Hi, all. I have been lurking here on and off for some time now, and I've been intrigued with the creativity and intelligence that I see in many of you. I haven't felt that I've had much to say that would add to any of this, but I'd like to try something. The world is clogged with millions of potential novels, but I have been putting thought into adding to the slushpile. So far I have only succeeded in writing some disembodied fragments and images. Certainly none of them are any more than a chapter by themselves. My muse has yet to supply me with the glue to bind them all together into something worthwhile. But while I'm waiting, I would love to see what some people of your fine caliber might think of my writing as it currently stands. I am focussing on science-fiction, and I realize that some of you may not like the genre, but what the hell? Do I have your permission to drop some morsels in the water for you Piranhas to rip apart? You folks would be the first to read any of this work, so I'm sure there's some good, tasty, rotten bits in there to spit back at me. What do you say?

Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. -The last words of Hasan I Sabah

Maurice, in a fit of epicurean rage, emptied every last serving dish of escargot (prepared from the tree snails, captured that very morning from the maple trees which grew near the rivers edge), into the large galvanized bucket which contained the fruits of his macabre labor. Stirring vigorously, he envisioned the Countess dining on the meal which would contain far more than the recently deceased snails. If only Daisy were still alive, She would, perhaps, see the delicious irony in this alteration to the evenings menu...

An array of gray rays cut through the darkness of a small room. A formerly opaque window faded to transparent horizontal bars in simulated venetian blinds and ashen light sluggishly drew parallel lines across the wall. Alex sat up in the colorless light, hugged her knees and rested her chin on her folded arms. The lazy light traced contours across the side of her face as she stared into the dim room. No color existed in this hazy light. The light diffusing into the room from Alex's window showed a low, gray bed surrounded by the gray, shadowy shapes of strewn clothing and other unidentifiable things. Alex straightened her spine, pulled her shoulders back and tilted her head to one side and her neck made a series of low popping noises. She stood and stretched. The light traced across her torso for a moment before she dropped her arms to her sides. She tugged the bottom of her snug sleeveless shirt down so to again overlap the soft loose shorts she wore. Slowly running the fingers of both hands through her short black hair, she sighed and yawned. Alex stepped to the door of her small room, turned, and gazed for a moment at the thin blades of light coming from her window. She put one hand over her eyes and slapped a small panel set in the wall by the door. Bright lights flashed on from the ceiling, transforming her room in an instant. The deep blue covers lay heaped on her low futon mattress. A short black desk sat in one corner. On it lay a small green plastic box surrounded by various wires, cups, cartons, and datacards. The floor was mostly hidden by clothes and the same collection of technology and trash. Alex, peeking between her fingers at the bright light, kicked her door outward and stepped across her tiny hall to her bathroom. The time glowed in the top right-hand corner of her mirror: 14:12. She removed her hand from her eyes, still squinting, and touched a small green dot on the lower right corner of the mirror. Heavy, driving music wrapped itself around her from hidden electrostatic speakers in the wall. Ignoring the news headlines, weather, and air pollution advisories now sliding across the top and bottom of her mirror, she undressed and stepped into the tiny shower stall. Alex clenched her fists, squeezed her eyes tight. With teeth bared, she pounded the one red-colored tile among the array of white ones. Cold, foaming water assaulted her from every direction for about 30 seconds. The loud, energetic music and the fast, icy water tore the drowsiness away as she let out a morning war-cry A brisk 10-second rinse followed, every bit as cold as the first. Alex danced and sang to the loud music. The water stopped and a hot cyclone of air enveloped her, whisking away both the water and the chill. Wide-eyed and clad in a thick, many-pocketed black vest and similar pants, she stomped fully awake into the one remaining room of her miniscule apartment. Under her vest, she wore a long-sleeved shirt made of tiny interlocking pieces of titanium. The material was so fine that it felt soft to the touch but could fend off any knife and would keep her separated from the pavement if her bike failed to. Set into one wall were various automatic appliances. Another wall contained one large dark screen. The third wall had a dynamic window like the one in her bedroom, and the fourth contained her door. Alex grabbed a short plastic mug from the appliance wall and sucked down her first quad espresso of the day. She then opened a small door, grabbed a CramBar and tore off the wrapper. The condensed nutrient bar was labeled "berry flavor" and the taste was no more specific than that either. - I feel like a lot of my "sci-fi" stuff is trite and uninteresting. Of course, I haven't assembled a plot yet, so my characters have nothing to do. I've been writing a lot of filler into my bits to be changed later. This one here is what I just finished writing. I'm currently writing more for myself than anything so that I can think out my characters on paper. Hopefully some of it will later be useful in the final product. This one ends abruptly because I ran out of juice. I'll likely add more later today.

i only read the first bit, and this is why- the light is "ashen" at first, and then twice described as colorless. it is also twice described as lazy. i'm not trying to be a dick. i read it as i would read anything, and made no extra effort.

Thank you very much, Nate. Just the sort of thing I need brought to my attention. I was stretching to describe the light and it shows. In my mind, something ashen or grey IS colorless. But obviously I need to make adjustments, since that's not clear. Actually, the light was once lazy and once hazy. But they're too close together, so it sounds repetitious anyway. I also think I used the word "light" too much. This is one of those bits that I don't like, but can't say why. So, I appreciate the comments. I do wish I could manage the excellent wordflow you're capable of, Nate. Any advice? Thanks again, publius

if you don't have anything to say, what's the point?

i don't know. get drunk. don't edit while you write. talk to yourself. don't try so hard. when i was in fifth grade i asked this other fifth grader to teach me how to draw. he said "there's nothing to teach, you just move the pencil." the language is your pencil. you can speak the language, you can write the language. talk to yourself. on paper. and what heather said.

There's at least ten adjectives and a smattering of adverbs in the first threee sentences. When you've eliminated all but one, then you'll have described the light, or the character (which is quite absent at first too), or whatever. Adjectives kill. Adopt the point of view of the character's bed linens, anything. Point of view describes, organizes, informs. Adjectives kill. But then again I know nothing of writing. Just keep doing it. That's the first rule. And what Nate and Heather said.

Well, Heather, I feel like I will have something to say. I just don't know what it is yet. Sometimes you've just got to keep talking. Or maybe I'm fooling myself. I'm certianly quite guilty of editing while I write and of trying too hard. I think I edit all the soul and voice out of my work sometimes. Thanks all of you. Part of why I've started writing again is because I feel like my brain has stopped. I used to sit and type and fill pages and pages without thinking about it. I felt more alive then. I felt like I had something to say. I may be creating some crap, but I'm starting to feel and think again. So I guess that's the point. To stop fading. Thank you, publius

It didn't grab me. You need to know where you're going before you start to travel or you just wander around. You know? I recommend reading Joseph Heller's last book. Think about Philip K. DIck. Come up with a list of "What-if" propositions, go from there. In my opinion, the best sci-fi is the works that have the most research behind them. Look at David Brin, Orson Scott Card, Asimov, Bradbury. Hell, look at Tolkien and Robert Jordan, who created whole fantasy worlds with rich cultures and histories, just to serve to as an invisible foundation, if you will, for their work. What I'm getting at is that you should think about all the stuff you want to write about. Not only just character motivations and histories, but the science behind things, especially if it's a maguffin. The more research something, the likelier it is you'll find something that will really be key to your plot. By all means don't stop writing even if you don't have a plot, you need to practice. Come up with some plot outlines and run 'em by us, it may help more than just a bunch of snippets of text.

"I've been intrigued with the creativity and intelligence that I see in many of you." You lost me right there.

You know, Spider, Lugh and his goats said the same thing to the Gorrilla.

The god Lugh? Are his goats your goats? I don't care about the Gorrilla...they're all noisome fellows. Tell me more about your goats, Daniel ssss.

The god Lugh, Lugh of the Long Arm, Lugh the Many Talented, Lugh the consort and coequal of Brigit...and yes, I inherited some of his goats in this incarnation. Invisible goats. The goats are quite ingenuous about finding time on my laptop... I'll be right in the middle of the third chapter of a new novel, get up to find a cup of ginger peach tea, and come back to find it missing off my desk. Later, from my hammock I spy Lugh: he has it plugged into a favoritesome tree modem and the goats are busily typing away for some ebay stuff they think they need. Things like truffles, hosiery, and elderberry extract for antiviral needs. Occasionally, one of them will find its way to sorabji, and raise all sorts of havoc, creating posts and attributing them to me, or even to Lugh. Lugh stays in the frozen foods freezer at the quickie mart on the hill, the Slop n Slut Quickie Mart. You know Lughnassadh, friend?

I used to, but I don't look over my shoulder much anymore.

yeah boy (girl) you over did it with the light description. i think i read the word "light" more in the first two paragraphs than I did all last week, and Im a photographer. I would also say ease up with the 50 cent words, its muddling it all up. simplify. and to counter sem, perhaps you shouldn't look at ANY of the names he mentions. I think this is part of the reason you're trying too hard. I know I can very very very sparingly look at photographers I admire. Its easier for me to look at shit photography than brilliant photography, oddly enough.

My brilliant insight: Don't try to describe so much. I mean, description is good, but you are overdoing it and leaving nothing to imagination. Also, you need to know who your characters are (meaning, what they do) before you can describe them because then you know what the descriptions are trying to get across. You need to take on a voice; right now you sound just as lost in this world Alex lives in as the readers do. Judging from your comments, you are. Understand your setting, and let it come to life, but dont try to dictate it. Let it reveal itself as you tell your story. Hell, i dunno. I agree with pretty much all that patrick said.

I know how publius feels. I've knocked around several novels/short stories for years. I've never been able to get past the first few pages. I would be almost the worst person to critisize your work. I'm a product of the public school system. My spelling and composition stink. One small concern here. I've seen a lot of really weird behavior in the human race. Look out someone might just steal your ideas.

what ideas? ha. sorry. couldn't help it.

it was either you or me lady

I got a novel in me, and someday I'll put it down on paper. It'll suck, but who cares, it'll just be for me, and for whoever finds it when I'm gone. Must be with pencil and paper though, I can't write at the keyboard.

there is some place on the web that will publish your book for $99. that includes a copy, even. then they'll sell it for you. like mp3.com and CDs, I guess.

im pretty sure my life isnt as interesting as I sometimes think it is. Im comfortable with the fact that i probably WONT be writing a book.

I liked it... Light and all, it just needs to keep going, if there was a porpose for the light lead to it, give it meaning for whatever symbolysm it might have portrayed. But then again, Ican't write worth shit so what the fuck do I know? I've thought about it, till I realized... "Hey wait, I fucking suck at writing." I don't doubt your ability to write Publis, just write it, go from the brain, or the heart or you dick... Wherever inspiration is coming from write it. And post it, I'll read, I never doubt an author till I've gotten into their plot. You don't have one, therefore you sill have potential in my eyes.

yeah, but if there is no plot at all, then how can the plot justify the excerpt? I dont mind reading other people's stuff. I write some of my own, and i know it sucks, but its a good way to relieve stress and piss-off-edness.

Oh, the mind is the first to go. I just rembered, should I say didn't remember. What is that book that English professors think is great literature and is almost indeciferable. Is it Finnegans Wake? The things some people consider great literature boggle the mind.

whats that site nate?