The writers gathered around the campfire, they exchanged nervous glances. Then they started telling stories.
"This one's about a writer," said one of the writers, "and he, or she, don't know what the hell to talk about!"
And the rest listened.
Now that I've got the awkward introductory piece of art out of the way, it's time to focus on what this is really about. And that is, of course, writing. We all write, not always fiction, but we all have a basic grasp of one of more languages, and we form that grasp into words, and sentences and paragraphs, and beyond.
In here we can talk about our writing, gather inspiration fro one another, and if all goes well, we'll all be published and rolling in money in the near future. If you've made up people and the lives of these people, filled with danger and lust and massive amounts of anal sex--because it isn't embarrasing at all--this is the place to talk about it.
Please do refrain from posting complete first draft novels, that is done in private with mutual concent (for anal sex to be had, of course). Which lessens risk of original works stolen and published and someone else bathing in your huge pile of cash.
Exercepts are okay, though. If you've got a particularily stilted piece of dialogue and would like a bit of advice you may ask here. We're all adults--or so our fake ID's says--so let's behave like it.
If you're in here to mock writing get the hell out. We don't mock. We are allowed to tell one another that we don't like it all that much, but please try to be productive with your advice. For example:
"This is absolute rubbish," one writer told the other.
"Is it really?" asked the other.
"Yeah," said the first and left.
A third writer suddenly appeared and told the critic to tell the first writer what was wrong with the piece. And so the critical writer did.
If we can all skip past the first bit, and do what the third writer wants writers to do, that'd be perfectly fine.
Let us begin discussing our terrible plots, our non-existing sub-plot, our cardboard characters, and dialogue so bad it wouldn't even be believeable coming from a robot.
I've written a bit the last few months, one tiny story (which has a finished first draft, and awaits editing), a bigger story (currently sitting at 20k words, waiting for more), and now I'm doing the NaNoWriMo-challenge with a third story.
The Nano-experience (including the anal sex) is rather lovely. It's taught me dicipline so far, and is going swimmingly. I even started a day behind, and now I'm a day ahead. My goal is to write the 1667 words per day needed to reach 50k, no matter how far ahead of time I am.
The story is a "Oh boy, here's some religious nuts killing babies"-story, set in a fantasy setting. CSI meets D&D, sort of. I've even taken the magical machines finding clues and fingerprints and murderers and replaced them with actual magic (a system so cliché it makes people vomit (thank god for rewrites)). It's rather exciting to write, and last night I finished up with a scene so cool and fast-paced my heart was doing a lot of hard, quick beating.
I'm sorry about there being no exercepts or much of anything, but I haven't had the time to stop and read some and perhaps find something that would give a decent impression of the tone and characters and story and such. Too many words that needs writing.