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Bad Stories - How To Write..

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Nexus
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Posted 01/17/08 - 6:43 AM:
Subject: Bad Stories - How To Write..
Bad writing. There must be a kind of 'talent' needed to do it 'for fun'? I'll keep it very short and see if others can follow with something that is worse.....


GNOME LOVE

Terry had always really fancied Barbara who worked in the same office, an office that marketed garden gnomes, it was named 'The Men That Live In the Garden Corporation' and the only thing he could do all day was stare at Barbara like a rabid dog awaiting it's prey. Terry had never had luck with girls but one day after work he said to Barbara:

" What you doing tonight, nothing too interesting I hope! "

Barbara instead of pretending to find it funny as usual said:

" My life isn't interesting Terry. I work for a garden gnome company..." She looked at him and had a sparkle in her eyes like you see when a child doesn't understand a maths problem.

Terry wasn't too smart but he knew, like a lion knows, even a real dumb lion who is thin and a failure because they are never successful in the hunt and always capture things like birds and rabbits. He knew now was the time to act, it was like he had seen an injured baby bamby chewing on something.

Act he did. For three or four weeks the Garden Gnome company became but something they had to do like going to the toilet. Terry would visit Barbara's little flat that was quite nice when you went inside, that had, he was suprised, books on quite alot of subjects including science. The first time he'd gone round he'd been awkward like the injured Bambi. But now the lion had learnt how to hunt, and they'd go at it in every room. Terry also thought it was about more than sex. Sometimes they would eat out at the Indian and play on 'Second Life' the internet game together. His character was called Mr Gnome Lover and hers the same but Mrs. Because of how you play that game they both had to play from their separate apartments so there was never any sex after but they would often talk about it on the net in the game! What other players had to listen to!!

Anyway, one day Barbara met another character called 'Gnome Orgasmic' and thought it was Terry in disguise. They talked dirty and arranged to meet without Terry knowing and without Barbara knowing who it was! Well it turned out, quite surprisingly, to be another man who worked at their Gnome company. His name was John and Barbara actually quite liked him but he was married. Well that didn't stop them and soon someone else was doing it in every room with her in her flat!!!

Well in the end Terry found out when he caught them chatting in Second Life and although he was angry kind of gave in because he was just glad to have had a little happiness for awhile. However, he did get his own back on the pair. That is another story.


Reasons why Gnome Love is a poor story.

Names - Terry and Barbara are terribly 'unliterary names'. Check out Martin Amis for how to choose bizarre literary names that are somehow convincing.

Humour- there is plenty of unintentional humour but the intentional humour relys on cheap innuendo and drab running conceits, for example the garden gone image juxtaposed with sexual situations and as a way of creating order in the narrative.

Simile - the simile of the Lion, injured deer, rabid dog; these are all meant, perhaps, to provide some degree of humour but one is also led to conclude that these images are stylistic feature that are meant to present a degree of skill and intelligence on the part of the writer. The intelligent reader does not get this impression.

Standard of prose- the prose could not really be described as literary in any sense. It is perhaps on par with the kind of prose one can discover amongst the pseudo pornographic stories at the back of tabloids. It is supposed to be 'conversational'; the kind of conversational tone one finds with people of quite low intelligence in public houses.

Plot and situations - The only promising factor in the plot is the internet game scenario which feels quite contemporary and might very well be serviced well by a more accomplished writer. The plots initial ground in the gnome company is banal as is the opening, and only, speech. Subsequant development displays failure to use description of character and environment (note description of Barbara's room 'inside it was quite nice') to any skilled degree; in a good story we should feel educated and informed about these things. The finale with the treacherous affair and Terry's supposed revenge, that we may or may not find out about in a future tale, is banal and one feels perhaps retrieved from the writers own life.
Paul
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Posted 01/25/08 - 3:20 AM:

GNOME LOVE

Terry had always really fancied the GNU Object Model Environment which was installed on the computers at his office, an office that marketed gnome panel applets, it was named 'The Men That Live In Reverence of Miguel de Icaza' and the only thing he could do all day was stare at GNOME like a torrent awaiting a seeder. Terry had never had luck with desktop environments but one day after work he said to GNOME:

" What you doing tonight, nothing too interesting I hope! "

GNOME instead of pretending to find it funny as usual said:

" My life isn't interesting Terry. I provide a visual framework for organizing the applications and processes on my operating system..." She looked at him and had a sparkle in her taskbar like you see when a child process doesn't know where it was forked from.

Terry wasn't too smart but he knew, like a software architect knows, even a real dumb software architect who is poor and a failure because they are never successful in finishing a project and always use Visual Basic and MS Access. He knew now was the time to act, it was like he had seen a stalled process with a prompt for termination.

Act he did. For three or four weeks the GNOME panel applet company became but something they had to do like the daily backups. Terry would login on his little laptop to GNOME's Ubuntu edition that was quite nice when you went inside if you liked brown, that had, he was suprised, applications in many categories including science. The first time he'd logged in he'd been awkward like the injured child process. But now the software architect had learnt how to code, and they'd go at it in every room. Terry also thought it was about more than software development. Sometimes he would eat with her spilling crumbs on the keyboard and play on 'Second Life' the internet game on her, except its linux port was a buggy alpha so they didn't enjoy it much. His character was called Mr Gnome Lover. Because of how you play that game they both had to play from their separate sides of the laptop case so there was never any sex after but he would often talk about it on the net in the game! What other players had to listen to!!

Anyway, one day GNOME was logged into by another character called 'Gnome Orgasmic' and thought it was Terry in disguise. They talked dirty and arranged to meet without Terry knowing and without GNOME's knowing who it was! Well it turned out, quite surprisingly, to be another man who worked at their Gnome company. His name was John and GNOME actually quite liked him but he was a KDE developer. Well that didn't stop them and soon someone else was doing it in every room with her in the office!!!

Well in the end Terry found out when he caught them chatting in Second Life and although he was angry kind of gave in because he was just glad to have had a little happiness for awhile. However, he did get his own back on the pair by wiping every computer and installing Enlightenment on them, incidentally bankrupting his gnome panel applet company. That is another story.

Edited by Paul on 01/25/08 - 3:26 AM
hyena in petticoat
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Posted 01/25/08 - 3:41 AM:

I would have posted an example of a bad story. But seeing that it will please Paul greatly, I'd rather not. grin
Nexus
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Posted 01/31/08 - 6:13 PM:

Opening of an appalling novel.



Jim flicked on the TV, it was Miller time, time to chill and everything just slipped away like the backside of a big broad in a soapy Jacuzzi; slop into the great bubbly pleasures of Friday night alone. Well that was how it always felt for the first fifteen minutes or so but then Blossom his big breasted bird burned again into his haunted imagination. Blossom. Seemed she was more interested in her computer and her nude photography these days than men; was it all just sex with her now? Well, that's what his mates told him. He didn't go out hardly these days but they'd watched her dancing wildly in the local pulling joint, pinning highly charged and dangerous looking males against the walls of toilet cubicles, or on her knees fine tuning her lollipop skills to the joyfull grimaces of some fellow who'd never got it so quickly.

The memories. They'd been together since high school but it had never been smooth riding, only when he was pinned against the hairless clutching thighs! No, it was over. However, she had sent him another text message today with another picture of her in some compromising position. Was she trying to make him a head case? Other women were just not the same, he'd almost given up looking. They wanted cuddles, fancy gifts, gentle build up's to some sexual horizon where just maybe you got what you were after all along. He wasn't used to all this subtlety. Blossom had always been honest about her needs (and not just with him though he preferred to let his thoughts stay away from that 'known known' as Donald Rumsfield might have put it..); she didn't want poetry and flowers.

Then there was her philosophical side; maybe she was after a more thoughtful fellow all along. Sometimes he'd seen her spread out on the sofa (not in the usual position) pouring over 'A History of Western Philosophy' or some shit called 'Being and Time' by someone called Hide Doggy Gar or something like that. What was it all about? Was she trying to do his head in? He remembered the time when he'd tried to confront her about it; that must have been when things had started to sour.

'Come on darlin', why do you read this shit for?" He glared at the cover of the book.

'Because it's interesting, what's it to you anyhow?' She glared back with equal abandon with a little murder thrown in.

'Cos you are my fucking girlfriend and I wanna know what's going on in that pretty little head of yours darlin'' He played it smooth, trying to win her over. It was a little like throwing a biscuit to a tiger.

'Yeah, fat chance of that moron.'She was not in the mood for smooth talk tonight.

'Fuck off. So, you know what fucking bein and fucking time by Hide dar Gar is all about then?' He looked like a demented philosophy proffesor after a labotomy, "Tell us all about it..'

'I'll try and give you a little idea..' She threw the book onto the coffee table and assumed a seated position so her splendid thighs fulfilled their role as tightly gripped man huggers within figure huggin' cotton. 'The western tradition in philosophy always naively, some would say, assumed that knowledge could be configured in subject object terms, although it is true this was never made explicit by the Greeks..'

'Come on darlin', I've got that video off the net with Pamela Anderson init.' His eyes had been assuming the glazed expression of a corpse...

'Fuck Pamela..' She'd lost her thread.

'Yeah wouldn't mind..' His eyes again assumed the shine of the living.

'Yeah well she would. Anyway, to cut a long story short, we can know longer assume that we exist as distinct subjects in any absolute sense but must, Heidegger asserts, assume that we have been thrown into a preexisting..' She whipped her head around as her boyfriend began destroying her considerable collection of books.
heyybabiedollzz
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Posted 02/06/08 - 9:23 PM:

heyy, peoplez!

here's a little tale I wrote just for this thread. it's terrible! poor literature on all fronts.

hope you (dis)like it!!

lol.

- - - - - - - - - -

Although he realized it 'wasn't as good as real life' part of him was convinced it was. He remembered playing entranced as a child, yet somehow this was different. This wasn't the silly crush before sexuality had truly emerged but a serious pursuit. Surely, he was an adult now, going on twenty four, what he chose to do could be deemed reasonable, worthwhile. Those hours spent at work playing with the companies financial data; was this 'playing' really so different? After all there was a social life of sorts. He preferred multi player mode which allowed you to chat real time to others via mic over the web. Could one really say he was alienated? Though if he were asking all these questions then there must be some residue of guilt he was trying to brush off his existential shirt, some unsightly piece of knowledge he wasn't facing up to. Well, for now he was happy that was what counted for him.

Well happy was perhaps putting it strongly. He tended away from drugs whilst gaming but caffeine was a fair constant brain altering device besides the insistent magic of screen and sound; sugar also, chocolate mostly. Currently his obsession (he liked to use the word lightly, pretending this interface with technology had no real grip on his reality) was a particularly original new multi genre work 'Psycho Corp'. You took on the role of employee within a particularly shadowy corporation in a darkly parallel world; a city environment, the 'company' consorted with criminals and corrupt politicians in order to get get its business done. Business was anything from environmentally destructive projects (on a grand scale) to inciting gang violence and even terrorist activity to keep consumers scared for various reasons which ultimately benefited the shareholder through the companies market standing. One could go from a low level operative sleeping with rival companies female employees to gain vital knowledge; fraternizing with corrupt officials in seedy bars perhaps graduate to boardroom positions where the roles became more cerebral more in line with brainwashing fellow employees, initiating grand projects that would surely rape the environment or trying to influence the next generation of presidential hopefuls (of course the whole thing was set in an American city..)

There was something of the real in all this, at peaks of adrenalin he felt himself to be having real insights into how the world really worked. He would admit, the following day, dragging himself off to work after inadequate sleep, that perhaps the insights were not as vital as they had felt in the darkened work room, held in a patience that could rarely be commanded by things in the real world by the giant lcd screen that was his window. This recognition, that reality factor which, on the last count, might be a large part of what makes us human; that was the sentiment that was the saving sanity with him. That although teenagers shoot down other kids or knife strangers after playing mindless action games, it cannot be the games themselves that are entirely to blame. Rather, a complex mix of factors; parenting, movies, drugs, primitive gang mentality. There had always been violence and evil acts; it was just that these days we were more aware of the violence within ourselves. Yes, that was it. We had all played those games; even the most 'normal' person knew how good it felt to blow away some stroppy traffic cop on screen, kick an aggressor to death. The fact that all this was out there only meant the 'inside' was becoming more 'outside' as technology allowed. Mostly it had therapeutic value, perhaps in the best games there was even an expansion of consciousness occurring, something akin to the reading of literature (though he hadn't read a book in ages.)

It had been another night in; though how 'in' could he be said to be? After all, nattering with Ginger (surely not his real name) or Delila (he longed to know what she really looked like - if she was a girl for sure!?) he had conversations as satisfying as those within any club he had been to. They did things together, went, perhaps, on a business trip to Japan to seduce the management of a fledgling Internet site (this was in the later stages of the game). He turned toward the large digital numerals of his sleekly designed clock in real world. Nearly two am. Unless something remarkable was happening this would usually be a time to call it a night. In the computer generated world time past differently; specific projects could take place in real time yet months and years could pass in hours as the companies fortunes unrolled into the future. So now it was 2 am. Computer world was daylight, he sat in his plush office suite, he had just been chatting to Ginger about a possible take over bid of another corporation (also run by real people in the real world). In the computer world walls were only apparently real, though as one moved through vector projections the eyes and brain created a more or less accepted world. Fear and panic was cushioned by a knowledge that your fortunes could only slide in the virtual existence (there was no credit card usage - yet). There was comfort and safety in this knowledge but also frustration. Now he would go to bed and and the inevitable morning would greet his consciousness issued as if fresh from some miraculous computer itself, into the new day. Yet what if now he were to do something different? In fact these questions were merely rhetorical. He was almost sure that tonight it was going to happen. Already he was putting on the black clothes and taking the night vision goggles out of their box. The goggles had been purchased over the net as had the other items he excitedly placed into his backpack. This need not be different from any other mission. He was sure of his objective though a little unsure as to how it fitted in with the entire pattern of his life; this would reveal itself to him. Like making a daring move within the game, the unfolding results could be breathtaking, unprecedented. Hastily locking his apartment he hit his stride, adrenalin doing the work. Once inside the small Ford everything seemed to be on automatic aided by the usual unreality of the city streets. He knew exactly where she lived and would head there as if guided by satellite navigation.

It had never been true stalking as such, he would have shuddered to think of himself in such a light. Rather she just happened to visit the same convenience store as him on occasion and he just happened to follow a similar route home (ok, perhaps he had gone a little out of his way). She was very attractive; a confident stride though perhaps a little dreamy. She would often absent absentmindedly fumble with her bag whilst paying, she even seemed unsure as to why she had bought the things she had. He had never seen here with another man or even a friend. He assumed there probably were such people but for now he would allow himself the belief she led a very solitary existence. He was quite sure she lived alone.

She lived on the first floor within a modern apartment complex. As this was summer a window was often left open which he knew opened into what appeared to be her living room. Through helping a friend who had once been locked out of his place he knew it was quite easy to get the window open from outside. This was what he was counting on. The way seemed clear, the area was off the busier roads, close to a park. If someone caught him that might be his escape route. He could hide panting in the bushes as the angry neighbors or whoever they were ran past, their hum drum lives livened for a brief night by a possible intruder; realizing, like within computer game violence, that the violence can be a friend, a cushion against total apathy though of course this could never be acknowledged.

The window was open. It was easy to mount the first ledge and then with help of a drain pipe grab the lower sill. Sure enough the latch soon gave way and somehow he was inside. O this was the real thing! In the darkness the walls almost seemed like vector graphics yet one couldn't mistake the aroma of a lived in human habitat. With the aid of the night vision goggles the shape of the rooms and objects became fairly clear. All had closed down for the night, even the electrical devices were sleeping, issued from their standby half life so as not to suck energy out the grid and warm up the earth a microscopic bit more. The mini torch beam was highlighting photographs and modern prints. At this point of a game it was essential to keep one's nerve; it was so easy to get over excited over the unexpected new turn and make some dumb error which could have unforeseen dire consequences. He remained calm. He would take a while to find her sleeping hole. This was going to be dangerous; he was pretty sure she would be trying to sleep but whether she was unconscious or not was unknown datum. However, to complete the mission he would have to explore. There did seem to be a murmur coming from beyond the kitchen. He nudged a door open and found a quite small room with what was almost certainly a body spread unceremoniously on a double bed. Alone thank heaven. Approaching he could see she was only wearing her underwear and covered with the thinnest of sheets. Now, he'd only ever done this once before on a dummy during a first aid course. He removed the sheath from his backpack and took out the needle. The sedative had already been inserted in doses advised on the net. She was well gone now, wouldn't feel a thing. The needle found its mark and he delighted in injecting the contents into her soft inner arm. There was almost a sexual thrill in this. Had he consciously allowed such thought to come to the forefront of his mind yet or was he still in an extended realm of the game?

There was perhaps an hour of inspection; not just her, no not only the body. He discovered photo albums bursting with the suspected friends and family and numerous men who has probably been and gone from her life. She often had a playful look, he could tell she had a sense of humour perhaps of the absurd too. She had clearly traveled; here was Sydney harbour bridge, here the Statue of Liberty. Perhaps they had been those short package trips; there was no journal in evidence so he would have to let the pictures tell a story. Then there was her; live, warm and real right here. No computer game could match this and yet the strange other-reality feeling was there. The colour of the underwear was only revealed by the the mini-torch; purple. Not unexciting, he gently smoothed the skin of her forehead and arms and legs but never touched the most intimate areas. That had never been part of the mission and he would have considered himself a failure to have gone 'that far'. He brushed the breast, almost accidentally. He gazed for some time at the face. Yes, he thought her beautiful. He would never have gone this far otherwise. The sedative, he knew, only kept the subject at a certain depth of unconsciousness for about ninety minutes. He could not risk staying much longer. There was now an emerging thrill over the realization that she would go about her life tomorrow and never know a thing about all this. One challenge he had set himself was to take a a small trinket just to remind himself that he had had the nerve to do this and hadn't dreamt it or that it had just been another mission within the game. He decided on a photo that had been absentmindedly stuffed in the back of one of the albums. She was playing with a pet dog, perhaps in the family home, maybe it was her younger sister looking on in the background. He also felt a little like defecating at this moment but knew it would be crazy to use her toilet. It was not too urgent and was more of an excited feeling than anything; like when one was hunting for Christmas presents as a child knowing it was forbidden yet aroused to the hilt that one might peep the desired object, touch it, imagine playing with it.

He had returned home somehow. It had all gone so smoothly, so without a hitch. There would be no advance in the game to look forward to, something that might be pursued the following night perhaps bragging to Ginger of Delila. No, this was his secret and the pay off had been within the act. That he would never know her, never speak to her had been part of the satisfaction. That he had broken into the sacred space of another human being didn't seem to occur to him with much force. After all the things one did in the game! Who cares, as long as you can get away with it. Just turn on the news and there is the latest executive or politician who has broken the rules, gone further than they supposedly should. They were playing too, but they'd lost; they'd been stupid and now had to feel the public gaze and perhaps even lose their liberty. No other missions had been planned by him; this was a whole new scenario in gaming; a particularly lonely though thrilling one.
Nexus
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Posted 02/07/08 - 12:46 PM:

I thought it was quite good.

Maybe you should tell us all why it isn't good.

(was this drawn from your own experience by the way?)

Edited by Nexus on 02/07/08 - 12:55 PM
b.mellow
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Posted 02/07/08 - 6:52 PM:

Why don't we put our energies and knowledge of how not to write a story to work by writing a good story that is worth reading?
libertygrl
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Posted 02/11/08 - 4:55 PM:

heyybabiedollzz wrote:
heyy, peoplez!

here's a little tale I wrote just for this thread. it's terrible! poor literature on all fronts.

hope you (dis)like it!!

lol.


posted my comments here:

www.thecouchforum.com/comme...6&findpost=10467#post10467
Nihil Loc
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Posted 02/16/08 - 4:13 AM:

Does it count as a story if it doesn't make sense and is frustrating to read?

In our last century stories ceased to exist. This was a fiction that would eventuate itself in its own time (in our last century) which was the unknown future of Phil Author and the rest of mankind.

A dream coincided with Phil's reality and he became insensible, strange and nauseous. He thirsted for water. He felt as if he had run marathon and could find nothing to drink. Green apples spun above his nose, hovering in midair, and dew dropped from them, flew from the centrifugal force over his head. He could not get at them. They faded in the air. The cold-looking oneiric drops of water ravaged him with an intensity never before experienced. The desire recalled a paper cup with the cold water in a director's office. The head rush of constricting blood flow from the cooler during those games in ninety degree heat.

Phil went unconscious and he ended. His fiction did too.


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