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coffee_and_art on 2009.12.07 at 15:03
peripatetic in coffee_and_art on 2009.12.07 at 15:03
Title: Bill's, A Neighborhood Bar
Author: Louisiana-Lady1937
Genre: General
Rating: PG
Warnings: Characters smoke, drink and occasionally use coarse language.
Critique: quick look
Summary: An open-ended effort to relieve myself of the need to write
Authors note: Pulled this out of my blog, it did not really belong there. I still need to continue the pleasure of creating new chapters for “Bill’s a neighborhood bar” from time to time so this is an open-ended continuing work in progress. I am more in touch with reality than to assume for even a moment any of this could be construed as writings deserving of being published, or an effort deserving the adding of ‘author’ to my bin of adjectives I browse through, dust off and present to the moment. I did not do any cleanup on these chapters, all the flaws, loose ends and examples of miserable writing skills are as they came when retrieved from my blog. I did assign chapter numbers where they were missing from the blog entry and deleted tags and repeats of titles.
(Intentions of mine when I started this writing adventure)
Here is the answer I came up with as how to write about places, people, and events taking place over the span of my life that if left to stand-alone did not satisfy my need to be verbose in my writing. Here I combine facts, real people, places, and events with fiction and “knockoff” versions of reality.
Note: 12/04/09 as it is turning out this is almost pure fiction, fed with only vague shadows of any realities I may have passed through during the course of my life. I wanted to be someone else in this effort. I am all women, yet chose a man as the key player, as men seem to move about more freely in the world, as I see it anyway. I chose the neighborhood bar as a base and springboard for developing “JJ.”
I have no idea how long this series will be.
<*lj-cut text="Bill's, A Neighborhood Bar"*>
Chapter 1
Bill:
It did not take me long after I moved into town to find a good bar and a good bartender that ran it. Bill was his name; I never did find out his last name, nor did he find out mine, as the years past and we became friends.
The first time I ever walked into the bar and before I even knew he was both the owner and bartender, I saw him at the jukebox having a quiet but hard toned conversation with another man. One guy was holding a 45- rpm record and the other guy was pointing back and forth from the record to the jukebox with one hand while rubbing one side of his face with the other. I walked on by and as I moved, further into the place, my eyes adjusted to the dark. Straight ahead of me at the back was a sign that said Gents and I headed towards it. I made room for a drink or two and while I was rinsing my hands off made an assumption that he kept a clean place as the restroom was immaculate, a hard task to accomplish in a small neighborhood bar; the rest of the place was really too dark to tell for sure. I sat down at the end of the bar facing the door and quietly waited. Finally, the guy holding the record put it in an empty slot in the jukebox, shrugged his shoulders, closed the jukebox door, picked up a clipboard, and shoved it at the other man to sign. Once this task was completed, he cast the other man a dirty look and left. I was about to leave as well when the finger pointing, face rubbing man went behind the bar and approached me with a sheepish grin. “Sorry I had to make him understand if that record leaves this place so does the jukebox that held it.” “Must be a special record “I said. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a quarter with a red stripe painted on it and held out his hand for me to take it. “Find out for yourself, it # 23 and what will you have? As I took the quarter and got up from the barstool, I said “Always Crown Royal with tall water back.” Song # 23 turned out to be Jo Stafford singing ‘You Belong to me’. Down the line, I learned why Bill loved that song. In the upcoming years, I came to know every word of the song as well as I knew my own name.
I slide the quarter into the slot on the front of the jukebox and watched as the lights came on. As I found #23, I realized the plastic buttons were more worn than the others were. A dead give away it got a lot of play. I started back and got a better look at Bill as he finished my drink and placed it on the counter. Black rubber soled shoes, light brown wrinkled pants, a black belt, and a loose fitting powder blue shirt over his thick heavy bull like upper frame made up his outfit. A bar towel slung over one shoulder was as close to a bar keeps uniform as he ever got. He had a full head of silver hair and silver eyebrows over brown deep-set eyes. A prominent nose and full lips fit well with a large full chinned face. As he turned back towards me the left side of his face became fully visible. A long deep saber shaped scar ran from the corner of his ear almost to the edge of chin; that was what he had been rubbing while he was at the jukebox earlier. My curiosity could wait I knew I would learn about the scar sometime later. About 20 minutes later I finished my drink, said see you later, and left. I was setting down roots in a new neighborhood
<*/lj-cut*>
Author: Louisiana-Lady1937
Genre: General
Rating: PG
Warnings: Characters smoke, drink and occasionally use coarse language.
Critique: quick look
Summary: An open-ended effort to relieve myself of the need to write
Authors note: Pulled this out of my blog, it did not really belong there. I still need to continue the pleasure of creating new chapters for “Bill’s a neighborhood bar” from time to time so this is an open-ended continuing work in progress. I am more in touch with reality than to assume for even a moment any of this could be construed as writings deserving of being published, or an effort deserving the adding of ‘author’ to my bin of adjectives I browse through, dust off and present to the moment. I did not do any cleanup on these chapters, all the flaws, loose ends and examples of miserable writing skills are as they came when retrieved from my blog. I did assign chapter numbers where they were missing from the blog entry and deleted tags and repeats of titles.
(Intentions of mine when I started this writing adventure)
Here is the answer I came up with as how to write about places, people, and events taking place over the span of my life that if left to stand-alone did not satisfy my need to be verbose in my writing. Here I combine facts, real people, places, and events with fiction and “knockoff” versions of reality.
Note: 12/04/09 as it is turning out this is almost pure fiction, fed with only vague shadows of any realities I may have passed through during the course of my life. I wanted to be someone else in this effort. I am all women, yet chose a man as the key player, as men seem to move about more freely in the world, as I see it anyway. I chose the neighborhood bar as a base and springboard for developing “JJ.”
I have no idea how long this series will be.
<*lj-cut text="Bill's, A Neighborhood Bar"*>
Chapter 1
Bill:
It did not take me long after I moved into town to find a good bar and a good bartender that ran it. Bill was his name; I never did find out his last name, nor did he find out mine, as the years past and we became friends.
The first time I ever walked into the bar and before I even knew he was both the owner and bartender, I saw him at the jukebox having a quiet but hard toned conversation with another man. One guy was holding a 45- rpm record and the other guy was pointing back and forth from the record to the jukebox with one hand while rubbing one side of his face with the other. I walked on by and as I moved, further into the place, my eyes adjusted to the dark. Straight ahead of me at the back was a sign that said Gents and I headed towards it. I made room for a drink or two and while I was rinsing my hands off made an assumption that he kept a clean place as the restroom was immaculate, a hard task to accomplish in a small neighborhood bar; the rest of the place was really too dark to tell for sure. I sat down at the end of the bar facing the door and quietly waited. Finally, the guy holding the record put it in an empty slot in the jukebox, shrugged his shoulders, closed the jukebox door, picked up a clipboard, and shoved it at the other man to sign. Once this task was completed, he cast the other man a dirty look and left. I was about to leave as well when the finger pointing, face rubbing man went behind the bar and approached me with a sheepish grin. “Sorry I had to make him understand if that record leaves this place so does the jukebox that held it.” “Must be a special record “I said. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a quarter with a red stripe painted on it and held out his hand for me to take it. “Find out for yourself, it # 23 and what will you have? As I took the quarter and got up from the barstool, I said “Always Crown Royal with tall water back.” Song # 23 turned out to be Jo Stafford singing ‘You Belong to me’. Down the line, I learned why Bill loved that song. In the upcoming years, I came to know every word of the song as well as I knew my own name.
I slide the quarter into the slot on the front of the jukebox and watched as the lights came on. As I found #23, I realized the plastic buttons were more worn than the others were. A dead give away it got a lot of play. I started back and got a better look at Bill as he finished my drink and placed it on the counter. Black rubber soled shoes, light brown wrinkled pants, a black belt, and a loose fitting powder blue shirt over his thick heavy bull like upper frame made up his outfit. A bar towel slung over one shoulder was as close to a bar keeps uniform as he ever got. He had a full head of silver hair and silver eyebrows over brown deep-set eyes. A prominent nose and full lips fit well with a large full chinned face. As he turned back towards me the left side of his face became fully visible. A long deep saber shaped scar ran from the corner of his ear almost to the edge of chin; that was what he had been rubbing while he was at the jukebox earlier. My curiosity could wait I knew I would learn about the scar sometime later. About 20 minutes later I finished my drink, said see you later, and left. I was setting down roots in a new neighborhood
<*/lj-cut*>
This week's new members:
stinker_1, quietpleasure, taewakan, eezled, timberwolf62792, missrubicund, redtigress74, incompl_te31, envirion, koizumi_miwa, marshgreencohen, sarcasm_410, sarcasm_410Welcome to Creative Writer!
This is your official welcome mat, an introduction to the fun which is our
community and an entreaty for you to join in.
How does it work?
Creative Writer is an online version of a writers' group. While writing
itself is usually a solitary occupation, what all writers need is contact
with other people who can give feedback, answer questions and, as with all
professions, provide guidance and a learning environment. While all artists
create their work, they can't create in a vacuum.
A writers group provides that environment. Here you are able to post
excerpts from your work and receive feedback, here you can learn from other
writers, here you can contribute to others, here is a safe place to grow
your talent.
So welcome to Creative Writer! Jump in, have some fun, any questions, feel
free to ask at any time.
( A little history )
( Community calendar )
( Rules for this community )
( How to make an LJ-cut )
-o-o-o-
Have fun and here's to great writing!
Windcharmer & Ayoub
(your local Creative Writer facilitators)
42 Essential 3rd Act Twists
Posted byysabetwordsmith in creativewriter on 2009.12.01 at 10:50
Feelings:
busy
I bet some of you could've used this last week! Anyhow, here is a list of bizarre plot twists across several genres, courtesy of haikujaguar.
Writing exercise:
1) Roll 2d6. Count from the top down for the first die. Count from the left rightward for the second die. Make a note of the plot twist.
2) Roll 2d6. Count from the bottom up, then from the right leftward. Note the plot twist.
3) Roll 2d6. Count from the top down, then bottom up. Make a note of the plot twist.
4) Use all three of those plot twists, in that order, in a story or poem. Emergency backup: if you can't make #3 work, try counting from the opposite directions to generate a different twist for the finale.
haikujaguar.Writing exercise:
1) Roll 2d6. Count from the top down for the first die. Count from the left rightward for the second die. Make a note of the plot twist.
2) Roll 2d6. Count from the bottom up, then from the right leftward. Note the plot twist.
3) Roll 2d6. Count from the top down, then bottom up. Make a note of the plot twist.
4) Use all three of those plot twists, in that order, in a story or poem. Emergency backup: if you can't make #3 work, try counting from the opposite directions to generate a different twist for the finale.
hermionehp5972 in creativewriter on 2009.11.29 at 22:06
Feelings:
enthralled
Sounds: A Gondola Ride In Paris - The Messenger
Title: The Deadly Itch (more like working title)
Author:hermionehp5972
Genre: Horror
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Gross-ness. There's no violence or blood, more just disturbing images.
Critique: Yes, please. :) Be as harsh as you like.
Summary: A woman wakes up to a strange feeling, and then finds something terribly wrong with all the living beings she encounters.
Author's Note: This is unedited, just a spontaneous thing, so it's not going to be perfect and I know that. Please keep that in mind as you read.
( Read more... )
Author:
hermionehp5972 Genre: Horror
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Gross-ness. There's no violence or blood, more just disturbing images.
Critique: Yes, please. :) Be as harsh as you like.
Summary: A woman wakes up to a strange feeling, and then finds something terribly wrong with all the living beings she encounters.
Author's Note: This is unedited, just a spontaneous thing, so it's not going to be perfect and I know that. Please keep that in mind as you read.
( Read more... )
colddiscover_sarah in creativewriter on 2009.11.29 at 22:46
Title: The fire lingers
Author:discover_sarah
Contains : Homosexual material
Summary: Two lovers, falling in and out of love. Love turns to hate and remorse. How do they deal with it?
( The light from across the street shun through the bedroom window. The empty street that was once filled with kids laughter and vehicles roaming about during the day. Now filled with silence as other people fall deep in their slumber. Amy took a deep breath and sat on the floor next to the bed. She looked around the room and felt the walls were closing in on her. The memories that they shared echoed from every inch of the cold hard surface of the room. She leaned her back on the wall and then a flashback of Isabelle's laughter rang in her mind. “I love you Amy,” Isabelle said as they both lay on the floor at the same exact spot almost a year ago. The words echoed in her ears. Both of her hands were covering her ears. I love you, the three words that had poisoned her mind and driven her to insanity. She wanted to leave the room but an image of Isabelle was standing at the entrance door, another flashback. Isabelle was filing her nails, her semi curl red hair dropped over her shoulder. Her deep green eyes shifted her attention from her nails towards Amy's direction. Amy was mesmerized by her beauty and felt her body frozen in time wishing that the fragment of her imagination was real. Just like a ghost, the image of Isabelle disappeared into thin air just as she was getting nearer to Amy. She fell to her knees and weeped for her lost lover. The air was thick and the windows were closed shut. The lack of fresh air in in the room was choking her and she was grasping to breathe. Amy's heart was beating really fast, sweats began to appear on her face, her lips were dry and she felt that the room was spinning around. Could this be another one of her panic attacks? The content of her stomach was churning inside her. She ran to the bathroom and knelt next to the toilet vomiting out everything. Turning on the tap water at the sink, she washed her face trying to calm herself down. Her hands were trembling. The sound of the water going down the drain was the only thing that broke the silence of the empty house. “ There's nothing wrong with me. I just need time to think and deal with this. Just give me time and I'll be fine,” the voice of Isabelle took Amy back into the past again. Isabelle was sitting in the bathtub staring hard at her hands that were fiddling around with the bubble foam floating on the surface of the water. “I just wish you could tell me what's been going through your mind. You have been acting weird lately. Have I done or said anything wrong?” The sound of Amy's own voice startled her. Standing at the corner of the bathroom was an image of herself looking frustrated while talking to Isabelle. Amy saw herself walking towards where Isabelle was and grabbed her arm. “You don't even make love to me anymore. Why can't you tell me?” she heard herself raising her voice and then started to sob. Isabelle ignored Amy's plea. Her eyes were full of emptiness. Amy ran out of the bathroom. The memories were vivid and felt fresh as if it they only happened yesterday. She couldn't bear to be in the bathroom as she felt like a child trapped in between her parents fighting. She opened the medicine drawer of the side table next to bed and frantically searched for her container of Valium. Hoping to regain a grip of her sanity, she took out two pills and swallowed them. The night grew darker and Amy was consumed by fear, insecurities and betrayal. It had been two hours since the incident and she had not left the house. She picked up the phone and wanted to dial the emergency numbers but she hesitated. What would people think of her? How could she explained why it took so long for her to call someone? She lied on the bed and started to wonder when did this all had happened. Three weeks ago, she discovered that her life was not as beautiful as it seems. The rain drops fell on her skin like shattered glass cutting her up to the bone. She stood outside their house watching her unfaithful lover with another man. The cold treatment, the hesitation and the secrets started to unravel. Unfolding themselves to bear the painful truth. Isabelle was standing outside their door begging for forgiveness. Amy had packed Isabelle's belonging and threw them out the front door. Isabelle tried to explain that it was a mistake and it was Amy that she ever wanted and loved but Amy didn't want to hear any more lies and excuses. She had enough and couldn't bear the heartache anymore. “I'm sorry. I love you,” Isabelle cried on the other side of the door. Amy sat on the other side reminding herself that she needed to be strong. Isabelle's cries soon stopped and then a sound of a moving car. Even then she refused to open the door. Afraid that the reality might hit her sooner than she expected, Isabelle was longer there to hold her near. Amy sobbed as she stared at the ceiling. She turned to look at Isabelle's lifeless body next to hers. The bed was soaked with blood leaving the sheet damp and tainted. She hold Isabelle's cold face in her hand and gently kissed the lips. She didn't want to carry the guilt throughout her life of what had happened. A note left on the bed side signed with Isabelle's name on it. Sorry seemed to be the most simplified explanation for everything. Amy searched through the house for any flammable liquid and poured them all over the house. Making sure that almost every inch of the house was covered by it so everything would be engulfed by the flame. She lit a match and threw it on the floor. Flame started to burn everything in it's path as Amy made her way back into their bedroom. She took a last look around trying to reminisce all of the good memories they shared together. She held Isabelle's lifeless hand and picked up the gun next to her lover's body. The smoke grew thicker and Amy could feel the heat of the flame on her skin. She can hear the crackle of the burning house and it was getting harder for to breathe. At least this way, both of them can spend eternity together. It has always been Isabelle's wish to be cremated. Amy smiled. She took the end of the gun and put in her mouth and whispered I love you too. Her grip on Isabelle's hand grew tighter. One last deep breath, she pulled the trigger and her lifeless body fell next to her lover's. The fire burnt down the house as the lovers lied next to each other. )
Author:
discover_sarah Contains : Homosexual material
Summary: Two lovers, falling in and out of love. Love turns to hate and remorse. How do they deal with it?
( The light from across the street shun through the bedroom window. The empty street that was once filled with kids laughter and vehicles roaming about during the day. Now filled with silence as other people fall deep in their slumber. Amy took a deep breath and sat on the floor next to the bed. She looked around the room and felt the walls were closing in on her. The memories that they shared echoed from every inch of the cold hard surface of the room. She leaned her back on the wall and then a flashback of Isabelle's laughter rang in her mind. “I love you Amy,” Isabelle said as they both lay on the floor at the same exact spot almost a year ago. The words echoed in her ears. Both of her hands were covering her ears. I love you, the three words that had poisoned her mind and driven her to insanity. She wanted to leave the room but an image of Isabelle was standing at the entrance door, another flashback. Isabelle was filing her nails, her semi curl red hair dropped over her shoulder. Her deep green eyes shifted her attention from her nails towards Amy's direction. Amy was mesmerized by her beauty and felt her body frozen in time wishing that the fragment of her imagination was real. Just like a ghost, the image of Isabelle disappeared into thin air just as she was getting nearer to Amy. She fell to her knees and weeped for her lost lover. The air was thick and the windows were closed shut. The lack of fresh air in in the room was choking her and she was grasping to breathe. Amy's heart was beating really fast, sweats began to appear on her face, her lips were dry and she felt that the room was spinning around. Could this be another one of her panic attacks? The content of her stomach was churning inside her. She ran to the bathroom and knelt next to the toilet vomiting out everything. Turning on the tap water at the sink, she washed her face trying to calm herself down. Her hands were trembling. The sound of the water going down the drain was the only thing that broke the silence of the empty house. “ There's nothing wrong with me. I just need time to think and deal with this. Just give me time and I'll be fine,” the voice of Isabelle took Amy back into the past again. Isabelle was sitting in the bathtub staring hard at her hands that were fiddling around with the bubble foam floating on the surface of the water. “I just wish you could tell me what's been going through your mind. You have been acting weird lately. Have I done or said anything wrong?” The sound of Amy's own voice startled her. Standing at the corner of the bathroom was an image of herself looking frustrated while talking to Isabelle. Amy saw herself walking towards where Isabelle was and grabbed her arm. “You don't even make love to me anymore. Why can't you tell me?” she heard herself raising her voice and then started to sob. Isabelle ignored Amy's plea. Her eyes were full of emptiness. Amy ran out of the bathroom. The memories were vivid and felt fresh as if it they only happened yesterday. She couldn't bear to be in the bathroom as she felt like a child trapped in between her parents fighting. She opened the medicine drawer of the side table next to bed and frantically searched for her container of Valium. Hoping to regain a grip of her sanity, she took out two pills and swallowed them. The night grew darker and Amy was consumed by fear, insecurities and betrayal. It had been two hours since the incident and she had not left the house. She picked up the phone and wanted to dial the emergency numbers but she hesitated. What would people think of her? How could she explained why it took so long for her to call someone? She lied on the bed and started to wonder when did this all had happened. Three weeks ago, she discovered that her life was not as beautiful as it seems. The rain drops fell on her skin like shattered glass cutting her up to the bone. She stood outside their house watching her unfaithful lover with another man. The cold treatment, the hesitation and the secrets started to unravel. Unfolding themselves to bear the painful truth. Isabelle was standing outside their door begging for forgiveness. Amy had packed Isabelle's belonging and threw them out the front door. Isabelle tried to explain that it was a mistake and it was Amy that she ever wanted and loved but Amy didn't want to hear any more lies and excuses. She had enough and couldn't bear the heartache anymore. “I'm sorry. I love you,” Isabelle cried on the other side of the door. Amy sat on the other side reminding herself that she needed to be strong. Isabelle's cries soon stopped and then a sound of a moving car. Even then she refused to open the door. Afraid that the reality might hit her sooner than she expected, Isabelle was longer there to hold her near. Amy sobbed as she stared at the ceiling. She turned to look at Isabelle's lifeless body next to hers. The bed was soaked with blood leaving the sheet damp and tainted. She hold Isabelle's cold face in her hand and gently kissed the lips. She didn't want to carry the guilt throughout her life of what had happened. A note left on the bed side signed with Isabelle's name on it. Sorry seemed to be the most simplified explanation for everything. Amy searched through the house for any flammable liquid and poured them all over the house. Making sure that almost every inch of the house was covered by it so everything would be engulfed by the flame. She lit a match and threw it on the floor. Flame started to burn everything in it's path as Amy made her way back into their bedroom. She took a last look around trying to reminisce all of the good memories they shared together. She held Isabelle's lifeless hand and picked up the gun next to her lover's body. The smoke grew thicker and Amy could feel the heat of the flame on her skin. She can hear the crackle of the burning house and it was getting harder for to breathe. At least this way, both of them can spend eternity together. It has always been Isabelle's wish to be cremated. Amy smiled. She took the end of the gun and put in her mouth and whispered I love you too. Her grip on Isabelle's hand grew tighter. One last deep breath, she pulled the trigger and her lifeless body fell next to her lover's. The fire burnt down the house as the lovers lied next to each other. )
quickestpulse in creativewriter on 2009.11.29 at 11:47
Title: Click
Author:quickestpulse
Genre: You tell me?
Rating: PG
Warnings: Contains homosexual themes
Critique: Yes, give it your worst! Chew it up and spit me out :)
Summary: Let's not spoil it ;)
Authors note: Thanks in advance for any comments. Be harsh with your critique and enjoy :)
( Read more... )
Author:
quickestpulse Genre: You tell me?
Rating: PG
Warnings: Contains homosexual themes
Critique: Yes, give it your worst! Chew it up and spit me out :)
Summary: Let's not spoil it ;)
Authors note: Thanks in advance for any comments. Be harsh with your critique and enjoy :)
( Read more... )
meimei82 in coffee_and_art on 2009.11.28 at 20:17
This week's new members:
thorbridge, ammonite7, quickestpulse, teacup_romance, marionetteblue2, graverobbing, uriee, auroraluna1, sparks_582, 00_i_am_girl_00, wishblood_wolf, flavorthefaithWelcome to Creative Writer!
This is your official welcome mat, an introduction to the fun which is our
community and an entreaty for you to join in.
How does it work?
Creative Writer is an online version of a writers' group. While writing
itself is usually a solitary occupation, what all writers need is contact
with other people who can give feedback, answer questions and, as with all
professions, provide guidance and a learning environment. While all artists
create their work, they can't create in a vacuum.
A writers group provides that environment. Here you are able to post
excerpts from your work and receive feedback, here you can learn from other
writers, here you can contribute to others, here is a safe place to grow
your talent.
So welcome to Creative Writer! Jump in, have some fun, any questions, feel
free to ask at any time.
( A little history )
( Community calendar )
( Rules for this community )
( How to make an LJ-cut )
-o-o-o-
Have fun and here's to great writing!
Windcharmer & Ayoub
(your local Creative Writer facilitators)
captain_melted in coffee_and_art on 2009.11.27 at 16:35
creative