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sunandshadow

Writing Samples Revenant

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We haven''t had a writing samples thread in here in a really long time, have we? That simply won''t do. So, why doesn''t everybody post a few paragraphs of something you''ve written recently? And then you should say what you though why you thought it was important to write this particular piece of writing in the particular way you did. How well do you think you succeeded? Can you identify any problems that you would like to fix in the next draft? Do you have any questions you want to ask the rest of us about your piece?

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Eh, not quite sure if this is whatcha mean... But I wrote this one to try writing in this perspective. Not overly thrilled with it, probably won''t write another story in this style. It was fun to try something new though

* * * * *

You''d think that with all the time we spend in this thing, they''d take the time to make it a little more comfortable.

"Final check, we go in five."

That was our squad leader, he''s been leading us on these raids for years now. I suppose I better check my gear. I''ve been using this stuff for so long I don''t even need to look at what I''m doing. First check the ammo cases on my belt, moving on to the grenades, two smoke, two concussion, two high-explosive, one incendiary. They don''t like us to set fire to stuff too much, makes em nervous. All there, on to the gun itself. Ammo canister in place, fully loaded. Canister ejection system working, trigger isn''t jammed, display says no mechanical faults detected. Gotta love weaponry that can tell you when it breaks down, saves you a few precious seconds you could better use hitting the dirt.

Everything ready, place gun butt-down on the ground, holding the barrel. Easiest way to signal that you''re all ready. It''s the little things that turn a good squad into a veteran squad, and a veteran squad into one of us. We are the best of the best, the Elite. And we''re going to show someone just what that means, too bad they won''t live to tell anyone else.

"Touchdown in 10..."

Darn helmet radios, always crackly...

"9... 8... 7..."

We all stand as one, can see our squad leader''s face twist in a humourless grin as he watches us. He loves it, calls us "balistically enhanced ballerinas".

"3... 2..."

Time for the drop, engage suit reactors and commence praying. Now comes the fun part.

"1... Good luck boys."

*snip*

Press to test... *click* Release to detonate...

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>Here's a section of an article I wrote during the September 11th tragedy. It's one man's revenge against Osama Bin Laden, and it's third draft.


Taliban operatives, aware of my cover mission as a sympathetic western journalist, intercepted me deep in the rugged mountain/desert terrain in specially built Mercedes-Benz’s with bulletproof glass and silenced high powered engines. Their desert midnight dust paint jobs were identical to my hog’s.

Battle hardened Jihad warriors sporting reliable assault weaponry stepped from the four vehicles that had swiftly overtaken me. I shut down, took my sand parking board from my saddlebag, and put my kickstand down on it, making sure the printed side with the Bulls eye and ‘NYFD’ logos were easily visible from space.

“You must be my escort,” I said, adding, “nice paint job.” “You could have chosen a less obvious method of seeking us out, infidel pig,” a voice from inside the car said in perfect Oxford English.

I pointed to the sky and said, “The CIA satellites would see us anyway. It’s all good. We all know this is a sympathetic mission.”

“We of the Holy Jihad have our own technological capabilities, you know,” the voice from the car replied.

“I’m certain I will see some of it during my visit, won’t I?” I asked. “Lots of it. We can start with some low tech right now. As you will see, it is quite effective.” “What is it?” I asked. “It’s called ‘no blindfold necessary’”, the voice replied.

I felt the rifle butt touch the back of my head, and was thankfully unconscious before the searing pain hit me.


>I love writing myself back into the story.

Addy


[edited by - adventuredesign on May 2, 2003 7:28:52 AM]

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That''s a piece I am writing for a premade character for a pen&paper RPG I wont name here not to give away too much (as if you cared ). The idea being that the player reads this and get a feel for the character he has to play.
It''s only the first page, I think the final thing will be 3 pages long, which is a bit long. Maybe I''ll reformat it. Opinions most welcome !

-----------------------

You wouldn''t tell just by looking at me, but I am one of a kind. Or at least I was, until I died.
I was a lawyer trying to do some good in this world. One would argue that being a lawyer is not exactly the most direct mean of doing good. I could have become a doctor, saving lives daily. I could have been a social worker, trying to fix people''s lives. But I became a lawyer, not because it was a direct way to help people, but because Law, that great concept that was supposed to protect people, had long been soiled by greed, corruption and the twisted minds of people more concerned with winning an argument than dispensing Justice.
My father, for one, spent all his life working as a corporate lawyer, crushing the lives of the unfortunate few who would dare to stand in the face of the corporations who would employ him. Oh, he hadn''t killed anybody, or put them in the misery they were, directly. He was only doing his job, right ? Yeah, right.
And so I decided to join the ranks of those I despised so much, in order to bring change from within, if that were ever possible. I graduated, and soon enough offered my services to those too poor to afford a lawyer. The homeless or the prostitute arrested by the police, the runaway girl that had had to steal to survive, the squatters that had entered a derelict building to avoid dying from the cold outside. Sure, there were a few guilty ones among those I helped, but I preferred those than helping some greedy old granny hit the jackpot because she had spilled her coffee on her lap, or some potato couch bastard get pumped full of dollars because his neck had been "hurt" in a car accident he had willingly provoked.

Despite the low income the job brought in, Mathilda never lectured me on the more rewarding cases I could be taking like my father. She married me for my heart and my convictions, she would say, not my fortune. And I married her for the comfort her simple presence provided me. Because she could understand me. My father would speak of waster talents, missed opportunities, but he never actually forced me to change my line of work. I think deep down he was proud of me. In any case, when Mathilda and I decided to move in a lovely little flat on top of a non descript building in the middle of East Village and needed a bit of help, he let mother pay a part of the place, pretending not to know anything about it.
Mathilda was giving a recital at the concert hall that fateful night. As usual when my time permitted, I would be listening among the crowd, enthralled as I had always been since the day I first heard her play the cello. After the applause had died down, after the crowd had dispersed, after the last lights had been turned off and we had left the building, we went, walking along the streets to our building, only a few blocks away. We had always walked so, as the neighbourhood isn''t renowned for its violence, and at this time of the night the streets would still be busy enough that they would feel safe.

I can''t remember much after we entered the alley that led to the entrance of our building. A roaring blur of darkness jumped on me. The searing pain of claws digging through my chest, the taste of blood in my mouth.
Mathilda unconscious next to me, dead ? Oh please God, don''t let her be dead !
And the warmth slowly leaving me. And the pleasure, the ecstasy of feral teeth biting my throat, the sheer joy of the pain through my chest. And the merry dizziness in my head, my mind slowly drifting away, like dead leaves floating away on a cold river. I knew I was dying, and yet I rejoiced. I felt the life leaving me slowly, and yet mourned the pleasure that I knew would stop, soon.
No film of my life flashing before my eyes, no old memories, just pure pleasure, and Mathilda lying next to me, in a pool of blood.
My blood ? Please God don''t let it be hers.

And then darkness.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Well, that''s just the first page, but I wanted to finish the rest before posting it. Plus I felt this part stands alone pretty well. What do you think ?


Sancte Isidore ora pro nobis !

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Well, I had a night without much sleep, so here is the second part.

-------------------------------------------------------------

"Antoine ? Are you awake yet ? You need to feed if you want to heal the wounds."
A feminine voice. Soothing , comforting.
"Mathilda ?".
The nurse is smiling at me. In the neon light, so cold and devoid of life, she looks like an angel.
"No, Teresa", she says, as she hands me a bag of red liquid. Blood ?
That's when I first feel it, the hunger. I see the stuff and my stomach, dead as it may be, contracts at the sight of the crimson fluid in that plastic pouch. Transfusion blood, and yet all I want is to rip the thing apart and gulp it down like a beast.
"It's not as tasty as when it's fresh, but it will do for now", she says.
She opens the pouch, and I can smell the sweet metallic odour. Before I know it my hands are grasping it and I am swallowing as a drowning man trying to swallow air from an oxygen bottle. It feels cold, but even so it feels like the sweetest nectar I ever tasted. I feel it go through my veins, filling my heart with life, my throat with fire, my head with ecstasy.
"You need to heal your wounds, Antoine. Direct the blood to your throat, your chest, to the wounds. Simply will it, and the vitae will work its magic"
I look at the nurse, like a lion interrupted in the middle of a kill. I can feel the anger in me wanting to pounce and chase the intruder. I was never angry before, but as I feel the cold blood in my mouth, the extended fangs biting at my dead lips, I want to hurt her, punish her for seeing me like this. Weak.
She smiles at me :
"I am here to help you, don't let the Beast take you. Control your rage and the blood in your veins. Use it to heal your wounds."
She points at my chest. I pull the sheets off and look at it. So pale. Five holes adorn it, around my sternum. Claws have dug through my ribs, trying to gouge out a hole to reach the heart. I touch my neck and realise the presence of a gaping hole where my carotid used to be.
"Simply imagine the blood coursing through your body, let it flow and repair the damage"
So I try to remember it, the blood in my throat, pulsing, throbbing, and I feel it flowing from my dead heart, and into the gaping wound. I can feel the skin patching itself up, the artery taking back its place, the meat filling up the spaces. As I lay my fingers on the soft and cold new skin, I don’t feel any pulse. Dead .
"Where is Mathilda ? Is she alive ?"
"Your wife is in a coma, she will survive though. Dr Zeitberg was in a generous mood and decided to bring her back too. She was sent to the emergency service and treated as best as could be. Unfortunately you died on the scene, from blood loss"
She smirks.
"So why am I still here ?"
"Well, it would seem the Sabbat that attacked you spilled some of his own vitae in your throat as Dr Zeitberg's assistants shot him. An accidental Embrace is not unheard of, although it's pretty uncommon. Pity for your throat and chest though, you will have to heal those wounds every night as you awake. You had already risen when we came back to check on your bodies, so we couldn't do anything about that. We prevented you from killing your wife, though. It's pretty normal to feed as you awake for the first time, but given her state it would have been fatal. Especially in the frenzy you were. You probably don't remember it, either, which is better for you. There are better ways to be Embraced than by accident, and better ways to rise than in a feeding frenzy slaying your loved ones. But like I said, Dr Zeitberg was in one of his good nights."
"So what am I ?"
"You are part of the family now." Again she smiles like I am missing a joke only she can hear.
"A Kindred like Dr Zeitberg or myself, except that you are not from the same bloodline, the same clan. It seems your attacker and involuntary sire was a Lasombra. Which is unfortunate, seeing how tense our relationships with them are. In fact, we would tend to kill them on sight." This time her smile has a more feral edge to it. Like I am some sort of exotic delicacy she wants to taste.
"So why save me ?"
"Dr Zeitberg saw something in you. I would not presume to know his motives. I am his childe and I must obey. He told me to take care of you and so I will. I will teach you the ways of the blood. But now, we must feed you again little one" She grins mischievously, opening her blouse.
"I shall call you my childe, Antoine. I can't be your sire, unfortunately, but I'll treat you as if I were, like a mother" And as she uncovers herself, she delicately slices her alabaster skin, just under the left nipple, gently upholding her breast.
"Mother Teresa", she chuckles.
"Now, we must feed you well if you want to grow strong little orphan. Come, drink of my blood so that we may be as mother and son. We will share our vitae and bond with each other. I accept you as my childe and if you accept me as your sire, drink of my blood."
I can't understand all she is saying, but as my eyes detach themselves from the first droplets of crimson dew forming on her breast to look at her face, all I see is the angelic face of Mathilda looking back at me, beaming with love. Mathilda .
I close my lips around the cold, hard nipple, suckling like a newborn.
If the blood she has given me before was like a drug, sending me beyond pleasure, this is like ambrosia, a nectar no man should have ever tasted. I feel it trickle down my throat, warm, like liquid velvet, sending waves of ecstasy coursing through my body. I am beyond simple pleasure, beyond orgasm, I am alive. To think I had had to die to ever feel so complete, so happy. Mathilda .
As I lay there in my bed, my head tucked in Teresa's bosom, her arms holding me like an infant, I slowly drift in a drowsy happiness, oblivious to anything but the warmth of the blood within me. Teresa .

---------------------------------------------------------------

Now come on people, I'd love to see opinions here
I want to give this little -how should I call it, a prologue ?- to my player before the game. This text is there to give the person playing the character a little insight about who she is playing. Do you think the style is appropriate, does it convey enough about the personality of the guy ?



Sancte Isidore ora pro nobis !

[edited by - ahw on May 8, 2003 6:23:57 AM]

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Ah yeah, comments

Faradhi : loved it Sounds like a nice little intro for a bigger piece. Flavor text, they call it. I take it the guys are space marines ?

Addy : uh, I think the one thing I find annoying is the formatting of the dialogues. And I am a bit unclear on the role of the protagonist. Is he supposed to infiltrate the mujahidin ? Or is he supposed to be some sort of envoy ?
I like the dialogue and the "lo-tech" at the end, though


Sancte Isidore ora pro nobis !

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My attempt at creative writing:

I like toast. Toast is in interesting thing. Toast works well with jelly or butter. Toast is the next logical step in the evolution of sliced bread, which is the medium all new things are compared against. Two pieces of toast are even better, because with two pieces of toast you have the makings of a sandwich, possibly the greatest food item ever conceived. Never mind the fact most people don''t toast their sandwich bread, I do. It has been theorized that with a single piece of buttered toast, and a cat, one could create perpetual energy by strapping the jellied toast to the back of the cat. You would then throw the cat; if done properly the cat would stop several inches from the ground and spin indefinitely because, as we all know, cat’s always land on their feet, and toast always lands jelly side down. I think this is inhumane, I propose the use of two pieces of toast, back-to-back, jelly side out. It should produce the same effect, without traumatizing the cat. Furthermore, if I used a cat, I would be unable to truthfully say, “No cats were harmed in the conducting of this experiment”.



[My site|SGI STL|Bjarne FAQ|C++ FAQ Lite|MSDN|Jargon]
Ripped off from various people

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I prefer editing. I don''t really like letting other people read what i write.

...

You''d think that with all the time we spend in this damn thing they''d take the time to make it a little more comfortable.

"Final check, we go in five."

That''s our squad leader; he''s been leading us on these raids for years now. I suppose he''s pretty good; we usually come back in one piece, anyways. I suppose I better go ahead and check my gear. I''ve been using this stuff for so long I don''t even need to look at what I''m doing. Ammo cases on my belt. Grenades: two smoke, two concussion, two high-explosive, one incendiary. They don''t like us to set fire to stuff too much, makes ''em nervous. All there, on to the gun. Ammo canister in place, fully loaded. Canister ejection system working, trigger isn''t jammed, display... no mechanical faults detected. Gotta love weaponry that tells you when it breaks down, saves you a few precious seconds when you could better use ''em hitting the dirt.

Everything''s ready, place gun butt-down on the ground, hold the barrel. Easiest way to signal that you''re all ready. It''s the little things that turn a good squad into a veteran squad, and a veteran squad into one of us. We are the best of the best, the Elite. And we''re going to show someone just what that means; it''s just too fucking bad they won''t live to tell anyone about us.

"Touchdown in 10..."

Damn helmet radios, always crackling...

"9... 8... 7..."

We all stand as one, watching our squad leader''s face twist in a humourless grin as he watches us back. He loves it, calls us "ballistically enhanced ballerinas". Real cute.

"3... 2..."

Now for the drop... Engage suit reactors, Commence praying. Time for fun part.

"1... Good luck boys."

And we drop.

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Editing? You corrected what I assume are a few grammar errors I made, and added the ''F-word'' to a sentence Anyways, if yer gonna edit, bold or italic the changes so people can spot em...

ahw - Little whitespace would make it more readable, but other than that, I think this makes the character a lot easier to step into.

wild_pointer - I''m scared now...

adventuredesign - This one sounds like it could get interesting, little leery of the setting though...

Press to test... *click* Release to detonate...

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I would love your opinions on my little text SnS And Addy !!!


Sancte Isidore ora pro nobis !

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