ElizaW
New Member
Hi everyone! My name is Eliza-- I'm a programmer, artist, and novelist with some free time on my hands.
I'm a little older than most of the people I've seen on this site so far (32 at the moment), and while I'm new to RP Nation, I've been writing and RPing for a long, long, long time. The sort of long-time where family friends look concerned and ask, "So... you're still doing that, huh?"
So. A bit about me, and what I'm looking for.
Personality. Easy going and friendly, happy to chat OOC, lots of imagination. I'm a little picky about my RPs, but I'm always happy to chat about the possibility.
I would prefer my partners to be a bit close to me in age, but that's not set in stone.
Styles & Genres. I love original fantasy! You name it. Icy wasteland ancient-Rome flavored subterranean low fantasy, standard medieval fantasy, cloud-city high fantasy, magical scifi, steampunk. Particular weaknesses include political intrigue and twists on conventional settings.
I don't do fandoms, except for D&D and Pathfinder type settings. ... I like drow. I like drow a lot. Sneaky, back-stabbing bastards. :pats affectionately:
Dislikes. Angst. Drama. Romance for the sake of romance (I keep it as a subplot or a motivator at most, and I'm not much of a slash fan).
I also tend to dislike vampires, since angst, drama, and romance is usually all they do... but give me a vampire that's about to summon an Elder God by sacrificing a building full of girls he lured in with his good looks... I'll be all over it.
Characters. ... I have lots. Dozens. Maybe even hundreds. I tried to write them all down once, and I remembered about sixty off the top of my head. Men. Women. Shape-shifting gelatinous monsters. Mages. Mad scientists. Professional heroes. Assassins. A pacifist sharpshooter. A cheerful, snarky necromancer. A woman who can turn sand to gold. I like them a bit quirky, a little contradictory, and always well developed.
Post Length. I could probably write another book out of my post-length requirement rant. I firmly believe that being able to ramble on and on with purple prose doesn't make you a better writer, or gamer. It kills literary pacing, it destroys the efficiency of dialog, it obscures a well-written introductory text. No post length requirements.
What I would prefer is the ability to write several pages on your own, the skill to deliver a one-liner with panache, and the discrepancy to know which would be better given a specific situation.
Grammar, Plot, and Other Technical-Type Stuff. Plot is lovely. Grammar is lovely. Please use lots of both! I like to use 3rd person in past tense, and would prefer my partners did the same. I'd also like to have a partner willing to throw out ideas and conflict about as much as I am-- but that's always been part of the get-to-know-you ritual. I also like to get together on an IM (I usually use Skype) to discuss plot and characters ahead of time, as well as friendly OOC chatter.
Writing Sample (Polished). Also known as, about as good as I get. This was written for a novel I'm pretty close to finishing.
I'm a little older than most of the people I've seen on this site so far (32 at the moment), and while I'm new to RP Nation, I've been writing and RPing for a long, long, long time. The sort of long-time where family friends look concerned and ask, "So... you're still doing that, huh?"
So. A bit about me, and what I'm looking for.
Personality. Easy going and friendly, happy to chat OOC, lots of imagination. I'm a little picky about my RPs, but I'm always happy to chat about the possibility.
I would prefer my partners to be a bit close to me in age, but that's not set in stone.Styles & Genres. I love original fantasy! You name it. Icy wasteland ancient-Rome flavored subterranean low fantasy, standard medieval fantasy, cloud-city high fantasy, magical scifi, steampunk. Particular weaknesses include political intrigue and twists on conventional settings.
I don't do fandoms, except for D&D and Pathfinder type settings. ... I like drow. I like drow a lot. Sneaky, back-stabbing bastards. :pats affectionately:
Dislikes. Angst. Drama. Romance for the sake of romance (I keep it as a subplot or a motivator at most, and I'm not much of a slash fan).
I also tend to dislike vampires, since angst, drama, and romance is usually all they do... but give me a vampire that's about to summon an Elder God by sacrificing a building full of girls he lured in with his good looks... I'll be all over it.
Characters. ... I have lots. Dozens. Maybe even hundreds. I tried to write them all down once, and I remembered about sixty off the top of my head. Men. Women. Shape-shifting gelatinous monsters. Mages. Mad scientists. Professional heroes. Assassins. A pacifist sharpshooter. A cheerful, snarky necromancer. A woman who can turn sand to gold. I like them a bit quirky, a little contradictory, and always well developed.
Post Length. I could probably write another book out of my post-length requirement rant. I firmly believe that being able to ramble on and on with purple prose doesn't make you a better writer, or gamer. It kills literary pacing, it destroys the efficiency of dialog, it obscures a well-written introductory text. No post length requirements.
What I would prefer is the ability to write several pages on your own, the skill to deliver a one-liner with panache, and the discrepancy to know which would be better given a specific situation.
Grammar, Plot, and Other Technical-Type Stuff. Plot is lovely. Grammar is lovely. Please use lots of both! I like to use 3rd person in past tense, and would prefer my partners did the same. I'd also like to have a partner willing to throw out ideas and conflict about as much as I am-- but that's always been part of the get-to-know-you ritual. I also like to get together on an IM (I usually use Skype) to discuss plot and characters ahead of time, as well as friendly OOC chatter.
Writing Sample (Polished). Also known as, about as good as I get. This was written for a novel I'm pretty close to finishing.
When Gideon was a young man, reminders of his own mistakes could keep him up at night. A careless word, an embarrassing misstep, little things that no one else would recall. They jabbed like pins: sharp and small, insignificant and painful.
At nearly fifty-two hundred years of age, Gideon no longer felt the prickle of pins. He felt ocean waves of needles lapping against his shoulders; a constant bed of nails that, all together, made old regrets a familiar and dull ache. He regretted things he didn’t even remember any longer. Their phantoms lived in certain smells, colors, textures, but what association they once had had been long forgotten. This was what it meant to be old.
That first story, though, the one that had damned him forever… that wound still sat fresh and raw, and he did not like admitting what he had once been to anyone, much less
her
.
Gideon’s wife Wyrren watched as he trailed off, her machete loose in her hand and her pace slow as she listened. There would be a day, Gideon knew, when she finally understood what a monster he was, when he finally confessed to some sin that would strip the love from her eyes. Every time he told her a story like that one, every time he saw her reading his diary, he feared that day had come… but her free hand still clutched his arm, and her eyes remained intent and soft.
Writing Sample (Not Polished). This is the sort of thing you're much more likely to get if you RP with me. I think this took me about ten minutes to write, for an RP I'm doing on another site.
She came limping, in the early hours of the morning, over mounds of spiked grass and marshland puddles, mud sucking her feet down past the ankles with every pace. She came bleeding from the mouth and nose, red washed over her white chin, a slash on her arm that had broken dress and skin. And she came with the sounds of dogs barking at the distance, and despite the violet swelling of her ankle she limped and fought and struggled through as fast as she could go whether it hurt or not. A long trail of dead plants extended behind her, a clear trail showing exactly where she had gone to anyone behind.
She made for the treeline and pulled her way along, bloody blonde hair clinging to her cheeks and her heart pounding faster than she could ever run, her lungs aching with every strained gasp. Trees meant firmer earth away from the salt-marsh. They meant better footing. They might even mean a place free from underbrush, and without underbrush, Wyrren’s visible trail would disappear, and perhaps the dogs could be fooled. They were louder, now. Panic projected them to be twenty feet away, reason said half a mile and closing in, and neither comforted her. Trees. She had to reach the trees.
And then she tugged at her swollen ankle, and before she’d extracted it from the mire, she lost her balance. She heard a snap– like the crack of a carrot.
She fell face-first in the mud and gasped in pain, water and earth against her lips and hands grasping to claw herself out.
Now she only crawled.
Story Starters. This is a non-comprehensive list of story hooks and starters that have worked for me in the past.
SO! That's about it. Poke me if you're interested!
At nearly fifty-two hundred years of age, Gideon no longer felt the prickle of pins. He felt ocean waves of needles lapping against his shoulders; a constant bed of nails that, all together, made old regrets a familiar and dull ache. He regretted things he didn’t even remember any longer. Their phantoms lived in certain smells, colors, textures, but what association they once had had been long forgotten. This was what it meant to be old.
That first story, though, the one that had damned him forever… that wound still sat fresh and raw, and he did not like admitting what he had once been to anyone, much less
her
.
Gideon’s wife Wyrren watched as he trailed off, her machete loose in her hand and her pace slow as she listened. There would be a day, Gideon knew, when she finally understood what a monster he was, when he finally confessed to some sin that would strip the love from her eyes. Every time he told her a story like that one, every time he saw her reading his diary, he feared that day had come… but her free hand still clutched his arm, and her eyes remained intent and soft.
Writing Sample (Not Polished). This is the sort of thing you're much more likely to get if you RP with me. I think this took me about ten minutes to write, for an RP I'm doing on another site.
She came limping, in the early hours of the morning, over mounds of spiked grass and marshland puddles, mud sucking her feet down past the ankles with every pace. She came bleeding from the mouth and nose, red washed over her white chin, a slash on her arm that had broken dress and skin. And she came with the sounds of dogs barking at the distance, and despite the violet swelling of her ankle she limped and fought and struggled through as fast as she could go whether it hurt or not. A long trail of dead plants extended behind her, a clear trail showing exactly where she had gone to anyone behind.
She made for the treeline and pulled her way along, bloody blonde hair clinging to her cheeks and her heart pounding faster than she could ever run, her lungs aching with every strained gasp. Trees meant firmer earth away from the salt-marsh. They meant better footing. They might even mean a place free from underbrush, and without underbrush, Wyrren’s visible trail would disappear, and perhaps the dogs could be fooled. They were louder, now. Panic projected them to be twenty feet away, reason said half a mile and closing in, and neither comforted her. Trees. She had to reach the trees.
And then she tugged at her swollen ankle, and before she’d extracted it from the mire, she lost her balance. She heard a snap– like the crack of a carrot.
She fell face-first in the mud and gasped in pain, water and earth against her lips and hands grasping to claw herself out.
Now she only crawled.
Story Starters. This is a non-comprehensive list of story hooks and starters that have worked for me in the past.
- The Colony - A mix of male and female characters wake with a bad headache, a crude shelter, several boxes of supplies, and no idea where they are or how they got there. The ringed moon overhead might be a clue, though…
This one can go several directions– I’m fond of the apocalyptic preserve, in which the characters are eventually returned to earth after the end of the world. Or maybe a mad sociologist just wanted to see what would happen.
- The Time Traver’s Quality Control Department - Time travel IS possible! We just have no idea how to calibrate the damn controls. So if you ever manage to get back to the present, our scientists would love to see your notes. Be aware that being chased by dinosaurs is no excuse for sloppy documentation.
- Greed - Lady Wyrren Jadis can turn sand into gold, and there’s no lack of people who like gold. Even good men get desperate.
This is my most open-ended starter: Wyrren can be a lady, a queen, or an exile; she comes with a facial disfigurement (or not); and she’s useful for everything from rare materials to espionage to stolen technology to political alliance. She can be hunted or rescued. She has the ability to look very much like a villain-- dying plants all around her and a gift for necromancy.
SO! That's about it. Poke me if you're interested!
