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I saw another post that's an art thread, so I figured I'd make a post for if anyone wants to share anything they've written (e.g. short stories, poems, etc.).

 

The poll is just because I'm curious

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I use both my computer and pen/paper for writing, which might not be typical! Though the pen/paper stuff is much more often for poetry, I'll admit. I would hate to lose one piece of paper out of 50 for a longer work.

 

I like this thread! What kinds of genres do people write? For poetry, what styles and muses inspire them?

 

I'm a big fiction writer myself, and write a lot of poems on nature and people. I'm curious what you guys do. :)

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I'ma start the sharing off with a piece i wrote titled Is This Beautiful thats one of my favorites

Warning: mention of suicide and i've made like 3 people nearly cry with this

Spoiler

Is This Beautiful?

 

People say that pain is beauty. That to suffer is to grow and to break is to be remade. They say that to hurt means you are alive for life is pain and life is beauty and therefore pain is beauty, you must simply find the beauty in pain.

 

They say that pain is beauty, and all I can think is you have never seen pain. I think, you have never watched a friend cry. I think, you have never had a friend message you with a knife in their hands, trying to say goodbye. You have never had a friend beaten down by the world until they have to come begging for a reason to continue, to live, because they cannot see an end to the pain except for one they make for themselves. I think, you have never had to call an ambulance because you couldn’t give them a good enough reason, praying that you were not too late.

 

They say pain is beauty and I think, you have never stared at your ceiling at three in the morning, wondering when it would all come crashing down on you. I think, you have never looked at your bottle of medication and calculated how many pills you would need to never wake up. I think, you have never felt a nothingness so profound and so deep that anger and tears and blood was preferable. You have never traced lines across your wrist in pen and in paint, wondering how it might be with a blade.

 

They say pain is beauty and I think, you have never cried. You have never gasped for air around sobs and snot and spit while tears ran down your face. You have never looked in the mirror through blurry, puffy, flooded eyes and seen your face red and blotchy and wet. You have never looked your sorrow in the eyes and felt disgusted in yourself, angrily trying to wipe away saltwater so as to be able to see.

 

They say pain is beauty and I think of starving children, their ribs visible through their skin, tiny skeletons. I think of concentration camps, stolen people given numbers instead of names and chambers full of gas that would make graves. I think of war, gunshots and fear and soldiers who never made it back home. I think of disease, bubonic plague and gangrene, infected wounds and limbs rotting while they were still attached, hospitals full of the smell of antiseptic and the moans of the injured and the groans of the dying.

 

They say to find beauty in the pain and I think, you have never had to search. You have never torn yourself further to find raw pieces to offer to the world in the hopes of approval. You have never rubbed salt into your own wounds in a desperate attempt to make this beautiful, to make you beautiful.

 

They say pain is beauty and I call them liars for pain is an ugly thing.

 

I think of a city ruined by a nuclear bomb, now overgrown with plants, where an old man lives amongst the radiation so as to feed the animals. I think of waking up and realising that I want to be alive. I think of scars, now old and faded. I think of triumphant first steps and I think of they're safe. I think of laughter and I think of songs and I think there is no beauty in pain, but in healing.

 

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9 hours ago, running.tally said:

I use both my computer and pen/paper for writing, which might not be typical! Though the pen/paper stuff is much more often for poetry,

I do this - use my laptop for writing prose, and pen and paper for writing poetry. I find that poetry "flows" better when I write with a pen rather than typing.

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I write fanfiction and fannish non-fiction, and usually write on a computer. But if there's a particularly complex concept I want to explain, or plot I want to piece together, I'll sometimes write it out on paper first - all the bits and pieces on different pages so that I can move them around and re-connect bits until I have the narrative I want. (I'm a very visuo-spatial person!)

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I often write drafts or brainstorms on paper and then on computer. Mostly I write either forum posts or articles about urban planning. I'd like to write fiction too but I have a hard time getting into it. 

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@nightmarechaser that wwaswell-written! And sad :(

 

I write novels, mostly fantasy. And also a bit of songs (though I only write the lyrics and never bothered to do the music, so I guess it's most poetry than songs lol).

I write mostly on a computer, though I can use paper when I am in "planification phase".

I Don't know if I'll share my writting here because I write in French and translation took time, but if one day I have the time I'll try to post some of my prose (poetry is too complicated for translation).

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I checked short stories and other because I tend to write half-novels that I get bored of and usually don't come back to, haha. (Is that prose? I think of prose as poetry without the rigid structure.) Also songs sometimes.

For anyone who wants a platform for choose your own adventure stories (which I got into because I'm a nerd for the Lifeline games) Twine is a good one: http://twinery.org/

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On 7/20/2018 at 1:52 AM, Naegleria fowleri said:

For anyone who wants a platform for choose your own adventure stories (which I got into because I'm a nerd for the Lifeline games) Twine is a good one: http://twinery.org/

I'll have to check that out! I really like lifeline games too! 

 

I'm working on a book with a friend as well. I recently got the strong urge to make some of our main characters a-spec and to find more representation in other books & media! 

I also think it's very telling of my own romantic identity that some characters can be explained really well as a-spec (especially because I started identifying as aro years after we began writing).

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I usually write poetry/prose and recently I wrote a poem for class where we had to find a place in nature and describe that place without directly describing it. It's really long but I think it turned out pretty good so if anyone wants to read it:

Spoiler

Untouched yet tainted by man

Like a grand ball hosted by nature itself.

Trees bow in greeting,

Cicadas sing their praise,

Butterflies flutter across the jade floor,

 

 

The palmettos wave their fans,

Ever so polite are these forest beings.

Expressive yet silent,

They watch as man treads

Through the meticulously created ball room.

 

 

The lovely outfits of the occasion

Shades of jade and emerald,

The frequent peridot,

The occasional amethyst,

All glittering in the bright light of this glorious occasion.

 

 

Reminiscent of the fae,

You’re drawn in alone with sweet sounds

Never to walk out again if not cautious.

Yet nature is also kind in its care

For one cannot help but smile

 

 

At such a peaceful scene before them.

Old trees with beards of gray,

Friendly footmen enjoying the greenery,

A symphony incapable of transcription,

Welcome to any who enter.

 

 

I was not born into this grandeur,

Yet a path has been carved for me.

Connected like that of branches,

Yet separated like earth and water,

I have yet to find my place.

 

 

Such a variety of dancers,

Some fresh faces close by the ground,

Some aged with long and curling fingers,

Some half way gone resting upon a leafy bed.

I wonder how small and young I seem to them.

 

 

Their years are innumerable,

Mine are finite.

Born of the same world,

Yet different in life,

And different in death.

 

 

I know once I leave this palace

Its inhabitants will continue the dance,

Will switch the musicians,

Further the conversation

Whether man decides to attend or not.

 

 

Although man claims the occasion,

Man did not create it.

Nature built this palace

Brick by brick and piece by piece,

Yet man has claimed his room.

 

 

Gracious hosts invite man in for a visit

Although he brings his bags as if to stay.

He works for the lovely hosts

Providing for all who visit,

Tempting visitors to stay.

 

 

Man does not steal the spotlight,

But leaves fingerprints

Throughout the halls,

And interrupts the music

With his own song.

 

 

He pretends to speak for the silent,

Attempts to understand

The vast ballroom not of his creation,

And control it

In what human ways he can.

 

 

Nature is a name given by man.

He feigns knowledge to gain entrance,

Pretends to know nature

Like a simple definition,

But he doesn’t really know.

 

 

It is impossible to know a place

That transforms so quickly,

That disappears and again

Rises like phoenix from ash,

Forever retaining a fresh face.

 

 

Man pretends to recognize

Each new face as it appears,

But instead he creates a new definition,

A person to go along with the face,

And he always pretends they are a friend.

 

 

Sometimes a close friend,

Sometimes more distant,

But man always claims to know

Nature as if he were there

When it was brought into the world.

 

 

Nature is indifferent.

It does not require anything

To continue to host the ball,

Does not require comfort,

All it needs are guests.

 

 

The guests create a community

Which thrives off of each other,

Which helps pick up the phoenix

When it is ready to be reborn,

It does not need man.

 

 

Although man is not necessary,

Nature welcomes man to watch.

Nature provides help when man needs it,

And he gladly accepts

For he knows he needs the help of the hosts.

 

 

Man feigns being self-sufficient,

But man cannot create something of nothing,

Nature is necessary to build a palace.

Man can only mimic the wondrous designs

Of the ever changing palace.

 

 

Although man can be imposing,

He is forever grateful.

Always showing appreciation

At least every few years

For the gracious gifts of the hosts.

 

 

This palace will flourish for years to come.

There was a time before the palace,

And there will be a time after,

But as long as the palace stands

It will continue to cling

 

 

Onto the ashes to be reborn.

Some rooms may have collapsed,

But new rooms will be constructed.

Some rooms may be weathered,

But new paint will be applied.

 

 

Nature will continue without man

Just as this palace continues to stand

With or without its visitors,

Some building upon its splendor,

Some simply spectators.

 

 

Man can only hope the palace continues to stand

For even after long absences,

Even after hurtful acts,

Man will always need nature,

And will continue to be but a humble observer

 

 

In the palace that is nature.

 

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2 hours ago, Tired-Sparo said:
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Untouched yet tainted by man

 

Like a grand ball hosted by nature itself.

 

Trees bow in greeting,

 

Cicadas sing their praise,

 

Butterflies flutter across the jade floor,

 

 

 

The palmettos wave their fans,

 

Ever so polite are these forest beings.

 

Expressive yet silent,

 

They watch as man treads

 

Through the meticulously created ball room.

 

 

 

The lovely outfits of the occasion

 

Shades of jade and emerald,

 

The frequent peridot,

 

The occasional amethyst,

 

All glittering in the bright light of this glorious occasion.

 

 

 

Reminiscent of the fae,

 

You’re drawn in alone with sweet sounds

 

Never to walk out again if not cautious.

 

Yet nature is also kind in its care

 

For one cannot help but smile

 

 

 

At such a peaceful scene before them.

 

Old trees with beards of gray,

 

Friendly footmen enjoying the greenery,

 

A symphony incapable of transcription,

 

Welcome to any who enter.

 

 

 

I was not born into this grandeur,

 

Yet a path has been carved for me.

 

Connected like that of branches,

 

Yet separated like earth and water,

 

I have yet to find my place.

 

 

 

Such a variety of dancers,

 

Some fresh faces close by the ground,

 

Some aged with long and curling fingers,

 

Some half way gone resting upon a leafy bed.

 

I wonder how small and young I seem to them.

 

 

 

Their years are innumerable,

 

Mine are finite.

 

Born of the same world,

 

Yet different in life,

 

And different in death.

 

 

 

I know once I leave this palace

 

Its inhabitants will continue the dance,

 

Will switch the musicians,

 

Further the conversation

 

Whether man decides to attend or not.

 

 

 

Although man claims the occasion,

 

Man did not create it.

 

Nature built this palace

 

Brick by brick and piece by piece,

 

Yet man has claimed his room.

 

 

 

Gracious hosts invite man in for a visit

 

Although he brings his bags as if to stay.

 

He works for the lovely hosts

 

Providing for all who visit,

 

Tempting visitors to stay.

 

 

 

Man does not steal the spotlight,

 

But leaves fingerprints

 

Throughout the halls,

 

And interrupts the music

 

With his own song.

 

 

 

He pretends to speak for the silent,

 

Attempts to understand

 

The vast ballroom not of his creation,

 

And control it

 

In what human ways he can.

 

 

 

Nature is a name given by man.

 

He feigns knowledge to gain entrance,

 

Pretends to know nature

 

Like a simple definition,

 

But he doesn’t really know.

 

 

 

It is impossible to know a place

 

That transforms so quickly,

 

That disappears and again

 

Rises like phoenix from ash,

 

Forever retaining a fresh face.

 

 

 

Man pretends to recognize

 

Each new face as it appears,

 

But instead he creates a new definition,

 

A person to go along with the face,

 

And he always pretends they are a friend.

 

 

 

Sometimes a close friend,

 

Sometimes more distant,

 

But man always claims to know

 

Nature as if he were there

 

When it was brought into the world.

 

 

 

Nature is indifferent.

 

It does not require anything

 

To continue to host the ball,

 

Does not require comfort,

 

All it needs are guests.

 

 

 

The guests create a community

 

Which thrives off of each other,

 

Which helps pick up the phoenix

 

When it is ready to be reborn,

 

It does not need man.

 

 

 

Although man is not necessary,

 

Nature welcomes man to watch.

 

Nature provides help when man needs it,

 

And he gladly accepts

 

For he knows he needs the help of the hosts.

 

 

 

Man feigns being self-sufficient,

 

But man cannot create something of nothing,

 

Nature is necessary to build a palace.

 

Man can only mimic the wondrous designs

 

Of the ever changing palace.

 

 

 

Although man can be imposing,

 

He is forever grateful.

 

Always showing appreciation

 

At least every few years

 

For the gracious gifts of the hosts.

 

 

 

This palace will flourish for years to come.

 

There was a time before the palace,

 

And there will be a time after,

 

But as long as the palace stands

 

It will continue to cling

 

 

 

Onto the ashes to be reborn.

 

Some rooms may have collapsed,

 

But new rooms will be constructed.

 

Some rooms may be weathered,

 

But new paint will be applied.

 

 

 

Nature will continue without man

 

Just as this palace continues to stand

 

With or without its visitors,

 

Some building upon its splendor,

 

Some simply spectators.

 

 

 

Man can only hope the palace continues to stand

 

For even after long absences,

 

Even after hurtful acts,

 

Man will always need nature,

 

And will continue to be but a humble observer

 

 

 

In the palace that is nature.

 

 

 

Wow... I really like this. How long does something like that take to write?

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@Tired-Sparo I absolutely love how you simultaneously called out Man imposing his definitions and structures onto nature, but also used a manmade idea, i.e., the ballroom, to characterize and describe nature. It very clearly shows that although the narrator is wary of staying past their welcome and claiming nature, they are still beholden to Man's ideals and assumptions and ingrained notions that one must always see through human eyes. It's like an acknowledgement of bias that was taught to the narrator and can't ever fully be erased.

 

Just a lovely poem, thank you for sharing

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2 hours ago, Naegleria fowleri said:

 

Wow... I really like this. How long does something like that take to write?

For me it took 3 days but I didn't work on it non-stop. It was a good few hours each day though.

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I tried to produce a poem with real versification in English, but I simply cannot do it. So then “free verse”, lol.

Spoiler

‘Green’ from the Aro Book of Wisdom

 

The learned chemists told us:
hemoglobin and chlorophyll
are mirror images of each other.
One with the strength of iron
while magnesium reigns in the latter.

 

The elders concurred and concluded:
they are the yin and yang of life –
beasts' blood and plants' leaves.
Red stands for passion,
green for longing for the light.

 

On the islands furthest to the East 🇯🇵
before harvest, tea plants are covered
dark as dusk on even the brightest days.
Hoping that solar rays will touch them again
the bushes turn to emerald-green.

 

 

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Hey everyone! As a lot of people seems to write here, I was wondering if someone was doing nanowrimo this year?

(it seems that people who write novels are a minority here, but who knows)

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27 minutes ago, nonmerci said:

Hey everyone! As a lot of people seems to write here, I was wondering if someone was doing nanowrimo this year?

(it seems that people who write novels are a minority here, but who knows)

 

Unfortunately, yes, yes I am. For the 8th year in a row. Oof...

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Cool, now I am not the only aro who does it! But that's my first time (and I'm already late, and should be writing right now lol).

Courage!

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On 11/2/2018 at 6:43 PM, nonmerci said:

Hey everyone! As a lot of people seems to write here, I was wondering if someone was doing nanowrimo this year?

(it seems that people who write novels are a minority here, but who knows)

I tried it this year, but only for six days. It's just so many words. I don't write fiction usually so I thought nanowrimo would be a good way to force me to really try it out. My story was actually aro themed.

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Nano is a good for motivation. Impression that you trier though you didn't write fiction before.

I have passe the point of 10 000 words but I don't think I'll finish it this year. First because I don't have enough with 50 000 words, second because I can't help but wanting to go back because I'm not satisfied. 

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6 hours ago, nonmerci said:

Nano is a good for motivation. Impression that you trier though you didn't write fiction before.

I have passe the point of 10 000 words but I don't think I'll finish it this year. First because I don't have enough with 50 000 words, second because I can't help but wanting to go back because I'm not satisfied. 

I have tried writing before but I would always get stuck right away. So I thought nano would be a good thing to really force me to write. And it did. I wrote more than 4000 words which is much more than I ever wrote before. And I also realized that I'm really bad at imagining characters, outside the pov.

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