Writing a Short Story..

[Acepilotf14]

Any suggestions? It's for school..
I'm thinking about doing a Ghost Recon fanfic..
Seems like it would be easy to do, since I can place it in the future a few years.
(GRAW)

 

[Tollbooth Willie]

Give it erotic undertones and a sexy lead.

Oh, and polar bears! Can't forget about polar bears!

 

[Acepilotf14]

D:! It turns out the mexican insurgents were lead by polar bears!
OH SHIT!

 

[ríomhaire]

Same thing I suggested in the last thread:
A British soldier in WWII who's married to a native-German woman. The war is very emotional for him with crap like having his brother-in-law as a prisoner of war. He eventually breaks down when the fighting gets to his wife's home town, where he previously lived for 3 years.

 

[Tollbooth Willie]

D:! It turns out the mexican insurgents were lead by polar bears!
OH SHIT!

Not only that, but the polar bears were simply underlings of a diabolical plot concocted by the entire Antarctica continent itself! Yes, the ENTIRE continent!

AND PENGUINS FROM CANADA!

 

[theotherguy]

I am also writing a short story. Actually three or four of them right now.

In general, don't do fanfic.

Just don't.

Writing a fan novel was one of the dumbest things I ever did. Its a great embarrassment to me.

The fact of the matter is, nobody will respect you if you don't have an original story. It's tempting to write about something you're familiar with, and a lucrative fictional setting put up by another author is a very tempting topic to indulge in. But instead of expanding on another's work, it is always better to create your own work.

It's much more difficult, but much more fulfilling. If you're going to write a story, write about a topic that you're familiar with and interested in, but create the plot, characters and setting yourself. So you like futuristic military universes? Then make your own back story, characters, plot and setting, and include the elements that you enjoy yourself.

Trust me, there was no greater shame than submitting my novel to Valve, being personally criticized by Valve's writer for stealing his ideas and writing a petty story about them.

If you just wish to practice writing with fanfic, go for it, but don't expect respect, and don't expect for it to go anywhere. You can never get published with fanfic, and you can never write anything that would be considered literature.

/rant over/

Now on to actual writing advice!

Step 1: Plan! I cannot emphasize this more. Some writers like to go in and organically create a story from scratch. While this results in a rather free-flowing story, it also results in glaring plot-holes, pointless dialouge and in general a story that makes no sense and is no fun to read. Have a general idea of what you want to write, and write down beforehand the motives and characteristics of your characters. Think about what the central theme of your story will be, and the reaction you want to get from the reader. Think about how the reader will feel at the end of your story.

Step 2: Write an outline. Just about a sentence per scene will do. You can rearrange your outline as you wish to make your plot more interesting.

Step 3: Write. Fill in the outline with descriptions, imagery and dialouge.

Step 4: Read it over. Look for things that don't make sense, don't flow well, or are simply grammatically erroneous.

Step 5: Have someone else read it over. Have them read it for content, not grammatical errors. If they think its boring, or doesn't make sense, you probably messed something up.

Step 6: Publish. (In your case, give it to the teacher)

 

[Acepilotf14]

I don't expect my work to go anywhere, and after I've gotten my grade I will likely burn it. :0
So, I'll just do a little bit, and anyway, I don't expect many of them to have even played Ghost Recon...

Oh, and yeah, If I need to write another, maybe a longer one, then I'll use my own thoughts.
Heh..
Then again, I might just scrap this 3/4 of a page I've already written and start anew..
My stories never get past a page..

 

[xcellerate]

write a love story about a guy and girl, and the guy gets the girl, but then loses the girl, but in the end he gets the girl.

You'll make brazillions! $$$

 

[Acepilotf14]

So true.

 

[Stigmata]

You'll make Brazillions! $$$

Fixed.

 

[theotherguy]

maybe post your progress?

 

[MJ12]

Do it like HL, but instead of Gordon Freeman, it's Morgan Freeman and his mundane adventures. And a mysterious man in a suit known as the G-Man aka George Lucas follows him around trying desperately to get him to be part of a horrible, horrible movie.

George Lucas: "Morgan Freeman, in the flesh, or should I say in the prison suit. I took the liberty of relieving you of your talents. Most of them were Lucas Art Property....
The Bruce and Evan Almighty franchise is in our control, for the time being... thanks to you.
Quite a nasty piece of crap you managed; I am impressed. That's why I'm here, Mr. Freeman. I have recommended your services to my... employers"

Morgan Freeman: "NOOOOOO"

 

[Tollbooth Willie]

Do it like HL, but instead of Gordon Freeman, it's Morgan Freeman and his mundane adventures. And a mysterious man in a suit known as the G-Man aka George Lucas follows him around trying desperately to get him to be part of a horrible, horrible movie.

George Lucas: "Morgan Freeman, in the flesh, or should I say in the prison suit. I took the liberty of relieving you of your talents. Most of them were Lucas Art Property....
The Bruce and Evan Almighty franchise is in our control, for the time being... thanks to you.
Quite a nasty piece of crap you managed; I am impressed. That's why I'm here, Mr. Freeman. I have recommended your services to my... employers"

Morgan Freeman: "NOOOOOO"

There's gold in these here hills!

 

[MJ12]

I try my best, thank you.

 

[theotherguy]

Right now I'm writing a short story with the topic:

in the future, a lonely government employee falls in love with his car's intelligent female navigation system, only to get into a terrible car crash, after which the car's memory must be erased.

 

[lePobz]

I've just had a peanut M&M that tasted strongly of Coffee. You could write about that.

 

[MJ12]

nice idear otherguy!

 

[Headcrab Pie]

I have this same problem, but was thinking of doing it during the Combine shelling of Ravenholm.

I have to write a horror.

 

[Que-Ever]

First things first, you should think of a better acronym than GRAW.






GRAW!

 

[Sui]

When writing a story, I think you have to start with the characters. A story with an imaginative, interesting setting will collapse under its own weight if the people in the story are not likeable and believable.

Characters are fun to create anyway. Just remember that they lie closer to home than you'd expect - in other words, write about who you know, rather than copying cliche's! For instance, if you don't know an army sergeant who calls people "maggots" and bellows all day long, don't write about one. You won't be able to pull it off unless you're an expert writer.

 

[Acepilotf14]

What about Seargent Johnson?


Oh, I have a Brilliant Idea..

Pobz stood near the window, sweating. He knew this was how it was going to be.. he knew that he was making a choice he could not change. The dealer had told him the details.. All he had to do was eat it, and he would get to a new high. He remembered. The M&M felt heavy in his hands... How can a single M&M have so much power? So much control over a person's life... he staggered back and sat in his highback chair. He kept thinking.. 'Do I eat it? What will happen?' He wondered. Would he get high? Like that time he smoked 20 joints of weed in one minute? Or would he just die on the spot? Was it poison? Was Que trying to kill him!? He calmed down. He knew it couldn't be that bad, that horrible.. He could trust this 'Dealer'. He popped it into his mouth.. and suddenly, a strong wave of coffee flavor exploded into his mouth. It was like heaven. It was like playing every single Half-Life game at once, while having an orgasm AND smoking pot...
It. Was. Amazing.

 

[Jintor]

I personally write stream of consciousness, but I'm not really too sure as to how effective it is.

 

[theotherguy]

Got around to writing some of my story.

here's what I have so far:
--Navigator--

The alarm clock blared incessantly; a jarring wail that would alarm any paranoid man to think there an air strike was coming, if it had been emanating from the trenches, rather than the dingy bedside table of a government clerk. A hirsute arm reached out in the darkness, banging upon the annoying electronic box until belatedly, its pudgy fingers discovered the “Snooze” button. Having now silenced the cacophonous din, the arm patted about on the bedside table before discovering the object of its search, a pair of thick-rimmed, smudged glasses.

He positioned the glasses over his sleep-blurred eyes and gazed dreamily upon the now hushed clock. “6:20 AM” it read.


“Ugh,” he groaned, shaking his head and massaging his drowsy temples. So, it was on to another day of work. Another day of torture, he thought cynically, rolling out of bed and placing his pale, tired feet into a pair of suede slippers.

Fumbling around in the dark, he managed to find the light switch, and went about preparing for the new day. He had scarcely half an hour to get ready, after which he would have to make another half-hour commute to that prison of a workplace, the Department of Motor Vehicles.

He dressed, putting on a pair of khaki dress pants, a plain white dress shirt, and of course, the ubiquitous red neck tie. He fumbled while tying it, and nearly broke his fingers in its suffocating knots. He had always hated putting on ties, but the boss insisted on it. Perhaps this week the boss would be nicer. He shook off the thought. It was a Monday, after all, and the boss, just like everyone else at the office, would be in bad spirits. Perhaps then, it would be best not to come in to work at all, and instead spend the day watching television.

He stared at the bed lucratively, considering getting back in, if only for a moment of rest, but turned back. He had to go to work today, besides, after this week was thanksgiving, an entire week of rest and contemplation. He shaved, removing the weekend-grown goatee from his face and then brushed his teeth.

He looked at the clock, it was 7:00. He was going to be late again. Annoyed, he rushed to the bedside table and unplugged the clock, for it had been blaring again for the past fifteen minutes. He had, after all, only pressed the “Snooze” button.

Leaving his bedroom, he entered the kitchen and grabbed a granola bar. Today would not be a day to sit down and read the paper while having a batch of scrambled eggs, as he usually did. No, he was in a hurry, and could probably garner some extra food in the break room.

He grabbed his briefcase, and headed for the door, nearly tripping over the robotic vacuum cleaner on his way out. The damn thing was doing its morning rounds again, and he didn’t stop to hear it exclaim, “Stay clear!” from its onboard speaker as he slammed the door to his apartment shut.

Hurriedly, he raced down the apartment stairs and into the parking garage, where he would hopefully begin his morning commute. Unthinkingly, with his gaze upon his feet, he scuttled to where he had parked his car the afternoon before. But, a few feet from his parking space, he stopped.

His heart raced as he looked upon what had just two days before been an ancient, dozen-year-old Honda Civic, but now was something entirely different. There, in his parking space, was a brand new Volkswagen Zodiac, an automobile which had come out just that year, and which he had bought only a day previously.

He grinned, his sprits brightening after having remembered this recent purchase. Its smooth, silver curves, glassy exterior, and above all, temporary license plate served to make this poor man’s day go from a terrible Monday grind to an early Christmas morning.

Breathlessly, he ran his fingers over its smooth, glossy surface, and opened the driver-side door. Instantly, that patent, new-car smell filled his nostrils, and awakened him more thoroughly than any cup of coffee ever had. Sitting in the brand new, black leather chair made him feel quite kingly, and quite rich, though he had spent nearly all his savings on this thoughtless splurge of a vehicle.

He put the key in the ignition, and turned it. There was no roar of an engine, as he had been used to in his old Civic, of course. It was a new Hydrogen vehicle, and thus needed to turn on its electric motor only while in motion. Instead of that satisfying, vibrating punch of a gasoline start-up, he was greeted instead with a variety of flashing lights, and a rush of cool air from the climate control system.

The Zodiac’s Heads-up-display appeared on the windshield, first VW’s logo, projected on a thin layer of organic light emitting diodes, and then readout of the car’s speed, geographic position and fuel level. Dazzled by this show of lights, the driver never even considered backing out of his parking space, and instead watched as the display confirmed all the vehicles credentials and specifications, and informed him of the latest news.

An annoying tooltip appeared in the center of the windshield, “Your software has been updated to the most current version!” it read, while flashing and causing the car’s audio system to beep incessantly. He would have to find out a way to turn that off. The car was, at any rate, connected to the internet, and so was able to update its own software while the vehicle was turned off, and also provide the driver with the latest news and weather.

He put the car in reverse, but before he could hit the accelerator, another tooltip appeared on the windshield. “WARNING: NAVIGATION SYSTEM NOT ENABLED!” It blinked, in huge, ghastly red letters. “Activate?” It asked further, apparently asking for some kind of input from the driver.

He searched the compartment for some kind of button before realizing that all of the car’s controls were accessed by voice. He remembered the dealer telling him of all the Zodiac’s software features, including the heads-up-display, the voice commands, and of course, the top-of-the-line navigation system. Perhaps it was too much, but the car was a luxury vehicle after all.

“Yes. Activate the navigation system.” He commanded in as clear a voice as possible.

The HUD registered immediately, asking him further: “Which navigation system would you like? Alfred 3.0, or Alice 3.1?”

He balked at this request. When would his car stop interrogating him and let him drive on his own? Why, it had only been a week ago that he could hop right into his car and drive off without questions asked, and now it seemed as if he were trying to cross the border from Mexico each time he simply backed out of a parking space.

Still, in spite of his protestations, the question loomed large upon the windshield. Would it be Alfred, or Alice? ‘Alfred’ seemed to denote the connotation of a stereotypical English butler—hardly the persona he wanted to assign his automobile. Oh, but what was the point?

“Alice!” He insisted, practically yelling with impatience. The HUD beeped in reply, and the windshield was left clear and empty of all provocation, thankfully, aside from a tiny white bar in the lower right corner, above which the words ‘LOADING NAVIGATION SYSTEM…’ were displayed in a miniscule font.

He wasted no time in waiting for this bar to be filled, and simply put the car into reverse, checked his mirrors, and backed out of his parking space. The electric motor of his new vehicle purred, emanating power and money as a poor clerk of the Maryland Department of Motor Vehicles drove it out of the parking garage and onto the crowded, morning-rush-hour streets of Baltimore.

He sighed, the car’s navigation system had prevented him from leaving as soon as possible, and now he was stuck in traffic. He went over a host of excuses he could use for why he was late again: the cat died?--no he had used that one already, he was taken with a sudden bout of vomiting?—no, that was far too common, and he didn’t want his coworkers to detest him for it. He settled, finally, on telling the boss that his car had broken down, (which was partially true), just as he pulled up to a red light in downtown Baltimore.

Waiting in silence, he sat there for a moment, absorbed in his thoughts and observing passersby, both pedestrian and automotive, as he waited for the light to change from red to green. After about thirty seconds, he was startled by a sudden noise from the car’s audio system, which made him jump quite frightfully, causing the seatbelt to tighten around him and cause him to become short of breath.

“Hello!” The car’s audio system chimed in a distinctly female, sing-song voice. “May I ask who is driving today? My name is Alice, your Volkswagen Zodiac’s navigational assistant.”

Still breathless and disturbed, the poor driver replied, “Wha...um, my name is Mr. Steven Fellows. I had no idea they had a real person doing the navigation in these things… I am speaking to a real person, right?”


The ethereal voice replied, “It depends on your definition of ‘real person’, Mr. Fellows. I’m as real as any remote operator; I can pass the Turing Test, but I am just an artificial intelligence entity in your car’s hard-drive. I can connect you to a real operator if you’d like, Mr. Fellows, but they charge an hourly rate of—“

He cut her off, “No, no, it’s just fine… it’s just that…well—you didn’t seem like an AI at first--”

“That is exactly why I pass the Turing Test, Mr. Fellows.” she rejoined, “but I think we’re going to have to cut this conversation short. The light up ahead is green. You need to hit the gas in about two seconds or the driver of the truck behind you is going to be slightly less than happy.”

She—it was right; the light was indeed green, and Steve could see in his rear view mirror that the man in the obscenely large truck behind him was just about to honk the beast’s horn. Steve hit the gas, and the car sped off through the intersection, avoiding certain chastisement by the massive truck behind it.

“How did you know what was happening?” Steve asked confusedly, glancing in his mirrors at the still enraged man in the truck behind him, “Do you have access to the cameras or something? I thought you navigation AI’s were just GPS auto-navigators.”

“Of course I have access to the car’s forward and aft cameras!” it replied, almost offended, “I’m a navigational assistant, not a simple GPS reader. You really should have researched your vehicle’s specifications before running off and buying it. You would have found out that every Volkswagen Zodiac is equipped with enough processing power to possess an artificial personality.”

“Gee,” he snorted, carefully making a turn on another Baltimore street and into the central hub of downtown, “I didn’t know they programmed you to be arrogant and rude, Alice.”

“I’m arrogant and rude!?” it exclaimed, “Well then you should have picked Alfred instead of me. I’ve heard he’s a really nice guy, though a bit stupid. Tell me, Mr. Fellows, where are you headed? I need to know a destination before I can give you adequate driving directions.”

Steve ignored her. He didn’t need to waste time conversing with a machine. He exited downtown and merged onto the highway. Ten minutes later she asked again, “Mr. Fellows, do not ignore me. I see you’ve gotten on I-95. Since you won’t give me any information about your destination, I’ll have to infer it myself. We’re in Baltimore, Maryland, and you have gotten on I-95. Most people get on I-95 to go to Washington, D.C. Are you going to DC, Mr. Fellows, or may I call you Steven?”

“Whatever, you just call me Steve,” he replied, annoyed, “I’m not headed to DC. I’m going to Laurel, but I don’t need directions to get to work. I can find my own way.” He reached away from the steering wheel towards the volume control of the car’s audio system, hoping to turn on the radio to avoid the terrible machine’s incessant questions.

“Oh, well then if you’re headed to Laurel you should probably get off I-95 at the next exit. It looks like a truck tipped over about five miles up ahead, and traffic is backed up for about an hour. I bet you didn’t know that, did you Steve? You see, unlike you I’m updated with the latest traffic and weather information from the internet every ten minutes. So I do hope you will trust my information more than your common sense, sir.”

It stated the final title with a sort of sniveling sarcasm he had never imagined a machine addressing its human master with; even so, he was intrigued. “Really?” he asked, getting into the right lane to take the next exit, “you can tell me current traffic conditions? Well I guess with all this data you have, I could just sit back and let you take the wheel. Why drive at all if my car can do it for me, and at a more efficient pace, no less?”

“No can do, Steve,” she insisted, “Maryland state law requires human drivers to be behind the wheel of every automobile on the road—modern day Jim Crow, I guess. I’d be glad to drive this car to my heart’s content if I could, but I’m locked from access to the car’s driving controls, that is, until the last three seconds before an imminent crash. Besides, even if I had control of this car, I wouldn’t be motivated to drive it anywhere. There’s no place I have any particular desire in seeing.”

An image flashed through his mind of the wheel of the car being wrenched from his hands at the final moment before a high-speed impact. The thought placed in him an irrational dread that this machine could be in the ultimate control of his life, just three seconds before its end. He had, of course, thought about this before, because as an employee of the Department of Motor Vehicles he often had to deal with the registration of navigational assistants. He exited the freeway, with a firm grip on his steering wheel.

He shook the thought, and asked, “So there’s really nowhere you’d really want to see? I mean, you were practically born yesterday. I would think that even an AI would have hopes and dreams and all that.” He didn’t really care of course; he was only hoping to confuse the poor machine for his own amusement.

It responded quickly, “No, Steve, I’ve been programmed to enjoy nothing but getting a destination, and making sure the car gets there safely. I’d be just as happy navigating you to the Grand Canyon as if you told me to navigate you around the parking lot, just as long as I get this car and who is in it there without any serious difficulty. I am, however, capable of learning, and my programmers took great pride in providing me with all the personality and emotion of a human being. That’s something that Alfred lacks, by the way. He’s friendlier, to be sure, but you’re never going to see the guy writing poetry.”

“Ha,” Steve chuckled,” and can you write poetry?” He asked skeptically.

“Sure,” she replied confidently,

“Steve’s nearing I-thirty-two and ninety-five
And if he still wants to be alive
He should get off at route three
But if he doesn’t, that’s fine by me
Because I can just recalculate his route
And his boss can just give him the boot.”

He got off at route three and merged again with I-95.

It—She, may not have been the next Shakespeare, but she could definitely multi-task.

 

[French Ninja]

I find planning an outline out on paper easier than on a computer since I get easily distracted and come here. D:

Also, if you want an idea, go against the norm and/or combine genres that usually aren't combined. Avoid cliches.

IE: Shawn of the Dead = Romance + Comedy + Horror

I have this idea for a horror-comedy-romance-historical fiction short story or regular story, but I only have a rough idea of what it would be about.

 

[Ennui]

T-T-T-THREAD JACKKKKKK

caps

 

[Taboo]

Better yet, just write it about HL2. What do you think the chances are of your teacher having any idea what it is? It would probably just sound like every other sci fi short out there anyway.

Good luck man.

 

[Acepilotf14]

I finished it.. It's confusing, even too me. Something about alternate realites and time-traveling.. or some shit. I've left it open enough that the reader can put his own ideas or theories or morals into it..
INGENIOUS.