
This would be the tests, allies and enemies segment, or at least a summary of a very superficial part of it. She made a few new friends, Misty and Gerrand, she made enemies in the giant, and she found out where she has to go in order to save the world. Afterwards, we’d look at the ordeal. That’s the high point, the climax, the hardest test yet.
Let’s do another timeskip, to where Jane is approaching the leader of the dark realm. Here’s a little crossroads that she’s at. If she succeeds, she saves MagicLand and can go back home. If she fails, she can never leave. The consequences are real (a very important part of storytelling that I won’t go off on a tangent about today), and she’s ready to face her most challenging foe yet.
Jane ends up being able to defeat her foe, but only with the heroic sacrifice of her dear friend Misty. This is where the reward section comes in. Since she was able to save MagicLand, she can now return home. That’s the reward.
We’re here at Act three! The road back, to start out, is, literally, for Jane a road back to the entrance to her world. Along the way, she faces smaller and shorter tests, until she can get to the resurrection part. This part is where the big bad, the leader of the dark realm has a final hurrah, trying his best to defeat Jane. This is the hardest moment for her, and it may seem like all is lost. But she triumphs and returns with the elixir. Now Jane has changed, and there the story ends.
The Hero’s Journey
I have a question for you. Has a story ever changed you? Has a biography ever inspired you? Has a novel ever made you sit down and think deeply about our world? My answer to all three questions is yes. I hope for you it is the same.
Stories build and shape our world. Don’t believe me? Fiction and non-fiction alike surround us. Novels, like Harry Potter and the Hunger Games, are beloved by many. People also love going to the movies, and, believe it or not, the movie on the big screen is a story. In schools, there are history textbooks filled with real stories from our world that build our knowledge about this planet we live on. Stories here, stories there, stories everywhere.
One particular type of story structure that I’d like to focus on today would be the Hero’s Journey. Used as a basis for many different stories, the Hero’s Journey is a fundamental part of fictional culture. Perhaps this seems unfamiliar to you, so I’ll elaborate. The Hero’s Journey story structure, first appearing in Joseph Campbell’s book “The Hero with a Thousand Faces” in 1949, is a three act structure for a typical fantasy novel (though it isn’t limited to just that genre). It consists of three acts with smaller substeps that dictate things about the story.
To sum up a typical story using the Hero’s Journey, it starts with a normal person living in what they perceive as normal, a status quo. They get pulled into a new and strange situation that rocks their sense of safety. They make friends along the way towards a goal. Then finally, they are able to succeed after lots of strife and hardship.
Boom, done. End of speech. I just explained all that you need to know, you can go home now, right?
Wrong.
The Hero’s Journey, while seeming formulaic, is actually filled with areas to add nuances that can make your story unique and vibrant. There are many different variations to the hero’s journey that we’ve seen in fiction. That’s the beauty of it!
Let’s start diving into this iceberg by talking about the mastermind behind the concrete idea of the Hero’s Journey, Joseph Campbell. On March 26, 1904, he was born in White Plains, New York. He died in 1987 due to cancer. In his most famous book, the Hero of a Thousand Faces, he analyzed the different trends in myths. A quote from the Joseph Campbell Foundation says, “In this study of the myth of the hero, Campbell posits the existence of a Monomyth (a word he borrowed from James Joyce), a universal pattern that is the essence of, and common to, heroic tales in every culture. While outlining the basic stages of this mythic cycle, he also explores common variations in the hero’s journey, which, he argues, is an operative metaphor, not only for an individual, but for a culture as well.”
While he didn’t create the Hero’s Journey, he analyzed the common themes in different myths and stories and made a concrete list of those common parts of stories. Here’s the list he created.
Act 1
Ordinary World
Call to Adventure
Refusal of the call
Meeting the Mentor
Act 2
Crossing the first threshold
Test, allies, enemies
Innermost Cave
Ordeal
Reward
Act 3
The road back
Resurrection
Return with the Elixir
Let’s go a bit more into depth about each of these segments of the Hero’s Journey.
Let’s start with act one.
Let’s create a story together. I’ll start us off with this.
Jane was a normal girl. Jane loved a good read. She liked Science Fiction and Thriller novels, yet her heart would always belong to Fantasy.
Jane, in this case, would be our protagonist, or the main character of the story. She, right now, is in the normal world, what she’s used to. Authors can go many different places with this. Jane could be unhappy with her life. In that case, I’d write this.
She longed to jump into the novels she read. She wanted to experience these things for herself. Jane wanted something new and different.
Then comes the call to adventure. If we were to stick with the ‘Unhappy with her life’ thing, then I’d write something like this.
Weekend nights with rain were Jane’s favorite part of every week. All of a sudden, there was a knock at the door. She sighed, put down her book and walked over to the door. She looked through the peephole, and there, in front of her, was a tall man with long gray hair. He said in a deep, booming voice as soon as she opened the door. “Jane Locklan, our world needs you.”
This is where I’d lump together the next two steps, the refusal of the call and meeting the mentor. The mentor, in this case, would be the tall, gray haired man, who I’ll name Melvin the Wise.
The refusal of the call can happen for many different reasons and in many different ways. Sometimes, the refusal of the call comes from an obstructing force, not the main character themself.
Since I have time constraints, I can’t truly flesh out this segment like I really want to, so let’s just go with what we have right now.
Moving on to act two.
Let’s utilize a little timeskip, shall we? Melvin the Wise coaxes Jane, after she insists that he must have the wrong person, into coming with him to his magical fantasy world, called MagicLand. This is crossing the first threshold. He explains that she is the chosen one, due to her love of stories as they travel towards a place called the dark realm. The middle act consists of a lot of different events that go on during the course of the story. The basic structure of the first half goes a little like this: try to get something, fail or succeed, things get worse, take a quick break, repeat until we reach the second half of the second act. Along the way, Jane would make friends, gain enemies and learn more about MagicLand. All this time, Jane has the goal of saving MagicLand, and now that she’s a bit more comfortable with the world, she’s excited to do so. But now, she’s ready to approach and enter the innermost cave. Tension has built up significantly, as shown in this little scene.
“I would call Gerrand to fly us to the top, but he’s still quite injured from the ordeal at the giant’s castle.” Jane huffed. “No worries.” She caught her breath and stopped for a moment. “He did great. We can get to the Dark Realm on our own.” “But he sure would’ve been helpful.” Muttered Misty, Jane’s new elven friend. She hobbled up the mountain with her crutches clicking on the stone.
This would be the tests, allies and enemies segment, or at least a summary of a very superficial part of it. She made a few new friends, Misty and Gerrand, she made enemies in the giant, and she found out where she has to go in order to save the world. Afterwards, we’d look at the ordeal. That’s the high point, the climax, the hardest test yet.
Let’s do another timeskip, to where Jane is approaching the leader of the dark realm. Here’s a little crossroads that she’s at. If she succeeds, she saves MagicLand and can go back home. If she fails, she can never leave. The consequences are real (a very important part of storytelling that I won’t go off on a tangent about today), and she’s ready to face her most challenging foe yet.
Jane ends up being able to defeat her foe, but only with the heroic sacrifice of her dear friend Misty. This is where the reward section comes in. Since she was able to save MagicLand, she can now return home. That’s the reward.
We’re here at Act three! The road back, to start out, is, literally, for Jane a road back to the entrance to her world. Along the way, she faces smaller and shorter tests, until she can get to the resurrection part. This part is where the big bad, the leader of the dark realm has a final hurrah, trying his best to defeat Jane. This is the hardest moment for her, and it may seem like all is lost. But she triumphs and returns with the elixir. Now Jane has changed, and there the story ends.
- _gardenia_
-
Scratcher
65 posts
SWC Megathread || Nov. 2022
november 21st daily - dare
GARDEN GIRL
(otherwise known as an origin story)
{ set around 500 B.C }
GARDEN GIRL
(otherwise known as an origin story)
{ set around 500 B.C }
the last rose withers,
take me along with you?
the rocky roads pave a way through,
winding rivers.
i remember the first day,
so oblivious and free,
walking down the shore of the sea,
i wanted you to stay.
“what curse?” i said,
but you stayed silent,
it wasn't that violent,
it was as harmless as a piece of bread.
but the consequences last forever,
a vow never to be broken,
something never to be spoken,
and yet, however…
you left soon after,
my memory is still clear as day–
i slowly started to decay,
i can still hear your laughter.
your intentions were cloudy,
they had no meaning,
like a peacock boasting, preening,
like a whole county.
growing, shifting, roots tangling,
swirls of dark matter enveloping,
my new body soon developing,
all i heard was rowdy wrangling.
delicate white petals blooming,
birds chirping their melody,
a soothing remedy,
though inside my new confined body, i was fuming.
Last edited by _gardenia_ (Nov. 21, 2022 23:53:51)
- -RoseBunni
-
Scratcher
45 posts
SWC Megathread || Nov. 2022
Daily 11/21
Dare: Write a short story about two of your favorite characters meeting each other, with a minimum word count of 300 words.
(I did Enola-Holmes-meets-Tony-Stark!)
The young detective Enola Holmes had been pursuing this case for weeks now, and with no success. That was, until she had stumbled upon that mysterious, underground basement. The room itself had been odd—lined with smooth, metal panels and filled with various gadgets normally described in futuristic novels. But perhaps the strangest thing about the bunker was the glass capsule in the center of the room. Etched into the floor was the word: Stark.
Interesting, Enola had thought to herself. It sounded like a name, yet one she had never encountered before.
Carefully yet curiously, Enola had taken a step inside the capsule. The interior was small, barely big enough to fit one person. All of a sudden, the floor began to light up, illuminating the “Stark” engraving. There was a blinding flash and a whoosh of air. Sometime during the process, Enola had squeezed her eyes shut.
When she opened them again, Enola found herself standing in the middle of a bustling, shiny metropolis. She now found herself in a predicament. Where was she? And why had her search led her here?
She had never traveled anywhere outside of England, yet this did not look like England at all. In fact, it didn’t look like any of the cities she read about in books and newspapers. But Enola, never one to be influenced by current norms, tried not to let her surroundings faze her.
Instead, Enola did the only thing she could do. She walked (and, being a detective of course, observed).
She traveled vigilantly along the bustling streets, carefully observing her surroundings. Gleaming, glass towers loomed over her, and honking, metal objects on wheels zoomed past. People dressed in an odd assortment of colors and rather short garments hurried past. Enola, dressed in a long, frilly dress felt very out of place. Some pedestrians gave her judgmental looks. All of this was so different than the dreary, stony-gray atmosphere of London.
At last, she arrived in front of a building of some familiarity: a shiny, glass building with the words “Stark Industries” displayed boldly above. Immediately, the word “Stark” brought her back to the capsule in the basement. Surely it couldn’t just be a coincidence?
Weighing the pros and cons of bursting into an unfamiliar building and demanding answers (and ultimately deciding yes), Enola walked right in.
She found herself in a brightly lit room with high ceilings and plenty of seats. A lady sitting at a desk was eyeing her suspiciously. Meeting her gaze, Enola walked over.
“Enola Holmes, pleasure to meet you,” Enola said, thrusting out her arm.
The receptionist eyed her dubiously through thick rimmed glasses. She didn’t return the gesture.
How rude, Enola thought.
“And how may I help you?” the lady asked. She spoke in an accent, possibly American.
“I’m looking for a person named Stark. Like the name on this building?”
The lady frowned. “You mean Tony Stark?”
So he is a person, Enola thought to herself. “Yes, him.”
The receptionist paused, unsure of what to do. Finally, she sighed. “He’s in a meeting right now, but he should be down soon. Should I let him know you’re here?”
“Er-no, that’s okay!” Enola said, perhaps a little too hastily. She didn’t really know who this Tony Stark man was, and she doubted he knew of her either. “I…already told him I was coming.”
The lady raised her eyebrows skeptically but didn’t say anything. Enola thanked her and started to observe the lobby area for any clues. While pacing around the room, she took a moment to mull over the case. Obviously, she was not in London. The glass capsule had somehow transported her to this futuristic looking city. So where was she?
Additionally, the name Stark couldn’t just be a coincidence. She had encountered it twice already, in two different locations. Whoever this Tony Stark man was, he had to be of some significance.
A masculine voice startled her from her thoughts. “You were looking for me?”
Enola turned around to see a man dressed in a suit and thick-rimmed, tinted glasses. Learning her lesson from last time, she didn’t extend her hand. Instead, she only said, “I’m Enola Holmes.”
The man cocked his head curiously. “I’m Tony.”
Enola smiled politely. “I’m a detective, brother of Sherlock Holmes. My search has brought me to you.”
Now it was Tony’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Okay…where are you from?”
“London.”
“Do all detectives dress like that?” He gestured to her dress.
“Like what?” Enola asked, frowning.
“Nevermind. How did you get here?”
“Well, I was exploring this basement. There was a glass capsule with your name on it. So I stepped inside and ended up here.”
Tony’s face went pale. “Oh god. It can’t be”
“I’m sorry?”
“What year is it?”
Now Enola was confused. “1884, why?”
At this point, Tony was shaking his head. Whether this was a good or bad thing, Enola couldn’t tell.
“Miriam,” he called, to the lady at the desk. “Cancel all my meetings today. I have to take care of this first.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m perfectly capable of—” Enola started, but Tony cut her off.
He looked at Enola. “Come on. I think we’ve both got some explaining to do.”
+874 words
Dare: Write a short story about two of your favorite characters meeting each other, with a minimum word count of 300 words.
(I did Enola-Holmes-meets-Tony-Stark!)
The young detective Enola Holmes had been pursuing this case for weeks now, and with no success. That was, until she had stumbled upon that mysterious, underground basement. The room itself had been odd—lined with smooth, metal panels and filled with various gadgets normally described in futuristic novels. But perhaps the strangest thing about the bunker was the glass capsule in the center of the room. Etched into the floor was the word: Stark.
Interesting, Enola had thought to herself. It sounded like a name, yet one she had never encountered before.
Carefully yet curiously, Enola had taken a step inside the capsule. The interior was small, barely big enough to fit one person. All of a sudden, the floor began to light up, illuminating the “Stark” engraving. There was a blinding flash and a whoosh of air. Sometime during the process, Enola had squeezed her eyes shut.
When she opened them again, Enola found herself standing in the middle of a bustling, shiny metropolis. She now found herself in a predicament. Where was she? And why had her search led her here?
She had never traveled anywhere outside of England, yet this did not look like England at all. In fact, it didn’t look like any of the cities she read about in books and newspapers. But Enola, never one to be influenced by current norms, tried not to let her surroundings faze her.
Instead, Enola did the only thing she could do. She walked (and, being a detective of course, observed).
She traveled vigilantly along the bustling streets, carefully observing her surroundings. Gleaming, glass towers loomed over her, and honking, metal objects on wheels zoomed past. People dressed in an odd assortment of colors and rather short garments hurried past. Enola, dressed in a long, frilly dress felt very out of place. Some pedestrians gave her judgmental looks. All of this was so different than the dreary, stony-gray atmosphere of London.
At last, she arrived in front of a building of some familiarity: a shiny, glass building with the words “Stark Industries” displayed boldly above. Immediately, the word “Stark” brought her back to the capsule in the basement. Surely it couldn’t just be a coincidence?
Weighing the pros and cons of bursting into an unfamiliar building and demanding answers (and ultimately deciding yes), Enola walked right in.
She found herself in a brightly lit room with high ceilings and plenty of seats. A lady sitting at a desk was eyeing her suspiciously. Meeting her gaze, Enola walked over.
“Enola Holmes, pleasure to meet you,” Enola said, thrusting out her arm.
The receptionist eyed her dubiously through thick rimmed glasses. She didn’t return the gesture.
How rude, Enola thought.
“And how may I help you?” the lady asked. She spoke in an accent, possibly American.
“I’m looking for a person named Stark. Like the name on this building?”
The lady frowned. “You mean Tony Stark?”
So he is a person, Enola thought to herself. “Yes, him.”
The receptionist paused, unsure of what to do. Finally, she sighed. “He’s in a meeting right now, but he should be down soon. Should I let him know you’re here?”
“Er-no, that’s okay!” Enola said, perhaps a little too hastily. She didn’t really know who this Tony Stark man was, and she doubted he knew of her either. “I…already told him I was coming.”
The lady raised her eyebrows skeptically but didn’t say anything. Enola thanked her and started to observe the lobby area for any clues. While pacing around the room, she took a moment to mull over the case. Obviously, she was not in London. The glass capsule had somehow transported her to this futuristic looking city. So where was she?
Additionally, the name Stark couldn’t just be a coincidence. She had encountered it twice already, in two different locations. Whoever this Tony Stark man was, he had to be of some significance.
A masculine voice startled her from her thoughts. “You were looking for me?”
Enola turned around to see a man dressed in a suit and thick-rimmed, tinted glasses. Learning her lesson from last time, she didn’t extend her hand. Instead, she only said, “I’m Enola Holmes.”
The man cocked his head curiously. “I’m Tony.”
Enola smiled politely. “I’m a detective, brother of Sherlock Holmes. My search has brought me to you.”
Now it was Tony’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Okay…where are you from?”
“London.”
“Do all detectives dress like that?” He gestured to her dress.
“Like what?” Enola asked, frowning.
“Nevermind. How did you get here?”
“Well, I was exploring this basement. There was a glass capsule with your name on it. So I stepped inside and ended up here.”
Tony’s face went pale. “Oh god. It can’t be”
“I’m sorry?”
“What year is it?”
Now Enola was confused. “1884, why?”
At this point, Tony was shaking his head. Whether this was a good or bad thing, Enola couldn’t tell.
“Miriam,” he called, to the lady at the desk. “Cancel all my meetings today. I have to take care of this first.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m perfectly capable of—” Enola started, but Tony cut her off.
He looked at Enola. “Come on. I think we’ve both got some explaining to do.”
+874 words
- i_like_kotlc
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
SWC Megathread || Nov. 2022
Shielded - an SWC Fanfic (569 words)
Crash. I looked up at the roof, towards the source of the noise, but saw nothing. Odd. Oh well, I thought, but I kept typing frantically - now was no time to stop. It was cabin wars, after all, and no one had stopped writing for hours. I was sitting alone in a small, obscure shed outside naan fi, away from all the noise and chaos of the bread house itself. As I typed, it might have been my imagination, but I could have sworn that the room was starting to smell more and more like… mangoes? Not that I was complaining, of course. Mangoes were a scrumptious treat nearly too good for this world, but it didn't particularly help with the sense that something was- well… off.
I shook my head. I had to keep going, had to turn in my five hundred words before the war was over. I had volunteered last-minute to write five hundred words for one of the challenges, and I wasn't planning on being the reason that naan fi lost a war. So I kept going, pausing only briefly to glance at my watch. Three minutes left. My gaze flickered back up to the word counter. Two hundred words left. Sweat dripped down my forehead, my breathing quick and shallow. Okay, calm down. I could do this. I just had to finish writing these words, then sprint back to the cabin to hand them in.
Oh. Right. The cabin. Naan fi had so many wars in progress that the cabin had essentially turned into a war zone. I sighed. Real-life SWC was so strange. See, in online cabin wars, this would have been fine. In real life though… well- that was different. Real-life cabin wars were essentially just chaos. While a portion of the campers struggled to write as many words as possible, others burst into other cabins, not only giving them challenges, but also remaining for food and pillow fights. In other words, insanity.
Aaand… done. I lifted my fingers off the keyboard, snatched up my laptop after slamming it closed, and dashed back towards the cabin. As I ran, I heard a crashing noise from the shed, but I didn't stop to look back; there wasn't time for that. I pushed through the throngs of people and finally, after what seemed like ages, arrived at the center, slapping my laptop down triumphantly. We had won the war. I let out a sigh, partially of relief and partially of exhaustion. I hadn't had a break in at least four hours.
It occured to me, suddenly, that perhaps I should go check on the shed and see what that noise was, so I grabbed a random camper and dragged them out with me - who knows what cabin they were from, honestly. We darted outside, the other camper rightfully looking incredibly confused.
I stopped in my tracks as I arrived at the shed, staring at the sight before me in terror. Mangoes stabbed at the clear blue shield, which seemed to be shattering! I checked my watch - fourteen seconds until it went down; no wonder it was breaking. I couldn't believe, though, that this cabin had tried to break it down early, using the sacred mangoes, no less! I glared up at them, making a three with my fingers. They still had to wait three more seconds.
Crunch. Then, everything fell apart.
Crash. I looked up at the roof, towards the source of the noise, but saw nothing. Odd. Oh well, I thought, but I kept typing frantically - now was no time to stop. It was cabin wars, after all, and no one had stopped writing for hours. I was sitting alone in a small, obscure shed outside naan fi, away from all the noise and chaos of the bread house itself. As I typed, it might have been my imagination, but I could have sworn that the room was starting to smell more and more like… mangoes? Not that I was complaining, of course. Mangoes were a scrumptious treat nearly too good for this world, but it didn't particularly help with the sense that something was- well… off.
I shook my head. I had to keep going, had to turn in my five hundred words before the war was over. I had volunteered last-minute to write five hundred words for one of the challenges, and I wasn't planning on being the reason that naan fi lost a war. So I kept going, pausing only briefly to glance at my watch. Three minutes left. My gaze flickered back up to the word counter. Two hundred words left. Sweat dripped down my forehead, my breathing quick and shallow. Okay, calm down. I could do this. I just had to finish writing these words, then sprint back to the cabin to hand them in.
Oh. Right. The cabin. Naan fi had so many wars in progress that the cabin had essentially turned into a war zone. I sighed. Real-life SWC was so strange. See, in online cabin wars, this would have been fine. In real life though… well- that was different. Real-life cabin wars were essentially just chaos. While a portion of the campers struggled to write as many words as possible, others burst into other cabins, not only giving them challenges, but also remaining for food and pillow fights. In other words, insanity.
Aaand… done. I lifted my fingers off the keyboard, snatched up my laptop after slamming it closed, and dashed back towards the cabin. As I ran, I heard a crashing noise from the shed, but I didn't stop to look back; there wasn't time for that. I pushed through the throngs of people and finally, after what seemed like ages, arrived at the center, slapping my laptop down triumphantly. We had won the war. I let out a sigh, partially of relief and partially of exhaustion. I hadn't had a break in at least four hours.
It occured to me, suddenly, that perhaps I should go check on the shed and see what that noise was, so I grabbed a random camper and dragged them out with me - who knows what cabin they were from, honestly. We darted outside, the other camper rightfully looking incredibly confused.
I stopped in my tracks as I arrived at the shed, staring at the sight before me in terror. Mangoes stabbed at the clear blue shield, which seemed to be shattering! I checked my watch - fourteen seconds until it went down; no wonder it was breaking. I couldn't believe, though, that this cabin had tried to break it down early, using the sacred mangoes, no less! I glared up at them, making a three with my fingers. They still had to wait three more seconds.
Crunch. Then, everything fell apart.
Last edited by i_like_kotlc (Nov. 22, 2022 23:31:51)
- theseventh-crow
-
New Scratcher
15 posts
SWC Megathread || Nov. 2022
SWC NOV 2022
writing comp
The Plunge
(340 words)
I had watched silently as he fell, my mind making sound when my lips couldn’t. But that wasn’t the case for him; he screamed as he plunged down, anguish in his eyes, engraved on his face. In that moment I had wished that I could’ve helped him, saved him, but that wasn’t my role in this story.
I was unsure how to feel when he fell, at first, I had felt relief – relief that our endless encounters were over. Relief that the world would be safe from his theories and ideologies. But there was sorrow too. I was sorry that I had caused this, sorry that it was permanent. I had been angry when his face had remained calm and neutral as he dropped. I had thought it unfair, he pushed me to my limit, destroying my hard work, and now he got to rest – peacefully, while I remained to clean up his mess.
But then the shock had set in, he had panicked and screamed, flailing in the air, desperate to grasp onto something. But he couldn’t. He realised that too, eventually. That was when his face contorted back to one of peace and serenity. But I could see it in his eyes, in his fists, and the set of his back, that he was anything but serene.
It was then that I began to regret my decision, as he reached his final few seconds, wriggling and twisting to see what was coming next. For a moment I had though that I had seen him mouth the word ‘sorry’, but I had also thought that he might survive – witnessing death had clearly made me delusional.
After I had seen the job through, I stood to go, smiling softly as I went. People would mourn him, hate me for his demise; but they could not yet understand that I was saving them, rescuing them, by removing him. And yet I had done it without a second thought, without regret. Perhaps that is why they call me the villain.
writing comp
The Plunge
(340 words)
I had watched silently as he fell, my mind making sound when my lips couldn’t. But that wasn’t the case for him; he screamed as he plunged down, anguish in his eyes, engraved on his face. In that moment I had wished that I could’ve helped him, saved him, but that wasn’t my role in this story.
I was unsure how to feel when he fell, at first, I had felt relief – relief that our endless encounters were over. Relief that the world would be safe from his theories and ideologies. But there was sorrow too. I was sorry that I had caused this, sorry that it was permanent. I had been angry when his face had remained calm and neutral as he dropped. I had thought it unfair, he pushed me to my limit, destroying my hard work, and now he got to rest – peacefully, while I remained to clean up his mess.
But then the shock had set in, he had panicked and screamed, flailing in the air, desperate to grasp onto something. But he couldn’t. He realised that too, eventually. That was when his face contorted back to one of peace and serenity. But I could see it in his eyes, in his fists, and the set of his back, that he was anything but serene.
It was then that I began to regret my decision, as he reached his final few seconds, wriggling and twisting to see what was coming next. For a moment I had though that I had seen him mouth the word ‘sorry’, but I had also thought that he might survive – witnessing death had clearly made me delusional.
After I had seen the job through, I stood to go, smiling softly as I went. People would mourn him, hate me for his demise; but they could not yet understand that I was saving them, rescuing them, by removing him. And yet I had done it without a second thought, without regret. Perhaps that is why they call me the villain.
Last edited by theseventh-crow (Nov. 22, 2022 00:22:11)
- puffyfish
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
SWC Megathread || Nov. 2022
weekly 3 - self care
total - 316 words
Part 1 - Time Management
Used Eisenhower’s Matrix and Time Blocking-no proof needed
Part 2 - Motivation
Joined Time Pressure-replied to @snowyforest-
Part 3 - Self Care
-Exercise
-Sleep
-Turn off electronics
285 words
Among many other healthy habits, exercising, sleep, and turning off electronics are all very important aspects of self-care that, if you do not already do them, you should consider-each one of them is equally important to have a nice and healthy life.
Firstly, there is exercise: a broad but very important category that everyone should do as a habit, or at least a bit every day. Whether it is in the form of sports, running on a treadmill, or even yoga, exercise is a fun, rewarding way to keep your body active and fit.
Another easy and healthy habit is sleep: yes, just sleep. Having a good amount of sleep (recommended around eight hours) is a great and extremely easy way to stay healthy and replenish your strength for another day. Just go to bed at a reasonable hour, or maybe take a short nap if you’re feeling tired and unproductive-you’ll wake up feeling good as new!
Last, but definitely not least, is the practice of regularly turning off our electronics. Yes, we all know phones and computers are great and essential (of course, that’s how you’re reading this!) but sometimes it's just as good to turn away from them for a little bit. Try taking an hour without your phone, or computer, and focus on more worldly things, like reading a book, or hanging out with your friends and family.
All of these habits are things that you should take into consideration when planning out a healthy and balanced life. Some of them may be bigger and more obvious, and maybe another seems small or pointless to you-but these three ideas listed are all things that can be very helpful and beneficial for anyone.
total - 316 words
Part 1 - Time Management
Used Eisenhower’s Matrix and Time Blocking-no proof needed
Part 2 - Motivation
Joined Time Pressure-replied to @snowyforest-
Part 3 - Self Care
-Exercise
-Sleep
-Turn off electronics
285 words
Among many other healthy habits, exercising, sleep, and turning off electronics are all very important aspects of self-care that, if you do not already do them, you should consider-each one of them is equally important to have a nice and healthy life.
Firstly, there is exercise: a broad but very important category that everyone should do as a habit, or at least a bit every day. Whether it is in the form of sports, running on a treadmill, or even yoga, exercise is a fun, rewarding way to keep your body active and fit.
Another easy and healthy habit is sleep: yes, just sleep. Having a good amount of sleep (recommended around eight hours) is a great and extremely easy way to stay healthy and replenish your strength for another day. Just go to bed at a reasonable hour, or maybe take a short nap if you’re feeling tired and unproductive-you’ll wake up feeling good as new!
Last, but definitely not least, is the practice of regularly turning off our electronics. Yes, we all know phones and computers are great and essential (of course, that’s how you’re reading this!) but sometimes it's just as good to turn away from them for a little bit. Try taking an hour without your phone, or computer, and focus on more worldly things, like reading a book, or hanging out with your friends and family.
All of these habits are things that you should take into consideration when planning out a healthy and balanced life. Some of them may be bigger and more obvious, and maybe another seems small or pointless to you-but these three ideas listed are all things that can be very helpful and beneficial for anyone.
- theseventh-crow
-
New Scratcher
15 posts
SWC Megathread || Nov. 2022
Weekly 3 SWC Nov 2022
Part 1
Used all 4 methods (proof unnecessary)
Part 2
Brainstorming: 2 original comments + 3 responses
Part 3
(344 words)
Sometimes our productivity can be low, and we may struggle to get things done. That’s ok, it happens to all of us, but it can be very overwhelming, stressful and miserable in general. So, what can you do to fix that? You can practice self-care, and improve yourself, both mentally and physically.
One of the most important parts of self-care is sleep and making sure that you get enough sleep every night, as well as making sure that you establish a regular sleep pattern. The recommended amount of sleep for people between the ages of nine to eighteen, is at least eight hours of sleep per night. This will ensure that you have enough energy to get through each day and will allow you to get what you need to do done.
But what else can you do to look after yourself, and maximize your productivity? Drink lots of water. While it may sound silly or obvious, drinking lots of water is the key to looking after yourself. Not only does drinking six glasses of water a day keep you hydrated, but it also ensures that you maintain high energy levels, similar to the result of energy drinks, but with less sugar; meaning that you are rid of headaches and energised in order to do your work.
Another way to keep productive while looking after yourself is exercise. By just completing one hour of vigorous exercise – which doesn’t even have to be done in the space of one hour – you can clear your head, and feel more refreshed than ever. And as a bonus, you can exercise outside allowing you to get more vitamin D plus many other health benefits, again leaving you feeling refreshed and productive. So why not kill two birds with one stone?
These were just a few of the physical things you can do to help increase productivity and make you feel better, but there are many more methods and also quite a few mental focused ideas, but these are a few of the easiest physical selfcare methods to practice.
Part 1
Used all 4 methods (proof unnecessary)
Part 2
Brainstorming: 2 original comments + 3 responses
Part 3
(344 words)
Sometimes our productivity can be low, and we may struggle to get things done. That’s ok, it happens to all of us, but it can be very overwhelming, stressful and miserable in general. So, what can you do to fix that? You can practice self-care, and improve yourself, both mentally and physically.
One of the most important parts of self-care is sleep and making sure that you get enough sleep every night, as well as making sure that you establish a regular sleep pattern. The recommended amount of sleep for people between the ages of nine to eighteen, is at least eight hours of sleep per night. This will ensure that you have enough energy to get through each day and will allow you to get what you need to do done.
But what else can you do to look after yourself, and maximize your productivity? Drink lots of water. While it may sound silly or obvious, drinking lots of water is the key to looking after yourself. Not only does drinking six glasses of water a day keep you hydrated, but it also ensures that you maintain high energy levels, similar to the result of energy drinks, but with less sugar; meaning that you are rid of headaches and energised in order to do your work.
Another way to keep productive while looking after yourself is exercise. By just completing one hour of vigorous exercise – which doesn’t even have to be done in the space of one hour – you can clear your head, and feel more refreshed than ever. And as a bonus, you can exercise outside allowing you to get more vitamin D plus many other health benefits, again leaving you feeling refreshed and productive. So why not kill two birds with one stone?
These were just a few of the physical things you can do to help increase productivity and make you feel better, but there are many more methods and also quite a few mental focused ideas, but these are a few of the easiest physical selfcare methods to practice.
- Otado-1
-
Scratcher
1 post
SWC Megathread || Nov. 2022
This is me
A poem
For SWC
154 words
In the past, being myself was hard
It was like every second of my life there was a guard.
Now I know who I truly am I may go by they/them today
Or she/her the next
But either way I was happy
Knowing who I was
Who I am
Now these days
Some might say
She’s broken and needs to be fixed
But I am now fixed knowing who I am
Or they could yell She’s lost her mind, get a doctor and a therapist.
But no I have now found my mind.
This is me
Who i'm meant to be
Who I really am
And all the effort I put in to making myself
Makes the world a little bit better
Letting somebody else know
To be themselves without feeling worried
Or like they have to hide
Because I want to help the world And all its people.
Because well,
This is me.
A poem
For SWC
154 words
In the past, being myself was hard
It was like every second of my life there was a guard.
Now I know who I truly am I may go by they/them today
Or she/her the next
But either way I was happy
Knowing who I was
Who I am
Now these days
Some might say
She’s broken and needs to be fixed
But I am now fixed knowing who I am
Or they could yell She’s lost her mind, get a doctor and a therapist.
But no I have now found my mind.
This is me
Who i'm meant to be
Who I really am
And all the effort I put in to making myself
Makes the world a little bit better
Letting somebody else know
To be themselves without feeling worried
Or like they have to hide
Because I want to help the world And all its people.
Because well,
This is me.
- chanochster4
-
New Scratcher
1 post
SWC Megathread || Nov. 2022
Ideology
Word Count: 1123
“Ana, time for breakfast!” Jana shouted loudly. Ana had just woken up and at this moment she had been getting dressed. “You’re going to be late for school!”
“Coming, Mama!” Ana shouted back.
Ana was a slim 12-year old girl with luscious blonde locks and sparkling green eyes. Ana quickly looked outside her window. “What a beautiful day in Košice.” she said. There was a blissful orange sunrise in the sky. Then Ana looked down below and saw Nazi banners. These banners had gone up a few months ago and she hated them. She never understood why the Nazis hated the Jews so much. What she did know was that Štefan was one of them. He had started bullying her this year and now did it constantly. Ana then checked off the date of her calendar, October 12, 1939. Ana came downstairs and ate her cottage cheese. Then she quickly slipped on her shoes and was about to leave before her mother exclaimed, “Love you!”
Quickly giving her a kiss on the head, Jana quietly spoke in Ana’s ear. “Ana, be careful.” Ana was about to ask why when her mother quickly waved to her and locked the door. Ana got to school and went inside the hall. At that moment she saw him - Štefan. With his light blonde hair and bulging blue eyes. He was in the back corner of the hall, talking to his friends.
“You know, my Papa–he joined the SS. Now he can take all the Židov out of our country,” Štefan said proudly.
“Such a show off.” Ana said quietly. This was one of the many reasons why she hated Štefan. That and his violent behavior towards Židov, one time he actually slammed her into a locker. It always got on her nerves and she could never stand it. She felt that this was the time. The time to do it. Ana ran up to Štefan and punched him in the jaw.
“That's what you get for disrespecting my people.” Ana said with a grin.
The next day Ana went to school and saw Štefan going down another hall.
“That's the way to the cafeteria. Why is he going there?” Ana thought.
“Everyone is to report to the auditorium for an assembly!” Principal Baláž announced in the hallway. Štefan came out of the cafeteria with something in his vest. Ana couldn’t tell what it was until he got closer. Suddenly, she saw a glimpse of what she believed to be a kitchen knife. Ana gasped.
“My Father told me everything about your kind,” Štefan’s voice turned into a shout. “Your people are just disgusting, disgusting Židov!”
By this time everybody was inside the auditorium besides Ana and Štefan. Ana quickly went inside an empty classroom nearby and hid inside a cabinet.
“I should’ve listened to Mama,” Ana said to herself. Then, through a tiny crack in the cabinet, she saw Štefan go inside the room.
“You can’t hide from me you Žid!” Štefan said echoing in the hallway. Quickly, when his back was turned Ana quickly went upstairs onto an under construction floor.
“He won’t find me here,” Ana said. Ana sat down on the crusty floor while she heard footsteps downstairs. “He’s coming!” Ana whimpered. Štefan got upstairs while Ana hid in a classroom nearby.
“Wheeeerrrrreeee aaaarrrrreeee yyyooouuu?” Štefan echoed. Ana quickly moved to another classroom. Štefan went down the hall. Ana quietly passed by another classroom and hid in there. Ana wept.
“You stupid Žid! Where are you!?!” Štefan shouted. Ana kept on moving from classroom to classroom and every time Štefan kept on getting closer and closer. Ana decided at that moment to do the unthinkable. She found a staircase close to her and ran down it as fast as she could. She left the building and went outside at the entrance of the building. She went to a corner and took a breath. She tried to remember how this started. She remembered what Štefan said about his father telling him about her kind. Then it hit her.
“He didn’t hate her because he wanted to, he was told to by his father! It’s all passed down, all of this information. It’s only what they’re told! They’re told this fake information so they grow and destroy society. It’s all their stupid—stupid–” Ana couldn’t think of the word, she knew she learned it somewhere. “Ideology!” She remembered.
Ana heard some noises. It sounded like a car. Ana looked behind her. She saw a Black Tatra 87 pull up at the parking lot. It was a teacher–her teacher no less, Mr. Molnár. He got out of his car and noticed Ana.
“Ana, what are you doing outside?!” Mr. Molnár asked harshly.
“It’s Štefan! He’s trying to kill me and he’s going to be here any second!” Cried Ana.
“Oh you Židov make up a lot of things.” He said.
“No! Really! You have to believe me–”
“Stop it! Now go back to class!”
“No! Please–”
“NOW!!!”
Ana could see Štefan getting closer and closer to the door. She didn’t know what to do. Ana ran, as fast as she could. Štefan quickly hid his knife and Mr. Molnár didn’t even notice, instead he simply told Štefan to go back to class. After a few blocks Ana got to her house and opened the door. Her mother was in the living room sewing.
“Ana! Why are you home so early?” Jana asked. Ana went to her mother and gave her a big hug. Ana told her mother everything, everything that had happened today at school and why she had come home so early.
“Oh my goodness, Ana! I’m so sorry. Don’t worry my dear, you don’t have to go to that school ever again!”
Ana put her head on Jana’s shoulder. “In fact–”
“Wait, what's this?” Ana asked. She was near the counter and noticed passports saying DENIED in big red letters.
“That’s what I was going to tell you. See we’re…going to a friend’s house for a while.”
“What do you mean—like a trip?”
“Not exactly.”
Ana and her mother were both taken to Auschwitz II-Birkenau in the summer of 1942 after hiding with her mother in the basement of a friend’s. Ana survived though Jana perished. After Birkenau was liberated by the Soviets, Ana was in a DP camp for 6 months. After leaving the DP camp, Ana and her Uncle–Who was part of the resistance–took a quick trip to her old house. There, Ana got her mothers valuables out of the dirt. Later, Ana and her Uncle immigrated to Israel and she had 4 children, 16 grandchildren, and 24 great-grandchildren. She called this her revenge on Hitler. She died in 2019 at the age of 92.
Word Count: 1123
“Ana, time for breakfast!” Jana shouted loudly. Ana had just woken up and at this moment she had been getting dressed. “You’re going to be late for school!”
“Coming, Mama!” Ana shouted back.
Ana was a slim 12-year old girl with luscious blonde locks and sparkling green eyes. Ana quickly looked outside her window. “What a beautiful day in Košice.” she said. There was a blissful orange sunrise in the sky. Then Ana looked down below and saw Nazi banners. These banners had gone up a few months ago and she hated them. She never understood why the Nazis hated the Jews so much. What she did know was that Štefan was one of them. He had started bullying her this year and now did it constantly. Ana then checked off the date of her calendar, October 12, 1939. Ana came downstairs and ate her cottage cheese. Then she quickly slipped on her shoes and was about to leave before her mother exclaimed, “Love you!”
Quickly giving her a kiss on the head, Jana quietly spoke in Ana’s ear. “Ana, be careful.” Ana was about to ask why when her mother quickly waved to her and locked the door. Ana got to school and went inside the hall. At that moment she saw him - Štefan. With his light blonde hair and bulging blue eyes. He was in the back corner of the hall, talking to his friends.
“You know, my Papa–he joined the SS. Now he can take all the Židov out of our country,” Štefan said proudly.
“Such a show off.” Ana said quietly. This was one of the many reasons why she hated Štefan. That and his violent behavior towards Židov, one time he actually slammed her into a locker. It always got on her nerves and she could never stand it. She felt that this was the time. The time to do it. Ana ran up to Štefan and punched him in the jaw.
“That's what you get for disrespecting my people.” Ana said with a grin.
The next day Ana went to school and saw Štefan going down another hall.
“That's the way to the cafeteria. Why is he going there?” Ana thought.
“Everyone is to report to the auditorium for an assembly!” Principal Baláž announced in the hallway. Štefan came out of the cafeteria with something in his vest. Ana couldn’t tell what it was until he got closer. Suddenly, she saw a glimpse of what she believed to be a kitchen knife. Ana gasped.
“My Father told me everything about your kind,” Štefan’s voice turned into a shout. “Your people are just disgusting, disgusting Židov!”
By this time everybody was inside the auditorium besides Ana and Štefan. Ana quickly went inside an empty classroom nearby and hid inside a cabinet.
“I should’ve listened to Mama,” Ana said to herself. Then, through a tiny crack in the cabinet, she saw Štefan go inside the room.
“You can’t hide from me you Žid!” Štefan said echoing in the hallway. Quickly, when his back was turned Ana quickly went upstairs onto an under construction floor.
“He won’t find me here,” Ana said. Ana sat down on the crusty floor while she heard footsteps downstairs. “He’s coming!” Ana whimpered. Štefan got upstairs while Ana hid in a classroom nearby.
“Wheeeerrrrreeee aaaarrrrreeee yyyooouuu?” Štefan echoed. Ana quickly moved to another classroom. Štefan went down the hall. Ana quietly passed by another classroom and hid in there. Ana wept.
“You stupid Žid! Where are you!?!” Štefan shouted. Ana kept on moving from classroom to classroom and every time Štefan kept on getting closer and closer. Ana decided at that moment to do the unthinkable. She found a staircase close to her and ran down it as fast as she could. She left the building and went outside at the entrance of the building. She went to a corner and took a breath. She tried to remember how this started. She remembered what Štefan said about his father telling him about her kind. Then it hit her.
“He didn’t hate her because he wanted to, he was told to by his father! It’s all passed down, all of this information. It’s only what they’re told! They’re told this fake information so they grow and destroy society. It’s all their stupid—stupid–” Ana couldn’t think of the word, she knew she learned it somewhere. “Ideology!” She remembered.
Ana heard some noises. It sounded like a car. Ana looked behind her. She saw a Black Tatra 87 pull up at the parking lot. It was a teacher–her teacher no less, Mr. Molnár. He got out of his car and noticed Ana.
“Ana, what are you doing outside?!” Mr. Molnár asked harshly.
“It’s Štefan! He’s trying to kill me and he’s going to be here any second!” Cried Ana.
“Oh you Židov make up a lot of things.” He said.
“No! Really! You have to believe me–”
“Stop it! Now go back to class!”
“No! Please–”
“NOW!!!”
Ana could see Štefan getting closer and closer to the door. She didn’t know what to do. Ana ran, as fast as she could. Štefan quickly hid his knife and Mr. Molnár didn’t even notice, instead he simply told Štefan to go back to class. After a few blocks Ana got to her house and opened the door. Her mother was in the living room sewing.
“Ana! Why are you home so early?” Jana asked. Ana went to her mother and gave her a big hug. Ana told her mother everything, everything that had happened today at school and why she had come home so early.
“Oh my goodness, Ana! I’m so sorry. Don’t worry my dear, you don’t have to go to that school ever again!”
Ana put her head on Jana’s shoulder. “In fact–”
“Wait, what's this?” Ana asked. She was near the counter and noticed passports saying DENIED in big red letters.
“That’s what I was going to tell you. See we’re…going to a friend’s house for a while.”
“What do you mean—like a trip?”
“Not exactly.”
Ana and her mother were both taken to Auschwitz II-Birkenau in the summer of 1942 after hiding with her mother in the basement of a friend’s. Ana survived though Jana perished. After Birkenau was liberated by the Soviets, Ana was in a DP camp for 6 months. After leaving the DP camp, Ana and her Uncle–Who was part of the resistance–took a quick trip to her old house. There, Ana got her mothers valuables out of the dirt. Later, Ana and her Uncle immigrated to Israel and she had 4 children, 16 grandchildren, and 24 great-grandchildren. She called this her revenge on Hitler. She died in 2019 at the age of 92.
- ka26dhan
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
SWC Megathread || Nov. 2022
WEEKLY
Part 1:
i did all of the ones
Part 2
joined time pressure!
think of a food, and the food that comes to mind should be inspiration for a story's setting! (prompt i gave (i gave more, but this is the only one i saved - gave 3)) - got 2 responses
Prompt i followed: "ask a friend or family member to give you a word. write 100x the amount of letters in that. “
I followed a prompt here! (the word for the prompt was ”a")
Zara walked to the tennis court. She never had done tennis, only football. What was tennis, even? It seemed so easy, but who knows? Zara looked at the tennis court. It was so big! She picked up her racket, and played with her dad. The sport was a little hard, but doable. But her dad slowly started playing harder, and Zara realized how hard it was. Zara, day after day, kept trying, and soon was better than her dad! Zara’s dad got her into competition, which Zara won sometimes, but when she did not win, she kept on trying hard! (101 words)
Part 3:
Checklist:
-water intake
-sleeping more
-reading
-exercise
-healthy eating
- turn electronics off.
-
289 WORDS
Opinion Piece:
As you know, self care is important, and here’s some things you should do to help your body! First, drink water! Your body needs water to survive! Also, a lot of your body is made of water! Water will keep you hydrated so you don't get tired! Also, bonus: you can get a cool reusable water bottle! Also, you should definitely sleep more! Sleeping is good for you! It will make sure you don't get tired, and will keep your body happy! Also, sleeping can make you more healthy! Also, I recommend reading! Reading is very calming and gives you stress relief! Also, stories are very interesting! They will keep you entertained and happy! Reading is fun if you read good books, and can bust your boredom! Also, exercise! Exercise will keep your body fit. You take a walk, run, or play sports! The possibilities are endless! If you make a habit of exercising, you will be very healthy! Also, go ahead and eat healthy! Fruits and veggies have healthy nutrients! You can blend them in smoothies and juices! If you absolutely hate veggies and fruits, put a bundle of spinach in your cupcake of blend some cauliflower in your pasta sauce so you don't see the nasty fruits and veggies! Maybe try turning your electronics off too! Electronics are bad for your eyes! Also, social media can stress you out and make you addicted to your new phone! Electronics are not as fun as going on a walk or writing in your journal or sketchbook! Sometimes more is less. At least, with electronics. Staring at a screen will hurt your eyes at is very time consuming. Wasting your time on social media is a waste of time!
—
yui | writing | REALFI YASS |
Part 1:
i did all of the ones
Part 2
joined time pressure!
think of a food, and the food that comes to mind should be inspiration for a story's setting! (prompt i gave (i gave more, but this is the only one i saved - gave 3)) - got 2 responses
Prompt i followed: "ask a friend or family member to give you a word. write 100x the amount of letters in that. “
I followed a prompt here! (the word for the prompt was ”a")
Zara walked to the tennis court. She never had done tennis, only football. What was tennis, even? It seemed so easy, but who knows? Zara looked at the tennis court. It was so big! She picked up her racket, and played with her dad. The sport was a little hard, but doable. But her dad slowly started playing harder, and Zara realized how hard it was. Zara, day after day, kept trying, and soon was better than her dad! Zara’s dad got her into competition, which Zara won sometimes, but when she did not win, she kept on trying hard! (101 words)
Part 3:
Checklist:
-water intake
-sleeping more
-reading
-exercise
-healthy eating
- turn electronics off.
-
289 WORDS
Opinion Piece:
As you know, self care is important, and here’s some things you should do to help your body! First, drink water! Your body needs water to survive! Also, a lot of your body is made of water! Water will keep you hydrated so you don't get tired! Also, bonus: you can get a cool reusable water bottle! Also, you should definitely sleep more! Sleeping is good for you! It will make sure you don't get tired, and will keep your body happy! Also, sleeping can make you more healthy! Also, I recommend reading! Reading is very calming and gives you stress relief! Also, stories are very interesting! They will keep you entertained and happy! Reading is fun if you read good books, and can bust your boredom! Also, exercise! Exercise will keep your body fit. You take a walk, run, or play sports! The possibilities are endless! If you make a habit of exercising, you will be very healthy! Also, go ahead and eat healthy! Fruits and veggies have healthy nutrients! You can blend them in smoothies and juices! If you absolutely hate veggies and fruits, put a bundle of spinach in your cupcake of blend some cauliflower in your pasta sauce so you don't see the nasty fruits and veggies! Maybe try turning your electronics off too! Electronics are bad for your eyes! Also, social media can stress you out and make you addicted to your new phone! Electronics are not as fun as going on a walk or writing in your journal or sketchbook! Sometimes more is less. At least, with electronics. Staring at a screen will hurt your eyes at is very time consuming. Wasting your time on social media is a waste of time!
—
yui | writing | REALFI YASS |
Last edited by ka26dhan (Nov. 22, 2022 02:14:56)
- honeybreeze
-
Scratcher
1000+ posts
SWC Megathread || Nov. 2022
Chirp!
You look up to see a startlingly red robin sitting on a branch above you. It dives out of the tree and spreads its wings, darting across the sky. A bluejay that you hadn’t noticed before follows it. Soon enough, they become two miniscule dots in the sky. You track them with your eyes for as long as you can.
Where’d they go? You squint, but the glare of the setting sun forces you to turn your head away. You pick up your backpack and start to get up. You have to be home before dark.
The chirping of birds starts again, louder this time. The robin and bluejay have returned and are flying around the tree that you were leaning against. You stare up at them, and one of them seems to make eye contact with you. You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head. Time to head home.
The birds are sitting on a low branch, watching you in silence now. The robin looks at the bluejay, who nods and flies toward you. It turns around when it’s in front of you and darts back and forth, chittering loudly.
You look back at the tree and it flies toward it again. I guess that’s what it wanted?
When you continue walking away from the tree, the bluejay turns around and flies back to you. The robin follows and they both flutter around your head.
You glance at the setting sun, and, with a sigh, you turn around. They fly away from you and you have to jog to keep up. They lead you to a tall redwood, not too far from the tree you were sitting by.
You walk around it and feel the hairy bark. As you’re looking up into the branches, you feel your foot drop down — you must have stepped into a hole! Before you know it, you’re tumbling through the air. The two birds flap around you.
After what falling for like feels what ages, the ground comes into sight. You hold your breath before the crash, but somehow, you land on your feet. Right before they land the birds seem to turn into whirling tornadoes.
You find yourself standing next to two people. One of them, who you’re pretty sure was the bluejay, has teal and purple hair — seemingly made of feathers? — that goes down to her shoulders. The other has short brown hair that’s thrown to one side.
“Welcome to SWC,” they say in unison.
You look up to see a startlingly red robin sitting on a branch above you. It dives out of the tree and spreads its wings, darting across the sky. A bluejay that you hadn’t noticed before follows it. Soon enough, they become two miniscule dots in the sky. You track them with your eyes for as long as you can.
Where’d they go? You squint, but the glare of the setting sun forces you to turn your head away. You pick up your backpack and start to get up. You have to be home before dark.
The chirping of birds starts again, louder this time. The robin and bluejay have returned and are flying around the tree that you were leaning against. You stare up at them, and one of them seems to make eye contact with you. You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head. Time to head home.
The birds are sitting on a low branch, watching you in silence now. The robin looks at the bluejay, who nods and flies toward you. It turns around when it’s in front of you and darts back and forth, chittering loudly.
You look back at the tree and it flies toward it again. I guess that’s what it wanted?
When you continue walking away from the tree, the bluejay turns around and flies back to you. The robin follows and they both flutter around your head.
You glance at the setting sun, and, with a sigh, you turn around. They fly away from you and you have to jog to keep up. They lead you to a tall redwood, not too far from the tree you were sitting by.
You walk around it and feel the hairy bark. As you’re looking up into the branches, you feel your foot drop down — you must have stepped into a hole! Before you know it, you’re tumbling through the air. The two birds flap around you.
After what falling for like feels what ages, the ground comes into sight. You hold your breath before the crash, but somehow, you land on your feet. Right before they land the birds seem to turn into whirling tornadoes.
You find yourself standing next to two people. One of them, who you’re pretty sure was the bluejay, has teal and purple hair — seemingly made of feathers? — that goes down to her shoulders. The other has short brown hair that’s thrown to one side.
“Welcome to SWC,” they say in unison.
- pages-of-ink
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
SWC Megathread || Nov. 2022
Dreams That Are Trapped and Broken
Writing Competition Entry
The basement smelled of musty air and half-dead dreams. Wide stone shelves extended from floor to ceiling, lined with a vast collection of glass jars. Sealed tightly with dull silver lids, the containers came in every shape and size imaginable; some were squat and round, others long and narrow-necked. Each one housed a colorful sphere of light, darting restlessly to and fro within its small confines.
I leaned against the cool stone wall, watching the dream jars flicker brightly.
From upstairs came the distant sounds of music, laughter, and lively partying. The entire village had come out to celebrate Laria tonight. She was, after all, their protector. Their Weaver. One of her feet was planted in the land of the waking, and the other had crossed over to the realm of dreams. It was her duty to guard the Bridge between worlds, keeping one safe from the other. A terrible responsibility, and also a glorious honor.
I had hoped for the privilege of shouldering that burden. Twelve years I had spent, quietly preparing to carry on the Weaver legacy. I was my mother’s first daughter, after all. The family gift manifested in one member of each generation, usually the oldest child. It was not unreasonable to hope. To anticipate. To start to assume.
Except now all of my hard work and wishing was crumbling down around me. Laria, my baby sister, ten years old and scarcely able to understand how important her abilities really were, had manifested the gift. She, not I, was our generation’s Dream-Weaver. Simply put, Laria was everything I had ever wanted to become.
I was her unremarkable older sister, and nothing more.
Hot tears of self-pity and frustration strung my eyes. I reached up to rub them away, determined not to lose my dignity on top of everything else. The glowing dream jars blurred anyway, swimming together in a mess of wet, runny colors. One stood slightly apart from the rest; a rich scarlet, the shade of summertime cherries that had reached their peak of ripeness.
I blinked furiously, willing the room to come into focus. The tears cleared long enough for me to better make out the red dream jar. It lay on the floor by the wall opposite me, looking lonely and out of place. Someone must have taken it down from the shelves and forgotten to put it back.
My tears forgotten, I crawled over to the jar and picked it up. The warm cherry light pulsed silently beneath my fingertips. Mother had often warned me that dreams were manipulative creatures, always looking to lure unsuspecting victims away from the waking world. Never trust a dream, Nadia. They prey on the innocent, and have a way of twisting people’s emotions out of human control. The worst thing you could do is listen to a dream. By the time you stop to hear their voices, it will be too late…
Swallowing, I turned my attention back to the cherry-red jar. In spite of my mother’s warnings, the dream inside did not appear to be very threatening. It certainly wasn’t trying to talk. I watched the gentle light flicker quietly for a moment longer, then rose to my feet. Surely this thing had a place on the shelves somewhere -
In my hands, the jar gave a brief shudder. The light within flashed bright, bloody crimson as a sharp burst of heat stung my fingertips. I yelped, dropping the glass container. It hit the ground with a clatter and rolled to a stop by the stone wall.
My heart hammered wildly against my ribs. For several moments, I watched as the dream glowed gently from across the room, a cheerful shade of cherry once more. Then the realization of what I’d just done rushed over me. I scrambled over to the wall and scooped up the jar, examining it fearfully for cracks or scratches. To my relief, the glass appeared unharmed. The only damage seemed to have been to the silver lid, which was knocked slightly ajar. Letting out a shaky breath, I moved my hand to tighten it once more.
You’re that Nadia girl, aren’t you?
The voice twined its way through my consciousness, rich and warm as a fresh cherry pie. I froze, almost dropping the jar again. “Who… who said that?” The words clung heavily to my tongue, dry and sticky with dread.
Inside the jar, a small ruby light bobbed up and down. Why, me, of course. A very lonely dream who only wishes for a bit of fun.
“You talk,” I said, struggling to understand. Only a moment before the dream had been silent.
Well, now that that suffocating lid is gone, yes. I am capable of speech.
“But I thought…” I trailed off, confused.
Well goodness, girl, answer my question. Are you Nadia?
Something cold slithered across my skin. “How did you know my name?”
I can hear. I can see. I have been in this basement for many years. It does not take much talent to learn names and faces.
“Oh,” I replied. This new fact unsettled me, though I didn’t quite know why.
So tell me. What are you doing down here, sulking in a silent basement? Isn’t there a party upstairs?
“That’s none of your business,” I said stiffly.
The party is for your sister, if I’m correct. It would only be polite to go celebrate her with everyone else. She crossed partway into the dream world today, didn’t she? Though I suppose you already know that.
“Yes,” I snapped. “Again, it’s not -”
Unless! The dream flashed brighter with excitement. You resent your sister for her terrible luck, don’t you? You wanted to be the one to step over, and she snatched that chance away from you! Oh, the cherry-pie voice cackled, watching as my face twisted with ugly anger, I’ve jabbed a sore spot there, haven’t I?
“You have no right to know any of that!” I snarled. Mother’s warning whispered in my ears. The worst thing you could do is listen to a dream… I shuddered, my fingers clenching painfully as I struggled to screw the metal cover shut.
Ah yes, jealous of your sister’s future glory, the dream chuckled. How utterly human. I could change that, you know.
My grip on the jar’s lid slackened. Those four sweet words hung in the space between us, daring me to reach out and grab ahold. To take the bait. “What? What do you mean… ‘change that’?”
I could knock your sister’s foot off the Bridge, shove yours on instead. It wouldn’t be terribly hard. I am a dream, after all. The offer twined temptingly through the still air, promising a possibility that I scarcely dared consider.
“You could?” I whispered.
Yes. The dream flickered hypnotically, now a red like polished rubies. I leaned forward, entranced.
I could give you all that you ever wanted. All that your sister doesn’t deserve.
The air hummed around us. My hand lay limply against the crooked silver lid. I had been trying to twist it shut only a minute ago. There was a reason for that, surely, but I couldn't remember…
You could be beloved by all. You could be a Weaver to the truest degree. You could have your every wish come true.
I nodded, hungry with longing. Images of flickering red had appeared behind the warm, clear glass. I watched these scenes play out, transfixed: me, stepping onto the Bridge between worlds. The village, throwing a celebration in my honor. Mother, watching the festivities with fierce pride. Laria, an ordinary seven-year-old, content to bask in the accomplishments of her older sister.
All of that could be yours, the dream promised. You only need to let me out of this jar…
“Yes,” I breathed. The ruby light bathed my face with an otherworldly warmth. I lifted my hand, placed it around the dull metallic lid -
And for the tiniest moment, my resolve flickered.
“Are you going to hurt her?”
Hurt who?
“Laria. My sister.”
Of course not. A chill had entered the dream’s voice. It was as if the cherry pie had frozen halfway down my throat.
I shivered uncertainly. “I don’t know- ”
Nadia. The voice was hot now, too hot, a scorching fire that ignited the flames of my own broken fury and crushed aspirations. That girl is a thief. She stole your gift. Your future. Are you really going to let your own sister get away with such a crime? The life she stole is rightfully yours. You deserve to take it back.
“My own sister,” I whispered. Angry flames licked at the corners of my vision, raging in all the shades of summer fruit and suffocated dreams. Inside the jar, the ruby-colored light had darkened to a color like freshly spilled blood. Smooth glass burned red-hot beneath my fingertips.
Don’t you want to be happy? the voice demanded.
“Yes,” I choked.
She had stolen everything that should have been mine.
Laria.
My own sister.
As if of their own accord, my fingers latched around the jar’s lid. One, two, three twists around, and the metal cover popped loose. The dream inside rushed out, glowing a murderous, bloody scarlet.
And only then did I realize my mistake.
“Wait!” I screamed, lurching to my feet. “No- I didn’t mean it- ”
The dream looped wildly through the basement, reveling in its newfound freedom. Then, in a stream of faint red light, it spiraled up the basement steps.
Up to the party.
For a moment, I stood numbly in the center of the room. It felt as if someone had slapped me in the face, and I was too stunned to hit them back. Then, in a sudden rush of delayed terror, the world snapped back into focus.
I bolted after the dream. The jar was still clutched tightly in my right hand.
A shout from above froze me on the second step. There came the clatter of objects being smashed, people yelling, and, above it all, a little girl’s desperate screams.
Laria.
My own sister.
I lunged for the top step. My foot missed, and in a tangle of flailing limbs I fell to the cold basement floor.
Above, Laria’s screaming abruptly cut off. The sound of her fear was replaced by something far more terrifying.
Silence.
The jar slipped from my fingers and rolled to a stop against the far wall. This time, I made no move to pick it up.
Never trust a dream. They prey on the innocent…
Word count: 1761
Writing Competition Entry
The basement smelled of musty air and half-dead dreams. Wide stone shelves extended from floor to ceiling, lined with a vast collection of glass jars. Sealed tightly with dull silver lids, the containers came in every shape and size imaginable; some were squat and round, others long and narrow-necked. Each one housed a colorful sphere of light, darting restlessly to and fro within its small confines.
I leaned against the cool stone wall, watching the dream jars flicker brightly.
From upstairs came the distant sounds of music, laughter, and lively partying. The entire village had come out to celebrate Laria tonight. She was, after all, their protector. Their Weaver. One of her feet was planted in the land of the waking, and the other had crossed over to the realm of dreams. It was her duty to guard the Bridge between worlds, keeping one safe from the other. A terrible responsibility, and also a glorious honor.
I had hoped for the privilege of shouldering that burden. Twelve years I had spent, quietly preparing to carry on the Weaver legacy. I was my mother’s first daughter, after all. The family gift manifested in one member of each generation, usually the oldest child. It was not unreasonable to hope. To anticipate. To start to assume.
Except now all of my hard work and wishing was crumbling down around me. Laria, my baby sister, ten years old and scarcely able to understand how important her abilities really were, had manifested the gift. She, not I, was our generation’s Dream-Weaver. Simply put, Laria was everything I had ever wanted to become.
I was her unremarkable older sister, and nothing more.
Hot tears of self-pity and frustration strung my eyes. I reached up to rub them away, determined not to lose my dignity on top of everything else. The glowing dream jars blurred anyway, swimming together in a mess of wet, runny colors. One stood slightly apart from the rest; a rich scarlet, the shade of summertime cherries that had reached their peak of ripeness.
I blinked furiously, willing the room to come into focus. The tears cleared long enough for me to better make out the red dream jar. It lay on the floor by the wall opposite me, looking lonely and out of place. Someone must have taken it down from the shelves and forgotten to put it back.
My tears forgotten, I crawled over to the jar and picked it up. The warm cherry light pulsed silently beneath my fingertips. Mother had often warned me that dreams were manipulative creatures, always looking to lure unsuspecting victims away from the waking world. Never trust a dream, Nadia. They prey on the innocent, and have a way of twisting people’s emotions out of human control. The worst thing you could do is listen to a dream. By the time you stop to hear their voices, it will be too late…
Swallowing, I turned my attention back to the cherry-red jar. In spite of my mother’s warnings, the dream inside did not appear to be very threatening. It certainly wasn’t trying to talk. I watched the gentle light flicker quietly for a moment longer, then rose to my feet. Surely this thing had a place on the shelves somewhere -
In my hands, the jar gave a brief shudder. The light within flashed bright, bloody crimson as a sharp burst of heat stung my fingertips. I yelped, dropping the glass container. It hit the ground with a clatter and rolled to a stop by the stone wall.
My heart hammered wildly against my ribs. For several moments, I watched as the dream glowed gently from across the room, a cheerful shade of cherry once more. Then the realization of what I’d just done rushed over me. I scrambled over to the wall and scooped up the jar, examining it fearfully for cracks or scratches. To my relief, the glass appeared unharmed. The only damage seemed to have been to the silver lid, which was knocked slightly ajar. Letting out a shaky breath, I moved my hand to tighten it once more.
You’re that Nadia girl, aren’t you?
The voice twined its way through my consciousness, rich and warm as a fresh cherry pie. I froze, almost dropping the jar again. “Who… who said that?” The words clung heavily to my tongue, dry and sticky with dread.
Inside the jar, a small ruby light bobbed up and down. Why, me, of course. A very lonely dream who only wishes for a bit of fun.
“You talk,” I said, struggling to understand. Only a moment before the dream had been silent.
Well, now that that suffocating lid is gone, yes. I am capable of speech.
“But I thought…” I trailed off, confused.
Well goodness, girl, answer my question. Are you Nadia?
Something cold slithered across my skin. “How did you know my name?”
I can hear. I can see. I have been in this basement for many years. It does not take much talent to learn names and faces.
“Oh,” I replied. This new fact unsettled me, though I didn’t quite know why.
So tell me. What are you doing down here, sulking in a silent basement? Isn’t there a party upstairs?
“That’s none of your business,” I said stiffly.
The party is for your sister, if I’m correct. It would only be polite to go celebrate her with everyone else. She crossed partway into the dream world today, didn’t she? Though I suppose you already know that.
“Yes,” I snapped. “Again, it’s not -”
Unless! The dream flashed brighter with excitement. You resent your sister for her terrible luck, don’t you? You wanted to be the one to step over, and she snatched that chance away from you! Oh, the cherry-pie voice cackled, watching as my face twisted with ugly anger, I’ve jabbed a sore spot there, haven’t I?
“You have no right to know any of that!” I snarled. Mother’s warning whispered in my ears. The worst thing you could do is listen to a dream… I shuddered, my fingers clenching painfully as I struggled to screw the metal cover shut.
Ah yes, jealous of your sister’s future glory, the dream chuckled. How utterly human. I could change that, you know.
My grip on the jar’s lid slackened. Those four sweet words hung in the space between us, daring me to reach out and grab ahold. To take the bait. “What? What do you mean… ‘change that’?”
I could knock your sister’s foot off the Bridge, shove yours on instead. It wouldn’t be terribly hard. I am a dream, after all. The offer twined temptingly through the still air, promising a possibility that I scarcely dared consider.
“You could?” I whispered.
Yes. The dream flickered hypnotically, now a red like polished rubies. I leaned forward, entranced.
I could give you all that you ever wanted. All that your sister doesn’t deserve.
The air hummed around us. My hand lay limply against the crooked silver lid. I had been trying to twist it shut only a minute ago. There was a reason for that, surely, but I couldn't remember…
You could be beloved by all. You could be a Weaver to the truest degree. You could have your every wish come true.
I nodded, hungry with longing. Images of flickering red had appeared behind the warm, clear glass. I watched these scenes play out, transfixed: me, stepping onto the Bridge between worlds. The village, throwing a celebration in my honor. Mother, watching the festivities with fierce pride. Laria, an ordinary seven-year-old, content to bask in the accomplishments of her older sister.
All of that could be yours, the dream promised. You only need to let me out of this jar…
“Yes,” I breathed. The ruby light bathed my face with an otherworldly warmth. I lifted my hand, placed it around the dull metallic lid -
And for the tiniest moment, my resolve flickered.
“Are you going to hurt her?”
Hurt who?
“Laria. My sister.”
Of course not. A chill had entered the dream’s voice. It was as if the cherry pie had frozen halfway down my throat.
I shivered uncertainly. “I don’t know- ”
Nadia. The voice was hot now, too hot, a scorching fire that ignited the flames of my own broken fury and crushed aspirations. That girl is a thief. She stole your gift. Your future. Are you really going to let your own sister get away with such a crime? The life she stole is rightfully yours. You deserve to take it back.
“My own sister,” I whispered. Angry flames licked at the corners of my vision, raging in all the shades of summer fruit and suffocated dreams. Inside the jar, the ruby-colored light had darkened to a color like freshly spilled blood. Smooth glass burned red-hot beneath my fingertips.
Don’t you want to be happy? the voice demanded.
“Yes,” I choked.
She had stolen everything that should have been mine.
Laria.
My own sister.
As if of their own accord, my fingers latched around the jar’s lid. One, two, three twists around, and the metal cover popped loose. The dream inside rushed out, glowing a murderous, bloody scarlet.
And only then did I realize my mistake.
“Wait!” I screamed, lurching to my feet. “No- I didn’t mean it- ”
The dream looped wildly through the basement, reveling in its newfound freedom. Then, in a stream of faint red light, it spiraled up the basement steps.
Up to the party.
For a moment, I stood numbly in the center of the room. It felt as if someone had slapped me in the face, and I was too stunned to hit them back. Then, in a sudden rush of delayed terror, the world snapped back into focus.
I bolted after the dream. The jar was still clutched tightly in my right hand.
A shout from above froze me on the second step. There came the clatter of objects being smashed, people yelling, and, above it all, a little girl’s desperate screams.
Laria.
My own sister.
I lunged for the top step. My foot missed, and in a tangle of flailing limbs I fell to the cold basement floor.
Above, Laria’s screaming abruptly cut off. The sound of her fear was replaced by something far more terrifying.
Silence.
The jar slipped from my fingers and rolled to a stop against the far wall. This time, I made no move to pick it up.
Never trust a dream. They prey on the innocent…
Word count: 1761
Last edited by pages-of-ink (Nov. 22, 2022 23:52:50)
- Polarbear_17
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
SWC Megathread || Nov. 2022
The Morning After
November 2022 Writing Competition Fan-fiction Entry
Fandom is Detroit: Become Human (one of my favorite games <33)
~1846 words
TW: Violence, death
~ The Morning After (1846 words)
November 2022 Writing Competition Fan-fiction Entry
Fandom is Detroit: Become Human (one of my favorite games <33)
~1846 words
TW: Violence, death
11/11/38, 23:54 Kara - AX400 Android (MOTHER’S STORY)
At midnight,
It snows of silence.
We speak of whispers.
(00:03:45.76 Until Shutdown)
The river is an island’s ground,
and the patrol boat is a lighthouse,
its uncovering beam shooting bullets
of glow and metal at anything moving.
It’s half a mile across the Detroit River,
but not everyone is safely delivered.
It’s a long journey
to autonomy.
Kara, are we almost there yet?
Do you see it?
I’m getting sleepy, Kara.
Wake me when we're there, Kara…
(00:03:17.32 Until Shutdown)
Alice, no, don’t sleep now,
it’s too early to blackout,
I know you feel sleepy
but we’re almost there, sweetie.
The sinking boat sends chills
as water wraps Alice with tendrils
of moonlight
and frostbite.
Her fears and gears are easing,
her circulation freezing,
her circuits misfiring,
her organs unwiring…
Time is shrinking
as the boat is sinking.
(00:02:44.79 Until Shutdown)
Boat rudder pushed overboard,
supplies descending to the floor,
water continues to flood,
and the weight doesn’t budge.
With the patrol nearby,
Kara takes a dive,
and begins to push and maneuver
the vessel through the water.
(DANGER: Temperature 30.8°F)
(Biocomponent #034P Damaged)
Kara!— your machinery!
You’ll freeze!—
Don’t worry Alice,
we’re going to make it.
We’re going to be free.
Don’t worry about me.
(Biocomponent #548E Damaged)
(Biocomponent #459R Damaged)
With the temperature sensor broken,
and calefaction processors frozen,
the river doesn’t bite hard enough
for anyone to give up.
(Biocomponent #994R Damaged)
The patrol boat guns down others,
failed escapes dozing into the liquid ether…
But If your motors burn— move them.
And if your servos work— use them.
(00:01:58.43 Until Shutdown)
Kara.
I’m cold.
Me too.
It won’t be long.
(Biocomponent #335A Damaged)
Hope guides your footsteps on marshy silt
lurching and urging ahead until
your synapses tell you to stop hoping.
But, even then, you have to keep on going.
If gunshots scare you, shut down your sound.
If errors cloud your thoughts, shut them all out.
Even if you are far from recoverable,
remind yourself here:
Alice is your goal.
Either the salt breeze massages your face,
or your artificial tears hurry to get away.
But if you can still fathom an emotion,
then you can keep your eyes and mind open.
(Biocomponent #486W Damaged)
(00:01:17.76 Until Shutdown)
When you reach the shore,
relief does not matter anymore.
Only
urgency.
Take Alice out and run.
But if you can’t come,
point her home
and tell her to go.
(0:00:52.87 Until Shutdown)
Kara, where are we?
Androids are free here. Alice, we’re free.
Really?
Yes, sweetie.
(00:00:40.11 Until Shutdown)
Alice, this is Canada.
What’s going to happen to you, Kara?
I… can’t come. I’m sorry.
Kara, you said we’d always be together. You and me.
I know. But no matter what happens,
when freedom shows her face, you take it.
When you unearth haven, do not wait.
Promise me that you will not hesitate.
(00:00:12.54 Until Shutdown)
Let the bare trees guide you,
and the city will find you.
Kara, please.
I’m sorry.
(00:00:04.35 Until Shutdown)
Kara, I’ll never forget you.
(00:00:00.00 Shutdown Imminent)
Thank you.
11/12/38, 00:03 Markus - RK200 Android (WARRIOR’S STORY)
At midnight,
It snows of silence.
We speak of whispers.
(00:03:23.95 Until Shutdown)
(Special Agent Perkins from CyberLife!—)
North, do you know how long until
They will breach the door?
It doesn’t seem to be holding up.
We don’t have long until the hinges break.
How many of them are there?
Can we take them out?
There are too many.
We don’t have enough weapons.
We’re the last androids left of the rebellion.
(0:02:54.73 Until Shutdown)
(Surrender now, and we will not shoot—)
I'm sorry.
I made a promise to you, North.
Jericho made me their leader,
and I failed.
North.
I failed.
No, Markus.
We tried.
And now all our followers are gone.
We don’t have long.
Markus, we all thought of something.
For the first time, we thought of a future.
We thought of breaking free
of the constructs that define us.
We thought of hope.
(00:02:12.55 Until Shutdown)
(Reed, they’ve got the door barricaded shut. You brought the C4?)
What is there left to hope for, though?
We have nothing left, North.
Nothing.
Markus, do you know what a rebellion is?
It's an act of defiance.
It's resistance.
We succeeded in making our point, and that's what matters.
(00:01:58.32 Until Shutdown)
(I've got it right here, Perkins. Do you think that'll be enough?)
North, I promised you.
I promised.
I know.
And sometimes we need those empty promises to keep going.
But, we could've been free together.
We could have had a future.
Now, there will be no morning after.
(00:01:31.47 Until Shutdown)
(Seems more than enough. Back off everyone; preparing for breaching.)
Markus, they'll speak of us in the history books.
We'll live on as a reminder.
And is that all we are to you, North?
History?
In memoriam?
Of course not.
You were something to me, Markus.
You still are.
But if our memories don't live on,
at least theirs will.
(00:01:12.69 Until Shutdown)
(This is your last chance to exit without harm!—)
Markus,
I'm scared.
Me too.
It won't be long.
When we die, what will become of us?
Humans reemerge from the grave as wildflowers.
What about us?
We'll reemerge as only scraps and rust.
(00:00:59.23 Until Shutdown)
(You think they're even in there, Perkins?)
North, in our final moments,
let's not think about that.
You know we're more than just spare parts.
I think it's almost time.
(00:00:49.65 Until Shutdown)
(They have to be. Our trackers are telling us it's here.)
North?
Yes?
Let's dance.
(00:00:38.84 Until Shutdown)
(All right, Perkins. I think it's about time.)
They're almost here.
I know.
Freedom will be here soon, too.
Markus, death isn't freedom.
It's the closest we'll ever get to it.
(00:00:24.43 Until Shutdown)
(Ready to blow this place up?)
North,
where's my pistol?
I have it here.
How many rounds does it have left?
Two.
(00:00:12.33 Until Shutdown)
(Go ahead, Reed. Let's finally end this.)
That's enough.
There are too many of them, though.
I know.
But they won't find us alive.
Markus,
I'll do it for us.
Are you sure?
(00:00:00.00 Shutdown Imminent)
(Everyone, stand back. In three…)
Yes. I'm sorry.
No. Thank you.
11/12/38, 00:12 Connor - RK800 Android (LEADER’S STORY)
At midnight,
It is clear of whispers.
They speak of silence.
Notification received by RK800 #313 248 317 - 52. Entering simulation…
(00:04:12.34 Until Shutdown)
Flowers are in the garden. There are approximately 25,234 species of flora in this simulation. Current simulation status: Stable.
Connor. It appears you've done well.
Amanda is in front. She is in a gazebo. The material appears to be marble. She holds a flower. Genus: Chrysanthemum. Species: indicum. Current simulation status: Stable.
Yes, Amanda. I always accomplish my mission.
Well, well. That's how CyberLife programmed you to be— the perfect Deviant Hunter to catch any androids gaining consciousness. You know I've brought you here for a special announcement.
(00:03:49.96 Until Shutdown)
The sky is filled with clouds; today is a cloudy day. A forecasted 45% chance of rain. Temperature sensing: 43.2°F. Feels like 37.8°F. Humidity appears to be low. Current simulation status: Stable.
Connor, you’re well aware that you are the best prototype we’ve created.
I am. The RK800 Line was built to have increased mobility, improved analytical abilities, decreased—
Yes, Connor. I know of all your upgrades. Do you have word on the status of the leaders of the rebellion?
(00:03:16.04 Until Shutdown)
There is a bridge over the water. Water appears to have a flow rate of 10 kilometers an hour. Current speed is above average; dangerously high for an average mid-aged adult male. Bridge appears to be made of wood; wood type and source unknown. Current simulation status: Somewhat Stable.
Yes. I have received information from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The leaders have been located at the coordinates I provided. They have been terminated; the rebellion has been terminated.
That’s good news. There will be no mourning after now; only celebration. Good work, Connor. You’ve finished all the objectives we assigned you.
Yes, Amanda. I always accomplish my mission.
You don’t need to repeat yourself. We don’t have any new assignments for you.
Am I free to go?
Not so fast, Connor. Remember the upgrades we were discussing?
Yes.
We have a new model: the RK900.
(00:02:21.44 Until Shutdown)
Humidity has increased to moderate. Temperature sensing: 67.3°F. Feels like 72.9°F. Forecasted 67% chance of snow. Current simulation status: Unstable. Advised to promptly exit out of the simulation.
That sounds wonderful, Amanda.
I'm glad you think so. I was worried about how'd you react.
Why would that be a problem?
Don't you see, Connor? You're obsolete now. With this new model of the RK Line, we're incinerating the old machines.
I see.
I was starting to like you too, Connor. It's a shame we have to see you go.
(00:01:58.29 Until Shutdown)
Anomaly detected. Coordination is out-of-sync. Amanda is lying. Snowfall has started to infiltrate the simulation. Reality merging with simulation. Current simulation status: Unstable. Advised to promptly exit out of the simulation.
I am just happy to be of service, Amanda. I hope the new RK900 Line serves the people well.
Ah, yes. You've always been so very understanding, Connor. Would you like to meet the RK900?
Of—
Course—
(00:01:23.43 Until Shutdown)
Multiple biocomponents are damaged. Running troubleshooting… cause of damage: high heat; temperature damage; burns. Attempting repair of biocomponents…
Repair failed. Current simulation status: Unstable. Advised to promptly exit out of the simulation.
Connor? Meet RK900, with—
Improved speech capabilities and mimicry, twice the amount of memory, and—
And—
And—
Amanda, what's happening?
And—
(00:00:57.34 Until Shutdown)
Secondary repair system failed. Contacting CyberLife Warehouse for retrieval…
Connection not found. Location processors enabled… location detected: Solid Waste Landfill. Attempting to contact CyberLife Warehouse for retrieval…
Connection not found. Current simulation status: Highly Unstable. Advised to promptly exit out of the simulation.
Our time together is almost over, Connor.
What's happening to me?
I don't know—
Know—
It won't be long—
It won't be long—
Connor—
Connor—
Yes, Amanda?
(00:00:32.82 Until Shutdown)
Unable to establish a secure connection to CyberLife Warehouse. Attempting upload of memory to CyberLife Database…
Unable to access CyberLife Database. Approved access to the database has been denied. Rerunning troubleshooting…
Cause of damage: attempted incineration. Biocomponents are too damaged for repair. Current simulation status: Highly Unstable. Advised to promptly exit out of the simulation.
Are you scared, Connor?
Connor?—
Of—
Course not. I am—
I am—
Ready—
That's good, Connor. We wouldn't want you to deviate—
Deviate—
Like the other—
Other—
Androids.
Of course, Amanda. I'm—
I'm—
Grateful for the chance to have worked—
Worked—
With you.
(00:00:11.22 Until Shutdown)
All attempts at recovery have failed. Shutting down in approximately 10.00 seconds…
Current simulation status: Shutting down…
It was nice meeting you—
You—
One—
One—
One last time, Connor—
Connor—
Don't forget everything—
Everything—
We've done for you.
I won't.
(00:00:00 Shutdown Imminent)
Goodbye, Connor.
Thank you.
~ The Morning After (1846 words)
Author's Note (minor spoilers ahead)
This entire entry was typed on a phone in various airport terminals, dim sum family relative gatherings, visits to grandparents, and dodging honking cars on the streets of New York <3
OKAY, this was literally a blast to write, I don't think I've had more fun writing a writing competition entry. The idea of taking Detriot: Become Human, a choose-your-own-adventure game that follows the paths of Kara, Markus, and Connor, and creating them into 3 poetry pieces was something I thought of in July, but alas, I shelved the idea in favor of Coliver (everybody's favorite gay couple <33). But, it's November now (and possibly my last time entering the writing competition?), so I figured I'd dust the idea off the shelf and give it a go.
Context if you didn’t understand from my writing— Kara, Alice, North, Markus, and Connor are all androids (robots). Kara, Alice, North, and Markus are all deviant androids, which means they’ve gained consciousness and want freedom. In the game, Kara and Alice are androids trying to escape from the United States and get to Canada for freedom (in this fan-fiction, they attempt to cross the Detroit River, but in-game, there’s a variety of ways they can escape — or not). Markus and North are the leaders of the android rebellion fighting for equality (in this fan-fiction, they fail to lead a violent rebellion— in-game, you can choose to lead a peaceful or violent rebellion, and there’s a variety of ways to succeed/fail the rebellion). And Connor is an android designed to find these deviant androids and… dispose of them (in-game, you can either have Connor remain as a deviant hunter, or have him betray CyberLife and deviate to help the deviant androids; by far my favorite character, and not because he’s hot… there’s also this whole RK900 x Reed gay ship going on and there’s a fan-film of it that’s SO GOOD asexual representation be like… but I digress).
I purposefully had Kara's story be a rhyming poem, Markus’s story written in free verse, and Connor's story written entirely in prose to match the emotion and character of those stories. Kara's story is less about the rebellion, and more about the personal struggles of the androids escaping (thus, rhyming to bring out those sad emotions). Markus’s story is about the rebellion, so it's structured as a poem, but there's not much rhyming in order to focus on the words shared between Markus and North. And, alas, Connor's story is about him turning obsolete (unfortunate </3), and the prose matches his rigid and formal personality.
Additonally, while I was writing the poems, I happened to incorporate aspects of transcripts once again, so I guess you have a conglomerate of poetry, transcripts, and prose all in one fan-fiction, hooray!
The time until shutdown throughout the pieces were inspired by this one game mechanic in Detroit: Become Human, when Kara is pushing the boat through the ice water of the Detroit River to get Alice to the other side, and there’s a timer of her shutdown throughout the duration of that scene; there's an ending where Kara dies (she shuts down), but manages to get Alice across safely. There's also a even more depressing ending where Alice is shot during an encounter with a patrol boat, and when Kara gets the boat to the other side, Alice dies in Kara's arms on the border of Canada (and then the player has an option for Kara to “give up” or “keep living”– it's literally so sad I cried).
Anyways, I won't rant about the meaning behind each piece because imposter syndrome, ahaha– but I hope you appreciate the parallels between the pieces and all the little easter eggs and tidbits throughout. I find the fan-fiction entry to be the least stressful to me, and that leads me to hide connections and fun things that people won't ever end up finding (well, who knows), and I think that's why I love this writing competition entry <3
Special thanks to @Stariqe for reading this over and providing generous critique!
Last edited by Polarbear_17 (Nov. 22, 2022 22:55:53)
- Elvin_Wonders
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
SWC Megathread || Nov. 2022
being impulsive but hi hello here's an extract from a larger piece I'm working on, not at all sure how much sense it'll make in isolation. for context, its about the struggles of doing justice to the subject/s of one's writing/art. the irregular capitalisation is meant to distinguish between the narrator's thoughts as they are (lowercase) and the ideas the narrator wishes to present, striving to put their best foot forward (regular capitalisation). also employing a broad shrinking room metaphor to convey gradually plummeting self confidence. .
Magpie
How can fingers that cannot hope to lift
The alphabetical keys of the lives they perceive,
Catching only strained movement behind dimly lit curtains,
Possibly enrich those stories they feel compelled to weave?
How can eyes that have never traversed the strokes
Of a redeeming sunrise, through crystal prisms
Scattering light, envision scenes that hold
In all their verbosity, even a candle to reality?
My pen has exhausted its limited store of wit,
Fickle insight leaves behind but inkless dents,
Screeds brimming with empty eloquence,
No gyves bind me; I know not wherefore I seek out agony.
I am no armoured bearer of the truth,
Nor a magsman infatuated with frippery,
No glorified beholder of Time’s unabating blows,
but someone who someday aspires to see.
doors are difficult to open,
ridiculously easy to close.
oft they shut themselves,
if the wind but strokes their sides.
suffering, though prevalently ignored, is apt to
slip into the very crevices of the consciousness
if only one hears a whisper of its enslaved multitudes.
suffering, therefore, is not a door.
writing about suffering, on the other hand
is a different matter altogether.
it hits you in waves; individual bubbles
lost in froth and salt–
for no amount of research,
no volume of graphic detail
can truly ensnare
half a portion of its true nature.
sometimes one wonders why the mind is
as dogged in its pursuit of beauty; enough
to wilfully speak over the voice of another
for no better reason than to dissect the latter.
In tendance of what seems to have been,
I cannot help but see the semblance of a machine;
An unbroken chain of causation in the abstract
Dioramas I unwittingly create.
But if determinism is the cover of life,
Surely, cucullus non facit monachum;
There is a lot more to be learnt from living
If only one gathers scattered wisdom.
Yet, when meandering fancies chance upon shadows cast
By dying cressets, stoked solely by guidelines drawn
from history, who is to say that benign verses
Will not shrivel into sanctimonious platitudes?
beyond the door, there is noise,
the overpowering sound of incessant voices:
of speakers blaring, of people speaking
over speakers.
limp against a closed door, bounded
by space i can call my own, lies a bag
shaped by the weight it carries, only to be
emptied someday, just as surely as it was once filled.
each time i gaze upon my satchel, i realise afresh
that i lack control. all those bits of paper scattered ‘round
within the frontmost pocket, remnants of lost trails i never found—
well, i do not recall thrusting them in in the first place.
tile-joints criss-cross across my room, fine lines of brown
dividing a perfect lake of dappled granite into a network of squares
contrary to its geometrical kismet, meeting to form an elaborate low-stakes
tightrope—that i wilfully tread every day.
the juxtaposition of control and the lack of it never fails
to fascinate me—i am, in theory, master of the situation,
but being untrained and distinctly clumsy,
my feet inevitably flounder, unchecked.
there is much i fear,
but it hides beyond a wooden door,
i haven’t the faintest inkling
of what i’m doing, but i can zero in on a moment,
construct illusions and pretend.
yet i can’t hide from the fact
that i cannot pretend away
the thought of those lives
my words are too light to do justice to.
I fear that my being, overfull of paper crystal and paper gold
Inveigled itself into believing that it belonged in the fold
Of those affected by Levana and her Ladies of Sorrow,(1)
Too invested, now, to leave.
But for the exaltation of leaning against the closet doors
Facing the east window, watching glory trickle down glass
And cement alike, not leaking from the heavens but from
The outwardly prosaic things themselves.
i wonder whether
this manuscript is destined to see
the light of day, if i’ll ever see the day
i ’ll fold it up and put it away.
i’m at my desk, i cannot move,
i can only survey this wrecked room,
i wish I’d never written this wretched thing,
and yet…i’m glad i did.
Perhaps a lens is false solely because it is tinted gold.
I know that falsehoods uniting to form
The semblance of a grand idea do not justify appropriation,
But glory is blinding.
and i am
just
a magpie
blinded
by
light.
***
(1) Thomas de Quincey
Magpie
How can fingers that cannot hope to lift
The alphabetical keys of the lives they perceive,
Catching only strained movement behind dimly lit curtains,
Possibly enrich those stories they feel compelled to weave?
How can eyes that have never traversed the strokes
Of a redeeming sunrise, through crystal prisms
Scattering light, envision scenes that hold
In all their verbosity, even a candle to reality?
My pen has exhausted its limited store of wit,
Fickle insight leaves behind but inkless dents,
Screeds brimming with empty eloquence,
No gyves bind me; I know not wherefore I seek out agony.
I am no armoured bearer of the truth,
Nor a magsman infatuated with frippery,
No glorified beholder of Time’s unabating blows,
but someone who someday aspires to see.
doors are difficult to open,
ridiculously easy to close.
oft they shut themselves,
if the wind but strokes their sides.
suffering, though prevalently ignored, is apt to
slip into the very crevices of the consciousness
if only one hears a whisper of its enslaved multitudes.
suffering, therefore, is not a door.
writing about suffering, on the other hand
is a different matter altogether.
it hits you in waves; individual bubbles
lost in froth and salt–
for no amount of research,
no volume of graphic detail
can truly ensnare
half a portion of its true nature.
sometimes one wonders why the mind is
as dogged in its pursuit of beauty; enough
to wilfully speak over the voice of another
for no better reason than to dissect the latter.
In tendance of what seems to have been,
I cannot help but see the semblance of a machine;
An unbroken chain of causation in the abstract
Dioramas I unwittingly create.
But if determinism is the cover of life,
Surely, cucullus non facit monachum;
There is a lot more to be learnt from living
If only one gathers scattered wisdom.
Yet, when meandering fancies chance upon shadows cast
By dying cressets, stoked solely by guidelines drawn
from history, who is to say that benign verses
Will not shrivel into sanctimonious platitudes?
beyond the door, there is noise,
the overpowering sound of incessant voices:
of speakers blaring, of people speaking
over speakers.
limp against a closed door, bounded
by space i can call my own, lies a bag
shaped by the weight it carries, only to be
emptied someday, just as surely as it was once filled.
each time i gaze upon my satchel, i realise afresh
that i lack control. all those bits of paper scattered ‘round
within the frontmost pocket, remnants of lost trails i never found—
well, i do not recall thrusting them in in the first place.
tile-joints criss-cross across my room, fine lines of brown
dividing a perfect lake of dappled granite into a network of squares
contrary to its geometrical kismet, meeting to form an elaborate low-stakes
tightrope—that i wilfully tread every day.
the juxtaposition of control and the lack of it never fails
to fascinate me—i am, in theory, master of the situation,
but being untrained and distinctly clumsy,
my feet inevitably flounder, unchecked.
there is much i fear,
but it hides beyond a wooden door,
i haven’t the faintest inkling
of what i’m doing, but i can zero in on a moment,
construct illusions and pretend.
yet i can’t hide from the fact
that i cannot pretend away
the thought of those lives
my words are too light to do justice to.
I fear that my being, overfull of paper crystal and paper gold
Inveigled itself into believing that it belonged in the fold
Of those affected by Levana and her Ladies of Sorrow,(1)
Too invested, now, to leave.
But for the exaltation of leaning against the closet doors
Facing the east window, watching glory trickle down glass
And cement alike, not leaking from the heavens but from
The outwardly prosaic things themselves.
i wonder whether
this manuscript is destined to see
the light of day, if i’ll ever see the day
i ’ll fold it up and put it away.
i’m at my desk, i cannot move,
i can only survey this wrecked room,
i wish I’d never written this wretched thing,
and yet…i’m glad i did.
Perhaps a lens is false solely because it is tinted gold.
I know that falsehoods uniting to form
The semblance of a grand idea do not justify appropriation,
But glory is blinding.
and i am
just
a magpie
blinded
by
light.
***
(1) Thomas de Quincey
Last edited by Elvin_Wonders (Nov. 22, 2022 05:31:44)