Posted on 08/17/2006 8:36:45 PM PDT by Number57
A Freudian skip...
The best way to get around a block, in my opinion, is to open up a new character with a completely differant perspective.
Oh, I fought slo.
"When in doubt, have a man come through a door with a gun in his hand." Raymond Chandler
"I never lost faith that I would find you, Father. I somehow knew I would see you face-to-face, and see a possible version of my future." With that, he turned away, and headed for the door. There, the young man stopped and said, "I must say, though...I am glad to see one way I could turn out." With that, he walked away. The man stood there, for what it seemed like a lifetime, although he knew it was only a minute, and thought to himself, "I need to finish cleaning these washers and dryers...and where the hell is the key for the supply room?" He didn't realize just yet that this chance encounter - although, could it really be considered chance?- would once more introduce into his life the only constant factor it had ever seen...change.
Well...looks like things kinda went downhill after I went to bed last night, but I gotta say...durasell, you're my hero! ;-) Great stuff.
I can't believe this thread is nearing 400 posts.
When someone posts personal insults to you, ignore that person. Don't respond. And, as much as someone might anger you, please try not to swear on this forum.
Btw, not only was I a journalism student, but I also worked writing, proofreading, and editing copy for ads, brochures, and promotional materials for the better part of 10 years. That's how I found out that even people with Ivy League educations don't write perfectly, either. Everyone needs someone else to review their work.
To make matters worse, the more you learn about the craft of writing, the more difficult it seems to become.
What I'm trying to say is, don't let the personal criticisms on this thread eat you alive. Only consider the worthwhile advice from others.
Once I came across a published author on another internet forum, and his posts blew everyone away. He was a highly educated man as well as a professor. He also happened to be an arrogant socialist who was critical of everyone - including yours truly - who disagreed with him, but one could not deny the superiority of his writing. As it turns out, he was spending most of his time compiling posts on a text editor first and then copying and pasting them on forum after forum...
The moral of the story is: No one is perfect.
He said, with scorn and recrimination in his tone. "you never asked me my name" he shouted through the closed door, "Aren't you just a little curious?" "No!" his father yelled back. "I'll tell you anyway, it's Daniel, Daniel Anderson Stevens, mom named me after you father," He said with a biting retort. "Bastard," the older man mumbled under his whiskey breath as he watched him walk away. Trudging back to the flop-house a few blocks from where he worked, the place he called home, he sat down on the edge of a dirty matress and took another long drink from his bottle, then laid down and closed his heavy blood shot eyes. It was a chance meeting with a young woman at the hardware department in Sears. She was looking for a Father's Day present for her dad. "Should I get standard or metric?" she asked the man standing a few feet from her. "Excuse me?" he answered. "Tools for my dad, should I buy standard or metric?" He walked over to where she stood and looked at the display. "It's cheaper if you buy the set with a combination of both, if you buy them seperate, it'll cost you an extra $40.00." That's how it started. No bells went off, no sirens sounded, no little voice in the back of his head that said, she's the one.
Only now, years later, he thought bitterly that such a lack of signals should have been the one sign. But, such is life, he thought. So much potential, lost. Such a promising start he had had in his life...all gone, thanks in no small measure to a moment of passion. More importantly, lost because of a day trip south of the border...a trip, he hadn't even wanted to be part of, in the first place. Yes, Tijuana...where he had tasted the liquid he would later come to call a friend...Tijuana, where he had witnessed acts that even to this day, tortured his mind whenever he would slip out of the grasp of the liquor. Tijuana, where he had gotten a tattoo, that even to this day, he could not and would not, show in public, and he couldn't explain the reason for it. A tattoo, with a name, inscribed into a heart, bleeding from the spot where the dagger was stuck into it...
Good post. I agree.
Knock it off!
The dirty little secret is that you want to make sure you know how it ends before you begin writing.
BTW, lots of good resource material (tutorials, hints, etc.) on the SFWA website.
PS: You might also want to register at the "Baen Bar" forum.
(I'm sure you can find it if you want to. :)
PPS: At all costs, avoid the temptation to employ a deus ex machina to tie up loose ends.
Found it... thanks
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