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3 yrs ago
Current I remember being on this website all the time. Where does the time go
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4 yrs ago
Buying GF with Fall Guys crowns please pm me if interested
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4 yrs ago
I'm going to beat you to death
4 yrs ago
Today on bottom gear
4 yrs ago
Dear diary, I shat myself to destroy the libs.
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<Snipped quote by Bluetommy>
People who write as an artform don't exactly make books like 1984, at any rate. They're using and abusing literature in different ways, and the most common form to show this with is poetry.


Any writing is art. Literature and poetry are both equally art, and writing in prose is writing as an art form.
"Don't use said," phrased in that way, is inherently bad advise. "Said" is not only a fine word, but needlessly forcing yourself not to use it is not only an exercise in frustration and futility, but also incredibly obnoxious.

Ask yourself this: Why are you writing? If the answer is "To make art" then, yes, you should absolutely avoid 'said'


These two statements, they kinda contradict each other.

I'm also going to say that if someone is writing "to make art" they're doing it for the wrong reasons. You shouldn't write to make art, you should write to express something that has meaning to you, regardless of how "artsy" that is. I've never met someone who reads books for the prose, its about the story and the message, regardless of how that's presented. I don't think it's about mass appeal or trying to be popular, because if using simple prose made things more popular then Ayn Rand wouldn't have so many fans. Some of the best fiction doesn't do anything extraordinary with its prose. 1984 has very basic prose when you look at it but that doesn't make it any less emotionally draining a read.

It comes down to individual style in these situations, unless someone is using "said" after every single statement to the point that its noticeable it really doesn't matter how much they use it, unless someone completely refuses to imply and puts everything out in words show don't tell is an individual style thing.

Honestly in my opinion the worst writing advice is... all of it. Writing isn't like architecture where there are specific rules and specifications that you have to set out for your product to be accepted. I think about it this way, Picasso's paintings are horrible anatomically, none of his human figures are drawn realistically, but criticizing Picasso for not drawing good people is useless because drawing anatomically correct people isn't his art style.

Writing is creativity, it's an artistic exercise, people have styles and those styles may not appeal to you. That's not the fault of the writer and you shouldn't expect them to change to fit your wants. There is no objectivity, there is only popular opinion, and a lot of times popular opinion stinks.

But that's just my opinion.
In Sentaku 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay




Forest of Death! It was happening! Totally happening right now! Hirameki was ready, he was pumped, he was fast, he was quick, he had trained for this, and now he and his teammates would be right on top! He'd tried to get them to strategize earlier but he'd been interrupted. Thankfully he was smart enough to strategize on his own and come up with a game plan. He was such a good ninja. It was frustrating that his teammates couldn't recognize that. He bounced on his heels and did some controlled breathing as preparation, palming his fist and exhaling slowly.

"Okay, team!" Hirameki yelled out in an authoritative tone, holding one hand out and placing the other on his hip. "We have to plan! We have to have a strategy, the other teams will destroy us if we're not prepared, and as good as I am, I can't do it without you guys!" Hirameki admitted with shocking humility. He was arrogant, but he was also realistic, at least that's what he was aiming for. Hopefully his team would actually work with him here, even if he doubted it.

"I vote that I distract and then you guys take em out! I get their attention and screw them up, then you guys can fight them off! You guys are the muscle, I'm the brains!"





Shannon Tower, in the heart of Keystone City, a beautiful image of the family's quest to improve lives through technology as their PR put it. The family's conglomerated holdings generated enough revenue to do exactly that, but the old guard who held the top positions refused that, not in the business of making people's lives better truly, what an absurd idea. The scion, however, James Michael Shannon was opposed to that, he saw the good they could be doing, and though he himself was rather unable to do so, he had found a way to do just that.

A flash of lightning parted the curtain of darkness, revealing the city's many cracks and windows, as well as something that didn't belong. God revealing one of his billions of sons as the absurd oddity he was, crouched atop a building as the rain ran down his shining armored form. The start of something greater, one could hope. For now it was merely one lunatic hoping to find some meaning in his survival.

"Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might, amen," the fool prayed, that one empowerment allowed to him in these trying times, these times of strife and misery. He was not alone in purpose and will, but in environment alone was the only word that rang true, even if by the technical definition he was not.

Beneath a glass ceiling and next to a pool of equally unspoiled and tainted water were men of lower purpose, trading in things that destroy the mind and rot at the body. Those things god disapproves of, but god can forgive easily, not so easily forgiven is the violation of god's commandment; thous shalt not kill, and in the minds below, one of the men in the room was already dead. A trap sprung without mechanism, a murder plotted as a screenplay.

The signal was made, hands met as substances were traded, but then didn't part, a face of shock, a drawing of a gun, then a crash and the soft twinkling of glass hitting ground and splashing into water. A dark shape crashed onto the floor in front of them, but before they could fire upon it the waters behind exploded as if a fountain. A split second of invisibility, a firing of two rubber bullets, a headbutt and a broken wrist, and the figure stood atop a neutralized opponent, faced by the remaining two, supine as they were. One raced for his weapon to put an end to this confrontation only to meet holy justice at the bottom of his opponent's boot. The last man gave whatever god he worshipped some prayers, good, then turned to run. The dark agent of God was too fast, and suspended him against a wall with his arms.

"You will be a good man, you will leave this life, you've seen how it ends. God has preserved you, now do as he wills, live."

"Y-yes sir I... I will! Please don't hurt me!"

The man was dropped, left to do as he pleased, the rest restrained and left for the police. One good deed done, not a worthy repayment for the life Paul had been given. The night was young, and death was restless. He would be disappointed.
Alright I'm itenerested
The girl tried to claim that she was only laughing herself to tears, but it would take a moron to fall for that, and Aurora De Valera was no moron. She stared at the girl in bemusement as she went through some "villainous monologue", eventually rolling her eyes and pulling her notebook.

"Note to self, pale little girl is a crybaby," she said very audibly, letting her know that she was not falling for the act at all. "But like, seriously dude, I don't care if you're crying, if you're cool regardless I'm not gonna mind." She gave the girl an out, getting a sense that it wasn't going to be taken.

"Anyway, I'm not crying, and I'm dressed in a swimsuit, which is super bogus. So like, no reason to do that," she said, gesturing to her swimsuit, her unclothed arms and legs, and bringing attention especially to a reddening sunburn on her shoulder. She looked over as the rest of them got to talking, but ignored them for the moment. Looking at her notebook for a moment, then scribbling in it.

"I could copy some clothes, but keeping them around would take a lot of stamina..." she started mumbling to herself as her hand continued scribbling away. "I think I should just bear it for now, there's always shade to find somewhere..."
Alright Alf. Lemme see about this.

How many people are playing non-powered heroes
Aurora continued watching the other beachgoers, pen and pad in hand. She was so enthralled that when the storm began she was taken by surprise. She quickly tried to write down what was happening, she just needed to get it down, then she could cut it away, right? She might pass out, but she wouldn't get wet. Wait... that's a little more than a storm.

Uh oh.




Aurora groaned and pushed herself to her knees, her mind taking a moment to scan her surroundings. She could tell from a glance that this wasn't the beach that she'd just been on... yesterday? Whatever, it was different, she was observant enough to notice. How totally bogus. How'd she even get here? Was it that storm?

Woah, she wasn't alone, a bunch of the people she'd seen on the beach before were waking up too. They were reacting in their very human ways, and Aurora made a mental note of all of their reactions, as she didn't have her notebook on her anymore. Oh, there it was, how lucky. Aurora was mildly annoyed with being tossed onto a deserted island, but with her notebook she had perfect recall of her plot, she'd write it on bark and leaves if needbe, but she had all she needed. Rescue would be nice, but so long as she left her work behind and someone found it? She could sit here and die for all it mattered to her.

She noticed a girl near her in the sand, looking around in disbelief, before burying her face in her hands. Well, that meant not good things. Aurora stood, gathering her notebook, which, thank god, still had a pen with it, and making her way over. She cursed at the fact that she was still clad in only a swimsuit, but that was fine, it didn't matter. She approached the girl and crouched next to her.

"Hey. You okay and stuff?" she asked, trying to sound interested despite that being the antithesis of her normal behavior.
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