- Joined
- May 21, 2015
Now we just need the superior Mauvman version and we'll be set.
حلال Connor Bible - Everyone's Favorite Molly Ringwald loving, adoption hating, aspiring writer and bellybutton fucker
- Thread starter Null
- Start date
Now we just need the superior Mauvman version and we'll be set.
- Joined
- Jan 27, 2014
@Gohi : yeah, that video is old, & I think it was posted like 200 pages ago. Connor's been "working on" Alphaboy since middle school, as he himself has stated.
. . .I never realized it before now, but did he just use someone's death to shoehorn in a poem about Alphaboy? Because holy shit.
Some of my other thread favorites:
Alphaboy by @Connor Bible
Alphaboy: Epilogue by @The Knife
The Amazing &/or Amusing Adventures of Alphaboy and Allies by @Mauvman Shuffleboard
@Philosophy Zombie presents: "Fucky You"
. . .I never realized it before now, but did he just use someone's death to shoehorn in a poem about Alphaboy? Because holy shit.
Some of my other thread favorites:
Alphaboy by @Connor Bible
Alphaboy: Epilogue by @The Knife
The Amazing &/or Amusing Adventures of Alphaboy and Allies by @Mauvman Shuffleboard
@Philosophy Zombie presents: "Fucky You"
- Joined
- Feb 3, 2013
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
I got your back dude, I sent some other guy this exact thing yesterday.
Added Bonus.
Old Mick's Barbershop
- Joined
- Jun 28, 2013
I just read through all of that. Fucking wow. Suddenly I don't feel so bad about even my worst NaNo attempts.
- Joined
- May 21, 2015
Connor has the amazing ability to make people feel better about themselves by the virtue of knowing they're at least not Connor.
Thanks, Connor!
- Joined
- Jun 28, 2013
Well, I suppose he has to contribute something, somewhere...Connor has the amazing ability to make people feel better about themselves by the virtue of knowing they're at least not Connor.
Thanks, Connor!
- Joined
- May 18, 2014
Its actually kind of sad he gave up. Redesigning Eva could have been the next My Immortal.
- Joined
- Jun 28, 2013
Minus all the author's notes, I hope. For as stupid as it sounds, that was what drove me nuts about MI.
A half hour out from reading everything and having the chance to think it all over though, I'm half tempted to give a go at rewriting this from Holden's perspective. Think of how much more interesting it would be to take this from the father's end of things, where he's crawled into a whiskey bottle in an attempt to deal with his wife's abrupt suicide and his daughter's transformation into a sardonic corpse who's instantly taken with the colleague he distrusts most. Edit a couple other details (maybe Jordache is forcing Holden to get Eva into the project, so he is dropping all the information about it so she's at least AWARE of what goes on there; thankfully changing the perspective removes the "lol high school is hell on earth" bullshit; get rid of all pop culture influences; introduce the serial killer idea way earlier; etc.) and the bare bones plot and character concepts MIGHT just work.
- Joined
- Oct 17, 2014
- Joined
- Apr 27, 2015
Personally, I think the main change it needs, aside from cutting out the high school stuff, is to ditch the Hannibal Lecter character. Instead, combine him with the director character, and make him a brilliant, amoral scientist and the head of the project who's obsessed with the idea of evolution into the perfect version of oneself. Holden is a distant psychiatrist, who can only relate to his daughter by psychoanalyzing her; Eva is self-aware enough to recognize that she's spiraling into the same depression that killed her mother, but feels like the only way she can be saved is by becoming perfect. I dunno, the way I describe it sounds like a half-baked knock-off of "The Girl Who Was Plugged In," but at least you've lost the blatant plagiarism angle. I'm almost tempted to actually write it.
And once again, @Connor Bible demonstrates his true purpose in life - to inspire people to achieve through the example of his failure.
- Joined
- Jan 27, 2014
I tried to draw more Connor but I wound up doing the Elite Four instead (according to @Mauvman Shuffleboard ). Because fucky you is why. I think I had compiled all the "Connor Plays Pokemon" posts somewhere. I'll have to find them.
featuring me, spacekitten cat @Mauvman Shuffleboard (who is 2cool4skool & has a beard to rival @Surtur), "magnificent witch" @The Knife, & based @Smutley.
featuring me, space
Last edited:
- Joined
- Jun 28, 2013
Fuck it, I'm doing it.
It was 3:30 AM, and yet again Holden Elliot was startled out of the restless slumber that comes with too much drink by the sound of his teenage daughter screaming from the other bedroom in the house. He got himself up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he waited. She always got angry if he appeared in her doorway too soon, if she hadn't had the chance to compose herself and give the facade that the nightmare hadn't really bothered her as much as he knew it did. He found his slippers in the dark, and shuffled down the hallway to her room, knocking on the door. He could hear her hurriedly blowing her nose before the door was finally unlocked and she opened it, staring up at him wordlessly before retreating back to her bed to curl up in a ball on top of the disturbed bedclothes. The room was barely lit by the small lamp that sat on her bedside table, though it was nearly blocked out by all the books and art supplies she kept stacked there as well. He sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, waiting for her to speak first.
She sat up and joined him on the edge of the bed, and he allowed himself the smallest moment of hope that tonight would be the night where she would finally explain herself, rather than immediately laying back down with her back to him as his cue to leave. Instead, the following silence was a chasm, the edges of it crumbling away and threatening to drag the both of them down into its unfathomable depths. He still waited, though. His many years as a psychiatrist, and one who had been respected in his field before the death of his wife had sent him into the downward spiral he was now constantly fighting against, had taught him that waiting was better than prompting with some patients. Not that he should treat or even think of Eva as a patient, but with how far apart they had grown in the last four years sometimes it felt easier to consider her a patient than his own flesh and blood.
That, and the way she was growing up to look like her mother...
"It's been three months now." He forced his attention back from the past, as Eva had finally spoken. Her voice was quiet, tremulous even, and still clearly emotional from what she had just seen in her mind. She looked as though she was ready to lunge from the edge of the bed and dive out her bedroom window from the way she was staring at it. "Dad, I keep dreaming of the park where Mom..." His voice trailed away, as there was no need between the two of them for her to finish the thought. They both knew too well exactly which park she meant.
Holden exhaled again, slowly. "Three months," he repeated, softly, though he already knew that much too well. "Eva, why haven't you told me about this sooner?"
She continued to look out the window, watching as raindrops started to trail down it as a thunderstorm began to roll in, announcing itself in the distance.
"I didn't think it was important." The hardness that he was now all too familiar with was now returning to her voice, replacing that wavering fragility that she had let slip just a few minutes ago. "Besides, you're already in my head enough." She rubbed her cheek against her shoulder- the old tell from even when she was her smallest, the sign that she was getting frustrated- before looking at him. He could tell that she was trying to guess how much he'd drank after she'd gone upstairs for the night. Maybe she was noting a new gray hair. "You must have heard me, though. You could have asked."
"You're old enough to know that I wouldn't press like that. Besides, just because I didn't ask you doesn't mean that I wasn't concerned." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "You know that you can tell me anything, though. Or ask any questions you may have."
She was silent again, looking out the window again. Just as he was about to get up and leave, she spoke finally. "Dad... what if it's not just about her?" She didn't elaborate, but he knew she meant her mother. "What if it's about Catharsis?"
He stiffened slightly, trying to disguise it as a shiver. "We'll talk about it in the morning, Eva. You need your sleep."
She looked offended, and he knew too well that he had said the wrong thing, again. She grabbed the blankets roughly and all but threw herself under them again, muttering a "good night" so viciously that Holden immediately retreated from the room. Instead of returning to his own bedroom, he went downstairs and headed for the liquor cabinet that stood in the den, pulling out the cheap Irish whiskey that reminded him of his father and his college days in Dublin. Holden had reserved for "special" occasions. A trip to the kitchen later, he had a tumbler filled with ice and poured himself two fingers. He stared at it briefly, wondering where the hell his life had gone so completely wrong as he swirled the whiskey and ice together. If only she wasn't gone, maybe Eva wouldn't be so sardonic. Maybe he wouldn't be so desperate for confirmation that he was still a decent psychiatrist. Maybe he wouldn't have made that offhand comment to Jordan weeks ago at work, when he had first inadvertently nominated his only child for Prometheus's new top-secret project. At reminding himself of that, he downed the whiskey in the glass and poured out more.
"It isn't as if it'll kill her," he muttered to the empty room as he took to his favorite armchair. His brogue was starting to emerge, as it did when he was overtired or drunk. Considering the circumstances, he was definitely one and would shortly be the other as well. "All the animal testing went fine. She's healthy." He downed more whiskey at that lie to himself. She was far from healthy. She barely ate, she was markedly depressed, and he wondered now if she was even trying to fall back to sleep after the nightmare woke her up each night since the hollows under her eyes grew darker and larger every day. He refilled the glass again and looked up at the portrait over the bookshelf in front of him. It had been taken two months before Cheryl's "accident". The three of them beamed back at him. He looked strong and at least a hundred years younger than Holden currently felt, Eva was still thin but it looked to be from an athletic build and not from starving herself, and Cheryl... she stood between the two of them, looking more like Eva's older sister than her mother. As they always had, loose hairs had drifted into her face from her attempt at pulling her hair back. She was clearly laughing in the photograph, overjoyed or amused at something in the moment, and somehow that made her more real to Holden than himself or Eva in that picture. "Why, Cheryl?" He was already starting to slur his words. "Why did you have to go, darling? Everything's gone to shit without you. You had to have know that would happen. Why?" What remained of the third glass was knocked back, and he stumbled back for a fourth. "Jordan's already taken her information to Krieger. You remember him. Krieger thinks she's perfect for Catharsis. And God help me, I can't stop them at all without losing everything else!" He realized he was roaring now: the whiskey was igniting the anger that he fought daily to keep in check, that he typically drowned into submission at any bar in Los Angeles that would have him. If Eva was trying to sleep again, he certainly wasn't helping things. He slumped back into his chair, tears rolling unnoticed down his stubbled cheeks. He couldn't blame Eva for having nightmares about the park. He'd had his own, just after Cheryl had died, when something within her had snapped so completely that she had not only tried to kill herself but take her daughter with her. But now he had a more pressing nightmare to deal with, and that was keeping his only child alive.
He woke up a few hours later to Eva's alarm clock going off overhead, realizing from the crick in his neck that he'd fallen asleep in the chair. He removed the evidence of his early morning bender before going to make himself coffee. He finished his cup and retreated to the bathroom as Eva came down to eat what little she would call breakfast. As they passed in the doorway, she let out a disapproving sniff at catching the smell of liquor on him. He showered quickly so that she could get ready for school, and so he could eat as well. They passed again on the stairs without any words. He made himself toast and ate it with a banana to try and counter how sour his stomach felt from downing four glasses of whiskey within twenty minutes only a few hours previously. Once she came downstairs again, they retreated into the garage and his beat-up sedan, continuing the same routine that they always followed, every day. She sat with her arms wrapped around her backpack, looking straight ahead, while he drove. The radio station was one that did the local news and weather, never to music. The weatherman was commenting on the unusually high amount of rain they were receiving this year as they pulled up to the high school Eva attended, at which point she unbuckled and finally spoke.
"Do I really have to go to school today, Dad?" She looked apprehensive, and for the thousandth time he wondered how bad it really was in there.
"Are you sick?" When she shook her head, he smiled very briefly, the expression forced. "Then I'm afraid you do."
She responded to that by opening the door and getting out in a rush. She turned as she went to close the door, leaning in. "Try to keep it to one bar today, Dad," she hissed, before slamming the door shut. He winced at that, watching as she ran through the rain to the door before pulling away from the curb. He turned the radio from the news to music at last as he started towards the interstate to get to Prometheus Medical Corporation's Los Angeles office.
"Just another day in paradise for both of us," he mumbled.
She sat up and joined him on the edge of the bed, and he allowed himself the smallest moment of hope that tonight would be the night where she would finally explain herself, rather than immediately laying back down with her back to him as his cue to leave. Instead, the following silence was a chasm, the edges of it crumbling away and threatening to drag the both of them down into its unfathomable depths. He still waited, though. His many years as a psychiatrist, and one who had been respected in his field before the death of his wife had sent him into the downward spiral he was now constantly fighting against, had taught him that waiting was better than prompting with some patients. Not that he should treat or even think of Eva as a patient, but with how far apart they had grown in the last four years sometimes it felt easier to consider her a patient than his own flesh and blood.
That, and the way she was growing up to look like her mother...
"It's been three months now." He forced his attention back from the past, as Eva had finally spoken. Her voice was quiet, tremulous even, and still clearly emotional from what she had just seen in her mind. She looked as though she was ready to lunge from the edge of the bed and dive out her bedroom window from the way she was staring at it. "Dad, I keep dreaming of the park where Mom..." His voice trailed away, as there was no need between the two of them for her to finish the thought. They both knew too well exactly which park she meant.
Holden exhaled again, slowly. "Three months," he repeated, softly, though he already knew that much too well. "Eva, why haven't you told me about this sooner?"
She continued to look out the window, watching as raindrops started to trail down it as a thunderstorm began to roll in, announcing itself in the distance.
"I didn't think it was important." The hardness that he was now all too familiar with was now returning to her voice, replacing that wavering fragility that she had let slip just a few minutes ago. "Besides, you're already in my head enough." She rubbed her cheek against her shoulder- the old tell from even when she was her smallest, the sign that she was getting frustrated- before looking at him. He could tell that she was trying to guess how much he'd drank after she'd gone upstairs for the night. Maybe she was noting a new gray hair. "You must have heard me, though. You could have asked."
"You're old enough to know that I wouldn't press like that. Besides, just because I didn't ask you doesn't mean that I wasn't concerned." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "You know that you can tell me anything, though. Or ask any questions you may have."
She was silent again, looking out the window again. Just as he was about to get up and leave, she spoke finally. "Dad... what if it's not just about her?" She didn't elaborate, but he knew she meant her mother. "What if it's about Catharsis?"
He stiffened slightly, trying to disguise it as a shiver. "We'll talk about it in the morning, Eva. You need your sleep."
She looked offended, and he knew too well that he had said the wrong thing, again. She grabbed the blankets roughly and all but threw herself under them again, muttering a "good night" so viciously that Holden immediately retreated from the room. Instead of returning to his own bedroom, he went downstairs and headed for the liquor cabinet that stood in the den, pulling out the cheap Irish whiskey that reminded him of his father and his college days in Dublin. Holden had reserved for "special" occasions. A trip to the kitchen later, he had a tumbler filled with ice and poured himself two fingers. He stared at it briefly, wondering where the hell his life had gone so completely wrong as he swirled the whiskey and ice together. If only she wasn't gone, maybe Eva wouldn't be so sardonic. Maybe he wouldn't be so desperate for confirmation that he was still a decent psychiatrist. Maybe he wouldn't have made that offhand comment to Jordan weeks ago at work, when he had first inadvertently nominated his only child for Prometheus's new top-secret project. At reminding himself of that, he downed the whiskey in the glass and poured out more.
"It isn't as if it'll kill her," he muttered to the empty room as he took to his favorite armchair. His brogue was starting to emerge, as it did when he was overtired or drunk. Considering the circumstances, he was definitely one and would shortly be the other as well. "All the animal testing went fine. She's healthy." He downed more whiskey at that lie to himself. She was far from healthy. She barely ate, she was markedly depressed, and he wondered now if she was even trying to fall back to sleep after the nightmare woke her up each night since the hollows under her eyes grew darker and larger every day. He refilled the glass again and looked up at the portrait over the bookshelf in front of him. It had been taken two months before Cheryl's "accident". The three of them beamed back at him. He looked strong and at least a hundred years younger than Holden currently felt, Eva was still thin but it looked to be from an athletic build and not from starving herself, and Cheryl... she stood between the two of them, looking more like Eva's older sister than her mother. As they always had, loose hairs had drifted into her face from her attempt at pulling her hair back. She was clearly laughing in the photograph, overjoyed or amused at something in the moment, and somehow that made her more real to Holden than himself or Eva in that picture. "Why, Cheryl?" He was already starting to slur his words. "Why did you have to go, darling? Everything's gone to shit without you. You had to have know that would happen. Why?" What remained of the third glass was knocked back, and he stumbled back for a fourth. "Jordan's already taken her information to Krieger. You remember him. Krieger thinks she's perfect for Catharsis. And God help me, I can't stop them at all without losing everything else!" He realized he was roaring now: the whiskey was igniting the anger that he fought daily to keep in check, that he typically drowned into submission at any bar in Los Angeles that would have him. If Eva was trying to sleep again, he certainly wasn't helping things. He slumped back into his chair, tears rolling unnoticed down his stubbled cheeks. He couldn't blame Eva for having nightmares about the park. He'd had his own, just after Cheryl had died, when something within her had snapped so completely that she had not only tried to kill herself but take her daughter with her. But now he had a more pressing nightmare to deal with, and that was keeping his only child alive.
He woke up a few hours later to Eva's alarm clock going off overhead, realizing from the crick in his neck that he'd fallen asleep in the chair. He removed the evidence of his early morning bender before going to make himself coffee. He finished his cup and retreated to the bathroom as Eva came down to eat what little she would call breakfast. As they passed in the doorway, she let out a disapproving sniff at catching the smell of liquor on him. He showered quickly so that she could get ready for school, and so he could eat as well. They passed again on the stairs without any words. He made himself toast and ate it with a banana to try and counter how sour his stomach felt from downing four glasses of whiskey within twenty minutes only a few hours previously. Once she came downstairs again, they retreated into the garage and his beat-up sedan, continuing the same routine that they always followed, every day. She sat with her arms wrapped around her backpack, looking straight ahead, while he drove. The radio station was one that did the local news and weather, never to music. The weatherman was commenting on the unusually high amount of rain they were receiving this year as they pulled up to the high school Eva attended, at which point she unbuckled and finally spoke.
"Do I really have to go to school today, Dad?" She looked apprehensive, and for the thousandth time he wondered how bad it really was in there.
"Are you sick?" When she shook her head, he smiled very briefly, the expression forced. "Then I'm afraid you do."
She responded to that by opening the door and getting out in a rush. She turned as she went to close the door, leaning in. "Try to keep it to one bar today, Dad," she hissed, before slamming the door shut. He winced at that, watching as she ran through the rain to the door before pulling away from the curb. He turned the radio from the news to music at last as he started towards the interstate to get to Prometheus Medical Corporation's Los Angeles office.
"Just another day in paradise for both of us," he mumbled.
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- Joined
- Nov 6, 2013
That was actually really sad 
see, Redesigning Eva has total potential when written by someone that's not... well, Connor
see, Redesigning Eva has total potential when written by someone that's not... well, Connor
- Joined
- Oct 29, 2013
@Lady Houligan , I love your post. I actually wouldn't mind rewriting RE in a manner similar to that. I think the early scenes with Eva and Holden would work best if written in a third-person omniscient narration where we can experience both of their emotional states simultaneously.
- Joined
- Apr 1, 2014
Write it then. We all want to read more of your work.
- Joined
- Nov 6, 2013
You kinda actually have to write something before you can rewrite. Haven't you said that you're not even quite sure where the story goes once Eva gets redesigned? If you figure all that out first, then in the rewrite you'll actually have a clearer idea of what's important and what isn't. I'm not saying that it's wrong to want to use those stylistic choices - only that you should only do so once you know where the plot is going to go.
- Joined
- Jun 23, 2013
It works best if written by somebody who wants to write instead of someone who wants to be praised.
- Joined
- Dec 11, 2014
It's common practice to stick with the same style of narration throughout a work.
- Joined
- Jun 28, 2013
Thanks. I was trying for a more tragic angle, so I'm glad that it came through as that and not melodramatic.That was actually really sad
Thanks for the compliment. I would say, though, that the idea of bouncing between two people's varying emotions in as heated a moment as the first few scenes you have in the book may not be the best idea. The readers will likely end up confused and frustrated by trying to track it. Stick to one character and do it well, you know?
MysticMisty
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Mar 12, 2013
@Connor Bible How long have you been wearing those glasses?