The Writing Thread

Does anyone get inspired from being high and write up a novel overnight? Because for me, it really doesn't happen aside from getting 1-2 ideas at best.
Realistically, that probably only happens if you're high on speed or meth rather than weed or some other depressant.
 
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Do you kiwis use a second monitor for writing? If so, what do you use it for?
The other monitor is for notes, the character models (I keep sketches/AI sloppa/the actor I used as inspiration to keep the character tangible in my brain) and pictures of the setting.

For me, it’s about keeping the act playing in my mind, being able to imagine the characters 1:1 consistently, in-between sessions.
 
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Here's another topic for anyone that wants to answer:

What races do you guys put in your settings? Like, do you stick entirely with humans, do you add in some of the "classic" fantasy races (orcs, elves, dwarves, etc.), or do you guys just go nuts and add in whatever you like? I've been trying to design a shapeshifter/werecreature race myself; it's been both fun and frustrating.
 
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Here's another topic for anyone that wants to answer:

What races do you guys put in your settings? Like, do you stick entirely with humans, do you add in some of the "classic" fantasy races (orcs, elves, dwarves, etc.), or do you guys just go nuts and add in whatever you like? I've been trying to design a shapeshifter/werecreature race myself; it's been both fun and frustrating.
I tend to go nuts and add whatever I want. I'm trying to think and I can't remember if I've ever written something with the Tolkien races. Closest thing I can think of is a story I sketched out involving pixies but that's it. I have a shifter race but they're more like youkai than standard werewolves.

This might change as I go further into my current story, as I haven't fleshed out the bestiary until I get to their sections.
 
Is writing 4th wall break horrible idea considering current stance on it?

Basically it's a fight scene and one of characters that does kung fu fights bad guys, 2 of them. One is normal fight but with 2nd guy shit gets weird where the bad guy tries to slice mc and he jumps in the air and clings onto panel, he jumps outside of panel while guy is searching around room and he is constantly poking him from different angles until he jumps back into panel kicking him and goes back to normal without mention of it or any joke about how silly/weird it is
Basically a page gag.
I have hard time explaining Untitled83.jpg but basically something like this
 
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  • Thunk-Provoking
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Here's another topic for anyone that wants to answer:

What races do you guys put in your settings? Like, do you stick entirely with humans, do you add in some of the "classic" fantasy races (orcs, elves, dwarves, etc.), or do you guys just go nuts and add in whatever you like? I've been trying to design a shapeshifter/werecreature race myself; it's been both fun and frustrating.
Whatever I feel like shoving into any given story, it doesn't really matter unless you're aiming for a specific audience for commercial purposes. The most off-kilter one I've done was an intelligent race of hollow earth dwellers evolved from tardigrades.
 
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Here's another topic for anyone that wants to answer:

What races do you guys put in your settings? Like, do you stick entirely with humans, do you add in some of the "classic" fantasy races (orcs, elves, dwarves, etc.), or do you guys just go nuts and add in whatever you like? I've been trying to design a shapeshifter/werecreature race myself; it's been both fun and frustrating.
depends on the setting, like if its like a fantasy world with medieval tech I usually just go Humans, Sci-Fi its a bit more complicated, near future Its still usually just humans, but if were talking far-future sci-fi like 500+ years in the future, I usually add in Aliens
 
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Finished that chapter I talked about a few weeks ago. And now with its conclusion, what was supposed to be one chapter is becoming a multi part arc. It ended in a way I didn't think it would honestly, and where I'm starting next chapter isn't where I planned. Changing perspectives, haven't written this specific character in a while.
 
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I’ve been writing and the first few chapters before the LI/secondary protag enters were genuinely tough, I’m so used to the dynamic between my two leads from the blueprinting phase and what I’ve cooked up in my head that writing them apart was difficult.
 
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Fuck it, guess I'll dump this here. Autists pondering over planning, take note: spreadsheets are an excellent way to keep tabs on exactly where you are, where you're going, what to do next, and will keep you motivated when beginning to work on the third fucking draft and the wordcount doesn't mean shit any more.

God I hate my life.
 

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Fuck it, guess I'll dump this here. Autists pondering over planning, take note: spreadsheets are an excellent way to keep tabs on exactly where you are, where you're going, what to do next, and will keep you motivated when beginning to work on the third fucking draft and the wordcount doesn't mean shit any more.

God I hate my life.
This is incomprehensible.
 
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This is incomprehensible.
Then you'll hate this.

I'll try to explain what's going on in my own chart.

Chapter = duh.

Alpha, Beta, &c. = Major drafts. Basically, every time I've scraped the novel's structure in favour of something that will work better. Minor rewrites (general syntax) don't count: according to my notes, the average chapter has been rewritten between 24 and 14 times - the earlier in the novel, the more rewrites, because ideas will occur to you in chapter 14 that need to have at least a minimal set up in chapter 3 (and vice versa: plot points and characters are combined / deleted, meaning early set up is redundant).

Plate = Tarot card. Each chapter is keyed to a tarot card & prefaced by an illustration of said card. Really not as hard as it sounds: the Tarot, by design, is malleable enough to make a specific card fit any situation. It's probably cheating, re: modernism, because the symbols and metaphors can be adapted to fit any situation, but I like drawing so fuck it. There is also a correlation between Virgil/Dante & prognostication (and Dante's horror thereof) which we play with throughout the novel. Picture a tarot card woodcut reworked to feature the protagonist & friends, and you wouldn't be far off.

Annot. = Annotations. I really can't stress this enough, but keeping notes when you're working on something with so many moving pieces is key. I used to keep them in a separate notebook before I realized the folly of my ways, so now I just add them in as footnotes into the word file. This serves two purposes: #1, an outside editor will have to read them, and consider the consequences of fucking with this particular sentence structure. And #2: sometimes you look back at work you did six months ago and wonder WTF you were thinking, were you fucking insane? The notes from past self clarify your thinking to future self.

Cantos = What canto in Dante's Inferno the book is cribbing from. This is Modernism, and a defence of modernism is beyond the scope of this post - what I will say is that there are maybe 7 different story structures in the history of literature, so you'd be as well stealing from one that works. Note that the Tarot cards are also keyed to the specific canto (e.g: the Wood of Suicide + The Hanged Man card.)

Event = What is happening in the chapter & canto, either symbolically or metaphorically. For example: Dante rails against soothsayers / fortune tellers in canto 20: he snaps their necks and twists their heads around as punishment in Hell, forcing them to forever look backwards as they walk into the future (apparently God has an ironic sense of justice). We represent this in the novel by regressing into past tense (the entire book is mostly present tense) and revealing backstory, forcing the reader to look backward. And - after 50'000 words of present tense - the change of poetic mode ought to be suitably shocking to the senses as well.

Mode = How the chapter is written. We're not changing voice per se, but we're including elements from different literary styles. Some chapters may be slanted more towards Noir; in others, we adopt the semi-circular reasoning of a Socratic dialogue, or (in one extreme case) go Full Fucking Retard and write an entire chapter in rhymed verse.

Colour = This is just me being wanky. Making sure that, when something is described in detail (blood, beer, light) it corresponds to the colours associated with the tarot card. And making sure the colour transitions (at least metaphorically = see New Colossus / Ozymandias below) make logical sense.

Poet = Each chapter is prefaced (and informed by) a certain poet. For example, chapter 3 - which is about new beginnings - is prefaced by New Colossus ("Bring me your poor tired huddling masses yearning to be free / blah blah" it's inscribed on the plinth of the Statue of Liberty look it up). Chapter 4, however, is prefaced by Ozymandias ("Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair"). Both poems are about giant statues of bronze, but one describes the Hope of New Civilisation, whilst the other depicts The End of Empires. Combine that with the colours above (shining bronze - which the Statue of Liberty must have been - turns to green verdigris as the empire stagnates) and it adds flavour / dread / humour before the chapter even begins.

Notes = Actual events from the novel (all of the above is incorporated subliminally / symbolically). The actual novel has fuck all to do with Dante superficially.

-

As I said, Fuck my life. But I encourage anyone who is struggling with intricate structures / modernist poetical bullshit to at least try to keep a chart. If it was good enough for Joyce, then it might be good enough for you.
 
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In the clearing near the base of Mount Steinefni, Josh stared up at the large boulder, twice his size, blocking the cavern’s entrance. After three long years, he had finally arrived to where the Wish Maiden had hidden herself. He reached out with a clawed hand but paused, his hand trembling. He stared at the limb in question, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. The fuck? I’ve never hesitated before in my hundred years of life, and now is the time I’m gonna choose to do so? Why?

As if in answer, the old hag’s words from the village below echoed through his head. The Wish Maiden always demands a high price from those who desire her power.

Well
, he inwardly snorted, there’s nothing more valuable than a dragon scale. He patted the bag strapped around his shoulder, the weight reassuring.

He focused his attention back at the boulder. Jutting his chin out in defiance, he glared. I ain’t no coward! With a snarl, he pushed the large rock aside. With the enhanced strength granted to him by the blood of the wolf wekufe in his veins, it was nearly effortless.

Dank, fetid air reached his nose, causing him to retch. Legends had stated that she had retreated from the world when the greed of man had become too much and secluded herself, but to be here? This place was absolutely disgusting. To hide herself in a place where the sun wouldn’t reach her was mind-boggling, but after pouring over legends recorded in old books, straining for the faintest whisper of a rumor on the wind, according to the old hag this is where his search was supposed to end.

He took a few steps in, but the air was so thick with death and decay that he had to cover his nose with a sleeve. Is it possible for anything to live here? He began to turn around, demand the truth from the old bag of bones below, when the tingle of magic went up his spine. The wolf ears atop his head twitched in nervousness, and he bared his fangs reflexively as the energy raised his hackles. Guess he wasn’t in the wrong place.

Baring his teeth, he forced himself to keep going. It was extremely dark, with the only light source the glowing moss on the walls, but with his powerful sight to him it was no darker than a cloudy afternoon.

He descended down the staircase. The hall wasn’t very tall or wide, but it was enough that despite his tall frame he didn’t feel cramped. He couldn’t extend his arms fully on either side, as even just extending them halfway caused his hands to impact rock, but it was enough that he could walk without discomfort.

The moss gave off a glowing blue light that cast the walls in an eerie shade of blue. The places where runes had been carved into the wall stood out starkly, the negative space dark against the glowing blue. The runes were the standard sets that he’d seen whenever he’d been near a sacred area – the words of protection and defense near omnipresent, though the ones of sealing and confinement were new. The added stroke to each rune showed that they were filled with magic and not just mere words. As he walked by each one, goosebumps rose on his skin as he passed by them, the magic still potent enough to be felt despite their age.

The stone steps were old, but oddly showed little evidence of use. As his bare feet passed over them, he didn’t feel any wear from people of the past. Well, he corrected himself. That’s not odd. That boulder hadn’t been moved in ages.

As he walked, drops of water falling from the stalactites fell. Drip. Drip. Drip. Josh groaned to himself, his ears twitching as he tried to ignore the awful sound. Each drop echoed through the hall, wearing down his patience as he walked.

The staircase ended and opened up to reveal a stone room. Among the five walls that were facing him, Josh saw mosaics made from colorful rocks. He wasn’t able to take it in, though, as his attention was immediately captured by the stone statue of a woman sitting on her knees, holding something in her cupped hands.

Despite himself, his interest was piqued. What is she holding? He walked forward and saw her carrying a jewel. His eyes glanced up and widened when he met her face.

Even though it was a statue, it was obvious that the woman it was modeled after was beautiful. Her facial features warm and open, and the dress she wore made her chest and hips big, along with her small waist. Was this the Wish Maiden?

Shaking off his lust, he looked around at the carvings on the wall, seeing if they revealed what the jewel was for, but found no answers. In the wall carvings, they all showed her wielding a crossbow and hitting hordes of enemies.

With a single glance back at the statue, he continued moving.

Looking back at the walls, covered in moss and undisturbed for who knew how long, doubt started to trickle in Josh’s mind. Why was she here? She had obviously been a celebrated and renowned figure, so why hide here?

Shrugging it off, Josh walked through the opening that lead to another set of stairs. After about fifteen minutes of descending, though, he halted in his tracks. The stench of reptile reached his nose, and he cursed. I’m upwind, so there’s no way that whatever it is doesn’t know I’m here.

To his confusion, though, the scent was fresh. Meaning that the snake was alive and was here, recently if not now. How the fuck would that work? The boulder that he’d moved earlier had been undisturbed for so long that the moss was growing moss, so there was no way it could’ve left.

That only meant it was some sort of reptile wekufe. But then why hadn’t it been mentioned in the legends?

His trail of thought was cut short when he heard the sound of scales scraping against the rocky ground and walls. Tensing, he focused keenly on trying to figure out how large the creature was. The scraping echoed again, and his ears moved widely as he tried to calculate. Takes a couple of seconds…. this amount of rocks are disturbed… Holy fuck this monster’s big! He gave a bloodthirsty grin. This is gonna be a great fight!

He shrugged his shoulders, loosening his arms and wrists to prepare himself. Any second now…

The enormous head of the snake revealed itself from the corner, the brown scales almost black in the dim light. Its bright yellow-green eyes flashed, their intensity so huge they nearly glowed. It continued forward, a long forked tongue flicking out of its mouth.

“Intruder,” it hissed, moving forward. “A foul creature like you dares to enter my domain? And,” it said, pausing as it stared at Josh, “not just any creature, but a half-breed? A half-blood like you should’ve been drowned at birth!”

Josh let out a growl, but it quickly died when he spotted the empty depression in the center of its head. It wasn’t just any large snake, it was an Uktena! Tension filled his body as the reptile moved closer, almost blocking the entire hallway with its massive body.

The snake darted forward. Josh threw himself to the side, barely missing the snapping fangs. His eyes went wide as the large head, nearly the size of his torso, moved past him with speed that belied its massive size.

He quickly jumped up, rebounding against the wall to land on the snake’s body. This thing is bigger than I thought! While he was sure that he could handle it, there was very little room for him to maneuver in the cramped corridor. He ran down its length, trying to find the next open area.

The Uktena turned, looking at him with eyes that flashed red. Again, and again, the snake darted forward, its maw open wide to try and catch Josh.

Again, and again, Josh jumped away, his feet landing on the carvings that protruded from the walls. “Too slow!” the half-wolf sneered, his golden eyes glinting with glee.

The snake hissed in anger. “Too slow?” It reared up, its head nearly touching the cavern’s ceiling. “That is absurd. I am the great Uktena, the Horned Serpent. I cannot be defeated by someone whose mother sullied her bloodline by letting a nasty human fertilize her eggs.”

Josh’s blood heated. “Don’t you dare talk about my mother,” he snapped, baring his fangs. “You’re not even fit to think about her.”

While at first he was toying with the idea of moving past the snake and getting his wish, then coming back to defeat it, there was no chance of that happening now. That snake was dead.

He waited, then when the snake was darting for him again he jumped up and swiped at it. He was able to make some shallow cuts with his claws, but it was very obvious they were merely superficial. With a grunt, he jumped up to make another swipe.

Josh’s eyes widened when he was jerked back. My hand’s stuck! Before he could do anything, the snake jerked its head, dislodging him in the process.

He let out a grunt upon impact with a crystalline statue, crushing it in the process. The rocky debris that was left behind reminded him of the scale in his bag. Fuck! He quickly patted the bag. It’s safe.

He looked up at the snake, getting to his feet. In the corner of his eye he spotted a large stone statue of one of the great mammoth wekufe generals, its trunk swinging wildly as its one eye was narrowed in anger. Josh glanced back at the rocky debris around him, starting to put two and two together. He slowly moved towards it, keeping himself facing the snake. “I know now why you’re getting so slow,” he taunted. “Getting weak in your old age, huh.” Come on, come on, get angry.

“The audacity of half-breed trash like you calling someone like me, weak!” Angered, its eyes flashing, the snake dove toward him.

At the last moment, Josh dodged, and the crumble of rocks shattering filled the room as the Uktena’s head smashed into the statue. Taking advantage of the snake’s head swaying, Josh jumped up onto the head and ran down its spine, his feet traversing the scaled surface with ease. He smirked when he saw the gouges made in the snake’s skin from the four tusks protruding from the statue from when the snake ran into it.

He had only gone a few feet when the creature hissed. The next thing Josh knew, the ground beneath him rolled. He stumbled, trying to regain his footing, but the snake turned and pressed its body against his, pinning him to the wall.

What an amateur move! He swore, cursing himself for getting stuck like this. He tried to escape, but the pressure was too tight. The ridges of the individual stones that made up the mosaic on the walls pressed into his back. What am I, a dumb pup?

Josh looked up to see the snake pinning him with its eyes. “Must have been your father, then. How disappointed Jorgen must be to have a member of his pack sully the proud wolf wekufe bloodline.”

Jorgen? Who’s Jorgen? At the mention of the word pack, though, he couldn’t prevent a wince.

“That’s right, half-breeds don’t have a pack, do they. Must be awful.”

Emotion welled up in Josh, and he sneered, his eyes flashing with anger. “Fuck you!” he cried. “What good has your pure bloodline done for you?” he said, and stabbed at the snake’s skin with his claws. “Trapped in here for ages,” he dug in deeper, “as the cavern’s guardian!” He ended his words by twisting his hands, pushing his claws in as deeply as he could.

The Uktena arched in pain, letting out a high-pitched hiss. “Accept your defeat!” it spat. Its maw open wide, the snake dove for the young half-wolf.

Josh stared at the incoming creature and then, at the last moment, twisted his body so that the snake hit the wall instead. His body shook with tremors as the vibrations hit him too, but with a shake of his head he was able to rid himself of them.

The Uktena’s head wobbled as it tried to recover from the impact. Taking advantage of the moment, Josh jerked his hands out of the snake, causing it even more pain and blood to gush from the punctures. He jumped up, freeing himself, and landed on a nearby ledge.

He felt lighter, but then suddenly realized that it wasn’t just from his success. Fuck! My bag! His grin fell, and he quickly ran under the snake to where it might’ve fallen.

To his relief it was there, with only the strap torn. Please don’t be broken, he prayed. He had only narrowly been able to get it the first time, and it was most likely impossible that he would get it again.

The circular disk was fully formed. Thank fuck.

He heard a gust of air, and instinctively threw himself to the side. Jolting from the impact, he looked up to see that he had narrowly missed another attempt from the snake. He felt air on his left arm, and looked to see that the snake had managed to tear his shirt, the rip in the blue fur exposing his creamy skin.

The wolf-wekufe looked up at the snake, who stared back at him with beady eyes. He chuckled, cracking his knuckles. “Scared?” he taunted. “I thought Uktenas were impressive, but considering someone managed to steal your crystal without even killing you, that must mean you’re fairly pathetic!”

The Uktena’s eyes flashed red, and Josh dodged as it darted forward again.

I can’t keep doing this, he thought, continuously jumping from wall to wall as he dodged the snake’s attacks. Eventually I’m gonna get tired. But if I can’t swipe at it with my claws, how am I gonna kill it?

He carefully inspected the snake, trying to find a weak point. Everywhere it’s covered with scales. But they’re near-impossible to cut through…

A light went off in his mind. Then that means I need to strike where he’s not covered with scales! But where is that?

Any old wounds were no longer there, preventing him from being able to take advantage of them. Even now, the stab wounds he had dealt the snake earlier were already more shallow than they were originally.

The eyes? He immediately dismissed that idea. They were incredibly small, and so it’d be nearly impossible to be able to use them.

The idea came to him as he dodged the snake, its mouth open wide. I’ll use the inside of its mouth!

He turned to the snake, bringing up his right hand with his claws exposed. Wait for it, wait for it…

When the snake charged at him, Josh went to swipe.

“Oh fuck,” he cried out, as he barely managed to avoid the snake’s fangs. That was close. The next two attempts were just as fruitless.

How in the world am I gonna kill this fucker? I know they say ‘death by a thousand cuts’ but that better not be literal! He stared at the snake. C’mon, c’mon, he thought. It’s gotta have at least one weak point! When his eyes landed on the snake’s head, it hit him. The depression where the crystal sat, on the creature’s head, had to have the thinnest scales, so the snake could make the best contact with the crystal! Otherwise, it’d be useless. If that’s where the skin is the thinnest, then that’s the best place!

It would be hard though, Josh realized. That fucker’s gotta be used to protecting that spot, since it’s used to defending its crystal. How to distract it?

“Snake?” he called out. “More like a worm! You’re so tiny!”

The Uktena stilled, then faster than Josh could blink rammed his middle and pinned him to the wall. I almost regret that, he thought as he wheezed for breath.

“A creature like you, daring to call me small? Think again!”

Josh looked up with bleary eyes and raised his hands. As he smirked with bloody teeth, he pierced the skin at the top of the snake’s head with both of his claws.

The snake screamed in agony. Josh pinned his ears to his head, trying to block out the sound, but focused on the attack. He continued to deepen his hands in, even when he reached bone, until he had reached its brain.

His claws stabbed at the Uktena’s brain, and the creature jerked as it tried to escape.

It shuddered once, then twice, then finally went still.

Josh kept his fingers in, in case it was playing dead, but as the stench of death filled the air he pulled his hands out in relief.

By now he had slid down the wall and reached the floor, so it was a simple matter of pushing the Uktena’s head away. Josh looked at his hands in disgust. What filth. He flicked his hands a few times, trying to get the guts and blood off, even wiping it on his clothes a few times. Even though there was no visible evidence of the snake’s guts, the scent still faintly lingered. He tried to ignore it, knowing from experience that it would just take time for it to go away.

He stared at the Uktena’s empty eyes, its words ringing in his ears.

Worthless.

Pack-less.

Alone.


“Fucker ain’t know shit,” he swore, kicking some of the loose rocks nearby at its head. “I don’t need a pack. I’m fine.”

Josh quickly jumped over the dead body, resolving to put the words behind him.

I don't care how dumb this is, I'm going to post the first half of chapter one of my story. I've been struggling to find people who will critique it, and at this point I don't care that it might one day dox me in the far future when I publish it. Please give your thoughts and critiques! I have a few questions that I'd like answered if possible. You can completely ignore them or use them to give critique.

  1. Did the world-building make sense? If not, what questions did you have?
  2. Were there any words that you stumbled over/struggled to read/pronounce?
  3. How do you view Josh?
  4. What are his character traits?
  5. If you had to guess, what do you think his character arc will be?
  6. Did the environment of the cavern make sense?
  7. Did the fight with the Utkena make sense? Were you able to follow everyone's actions?

I have three to four chapters fully written. It's something I've been working on for the past almost year and I have a lot of world-building done, as well as character arcs and such.
 
As I said, Fuck my life. But I encourage anyone who is struggling with intricate structures / modernist poetical bullshit to at least try to keep a chart. If it was good enough for Joyce, then it might be good enough for you.
As much as I love Joyce, I think imitating his methods this closely is a fool's errand. Beckett learned that the hard way.
 
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As much as I love Joyce, I think imitating his methods this closely is a fool's errand. Beckett learned that the hard way.
I think that's true for anyone. Has there ever been a successful imitator? Among real actual writers and not YA gabage-makers, of course. Because I can't think of a one.

One thing I recommend when you're still learning is to have a book you love on your lap and type it out. Larp as your mentor. Instead of sounding more like an imitation, you instead learn of how not to sound like them as you tend to learn the hows and whys of their writing style.
 
I think that's true for anyone. Has there ever been a successful imitator? Among real actual writers and not YA gabage-makers, of course. Because I can't think of a one.

One thing I recommend when you're still learning is to have a book you love on your lap and type it out. Larp as your mentor. Instead of sounding more like an imitation, you instead learn of how not to sound like them as you tend to learn the hows and whys of their writing style.
Ironically, it seems like a less reverent approach is both more dignified and effective. If you brazenly steal only the specific turns and tricks you like and make them your own that leads to better results than directly trying to "be like x" or following the structure/stylistic aspects of a specific movement by imitating its methodology as a whole because that only leads to a watered down copy of what you're looking at.
 
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As much as I love Joyce, I think imitating his methods this closely is a fool's errand. Beckett learned that the hard way.
Probably maybe. Beckett was... following Joyce super-consciously. He looked at furniture carved by a master, itemized the parts and assembly, and attempted to recreate the art from scratch. His early works are Ikea flat-pack: technically fine, but lacking craftsmanship and soul.

But you've got to learn.

I think where Beckett initially went wrong was starting in at the ground floor. He got the blueprints from Joyce, and built upwards: the trick, imho, is to look at the final product and work backwards, reverse engineer it. Yes, there will be similarities in technique and function between the two finished works, but we're not slavishly imitating the master: better to write in competition, using different angles and approaches.

edit: yeah, what you basically said in your second post.
 
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Another weekly post for me, probably my last; this one's a vent.

Alluded to this in a few other threads, but; I've got an old writing idea that I'm hesitant to use thanks to some drama surrounding it. Drama that is, unironically, entirely my own fault, caused by me going full retard with a group of (former) writing colleagues of mine. The incident was years ago, but it's still stuck in my mind. Basically, I got really pushy with a group of people I was doing some writing/worldbuilding stuff with; I had this one idea for a story I was writing, and... let's just say things got really out of hand thanks to me being an idiot. It resulted in an argument, which resulted in me becoming Persona Non Grata for quite a while; I was eventually allowed back, but later left due to personal issues.

I bring it up, because I was going through a plot for my current story; the "idea" that I had fits legit perfectly, but I'm hesitant on using it because of just how much of fucking tard I was then. Not asking for advice or anything, just... needed to blow off some steam, I suppose; if anyone does want to comment though, go ahead. Still working on the plot, might go ahead and change some things.

Puzzle pieces, Top hats, etc. All to the right.
 
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I wasn't able to write for about a year and a half and now that I finally have time it appears my skill has massively deteriorated. It's kind of killing my motivation to continue. Anybody got any tips? Should I just keep hammering shit out until I get my mojo back? Drink less tap water so the glowniggers stop deteriorating my brain cells with flouride?

Some of it might just be my overall lack of confidence or good ideas, but I used to be able to hammer out scenes and short stories with something akin to consistent skill. Now it's like I'm back at the beginning.
 
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