EPTIs the whole novel so dreadfully themed?
Creative Writing Contest, April 2007 - Page 2
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MPXMX
Canada4309 Posts
Is the whole novel so dreadfully themed? | ||
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ZaplinG
United States3818 Posts
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t_co
United States702 Posts
On April 04 2008 02:16 MPXMX wrote: It's beautiful, though grotesque ... Is the whole novel so dreadfully themed? Well the novel revolves around that guy's revenge thread and the thread of another man's manipulative ambition. The final scene is the prologue on my blog. | ||
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dancefayedance!~
396 Posts
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SK.Testie
Canada11084 Posts
then I couldn't read the fucking thing What a moron. | ||
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MPXMX
Canada4309 Posts
it was very interesting to read all of them. I love you, writers | ||
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NastyMarine
United States1252 Posts
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gwho
United States632 Posts
i don't know if anyone else feels this way, especially about poems: The only time i would write one is when i go through something very impressionable, and very specific. But once i write one down (if i were ever to do that) then it would be very specific, maybe too specific that others really wouldn't feel what i felt. Maybe i feel this way because i can't really seem to grasp or get into other people's poems. even ones legendary and praised throughout centuries by literary critics. maybe it's just my lack of empathetic abilities when it comes to non-prose writing. O.o | ||
FakeSteve[TPR]
Valhalla18444 Posts
 This is a brief summation of my life so far. I was born in a rural town in northeastern france, to a dyslexic (and struggling) poet mother and a wino father. I can't recollect much of my early childhood, save for various specific events that resurface in my mind from time to time. I remember most the aroma of the house in which we lived. It had a stagnation to it that seemed to follow my father around, and it was comforting to me as a child to smell it on him as we walked. I have vague memories of the fights my parents used to have, and of my father standing just across the belgian border taunting french police. In my fifth year, my father committed a felony in Belgium that I'm still unclear of the details on. The result was that he could no longer use the country as a 'home away from home' to avoid the french police, who were consistantly after him for various misdemeanours. My family knew no permanent home for several months, and through tears my mother recently revealed to me that she had taken to selling her body to feed us. My father would steal some of her earnings for wine and in an alcohol-fueled rage go seeking my mother's customers, forcing us to move on again. The longest home we would have before coming to north america could be an apartment in northern spain, close enough to the french border that we could cross with relative ease to do our shopping. My mother's art degree landed her a job teaching English, and my father took to odd jobs, whatever he could find. I remember vividly the eventual split from my father. I was eight years old and after a particularily brutal battering at his hands, my mother roused my sisters and I and stole us away in the middle of the night. We found our way to the coast, and down to Portugal, where my mother used most of her stowed away cash to buy us a ticket to Montreal. I spent the next few years bouncing from home to home as members of my extended family throughout quebec, ontario, and manitoba took us in. My mother chased better job opportunities ceaselessly, looking for a way to provide easily for my sisters and I. She knew many different men she would call "my future father" in that period, and I took a liking to several of them, but none of them would last. My mother would time and time again drive men away from her, comparing them to my father. She went through bouts of total self-loathing, and it became a routine for her to disappear for several days every few months, leaving us in the care of whatever relative we happened to be staying with. She would return as if nothing had happened, and routine as it was, it made no difference to me. I gained a sense of freedom from it, in a way. By the time I was 14 I was sensible enough to hold a job that would support me in my mother's absences. My mother never really recovered from the emotional damage living with my father had done to her. Though she would strongly express to my sisters and I that she was thankful he was "too far gone to follow us", she would make me sit with her while she drunkenly reminisced about what she enjoyed in the relationship. I was 15 when she took off for good. Days turned into weeks waiting for her to return, but she didn't. I wasn't really bothered by it. I had been set up with a roofing job in Edmonton, through the family of the man I'd been working for in Winnipeg. It bothered me more to leave my two sisters behind, in the care of an aunt and uncle that I really didn't know very well. I would have loved to have taken them with me, but the reality was simply that I wouldn't be able to support all three of us once we got to alberta. I settled into an apartment in Edmonton, living with a guy named Hal, who had advertised a room to rent in the newspaper. The income from my new job was decent, more than enough to live off of, so I set a lot of money aside. Two years and a few pay raises later I moved into my own apartment, and that's where I live right now. I still haven't heard from my mother. My sisters work as waitresses in Winnipeg and have found a place of their own. I kept in regular contact with them, and still do. A year ago I tried to find my father, because I honestly wondered if he was still alive. After a lot of searching and probing, I found a mailing address in Vienna and send off a letter filled with a lot of emotional questions, prefaced by an explanation in case the address was incorrect. A few weeks later I recieved a response, all it read was "Alive and well, give your mother my love." | ||
lilsusie
3861 Posts
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FakeSteve[TPR]
Valhalla18444 Posts
ohhh i know what you're talking about. werent his parents just some europeans who died in an exploding car? | ||
GrandInquisitor
New York City13113 Posts
On April 04 2008 17:19 gwho wrote: i can't really say i appreciate these, or that i'm even qualified to say which one's good or better than another. complicated equations make more sense to me. i'll never be a writing critic =P i don't know if anyone else feels this way, especially about poems: The only time i would write one is when i go through something very impressionable, and very specific. But once i write one down (if i were ever to do that) then it would be very specific, maybe too specific that others really wouldn't feel what i felt. Maybe i feel this way because i can't really seem to grasp or get into other people's poems. even ones legendary and praised throughout centuries by literary critics. maybe it's just my lack of empathetic abilities when it comes to non-prose writing. O.o take a good English course in college and you'll change your mind | ||
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Steelflight-Rx
United States1389 Posts
On April 04 2008 19:13 FakeSteve[TPR] wrote: huh ohhh i know what you're talking about. werent his parents just some europeans who died in an exploding car? harry potter? + Show Spoiler + voldemort killed his parents, it wasn't actually a car crash | ||
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FakeSteve[TPR]
Valhalla18444 Posts
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boongee
United States967 Posts
I'll just bump this. Maybe a few more people will vote. | ||
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chobopeon
United States7342 Posts
not even all the authors bumpo | ||
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Ares1020
United States5 Posts
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Ares1020
United States5 Posts
On April 04 2008 17:19 gwho wrote: i can't really say i appreciate these, or that i'm even qualified to say which one's good or better than another. complicated equations make more sense to me. i'll never be a writing critic =P i don't know if anyone else feels this way, especially about poems: The only time i would write one is when i go through something very impressionable, and very specific. But once i write one down (if i were ever to do that) then it would be very specific, maybe too specific that others really wouldn't feel what i felt. Maybe i feel this way because i can't really seem to grasp or get into other people's poems. even ones legendary and praised throughout centuries by literary critics. maybe it's just my lack of empathetic abilities when it comes to non-prose writing. O.o As far as a poem being specific I actually agree with you. But what it means to me is different. There are a lot of poems out there that don't strike me one way or another, but there are certain ones where I just "get it." I like to think those ones are the ones where I really do identify with the writer... where I feel what he felt. And conversely when I write my own and, if you do, when you write yours I like to believe there's someone out there who is in that very specific state of mind and write to them. | ||
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GrandInquisitor
New York City13113 Posts
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chobopeon
United States7342 Posts
feel free to send in votes until i finally put the post up (couple of hours) | ||
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