Historical Storyteller
Four Thousand Club
Also, I want to read that Plato book that you gave me and Les Miserables.
In addition, I will read that non-fiction book about the growth of hospitals and there's another book about marksmanship.
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Also, I want to read that Plato book that you gave me and Les Miserables.
In addition, I will read that non-fiction book about the growth of hospitals and there's another book about marksmanship.
Elephantom
Chicken Broth Paragon
I haven't played star control, sadly.
What's it with you and non-fiction? If you want a good perspective, and an insight on the finer sides of prose, you'd well by reading fiction books.
Historical Storyteller
Four Thousand Club
Its an old game, pretty damn good for its time. It was made in the 1990's.
For me, I'd like to get good perspective of a topic by reading something technical. If I want to get to know something, I better consult an expert on the subject even if he isn't that much of a writer. Fortunately, most of the authors I pick know how to write so it isn't all that boring.
Elephantom
Chicken Broth Paragon
Man, you need to imagine more.
Anyway, this is a quarter-way reworking of my first draft. Used an extremely laconic style of writing.
Darkness. Abysmal, treacherous darkness.
It drew out. Step by step, cube by cube, until it contracted and formed a ripple. Swirled. Confusion. Moist?
The man woke up with a shocking jolt. He was heaving, in and out. His skin was covered in a fluid of sorts, and though he couldn't see it, he could feel it. It pricked his skin. A thousand needles, it felt like.
He stared, both bewildered and confused, at the linings of a door. A pod. A capsule. He was enclosed. He wasn't sleeping. He was put to sleep. The awakening was rude. Vague memories of a bygone life darted through the corners of his mind. He, whoever he must've been, was unable to piece them together. Even catch them. Impossible. He groaned, he tried to do it. No sound came out. He wasn't surprised.
The linings of the translucent hatch shifted, and teared open. A sharp hiss invaded his ears. They were just getting used to it. He let out another groan, painful as it was. It came out as a feeble, oscillating whimper. He was exposed to an unknown dark now. The light in his pod flickered, teetering dangerously close to shutting off. It felt like a bad dream, the man could assert. He swore he could remember doing something of sorts, something that wasn't sleeping, not entering this macabre tool — his jagged memory induced more fury than his motor functions.
The place beyond the pod was pitch black, lit scantly by the minimal functions of this pod. The uncanny bed substitute was hard to the back. He discovered his bones ached, badly. His body, all of it, ached. Only his head remained safe, though, unnerving was its stolid numbness.
The dull pain gnawed away at his bones, as he tried to move his fingers. His arms. His head, foremost. It was a mistake. The whole world began to spin, without end, without meaning. Vertigo, a bad one. A few minutes more and he would be puking. His head fell victim to periodic pangs of throbbing pain right then. He preferred the insensitivity to that. The man struggled to lift his left hand up on the rails of the pod's door. A piercing pain shook through his nerves, followed by the tremors of shock. He started back, onto the hard surface, the back of his head slamming against it. He groaned again. It was more audible, this time. He smiled, yet he suspected it appeared as such.
The task was, ultimately, very tedious, but he was able to shrug off the pain, which he had come to acknowledge properly by now. Having set his jittery hands on the railing, he breathed relief. The low drone of the pod, coughing as its power oozed away, gave the ambiance a dreary tilt. The light flickered with renewed vigour. The man, whatever his name was, tried to move his leg: he succeeded, although it hurt both his nerves and his pale dignity. He supposed he looked pathetic, gaunt too, likely.
It drew out. Step by step, cube by cube, until it contracted and formed a ripple. Swirled. Confusion. Moist?
The man woke up with a shocking jolt. He was heaving, in and out. His skin was covered in a fluid of sorts, and though he couldn't see it, he could feel it. It pricked his skin. A thousand needles, it felt like.
He stared, both bewildered and confused, at the linings of a door. A pod. A capsule. He was enclosed. He wasn't sleeping. He was put to sleep. The awakening was rude. Vague memories of a bygone life darted through the corners of his mind. He, whoever he must've been, was unable to piece them together. Even catch them. Impossible. He groaned, he tried to do it. No sound came out. He wasn't surprised.
The linings of the translucent hatch shifted, and teared open. A sharp hiss invaded his ears. They were just getting used to it. He let out another groan, painful as it was. It came out as a feeble, oscillating whimper. He was exposed to an unknown dark now. The light in his pod flickered, teetering dangerously close to shutting off. It felt like a bad dream, the man could assert. He swore he could remember doing something of sorts, something that wasn't sleeping, not entering this macabre tool — his jagged memory induced more fury than his motor functions.
The place beyond the pod was pitch black, lit scantly by the minimal functions of this pod. The uncanny bed substitute was hard to the back. He discovered his bones ached, badly. His body, all of it, ached. Only his head remained safe, though, unnerving was its stolid numbness.
The dull pain gnawed away at his bones, as he tried to move his fingers. His arms. His head, foremost. It was a mistake. The whole world began to spin, without end, without meaning. Vertigo, a bad one. A few minutes more and he would be puking. His head fell victim to periodic pangs of throbbing pain right then. He preferred the insensitivity to that. The man struggled to lift his left hand up on the rails of the pod's door. A piercing pain shook through his nerves, followed by the tremors of shock. He started back, onto the hard surface, the back of his head slamming against it. He groaned again. It was more audible, this time. He smiled, yet he suspected it appeared as such.
The task was, ultimately, very tedious, but he was able to shrug off the pain, which he had come to acknowledge properly by now. Having set his jittery hands on the railing, he breathed relief. The low drone of the pod, coughing as its power oozed away, gave the ambiance a dreary tilt. The light flickered with renewed vigour. The man, whatever his name was, tried to move his leg: he succeeded, although it hurt both his nerves and his pale dignity. He supposed he looked pathetic, gaunt too, likely.
Historical Storyteller
Four Thousand Club
I FINISHED THE BOOK! I'll be reading the sequel...
It doesn't hurt to read about the facts, Eleph.
It was too laconic. Spice it up a bit, Eleph!
It doesn't hurt to read about the facts, Eleph.
It was too laconic. Spice it up a bit, Eleph!
Elephantom
Chicken Broth Paragon
But you read too much of it, and it's turning you dull.
I'm trying to evoke a sense of isolation and scarcity — that, and the matter of militancy and nostalgia that I will implant later on in the story.
Elephantom
Chicken Broth Paragon
But, of course, this is still the first draft. That, and you absolutely have to write with me. You need to write more,
Historical Storyteller
, because at this rate, you'll turn into both a social and literary hermit.
Historical Storyteller
Four Thousand Club
If that is what you believe then I cannot convince you otherwise.
You can do much better than that, Eleph.
From my perspective, the protagonist gets thrown in the middle of nowhere to experience some mindscrew. I don't even know who he is and why he's there. Tell me more of your plans so that I can understand.
Historical Storyteller
Four Thousand Club
But, of course, this is still the first draft. That, and you absolutely have to write with me. You need to write more,
. . . . I have to wake up early tomorrow to process my enrollment and talk with the Guidance Center regarding my grades. So I cannot write right now, but I can listen to your plans and read more drafts.
Historical Storyteller
Four Thousand Club
And the day after that, I have to go on a shopping spree with my groupmates so that we can finish a project.
So I'll be free after two days.
Elephantom
Chicken Broth Paragon
Exactly. He doesn't know anything, so, why should you know everything. It's like throwing away the tension, the amnesiac claustrophobia. The protagonist needs to pick through the ship, learn what's behind this pod-abduction.
Historical Storyteller
Four Thousand Club
Yep, total mindscrew. Beyond my territory.
Elephantom
Chicken Broth Paragon
Man bounce. You're turning into homo dullectus.
It's a new specie, by the way. A weird splinter evolution.
Elephantom
Chicken Broth Paragon
Lost in media res, are you? Don't worry, I'll make sure you forget what territory ever meant...
Historical Storyteller
Four Thousand Club
....
....
....
Anyways, Eleph, if it were a setting like King's roleplay where we are an Agency dealing with paranormal stuff then it would make sense. Problem is that... yeah you've thrown us pretty much straight into the action and expect us to pick up things from there.
That will not do.
Elephantom
Chicken Broth Paragon
There's no action, Heis. It's his introduction. He's figuring out who he is, and you're figuring it out with him. If I explain it all beforehand, it would toss away the dynamic. You have to understand it, Heis, the fish is out of the water.
Historical Storyteller
Four Thousand Club
I may not understand it, but you're so confident in it that I'll go along with it.
Elephantom
Chicken Broth Paragon
You need to expand your knowledge of fiction plot devices. Malazan was an even worse offender, deliberately starting it in the midst of the story, no explanation given. Characters introduced at breakneck speed. Heisenberg running around naked.
Nogoodname
Did nothing wrong
In medias res as a kind of popular introduction, it's not exactly traditional because you're literally throwing your character into the middle of the story but it can be helpful if you're running a setting with a lot of things that need to be explained and you don't want new readers to be pushed away by giant walls of exposition.
Historical Storyteller
Four Thousand Club
*Rubs eyes*
Well, I prefer the traditional way things work. In medias res works too fast for me.
Nogoodname
Did nothing wrong
It may not be your preference, but there's still nothing wrong with it as a method of introduction, especially in elphs setting where the character doesn't know anything about himself and is trying to relearn everything.
Elephantom
Chicken Broth Paragon
Heisenberg, you sluggish bastarde.
Historical Storyteller
Four Thousand Club
I never tried it myself so I wouldn't know about it. If it works for you then by all means do it.
Historical Storyteller
Four Thousand Club
It is late and I must rest for tomorrow. Goodbye for now.
Nogoodname
Did nothing wrong
nighty night!
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