Allow me to welcome you to Writer's Block. I hope you enjoy yourself here. I am your admin, Moira, and I'd like personally offer any help you may need or any advice you may require. I'm dedicated to helping my fellow writers achieve their dreams and I hope all my members can become something like a family. Feel free to PM me with any problem - or simply to chat. And, again, welcome!
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A writer is simply a painter that uses a pen instead of a brush.
Joined: Dec 2007 Posts: 32 Karma: 0
Honestly, Didn't You Expect This...? « Result #2 on Jun 1, 2008, 2:09am »
Yes, yes, I know. EVERYONE talks about it and it has been beaten to death in dozens of roleplay sites. But honestly, didn't you expect it?
This thread will be devoted to the discussion of Harry Potter! Yeah, that's right. I said Harry Potter. If you don't like it, don't post in here. But no writing forum is complete without a Harry Potter Discussion - it's a staple in modern literary discussions.
So tell me your thoughts and opinions on everything. Do Harry and Ginny belong together, or are you still wishing Rowling would have paired Harry and Hermione? Is it possible for Snape to love Lily and yet hate Harry so vehemently? Why in the world do you think a man as great as Dumbledore let himself be disarmed by the hands of a teenage snob? Were you disappointed with Harry's winning spell in his fight against Voldemort?
A writer is simply a painter that uses a pen instead of a brush.
Joined: Dec 2007 Posts: 32 Karma: 0
Switch A Letter « Result #3 on Jun 1, 2008, 1:57am »
This game is pretty simple and, well, not very amusing to tell the truth. But I like to play it anyway for some odd, unknown reason. All you do is change one letter from the word previously given - you can switch a letter that was already there for a different one, take a letter out, or put a letter in.
Example One:
First Post - Sand Second Post - Stand
Example Two:
First Post - Brick Second Post - Rick
Example Three:
First Post - Lemon Second Post - Demon
Alright, I will start us off then. Our first word will be:
My way of getting past writer's block « Result #6 on May 28, 2008, 4:08pm »
Don't you hate that? Writer's block. You just can't get the right words out, can't find a good way to transition scenes, or just don't know what to say next.
Personally, I have found that when I am at writer's block, I get my inspiration of what to say next from being peaceful. For instance, sitting outside listening to the birds or watching the sunset. I get my inspiration when I'm not thinking about it, when I've cleared my mind.
Example: I take horseback riding lessons. Yesterday I was riding, and I was cooling off my horse (not mine, really-the one I was riding, I don't have a horse) before going inside. I was in the outdoor arena and the birds were twittering and the air was fresh and the sky was clear...And all of the sudden it hit me how to go on to the next event in my fantasy. All of the sudden, the right words to say next were right there in my head.
That's just my way, personally, to clear my mind and not think about it. If you strain it, chances are it won't come. That's just me, though. Good luck getting past your writer's block!
A writer is simply a painter that uses a pen instead of a brush.
Joined: Dec 2007 Posts: 32 Karma: 0
One of Many Pains « Result #8 on Mar 2, 2008, 12:40am »
I take a slow, deep breath And let it out again The suffering comes afterwards But it isn't thought of then Spiderwebs and will-o-wisps Of thought begin to pull They beckon me and tantalize With promises, void and null But I listen to these whispers And follow, numb and blind The carnage that awaits me Right then I do not mind The blade I take to my soul And the remnants of my heart Is filled with vile poison That further shreds what's left apart All the tears and screaming is silent As well as masked by mirth And this infection is hidden As it has been since its birth And I'll take it in again This liquid fire in my veins And make sure no one knows it This one of many pains
A writer is simply a painter that uses a pen instead of a brush.
Joined: Dec 2007 Posts: 32 Karma: 0
My Pebbles « Result #9 on Mar 2, 2008, 12:39am »
A small stone, a pebble It weighs lightly on my chest The sun is brightly shining The warmth seeps through my breast More pebbles join the first one A small pile slowly forming Soon there is a mound of them The noon sun steadily warming My pebbles turn to good-sized stones And my discomfort grows The heat begins to radiate And sweat begins to flow Stone upon stone is weighing down I can no longer see the sun But it doesn't matter anyway For its time is done The moon is out for all to see But for me beneath the stones My family adds their boulders And then leaves me all alone I cannot continue on this way Slowly suffocating in the dark These rocks are cutting into me Leaving their bloody mark Can't move, can't see, can't even breathe My heart begins to slow The weight crushes me and pushes me Into the ground, six feet below
A writer is simply a painter that uses a pen instead of a brush.
Joined: Dec 2007 Posts: 32 Karma: 0
My Strength « Result #10 on Mar 2, 2008, 12:38am »
His gray eyes twinkled up at me from a halo of silver hair. His withered hands trembled on the pale sheets of the hospital bed before reaching for my smooth, tiny hands.
"My dear," he said, voice low and rough with age. "My dear child, don't be afraid. Don't ever be afraid."
He squeezed my hand and held eye contact with me as though willing me to look into his mind and learn from his mistakes. His eyes held such deep regret, but a small glimmer of hope still remained.
He wanted me to live, to go on without him. Even as he coughed and struggled for every precious breath, he though only of me, his daughter in every way that mattered.
"Promise me," he whispered softly, then more strongly, "Promise me Anna."
I could only nod, my eyes stonging and threatening to pour out my sorrow. I squeezed his hand, as hard as I thought it could stand, as though it would keep him with me longer.
He coughed feebly once more and looked into my eyes with love, peace, hope, and sadness. I tried to hold back my tears as he winked slightly and closed his eyes. His chest rose, paused, and then fell. His body relaxed and was still. I couldn't hear him breathing. My hand held his and I leaned forward, tears finally breaching my defenses.
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Yeah, that's right. I said Harry Potter. If you don't like it, don't post in here. But no writing forum is complete without a Harry Potter Discussion - it's a staple in modern literary discussions.
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