What are you writing?

[Rolos]

A thread where everyone could post their creations and receive some feedback. That was the excuse I was going to use.
However, since I am so mindbogglingly lazy, and lying requires unacceptable levels of creativity and effort, I am going to skip all that and be honest:
Whenever I write in a language other than the one that's native to me, I cant shake the feeling that, somewhere, I am making some kind of grammatical or semantic mistake. And there is nothing I despise more than poorly made translations........wait.
Made is the right word, right?

Anyway.....could someone tell me if the short-story below has some kind of retarded mistake other than those which are clearly intentional (such as the historical ones)?



SE



Jean Jaques Russeau once said, during a reunion with his majesty Louis XIII, that he
would rather eat his tongue than take back his declarations concerning the political
distribution of power and it’s bases in the nature of men.
He then ate a sandwich.
Only partially though. A quarter of that sandwich remained, and was later consumed by a
peasant boy who was working in Versailles for just that particular event. The peasant boy
had a girlfriend, who that very same day just happened to be run over by a time traveling
car. Upon knowing of the fate his partner had just suffered (he didn't really love her, but
the party his friends were going to celebrate that Friday was couples-only), the
peasant boy’s body decided to cope with the tension it was being forced to go through in
a particularly nasty way. That response involved regurgitating what he had just ingested.
The resulting pool of vomit remained unwashed for many days, mainly because people
in Mercantilist France were just that disgustingly filthy. It was inevitable, given the
presence of such a rich pool of nutrients, that some lifeforms were going to grow and
thrive in it’s vicinity. Among those lifeforms was a very particular fungi. The presence of
that particular fungi, in that time and location, made it impossible for a certain bacteria to
reproduce through mitosis, which led to it’s kind swift extinction.
Had that bacteria managed to spread, it would have killed the totality of the mammalian
population of it’s home planet.
Given the fact that there have been only three sandwich eating Russeau’s in the recorded
history of the Universe, and that one of them was a photosynthetic squid and the other
was an evil magician from Ultra-Hell 63, ti is safe to assume that the planet we are referring to
is Earth.
It is also safe to assume that it was that sandwich’s heroic sacrifice that saved the human
race form extinction.
This is the story of a man that saved the world in the same way that sandwich did.
Except that he wasn't eaten.
And that he didn't do it accidentally.
And that he was actually aware of his own existence.
Also, everyone knows about this man.
He’s a legend.
Oh, and he didn't actually save the world. Quite to the contrary, he kind of destroyed it.

Anyway, this is his story.


Jon Dou was incredibly bored. He was a man of extremes, a man of danger!
Why was he stuck guarding this Dr R. Olos? The man was a frigging egghead,
hardly ever came out of his room!
God, he was bored. It was like “War and Peace” all over again.
Bored.
Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored, Bored,
Bored, Bored, Boredd, Boredd, Bordd, Borad, Boraaad.
Braaaaaad!
Agh! He couldn't take it anymore.

Now, where was it that he had left the damn thing?
Olos had told him not to touch it, but hell, Olos said lots of things. Not to him though.
He never talked to him. Man, he felt lonely.
There it was again. That fag-speak.
(For those not up to date in the latest research conducted by the “Manly University of
Manly Badassery and Manhood”: it has been scientifically proven that every feeling
other than lust and anger is gay. Staggeringly so. That makes most of the human male
population gay. Which is very sad, and thus, very, very gay.)

There it was.
The F.U.N (Ferociously dangerous yet Inconspicuously Named) machine.
He flipped the ON switch.
Nothing happened.
Mmmm......guess that wasn't the ON switch. It was a switch, right?
Ah, screw it.
Screw Olos, screw his magic ball, screw this assignment, screw the agency, screw the world.
Jon kicked the F.U.N across the room.
There was a flash and a sound. A strawberry sound.

It was all notably, remarkably unimpressive.

Wait.
A strawberry sound? That made no sens-


THE END

[tsubaimomo]

Quite humorous ol' boy... here are my grammatical suggestions:

Upon knowing of the fate
-> Upon learning of the fate

which led to it’s kind swift extinction.
-> which led to it’s kind, swift extinction.

Ultra-Hell 63, ti is safe
-> Ultra-Hell 63, it is safe

The F.U.N
-> The F.U.N.

(Ferociously dangerous yet Inconspicuously Named)
Not sure how this turns into F.U.N., maybe F.I.N.?

I hope you receive a worthy grade on this.

Btw, what is this Ultra-Hell you speak of...I'm just curious because there happens to be a manga titled Ultra Heaven. It's really crazy... EG might be picking it up eventually.

[Rolos]

Holy Crap! you are right!
It's Inconspicuous, not Unconspicuous. Damn automatic spelling correction.
I'm printing this "short-story" (even though it's just one of the many beginnings for the novel I have been trying to write since I am 14) as part of a Magazine I just started, so what I am expecting is not a good grade, but people actually reading it.

Anyway, Thanks man!

Oh, and the Ultra-Hell part just came out spontaneously. I like adding the words Ultra, Mega, Uber, Super, Flipper, Napper, Crapper and Funky to random people and objects. That and lasers. Nothing ever has enough lasers.

[arke]

which led to it’s kind swift extinction.
-> which led to it’s kind, swift extinction.

And that should be "its". "It's" is a contraction for "it is" while "its" is the possessive form of it.

[Rolos]

which led to it’s kind swift extinction.
-> which led to it’s kind, swift extinction.

And that should be "its". "It's" is a contraction for "it is" while "its" is the possessive form of it.

Nooooooo! I have become my father!



PS: I forgot this http://www.englishclub.com/esl-articles ... trophe.htm only applies on nouns.

[dialdfordesi]

It's a pretty amusing read. It reminds me a lot of the narration style of the Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

[Femto]

I don't write fiction (though I did work out the story for my comic pitch with my writer) but I write shit for my website all the time.

I usually write about video games, comics or movies and if I post a drawing or something, I'll usually write a little about the process of how that came to be.

My latest draft is called: A love letter to Ikaruga.

Love that game.

[Aetherfukz]

I'm writing a whole lotta C++ code right now, but when this project is finished (in about 2 weeks) I can finally upgrade to writing C# code

And fuck, getting your computers MAC address in C++ is quite the pain:

Code: Select all

	IP_ADAPTER_INFO AdapterInfo[2]; // Max 2 MACs
	DWORD dwBufLen = sizeof(AdapterInfo);

	DWORD dwStatus = GetAdaptersInfo(AdapterInfo, &dwBufLen);
	assert(dwStatus == ERROR_SUCCESS);

	PIP_ADAPTER_INFO pAdapterInfo = AdapterInfo;

	CString help;

	do {
		help.Format("%02X-%02X-%02X-%02X-%02X-%02X",
			pAdapterInfo->Address[0], pAdapterInfo->Address[1],
			pAdapterInfo->Address[2], pAdapterInfo->Address[3],
			pAdapterInfo->Address[4], pAdapterInfo->Address[5]);
		pAdapterInfo = pAdapterInfo->Next;
	} while (pAdapterInfo);

still buggy though

[Femto]

This is the closest I've gotten to narrative writing in my blog.

Drink and Draw is a monthly get-together among artists in the NYC area where people basically gather in a bar, pull out their sketchbooks and drink and (what else?) draw. Last Wednesday was the second time I attended such a meeting (out of the three they’ve had so far) and it was a lot of fun. It’s great for mingling and networking among people with similar interests. But that is, as you may or may not have figured out, not the real reason why I’m writing this.

Read on for the full story.

So I arrive with a few friends to where Drink and Draw was to take place after some delicious halal food. After setting up and with my choice of beer in hand (Heineken) I get to drawing. I find my groove soon enough and draw for what was probably an hour or an hour and a half until some guy walks near my vicinity and starts introducing himself and saying that he’s gonna make an effort to memorize everybody’s name. Now, I didn’t really hear the guy’s name when he introduced himself to me and, after saying my name and a brief exchange about Disney (because, you know, Sebastian von Buchwald, Sebastian from the Little Mermaid, Disney) he was gone.

I got back to drawing and soon forgot about the guy until he showed up about an hour later. I saw him talking to some people (no doubt trying to memorize their names) and casually asked the person next to me:

“Hey, who was that guy anyway?”

“Oh, that’s Kyle Baker,” he replied.

“What?” I said, after picking my jaw off the floor.

I had, unbeknownst to me, talked to Kyle Baker. The guy whose Hawkman strip in Wednesday Comics I rated as second best, right on this very site, no more than two months ago. I wasn’t going to walk up to him now and say: “Hey, forgive me for being an idiot and not knowing you were Kyle Baker. Loved your work in Wednesday Comics.” And I blame the comics medium because, unlike film or television or even books where they have a picture of the author in the jacket, comics will very, very rarely display a picture of their creators. And when they do, it’s only in certain paperbacks and never in monthly books.

But I digress.

So he goes away and I’m later standing next to a friend of mine talking bullshit and freakin’ Kyle Baker shows up again. And there’s no question it’s him now because he’s drawing sketches and inking over some girl’s pencils. I wasn’t going to screw it up again to when he’s nearby I tell him “Hey, man. I loved your work in Wednesday Comics,” and shook his hand. He says something like “Thanks, it was very different,” and walks away for the last time.

Freakin’ Kyle Baker.

Of course, the punchline to the story, as I so explicitly state in the title of this post, is that two days later (or yesterday), I get a friend request on Facebook. It’s worth mentioning at this point that Drink and Draw itself is organized via Facebook so a list of members is available to anyone that wishes to see it. Now, as it usually goes when I get a friend request, I’m wondering who this might be and, while the page loads, my brain goes through a list of all the people I know to ascertain who this person that wants to be my e-friend is so as to, I don’t know, better prepare me for it, I guess. Of course, nothing could’ve prepared me for Kyle Baker’s name.

So what’s the moral of the story?

I’m eagerly anticipating next month’s Drink and Draw.

http://www.sebastianvonbuchwald.com/200 ... -facebook/

Freakin' Kyle Baker.

[Rolos]

Ooooh Edgy!


Suppose you throw a coin. You will get either heads or tails. It’s simple, impartial, fair.
Even if you throw it hundreds, thousands of times, the Law of large numbers states the number
of head and tails will eventually even out. Even at the face of unending repetition,
the result stays the same.
Impartiality, fairness, simplicity.
Those are the most basic, unchangeable tenet by which reality abides. Those are the principles
by which chaos, order, everything is guided.
And so, as the coin flips through the air, the result is predetermined, preordained,
confined to an unbreakable spectrum of possibilities.
As it approaches the ground, the forces which guide its trajectory and speed reach their
peak, only to fade into virtual nothingness as they are diluted infinitely into the vastness
of the ground it hits. And the coin bounces off, the reaction as strong as the action that
brought it crashing down into the ground.
And as it comes down once again, wretched victim of gravity, it hits the ground and gives
you a predictable result. A preordained result. A probable result.
You get tails.
And you throw it again, just for the hell of it.
And it’s then when you get Edges.

Welcome to uncertainty. Welcome to complexity. Welcome to Unfairness.


Welcome to the edge.







Paradise (scratched) iPod Lost

It was a day like any other.
I was walking down the street, reading Descartes’ “Meditations on Prima Philosophia”
and listening to Dvorak’s ninth symphony “From the New World”, fourth movement.
Pretty much standard for “Classical Friday”.
I was also, like always, gulping down a “sopaipilla”, which is basically fried dough with
ketchup. Not particularly good, but I was starving and they are cheap as shit (by the way,
that’s not a metaphor: Sopaipillas are literally cheaper than fertilizer-grade feces).
My mood was particularly good that day.
I had aced the “Natural Rights” oral test that morning, which made it three consecutive
academic successes that week. Algebra had finally submitted, and Fundamental Theology
had continued playing its now traditional role as my bitch.
My essay on “Political Theory” had been deemed brilliant by Proffesor Name, and was
now resting safely as spin numbers in my iPod.
Now that I think about it, those were four consecutive academic successes. I can’t even
count right. How in the baboons’s ass did I manage to pass algebra like this?
The answer to that question lies in my physical condition; a very, very rare and
unique mental disorder called “Awesomitis”, or as some envious “experts” prefer to call it
“Pathologically Over-Inflated Sense of Self-Worth Syndrome”.
My awesome condition forces me to be on a roll every single day of the year, which is
why, even though I had just achieved an unprecedented string of successes, to me it was
just another day, a day like any other.
Yes, I am that awesome.
So, I was walking down the street (awesomely), minding my own (awesome) business,
when I suddenly felt a extraneous source of energy being directly applied into the
posterior part of my abdomen, which prompted an abrupt acceleration in my upper body
structure. This, in turn, caused my superior half to surpass the rest of my body,
effectively shifting my point of equipoise, altering the fine balance between those twin
pillars of dense, semi rigid, porous, calcified connective tissue and live meat that keep
bipedal creatures upright.
Or, in layman terms, due to the presence of an uncontested, unilateral, externally induced
increase of pressure in my- wait, those aren’t layman terms. What I meant to say is that
some asshole pushed me and I fell down. Really hard.
As my ass began to hurt and the very selective list of insults I reserve for those that
damage my priced hind parts started unrolling themselves in the back of my mind, my
awesome sense of hearing detected a slight change in the sounds that surrounded me,
namely the fact that they were there, which struck me as strange, because I was supposed
to be listening to a nice “Alegro con fuocco”, which as far as I know, doesn’t usually
involve the honking of cars and cries of little children.
Which reminds me why I listen to music when I’m on public.
I.
Hate.
Children.
It is not easy to convey the hatred I harbor for those small, stinky, whiny, loud, filthy
creatures through mere words.
Seriously, I don’t think you can possibly grasp how much I detest children.
People tend to forget that kids, at the end of the day, are nothing more than snotty-nosed,
shit-producing, spit-firing crying machines that never seem to sleep.
And then there’s their size. Their caking size.
They are so freakishly small.
And if their size isn’t enough to put you off, there is also the monstrous bigness of their
eyes and mutant-like shortness of their limbs.
If it wasn’t for the dark rituals everyone knows parents perform once a month, their
unnaturally conformed bodies would surely fall apart.
To guard myself against their foul hypnosis-like influence (another weapon in the vile
arsenal of children), there is a mental exercise I like to practice every once in while,
which injects a little objectivity in what is otherwise a purely hormone-driven relationship.

Just for a few second, imagine you have never seen a kid, that you have been an adult your whole life.
Now picture one of those deformed freaks walking towards you, crying and screaming
loudly about how they just went “poopy” and their fingers are sticky with it.
What would you reaction be? “Oh my god, you’re so cute! Come hug mummy!”?
No, you would probably put the little abomination out of its misery with the very first
sharp object you find at hand.

Even if you don’t take into account their appearance and non-existent hygiene, there’s
still the fact that human kids are notoriously stupid, and must attend schools.

Sometimes I wonder if there isn’t a way we could get rid of their malevolent
existence once and for all, a way we could-

It seems I have left this tangent go on for too long. Back to my rear.
My ass hurt, and my iPod had been stolen. By the same guy that had just inflicted
excruciating pain unto my buttocks.
This was personal.
I stood up, and looked around, trying to identify the culprit.

The cap gave him away. He was wearing a bright green cap. One of those reaggeton caps.
You know, the ones that clog up the arteries that send blood to your head.
Which is something you may want to do if you are going to commit theft, because your brain,
being deprived of its much priced oxygen, goes from rational, abstract thinking, into
shit-raging hysterical insanity, the kind of thing you probably consider a good idea, taking
into account you are willing to risk a five year stay in prison for a 100 dollar iPod.
Strangely enough, this “person”, whom I suspected had just subtracted my valued
possession, seemed to be wearing a keffiyeh around his neck. Which kind of defeats the
whole purpose of wearing a keffiyeh, a cloth devised specifically to keep the sun away
from the user’s head while keeping the user fresh.
At the time I attributed this to how little blood was actually making it inside his brain, but
this apparently has become a very popular fad recently.
What called my attention the most, however, was his expression. It was the distracted,
shifty-eyed expression of a man with some unfinished business on his mind. He was
clearly very nervous; having yet to secure the possession he had stolen from who was
very clearly a dangerously awesome being.
There was also the fact that he was gripping my iPod tightly between his hands, but that
wasn’t all that important in the process of signaling him out as the thief.
I chased after him, but my sedentary, cheeto’s-ice cream-peanut butter-nuggets-yoghurt-eggs
brownie sandwiches eating habits quickly made themselves felt as my back, legs,
arms and right toe-nail from the left sent a surge of excruciating pain towards my nose.


That's the only thing in english I've written lately. They are both incomplete, though.

[War Machine]

That Edge writing sounded somewhat similar to a conversation between Raziel and Kain in Soul Reaver 2 for the PS2:

Kain: Thirty years hence, I am presented with a dilemma... let's call it a two-sided coin. If the coin falls one way, I sacrifice myself and thus restore the Pillars... but as the last surviving vampire in Nosgoth, this would mean the annihilation of our species... Moebius made sure of that. If the coin lands on the reverse, I refuse the sacrifice and thus doom the Pillars to an eternity of collapse. Either way, the game is rigged.
Raziel: We agree then that the Pillars are crucial and must be restored.
Kain: Yes, Raziel, that is why we've come full-circle to this place.
Raziel: So after all this, you make my case for me. To end this stalemate, you must die so that new Guardians can be born.
Kain: The Pillars don't belong to them, Raziel... they belong to us.
Raziel: Your arrogance is boundless, Kain.
Kain: There's a third option, a monumental secret hidden in your very presence here. But it's a secret you have to discover for yourself. Unearth your destiny, Raziel. It's all laid out for you here.
Raziel: You said it yourself, Kain... there are only two sides to your coin.
Kain: Apparently so, but suppose you throw a coin enough times... suppose one day, it lands on its edge.

[Rolos]

You know, I should play that game.
I already downloaded Legacy f Kain:Blood Omen 1, Blood Omen 2, Soul Reaver 1 and Soul reaver 2, and yet, I still haven't played any of them, not even once.
Is the plot really worth it? The gameplay just seems so....dull.

[War Machine]

The gameplay is good enough, but nothing spectacular, the story on the other hand is way awesome. Do play them in this order though: Blood Omen, Soul Reaver, Soul Reaver 2, Blood Omen 2, and finally Defiance. I advice that order because Blood Omen 2 happens in an alternate timeline that comes into existence once the events of Soul Reaver 2 happen.