How many fiction writers do we have here?

You kind of deserve that.

I know, I know…even my ellipses don’t know when to stop… :blush:

it,s been a while since anyone dared post here.

if you,re worried about being scratched i hereby promise not to comment on anything else anyone posts in the scrivenings section unless expressly invited by the author.

Well, let’s try it. English is not my native language so please consider this free translation as a discrete effort to convey the general idea. Here is the opening paragraph of my WIP:

I met Diego Puerta at a book launch a few years ago. Not one of his own, of course. He said that his books were not supposed to be simply launched, that was to be done with the trash: discard it or throw it away. As he explained, his manuscripts deserved more sublime destinations, and had already arranged with someone he trusted to have everything he ever wrote “put into a bonfire, on due time”, just like Kafka.

Rodrigo,
Having read the opening paragraph, my immediate reaction is, ‘More please’. It seems a polished offering from an accomplished author. I will certainly keep my eyes peeled for it’s launch :wink:

This appears to me, to be a typo:

Should it not read, ‘onto a bonfire, in due time’? Apologies if I’m mistaken.
Vic

You’re probably right. (As I said, English is not my native language and the only fiction piece I’ve written directly in English was my chapter for NiaD 2013.)

I’m glad you got that “more please” reaction. The first chapter is supposed to be a hook, and much better if the first paragraph serves that purpose.

I finished the first draft of my WIP (a novel) back in December and decided to take a break before summoning the second draft. That break is over now and I’m getting into it these days. The distance of time really helps to get a new perspective indeed.

Best regards,

Careful what you wish for. I might write you another cat story…

Don’t have a current and last, so I’ll just do two current WIPs:

WIP1:
If you ever hold a gun on someone, don’t stand too close to your intended victim.

WIP2:
A successful interstellar ambush requires four elements.

this one i like. i want to know the four elements now.

  1. Accurate information about the target
  2. A plan (complete with a back-out plan and a back-up plan)
  3. More weaponry than your target
  4. Luck

Those would not be the four, no. :slight_smile:

Damn. Now you tell me.

Well, okay, they might not be MY four. They sound very nice, though.

The intro is too big to post here, but here’s a snippet:

The first element is position: knowing where the victim will be at a given time. The second element is observation: being able to spot the victim against the backdrop of space. The third element is motion: having sufficient velocity to intercept the victim. The final element is misdirection: presenting the victim with a plausible set of events so that they overlook or misinterpret any inevitable discrepancies until it is too late. Achieve all four elements and the relative levels of force are nearly irrelevant.

This has changed my view of Voyager 1:confused:

and gps.jpg

Do you think it’s funny how our minds work sometimes? I know I do. A minute ago I was just staring at the wall and I noticed the paint was flaking off here and there. I reckon it needs a good paint job.
And then out of the blue, I see me old mate Graham standing there in his overalls, paint brush in hand threatening to give me a right going over if I didn’t stop mucking about. We were only fifteen then. Just out of school and trying to make some legitimate money for a change.

Hi all. Michael from Australia here. Like most of us I enjoy writing and have a WIP. It is only being written for fun and to entertain my wife, but I’ll probably release it as a free e-book in due course just for fun.

A few snippets:

And then there’s this…
xkcd.com/1504/

Here’s my WIP. Please, be gentle.

2050, a California beach near Monterey:

Rachel danced around Isa, watchedher stand in the sand, her eyes covered by a blindfold. Isa, never one to be still, was shuffling her feet, the heat of the sun-baked sand beginning to hurt, herself moving in a small, dizzying circle. Isa didn’t need her eyes to tell her the sounds of her children were happy ones.