Colohue

I get paid for about five thousand of them. In order to keep things interesting, I have to completely dedicate myself to both the art and discipline.

I get writer's block. I write something else until it passes.

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I have the most profile views on UG.

IXIchiodoIXI

There is a constant ringing in my ears.

I walk into the first day of my last year of high school ready for it to end. My classes are a joke. My classmates are half ******ed, burn outs and losers. My friends graduated last year, making sports unenjoyable. And lets not mention the girls that are left. Now this doesn’t mean I’m a terrible person, it just means your ready to move on. Yes I have friends and I’lll make a feeble attempt of enjoying this year and “going out with a bang” but this is merely my meager out look. I walk through the doors of the school prepared to keep to myself, my own agenda, to roll with the traffic.
The road that is your hallway is stuck full of rush-hour traffic, preparing to go to class. Keeping pace with the traffic I continue on, saying a casual high to a fellow driver who I haven’t brushed shoulders with in a while. A polite honk of the horn.
Now the funny thing about automobile accidents is that you have a better chance of taking part in one than winning the lottery , or being struck by a bolt of electricity traveling at 60,000 meters per second and as hot as 30,000 degrees C. But the feeling is the same, increased heart rate, adrenaline pumping through your veins, time slowing down. That’s assuming you survive.
Now imagine those same feelings in a near miss. Maybe you hydroplane and narrowly miss the wall of the interstate, perhaps an oncoming car doesn’t notice you as he or she passes another vehicle. Regardless of what type of automobile accident does or doesn’t occur, you are totally unaware of it impending existence and its plan with you involved.
The scene of me walking down that hallway in school ready for it to be done, counting the minutes, avoiding the people I have spent the past 12 years with, me in my own bubble, comes crashing to a sudden halt.
I feel the rush come into me, pulse through my body. My breathing escalates along with the rhythmic beating of my ventricles. I pull over, rubber necking to see the once oncoming vehicle speeding by with a smile that gives you a shuddering feeling. As I stand there on the shoulder of lockers, “who in the hell is she?”

It gets louder when I close my eyes.

This is my project book im working on and mentioned earlier. This is the first page of about 5 I have so far. Im adding stuff whenever i can think of it.
Its kinda like a coping mechanism for me so its got a very personal side to it.

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Gibson RawPower SG 2009 (Zales)
Gibson Hummingbird 70's? (Amy)
Jet City JCA 20 Watt Combo
Dunlop Crybaby wah
MXR 10 Band EQ
Ibanez TS-9

lolmnt

I just tried it. Turned out decent. I had fun with it, at least.

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*-)
Rest in Peace, Troy Davis and Trayvon Martin

IXIchiodoIXI

sounds kinda fun ^

__________________
Gibson RawPower SG 2009 (Zales)
Gibson Hummingbird 70's? (Amy)
Jet City JCA 20 Watt Combo
Dunlop Crybaby wah
MXR 10 Band EQ
Ibanez TS-9

lolmnt

It is. After two sentences I started abusing alliteration, and I kept it up for the entire piece (about 250 words). So I'm not sure if it's good (probably the opposite). Plus it's completely different than my normal writing style, and experimenting with something completely different was fun.

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*-)
Rest in Peace, Troy Davis and Trayvon Martin

IXIchiodoIXI

post it!
it only has to be good to you if your writing just to write, if your writing for publication then you may want to worry about what others may like.
im going to have to try it out when i run out of ammo for my book

__________________
Gibson RawPower SG 2009 (Zales)
Gibson Hummingbird 70's? (Amy)
Jet City JCA 20 Watt Combo
Dunlop Crybaby wah
MXR 10 Band EQ
Ibanez TS-9

Axeaman

Not sure if it's allowed, but please check out my blog! Link in sig

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lolmnt

Fine, you convinced me.

Paint peeled walls. Exposed drywall. Ceramic shower tiles. Pacing around, all around. The thud of my feet drives all my neighbors crazy. But I keep stomping. I keep making laps around the living room. Brutalized, battered bakery. Blood bruised backs of beasts. Broken barn door. Baby be back. Betrayed, I walk through the door. Betrayed, I walk down the hallway, get in the elevator, press lobby. Betrayed. Before she brings the bad news, she breaks down the barriers. Bring me down she said. You bring me down. You bring everybody down. So, betrayed, I walk into the lobby, get in the elevator, press eleven. Betrayed, I walk back to my room. Bugs buzz busily. Big bacon burger. Big black bag. Blankly, I take a bite. I take another. Big bite. I’m done. I sleep. Beautiful, bountiful sleep. Bounce around, brown noun. Boogey down, bitter sound. Morning. Sun pours in. Pours like puddles into my poorly lit room. Pop out of bed. Footsteps pound on my floor. Drives my neighbors crazy. Rich man; poor man. Pooped, I plop down in the porcelain tub. Pull the knob. Warm water winds its way round the wrinkles of my weathered skin. Bubbles bubble from the bottom up. Pitiful. Just pitiful. Plenty of time to think. Too much time to think about us two. Doze off. Drift to sleep.

Drop below water.

Drink.

Die.

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*-)
Rest in Peace, Troy Davis and Trayvon Martin

IXIchiodoIXI

i really like that! that is seriously really cool! you really get the sense and atmosphere with the continued use of "betrayed"

To Axeaman, i'll check it out later tonight when i get back from work

__________________
Gibson RawPower SG 2009 (Zales)
Gibson Hummingbird 70's? (Amy)
Jet City JCA 20 Watt Combo
Dunlop Crybaby wah
MXR 10 Band EQ
Ibanez TS-9

lolmnt

Thanks d00d

__________________
*-)
Rest in Peace, Troy Davis and Trayvon Martin

fail

Oh hai.

Tip: please watch and limit your adverbs

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donender

Here is something i wrote a couple of weeks ago, its just a silly note i wrote on facebook, but i think it might fit in here. Everything i wrote in this is true.

I was no older than 14 when i was doing work experience; i remember this because it was a few months before the 7/7 bombings, which is the day of my 15th birthday, and i was glad that my work experience was not around that time and that i didn't need to use trains to get anywhere around that time.

At the time i read alot of music, guitar and video game magazines, and was quite interested in journalism, so i would have liked to have worked in a magazine office, and, in a bit of luck, my placement was in the office of a magazine company in London, which i was pleased with, but of course, the law of the universe states that nothing is ever allowed to make me actually happy otherwise gravity will reverse and everyone will fly away like those silly balloons, so when i read the letter further, it said that i was working in sugar magazine, which is basically like hello magazine for teenage girls. I really hope i get paid for the amount of times i said magazine in this paragraph.

Naturally i felt a bit out of place working there, one of the reasons was that i was one of the only men in the office, now, while i don't have a problem with women at all, there were a few issues with this-

1: Every one of them was about 10 years older than me at least, and while i am not claiming that if i was older i would have been like the Charlton Heston of this office, bedding each employee for every day of the two weeks i was placed there, at the age i was at, it would have been a bit weird if i attempted to carry out such an act, and would be law suit material if i succeeded in doing so.

2: There was one other man in the office, but he was so camp that i couldn't tell if he had always been like that or if he had just been assimilated into the way of the office, so i couldn't really discuss fast cars and hand grenades or other things men enjoyed talking about, but i did manage to hear the odd cliched camp man phrase intermittently bellowed out.

3: Every single day, the woman sitting at the desk next to me spoke on the phone all day to what must have been the most interesting person in the world, and used a strange dialect that was incredibly middle class, but included at least 3 swear words per sentence, which started to grate after about 3 hours.

My work wasn't particularly exciting, it involved mostly sorting through letters that were sent from readers into the magazine, which wasn't all bad, seeing as for every 10 letters that i sorted through, i probably read 4 of them, as i was very bored and found them rather funny, and even though some of them were probably confidential, what the senders don't know, wouldn't hurt them, right?

One day, i was finally asked to do something that interested me, which was writing part of a scoop for the music column, so i was basically given a list of bands and artists, and was asked to look up stuff about them. When the woman explained this to me, she said they had new albums out, and to find stuff out about it, so i assumed she meant find out what the general opinion of it was, so that is what i did, but it turns out that what i actually had to do was literally copy and paste information from other music websites, and so unsurprisingly, what i wrote was not used, and i was sent down to the post room.

This wasn't really a punishment as it was quite a relief to be with people who spoke about things other than how fit Mcfly are every second of the day, and instead i was still sorting through mail, but i was basically like an internal postman, delivering mail all across the offices.

In doing my tour of the offices, i noticed that each one had its own distinct feel, the IT department was dark, and one man looked exactly like Morpheus from The Matrix, which baffled me as it was coming up to summer and he was wearing a leather trench coat, so he must have been incredibly warm. The upper floors of the building were what i assumed to be a financial section, as the foyer had a rather unnecessary amount of blue neon lighting, and the people that worked there looked like they should have been in adverts involving them driving through a country road in a convertible, while bad 80s music blared out from nowhere.

On my last few days of a job, it took a turn for the completely unexpected when a few of us went to the building next door which was a shut down house of Frasier, and we were basically looting the place of just about anything we were allowed to, which was quite fun, although when i wandered off to explore, i got myself locked in a loading bay, and after trying the door, and running out of ideas (i had no phone at the time and there was no one around), i considered picking up a broken metal bar and smashing the window of the door open with it so that i could reach through and open it, but luckily i took one last attempt at the handle on my side and it opened.

One day they also said i can sort through the CDs as well, and any one that i wanted i could take home with me, but they were all a bit crap, so i left them. One of the few things i did get out of it, was hearing the greatest phrase for taking a dump i have ever heard, and that was "giving birth to a coil". Brilliant.

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WHOMP

Think of that next time you are not allowed to laugh.

PeZ546

Damn, how'd I miss that one?






That was awesome!

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I don't always write stories. But when I do I post them here

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IXIchiodoIXI

who??

__________________
Gibson RawPower SG 2009 (Zales)
Gibson Hummingbird 70's? (Amy)
Jet City JCA 20 Watt Combo
Dunlop Crybaby wah
MXR 10 Band EQ
Ibanez TS-9

fail

Just general advice for everyone
Be wise with your wording so you don't have to be all like "She was deeply in love with his charmingly friendly eyes which were shockingly incredibly blue." Okay yeah, that was pretty bad anyway, but I think you all get the gist. Too many adverbs is a huge pet peeve of mine. So are cliches and writing that doesn't fit the feel of the story. For example, dramatic/poetic wording for something simple or lighthearted.

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Axeaman

Your legs are feeling heavy, almost like they're sinking through the bed. That lamp is still broken, the desk is filled with old paper. Old, black jeans are laying on the floor. Outside, the sun is going down, the birds are slowly disappearing. Out there, it's calm. In here, it's chaos.

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Holy Katana

Haven't finished anything in a while. Mainly because I've been devoting most of my creative energy to music. I figure it's only fair, since up until a little while ago I'd been devoting pretty much all of my creative energy to writing for the past year or so.

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IXIchiodoIXI

ahh ok. i gotcha, now that you mention it i see what you mean.

__________________
Gibson RawPower SG 2009 (Zales)
Gibson Hummingbird 70's? (Amy)
Jet City JCA 20 Watt Combo
Dunlop Crybaby wah
MXR 10 Band EQ
Ibanez TS-9

Neopowell the PUSO

Let's get some motherfucking theatre up in this beehatch:


ROB: See? This is what I mean. This is the kind if games the girls have got us playing. Why couldn’t we just settle this like men?

(He starts to laugh. Turns away.)

TOM: (Approaches him.)

Ok, look, that /was

ROB: (Swings round and punches TOM in the face.)

TOM: (Collapses. Checks his lip for blood. Long pause as they stare at each other.)

ROB: Oh. Turns out we can.

TOM: (Shakes his head slowly. Smiles.)

I think I’d rather settle this like a boss.

ROB: Yeah?

TOM: Yeah. You’re fired. Clear out your desk.

ROB: Fuck you.

TOM: Do it! This is the eight hours a day where you do as you’re told. You want me to refer to HR? You want to appeal?

ROB: Can’t I just smack you again? Harder this time.

TOM: (Gets up.)

That must have felt good.

ROB: I’m still pretty buzzing about it.

TOM: Great. I’m pleased for you. Hell, you can use your jobseekers allowance to buy fucking boxing gloves.


That's an extract from my longest play to date, I'm looking at putting it on sometime in the next year.

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I write things. You can read them.