Hello, it's been a while hasn't it?
A while ago we had some character building exercises in the form of character interviews and one of the things that a lot of writers combined was that their character was a leader but also an introvert. I pondered this off and on and wanted to ask everyone how you would accomplish this particular combination.
Let me put to you a few questions:
1. What makes a good leader?
2. What are the qualities of a good leader?
3. What are the qualities of an introvert?
4. How would you combine the introvert and leadership qualities?
5. Why would people follow your introverted leader?
6. How would your character deal with being an introverted leader?
7. Will your introverted leader have any problems to overcome as a result of being an introverted leader?
8. How will your protagonist view your introverted leader?
9. After the dust settles in your story, what then? How will your introverted leader retain his or her followers?
10. How will your introverted leader lead in the future?
Hello, it's been a while hasn't it?
I have just published my first ebook on Amazon. It was always intended to be the first in a trilogy although it works as a stand alone. Unfortunately although I know some of the basic points for the second book I am having considerable trouble actually writing it. I have read so many second books that seem flat compared to the first one and I am beginning to understand why this is. I wondered if anyone had any advice on the mechanics of writing a book that is the second in a series or trilogy?
I thought I would take a bit of time out of the writers_loft's members' days to let you all know about a new online venue that is set to appear on the scene next year. It's called 'Creator and the Catalyst' and proposes to be a venue for online publishing, a place for audio productions of original work and a forum for posting work for review and critique.
There's a wide range of genre and sub-genre represented at the forum from a good range of people with varying capacities to write. I'm somewhere about the middle, so nobody need feel intimidated by the fellow contributors. There will be writing workshops and there's a monthly writing event that sets a topic for you to write on.
The genres include:
Art works of various styles and types
Pro section for audio comedy productions by our membership's talent.
Pro section for audio essays, produced from our member's original literature.
Pro section for audio poetry, produced from our member's original literature.
Pro section for audio stories, produced from our member's original literature.
Celebrity and Author Interviews
Articles and audio/video interviews with celebrities, professional talent and commercial authors.
Membership may use this section to log step by step developments of their creative work.
Fiction Literature: Action Adventure
Action Adventure Literature
Fiction Literature: Comedy
Fiction Literature: Fantasy
Fiction Literature: General Fiction
Category for stories not fitting into any other genre.
Fiction Literature: Horror
Fiction Literature: Mystery
Fiction Literature: Romance
Fiction Literature: Science Fiction
Science Fiction Literature
Fiction Literature: Westerns
Instruction in all areas of creative endeavors.
Media Store Shopping
Professional products created by membership talent can be purchased in this online store.
Member on-site communication
Movie Production Values
The stagecraft elements of film making.
CD music tracks by site professional musicians and groups.
Media products, member's products and creative work reviews.
Site business development through membership collaborative involvement.
Site and Talent Related Articles
Magazine style articles on site related news, projects and member talent promotion.
Site information and events.
Art and literature are submitted through this subforum.
Celebrating member's accomplishments and commercial achievements.
The Creator and the Catalyst Digital Magazine
A monthly publication of quality professional media entertainment by our membership.
This section is for voice demos and sample voice impressions by voice artists of celebrities, accents and original characters.
The Writing Workshop
Activities to increase writer's skill, style and technical abilities
Monthly writing events.
(As you can see there's no 'Play' or 'Screenplay' topic but I'm working on that. The exigencies of the bulletin board format make the format of plays and screenplays a bit problematic.)
The Poetry Literature topic also includes my attempt to resurrect 'The Saga of Bjorn: The World's Longest Poem' from its old days on the Trumalia forum in 2007.
Come over to www.creatorandthecatalyst.com and have a look. If you like what you see, join up. It's going to make 2014 a lot of fun. Serious, serious fun.
Sea breeze, coughing fit.
Something that's invisible
Changes the season.
Stupid Sydney weather… And damn LiveJournal. It must be the most frequently DDOS targeted site on the bloody Internet! The server goes down more often than…well, I don't need to complete that analogy, do I?
Summary: A fairy with a grudge against the populace of Is-Adran has been released from his prison by a strong storm. With the king's mandate Erol Fairbain, the youngest advisor of magic in Is-Adran history, sets off to recapture the fairy along with the help of Jonquil Del Bosque, the first advisor of magic to tangle with the fairy's granddaughter, a magician who hasn't found her magic yet.
Notes: This is only the very beginning but I would love any feedback you can give me.
( story here )
I've completed about 1,000 words each day since then. I did get a bit distracted when it came to my attention that I had yet to watch Breaking Dawn Part 1 (which was epic!). I haven't done any writing today, but I might get some done later. But I have been doing a little writing on another project of mine, just to get my creative juices flowing again. I've been a little novel-ed out, to be honest.
Anyway, what I've accomplished (in the novel):
-fight scene between 2 main characters
-major explanation of a mystery which sets up the plot of the entire book
-end of Act I, beginning of Act II
Total Word Count: ~14,000 words
Total Page Count: 33 pages
I've been writing since I was a child. In elementary school, when we were given vocab words and told to use it in a sentence, all of my sentences combined to form a story. I was such a precocious little thing, wasn't I? lol. I started writing fanfiction when I was about 12 and have been doing it regularly ever since. Almost ten years later, I have finally decided to try and make my lifelong hobby into a career, or at least that's the idea.
As I said, I wrote up to mid-way through Chapter 3 in "Taking Sides". However late last night I came to the realization that I hate everything that I've written so far. It was boring and too slowly paced. And just like that, 25 pages went down the drain.
Here's what I've decided:
-Despite the fact that I've always written in third person, this novel is meant to be written in first person.
-I need to flesh out more details on the other major characters - not just the main one.
-I would like to make the novel 500 pages or so.
Here's what I've done:
-Written out each of the four major characters and listed their Physical Characteristics, Personality Traits and any major Outside Influences that shape their reactions.
-Wrote out a plot summary
-Divided the plot summary into 3 Acts: Setup, Confrontation and Resolution.
-Picked out actors/actresses in order to more solidly personify my characters' personality and features
So, who wants to know more about my novel?
Posted via m.livejournal.com.
I just wanted to maybe put up a summary of story I'd like to maybe start putting together.
It's called 'In Pursuit of Liberty'.
( (Summary under the cut...) )
I have my first entry posted in my journal but since it's... kinda fanfic-y I guess, I won't link to it XD But hopefully, once I get into keeping a dream diary, I'll be able to post some of my writing here and get some criticism. :3
A little snippet from the first section of prose in the Tal'verse. I have no idea if this is staying the way it is. It's a little rambling on purpose, to highlight how young he is, but also I feel like I'm not really getting where I need to with it. It seems to make sense to me, but I know the whole plot so I don't think that really counts. So it would be really helpful if you tell me what you got out of it so I can make sure it's working...
-"The Adventures of Casandra Wink": Novel trilogy about the adventures of a 8-year-old ballerina in training named Casandra Wink who lives somewhere in Seattle, Washington in the year 1998. Although, she is good in ballet as well as gymnastics (in which she attends a after school programme for). She and her best friend, Jenna, who is also 8-years-old and a ballerina in training, soon get picked by their ballet teacher for a big ballet recital that takes place after their school term ends. But, when a big crime is soon committed at her elementary school over the summertime, Casandra soon finds an another calling as a amateur detective as she takes up her first case to find who committed the crime with the help of her pet earthworm named Binky and her best friend Jenna who go and investigate in and around their elementary school. The novel ends when, the two 8-year-old girls catch the theives, win a huge award for their ballet recital and Casandra, despite being a third grader, soon gets admired by all the other students for solving a big crime case
thus proving that no matter how small you are, you can still make a difference in people's lives.
So, what do you think?
From David, and originally written by me.
I just joined your writers community without realising it. I'm David. And I just recently got done writing my first novel called 'Naomi's Innocence' and I am working on a six short story all in one book called 'The Secret World of Preteen Girls' in my novel series about girlhood.
I also write poetry.
Well, feel free to stop by my journal.
Rating/Warning: Rated - R. (strong violence, mediocre language, LGBT content, sexual content, psychological triggers)
Summary: The story revolves around a sixteen year old boy, that is suddenly rescued by a mysterious, older man named Jack. Jack-o is a man for hire, who will take jobs other's wouldn't... The tale progresses through the boy's eyes and you slowly meet a series of people who Jack helps through his work.
Feedback is appreciated (:
( Tale of Jack )
just a quick question, when you read a book do you read the prologues/epilogues?
I know a few people who don't (but they also read the last chapter first) and i have both in my story, but i feel as though the prologue might give one of the twists away.
I'm probably thinking about it too much (i do that a lot)but your opinions will be a great help.
My beginning: No control.
Outside the window, the cold wind is howling and whipping back forth. Inside, deafening electronic music is pounding while dozens of drunken college kids slam their heads and blow their fists in the air. Steaming red lights beam into the room as half-drunk girls sip from their red cups and drift their eyes across the room, trying to latch on to something. Inside, the walls are cheap, paint chips crumbling and tumbling off. Fifty-something Syracuse locals don’t seem to like listening to screaming kids and Animal Collective at three in the morning.
I’m the tall kid with awkwardly dirty blonde hair. Is it brown or is it blonde? I have mutt hair, I guess. My drink is half empty and smells like it needs a shower. Why does dry paint look so much like cottage cheese? Cottage cheese reminds me of my mom’s second husband, Tom Lapinski. He looked like Frankenstein and didn’t know how to eat his nasty cottage cheese without wearing a shirt. Still, it’s really hard to look attractive and eat cottage cheese at the same time, unlike other dairy products. My knack for making anything sound gross and slightly sexual is pretty special.
Chad is standing next to me because he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s bobbing his head trying to get into the routine party scene, but it’s not quite biting yet. Friday nights blur together in the college bubble land, and it’s not like people go out to experience the same routine thing ever weekend, they’re out for all the same reasons, looking to hookup, looking to let loose and kick some ass. It’s like waiting for NASCAR drivers to crash into each other on the speedway.
“So, we’re pretty much done. Crazy, right?” he yells into my ear.
“Now what?” I bark to keep the conversation going.
“Time to park it on mom’s couch and make Craigslist my homepage.”
“Christ, this is sad. Why didn’t anyone tell me to stop studying journalism?” I asked.
“Yeah, like I’m going to take a shit on your dreams. Pass.”
Right then I’m wondering if it was ever my dream or just something that made sense at one point and that I was too scared to try new things. My cell phone vibrates in my pocket. Maybe it’s her. We need to talk. My heart always aches. She has to care. She’s not a robot like she says she is, right? Can anyone truly be this way? REALLY?! I wonder. I feel like the only guy who acts like such a girl when it comes to women. I’m such a pussy.
I pick up my phone blocking out the flashing lights from glaring the screen. “Danielle.” Shit, it is her. Why hasn’t she called me? “I’m outside.” Boy, she’s making this seem scary all of a sudden. I tell Chad I’ll be right back. I weave through the crowd like someone’s following me—but I have a bad feeling like I should walking slowly, remembering each step, just in case. The kitchen is packed. My bud Sam is against the refrigerator yucking it up with his longtime girlfriend Chelsea, probably arguing about their last game of Scrabble—they do that. And they say couples don’t like going to parties.
I want to barf out my heart. Danielle’s standing next to the post of the patio, wearing her trademarked too-cool-for-school look on her face. Her wavy brown hair is draped over her big, gripping eyes. She’s curvy, not skinny, but she always made it work. She’s not tired though. It’s that look like she’s finally looking at you after ignoring your flagrant observations for twenty minutes. I hate how hot she looks when she’s being a bitch.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I said.
“You knew whom I was going into this,” she said.
Robot Mode: Activate.
Her beauty and confidence wasn’t the only thing that kept me around, so don’t go calling me a shallow fool. I guess I kind of just wanted to stick around for the end of the movie just to see if it all turns out. Is she just mean? Kind of, but it was sexy and she had an itch for danger too. She’s confident, organized and a former honcho for the school’s daily paper. Key word: “former.” She got fired and sent to trial for forgery and theft, stealing money from the paper. Don’t ask because I never did.
“I thought you were kidding,” I said. “How could anyone really believe they don’t have a soul, seriously? Sorry I kept wondering if you’d ever decide to start caring about me.”
You could die out here. Danielle looks like she’s trying her hardest to hide a smirk. Her beautiful eyes don’t look too sympathetic either, and I’m starting to get a chill down my spine. I turn away because her emotionless face is more frustrating than anything.
“Would you feel better if I cried for you?”
It just got colder. Wind, fast enough to cut the skin. I need a cigarette.
“Do you want me to be lovey-dovey and whisper cute things in your ear? Because, I gotta tell ya, that’s never going to happen.”
I swear she almost giggled.
“No, I just want you to try,” I said. “I don’t feel like that’s a whole lot to ask.”
My head feels light enough to gently tear off my neck and float into the night. Some late-comers show up to the party, tripping in snow-slush from the long week of Syracuse weather. Welcome to the armpit of America’s climate. Some of the incoming girls are wearing next to nothing. Blizzards don’t stop house parties on Thirsty Thursdays, even though they’re always mediocre and always include the usual activities: beer pong, flip-cup, smoking on the porch outside, people watching, small-talk with the friends you came with, take shots, and if you’re lucky enough, smooth-talk a drunk freshman into going home with you.
“Why did you tell me you wanted a second chance with me on my 21st birthday?” I asked sadly.
I remember every moment. It was an odd dinner that night. I was getting a little drunk on Pinot Grigio, and I hadn’t seen Danielle for the past five months or so because I was consciously ignoring her. She thought it would be quaint to have a rainy day celebration at a Mongolian restaurant on West 72nd. Not surprisingly, the menu was limiting. The dialogue began as you’d expect, catching up on the latest happenings in each other’s lives, the old days and then Danielle came out of nowhere, saying “sometimes, I wish…I wish I had a second chance with you.” Never before in the history of mankind had such a statement made me speechless for so long. This girl doesn’t say stuff like that—she never gets personable unless she’s really in a rut, and that’s why I never forgot. She once cried on my shoulder after the forgery fiasco spread around campus. Sometimes it takes a tough situation to finally see someone for who they were, and that day I got a glimpse. I fell in love like the dim-witted goof I am.
I never forgot pondering on my way back home on the bus on whether or not I should have left my girlfriend for Danielle right then and there. Turns out, I just watch too many damn romantic comedies.
“I didn’t say that,” she said.
“What? Of course you did. I had this whole soliloquy in my head afterwards, tempted to leave my girlfriend for you. You don’t just make that up, unless you’re crazy.”
This time she doesn’t just giggle, she laughs.
“I’m sorry, but that didn’t happen.”
“I’m not going to apologize for myself. This is who I am.”
For any normal person, this would be perfect closure for a guy trying to get over a girl whom he knows will never love him, but not me. I’ll dump her and let her stick around in my head until I get drunk and start recklessly texting again. This isn’t happening. It can’t. Should I just put up with it? My friends and family never trusted her, and I tried my best to. It’s like it was never up to me. I turn back around to look at her one last time.
“OK, we’re done,” I said.
I wish that was the last time I was going to see her, but I knew it wouldn’t be—not by a long shot. What a relief that would be! Her face is blank, so I turn around to make sure I don’t see her smile again while I walk back into the lame party. Fittingly, Crystal Castles’ “Doe Deer” is shredding the plywood floors upon my dramatic entrance.
This time I’m not weaving through the crowd, I’m plowing. You don’t weave after dumping your girlfriend. Oh, I made you spill? Get over it. A girl with long dark bangs is eyeballing me as I re-enter the tossing living room ripping itself apart. I’ll take her. I look away once and look back to make sure it’s a done deal. Eyes still locked in, no contest. I walk over and whisper my name into her ear. She says her name is Maggie. She’s a 7-6-1. First number for body rating, second number for face rating and 1 for yes and 0 for no. Yes, you’re into her. No, you’re not. Even the nicest guys in the world are ¼ douchebag—I’m no different. Later we’ll dance, I’ll learn about her major, dream job, hometown and forget everything about her after we make out. I’m not taking her home because that was never the plan, and frankly I’m not that into random hookups. People say I could close the deal, but then I’d hate myself.
I want to fast-forward six years and skip it all, but it sinks it right there: it’ll never stop, it’s always going to be like this: graduation, real life on the precipice, the student loans, not becoming my father and being afraid to let go.
I’ll be lucky if I remember ¾ of tonight the next morning.
It’s a dimly lit old pub built with wood so old I wouldn’t be surprised if the wood was pulled out of cold ice water, floating next to corpses. It’s a Soho spot my dad frequently goes to because of the great bison burgers. November.
My dad’s sitting across the table from me, scrolling through his iPhone, checking his massive inbox and asshole readers on his website. It’s not like he’s busy, he’s just an addict. He runs his own business, it’s what he lives and breathes. This is what a post-newspaper collapse journalist has become. You’re never off the job. You’re never away from the story. The bar is stacked with mostly bridge and tunnel people, but for once I can say I’m a real New Yorker now that I know that means.
This morning I found my dad only wearing a wet towel at 2 p.m. on a Tuesday in his Bushwick apartment he sublets from a famous screenwriter. He never finishes his work in time, and he always looks a little bat shit. Cat litter and a couple nuggets of cat shit stood by the front door. He was pissed he fell behind on the column and how he spent three hours deleting spam from his comments board. You know he’s starting to lose it when he stares at his desktop computer with one-eye like Popeye watching porn, or a wimpy pirate.
“You need another girlfriend,” my dad says after finally looking up.
“I already have one, and I like Danielle,” I respond with a chuckle.
“You’re not hearing me. Don’t drop the one you have. Just go get another one.”
“Look, I know you’re not your brother, but you need to play the field more. Always have something else going on.”
“You do realize that’s considered cheating, right?” I ask.
“Its simply human nature. Do you actually think that people care that JFK banged Marilyn Monroe?”
“No, but that’s still not an excuse! Just because he was President doesn’t mean he gets a hall pass.”
“That’s your problem. Girls have been kicking you around since you were 12, and you keep playing into their hands. The secret is that they don’t have to know. Just don’t tell them!”
“Uhhhh…why wouldn’t I just dump my old girlfriend if I was that dissatisfied? Ever heard of holding onto a receipt?”
The older I get and the more I hang with my dad, the more we fight about the dumbest shit. At least we’re not arguing about Republicans right now. I honestly believe he’s serious when he says they should all be “gassed to death.”
“You just don’t get it. This way, you’re never left empty-handed, and maybe you’d stop jerking off in the shower!”
Wow, that was way too loud. That bomb turned at least three heads at the bar.
“Keep it down, O’Reilly. Keep in my mind this is coming from a guy who brought his son to his MARRIED girlfriend’s house, and dumped him off in the hubby’s gym room while you had a grand ole time next door. Mark my words, I will never forget that. Mom would never have done that,” I ranted.
I was either 11 or 12-years old flying in from San Francisco for my monthly weekend visit to see dad. The usual plans upon seeing dad were the same, lie around the West Hollywood apartment with dead plants and Bow-Flex machines he doesn’t use while watching DVDs (or laserdiscs back then) all weekend. On occasion we’d go out to a movie premiere, rub shoulders with beautiful actresses as my brother and I would stare at our watches, drink Shirley Temples and talk about Pokemon and EverQuest. This weekend it was just me flying down and dad wanted to see wonderful Ann-Marie whom he hooked up with at one of the Sundance Film Festivals.
“I don’t think you understand we have a special relationship. I rub your back, and you rub mine. I’m not sorry for it.”
“Dude, I was 13 years old!”
That night, we drove an hour and a half out to Long Beach and stayed for dinner, but had no idea it was going to be a sleep-over. After dinner, dad whispered into my ear, “we’re going to stay the night tonight.” I tried to complain without making a scene, but it was no-use. He was giving me that ‘WTF, dude? I’d totally do it for you!’ look. That guy’s workout room smelled like a workout room, which smells like sweaty asshole. I could hear them in the next room—not moaning, but the painfully subtle rocking noise. While this was pretty bad, this wasn’t the most sexual incident I’d ever witnessed with my dad. Lets just say he doesn’t wear underwear and sleeps naked--shit hangs out all the time. I got over the remnant bottles of lube and Magnum condoms lying around the apartment years ago.
“Still not sure why you’re complaining.”
“I don’t give a shit about anything as long as I’m being real. I don’t play games,” I said.
“All I know is that girls like guys who don’t give a fuck about them. Your problem is that you show them that.”
“So are we still going to this Aronofsky screening?” I asked.
The conversation stops. Dad slammed down his fourth tall glass of German beer. I’m starting to get that weird feeling again like I’m trapped inside my head. When and where did I start believing you’re supposed to watch life from the third person? Video games and movies. Only a head case like me would get paranoid that people have a different vision of the world through their eyes. Shit, there it goes again.
Where’s my iPhone, damn it?!
Genre: Drama/ Romance
Warnings: Mentions of rape and murder
Summary: Selene has been inside her apartment for the past year with no intentions of leaving. But, when a mysterious man named Bastian starts visiting her, will it be the thing she needs to rejoin society?
Disclaimer: The letter are lyrics by Sopor Aeternus. All characters are fictional and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.
Story over here
I noticed that the upcoming May issue of Talking Writing is going to be about self-publishing. Previous issues have had a lot of interesting essays written by various writers on whichever topic they are covering. I'm hoping the May issue will have some insight into if self-publishing is the way to go or not.
Does anyone here have any experience with self-publishing or/vs getting published through a publisher which they would be willing to share with me? Or are there previous posts here which someone can point me in the direction of? I'm new and still exploring this community.
It would be much appreciated.