How, as moderator, do I allow points to be awarded to members of:
http://www.thenextbigwriter.com/group-p … -poetry-26
http://www.thenextbigwriter.com/group-l … fiction-33
http://www.thenextbigwriter.com/group-l … fiction-33
I want to also post work, for points, to Premium and Free.
I am confused, can I post to all groups for one set of points (as one can on Scribo)
TX - max
Hello - Purfrock here.
I'm experimenting with group structure. I want to make it point enabled, but can't figure out how to do it. It is now private and invisible and open to suggestions... soon to change.
I want to make this the alternative to Oden's group (although, I also belong to that group also)... erotic, vile, nasty and wicked... OR, any content that can sizzles the butts off the young and dumb. Lenny Bruce, Al Ginsberg, Bill Burroughs, Jack Kerouac and Chuck Bukowski types... come on down!
And, the young and dumb are welcome, but expect a thorough thrashing if not up to sniff-snuff-stuff
Does anyone want this privileged? I founded this group to get it going, now to keep going in life, I need to make appearances, 6-8 times each month at the local hospital (IvIG). It takes me 4 more days to recover, leaving me 10 days a month to do everything else. Email me or let me know on this thread.
SCRIBO - The desire to write is no indication of talent. So many immature newbie writers there (like me, at times, when i was there)... all trying to cram their myopic writing ambitions into blind eyes and deep throats. That 'free' option creates the feral 13-21 year-old trolls who assume they have the wisdom of the ages in their gonads. Some great writer there, like George Wells, but a 'karma' system?... no politics or religion in the forums? What is writing about if not politics and religion... and good writers know to add love, death and taxes, of course.
SOl has a good formula going here. The main site is a 30/7/365 job for him... and us, for now. Yes, I agree with njc, forum software has its own parameters and can be inflexible.
I DIED A FEW MONTHS BACK... from, can you believe this: constipation. Combine that with low blood pressure at the bottom of the body, and high blood pressure at the top; then I stood up. BAM! I went to the death and falling place. In the ambulance the blood pressure was 50/30. In the ER room they were confounded and unable to rouse me. I was going down for good. And I knew it! A major enema and 23 hours later, I came back.
When falling earlier, I hallucinated the mother of all horror movies. First person present seeing a film of ... I can't explain it!... 10000 words might try to explain it. I think I saw into an exploding vagus nerve... somehow.
Now I fear constipation as much as I fear guns. You think I kidding, but I am consuming fiber with 100 fl oz of water to fight off this monster daily. I pop stool softeners like candy and I drink super espresso in the a.m. like an Italian.
I'm warming up for writing a horror story using this topic. It is so unusual ( and real, Anatomic Hyperreflexia)... ooops, gotta go, I really got to go...
http://www.nydailynews.com/news/nationa … -1.2027689
Look at the boy hugging the cop... amazing picture of emotions that transcends so much of life's turmoil. To capture this emotion in a poem... I think of a poet once here on the site, Ellis.
I want the past relived, revived and reanimated. I want Filliam, Sandy Anderson, and I want the living to return also: JEliz, Doug Moore, workquick, sonny... and so many others from out of the past, wonderful writers whom I listened and learned on the old site.
Email them, well the living ones of course. Tell them to return!
To me, Filliam is and will always be the definitive reviewer. So kind, so thorough; the woman set the bar high for all reviewers. She wrote about Hawaii, the University of Manoa, the people there... so real! She captured the academic grind, tenure track runs and I can still picture her scenes; so alive in real-people speak with deeply emotional multiple-hued nuances.
>> points: I'm a bit confused about this when it applies to groups. The activation of this feature, for the moderator, is disabled. If it were enabled, would this mean that a writer would post to all groups with one set of points required to do so? Actually, I still have not posted to the new site. Can someone refer me to the wiki for this? TX
ALSO: I would like to read fiction, in any genre, new or old, on this site, about central Connecticut, specifically: the small towns of The Valley; Derby, Ansonia, Woodbury, Shelton, etc. or the distant suburbs of New Haven.
thanks - max
>> points: I'm a bit confused about this when it applies to groups. The activation of this feature, for the moderator, is disabled. If it were enabled would this mean that a writer would post to all groups with one set of points required to do so? Actually, I still have not posted to the new site. Can someone refer me to the wiki for this? TX
ALSO: I would like to read fiction, in any genre, new or old, on this site, about central Connecticut, specifically: the small towns of The Valley; Derby, Ansonia, Woodbury, Shelton, etc. or the distant suburbs of New Haven.
thanks - max
WOw. Autonomic dysreflexia... I looked it up. Scarier than any literature I can think of, that's for sure! I empathize with you Max, I just wonder if you should be thinking such morbid thoughts at this juncture? Or maybe it helps? I dunno. It's all fine and good for me to be exploring my demons while in a relatively hale state. Kinda like rooting on a boxer to take a beating and go the distance without any actual skin in the game. Although, one time I caught spinal meningitis and thought I was gonna die. Three days of pukey headaches, couldn't get out of bed, refused to go the hospital. No syncope or profound hallucinations, though. Just unrelenting pain. I just might've died if my girlfriend, god bless her, hadn't dragged me like a sack of apples to the hospital. She pretty much saved my life.
My WIP is all about "thinking such thoughts at this juncture". A chronic disease (like death itself) can't be denied, or it becomes a constant fight for happiness and life. Acceptance of the inevitable allows room for thoughts of kindness, forgiveness and well-wishing for the world around oneself. However, the memory of things denied are a real kick in the ass when writing, plotting and vengeance (lol).
The fear of actual deterioration of the physical body and death are profound subjects in literature: Frankenstein, Dracula, The Mummy, the" 72 Virgins" thing in Islam, ghosts turning the screws, etc. I have to admit that writing fiction dealing with the termination of life is in some way macabre to me. The mystery of death and existence has puzzled all philosophers and soothsayers and holy men and lawyers for... well, forever.
More later...
Often one to boost my ego, years ago, I Googled myself, and on or about page 8+ I often found my posts to the old forum. Since I was basically insane with pain in 2012 & 2113, many of my post were feral and crazy. Not flattering at all, or perhaps they were, considering my genre... Anyway, are post to new forum(s) seen on the internet still?
My father once gave me an HP Lovecraft anthology thing when I was a teenager. Told me it was supercool, superfreaky stuff. I didn't really appreciate it at the time, but I do now. Once you grasp and realize the utter insignificance of humanity vis-a-vis the universe, once you've come to that conclusion... Well, then your imagination can really take wing. It's a cynical purview, but not entirely void of passion or joy. There are still plenty of thrills and yucks to be had. In fact, it's kinda like walking around, being Bill Murray.
Recently the HBO show True Detective revitalized the forgotten art of the turn of the century Gothic or Weird fiction genre with its arcane references to THE KING IN YELLOW -by Robert Chambers- and the fabled evil city of Carcosa. A kind of Hell in a cosmic/parallel dimensional sense, not a religious one:
Along the shore the cloud waves break,
The twin suns sink behind the lake,
The shadows lengthen
In Carcosa.
Strange is the night where black stars rise,
And strange moons circle through the skies,
But stranger still is
Lost Carcosa.
Songs that the Hyades shall sing,
Where flap the tatters of the King,
Must die unheard in
Dim Carcosa.
Song of my soul, my voice is dead,
Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed
Shall dry and die in
Lost Carcosa.Rather along the same lines as your Rupert Brooke poem, no?
Cheers
John
ALOHA John,
Love the first line of the poem. Life, so magnificent, and yet so, so nothing... in the big, BIG scheme of things and life forms. I give a lot of thought to death now, having come so close to it over the last three years (autonomic hyperreflexia!, AH!... twice! and states of physical being that I would not wish on any living creature.).
To see stars, when dizzy; what is that vision? Well, I'm not sure, but I saw the universe of all universes, just before I fainted... and I'll never forget that hallucination!!! As I hallucinated this spinning ginormous universe in my brain, I also heard words not too unlike this poem. And while I saw my dying universe of syncope, I asked myself... is this what dying is all about? Am I now dying?
In fear and terror I screamed out for my wife to call an ambulance... and this saved my life. I was heard, not unheard... not lost in Lost Carcosa, or Costa Bravo or Costa Mesa (lol).
And after this hallucination (and a week in the hospital), I was no longer a virgin in life, sheltered from the reality of death... death will screw with a person, in disease, in mental aberrations that can send chills up and down the spine... ah, the spine, it is really a big part of the brain, of the psyche of fear and trembling and chills and shaking. But most of us don't realize it. Ah, but what is this thing called horror?
Can there be a Mother Time, a Goddess of Death? If so, this Goddess of Death embraced me in her warm folds of time and space, but left me an escape route, a last scream for help. Now, I can never doubt that my death will be real, a physical end to my cherished brain function, and a winding down of all that is my soul, a soule that exists in the minds of loved ones, friends and others.
Lost Carcosa... all death is a neurological condition, an hallucination that becomes so real... and then life fades out, as some place in our brains just shuts off... this thought kills me each time I think of it!
The self: a Lost Carcosa, a once human, a found corpse... naked on a bathroom floor.
Scared the life out of me... almost! But I lived!
Hi Michael.
I am working on a memoirs/fiction novella: INCEDULOUS JOURNEY. All feedback would be greatly appreciated. thanks!Kyla aka Irene Hamilton
I kept looking at this wording and I was confused.
Showing results for INCREDULOUS
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in·cred·u·lous
inˈkrejələs/
adjective
adjective: incredulous
(of a person or their manner) unwilling or unable to believe something.
"an incredulous gasp"
synonyms: disbelieving, skeptical, unbelieving, distrustful, mistrustful, suspicious, doubtful, dubious, unconvinced;
cynical
"we were incredulous when the congressman was not more forthcoming in his first broadcast interview about the case"
Which word did you mean?
Ah God, Max, I thank God every day that I don't have to write to eat - I would quickly starve, lol.
One of the best books I've read is Knut Hamsum's, HUNGER.
If one must write to eat, then one must write to[wards] the masses.
Occasionally, a book jumps the fences that surround the masses and the professional fencers and ready/writey academics adopt it (eeeh, a mixed metaphor from hell!). I had to sell books everyday, to eat and live, for many years... I sold a lot of GARBAGE!
Long sentences, short sentences, meandering sentence fragments (Destouches)... if the story has "THE MEAT" in it, the public will eat it up, as will most of the epicurean gourmets amongst us
In the case of Steinbeck (and his fish stories), think of all the floundering masses in those times, the state of our drowning nation, how their lives were being destroyed by bigger fish (and foul fowl) they didn't know, realize or understand.
When Tom Joad is turned away from the Ca boarder, refused work, is abused in the hobo camp, sees his family starving... I begin to fight with him. That is THE MEAT of the story... the MC does not run away, nor can the reader turn away. Sentence size, complexity won't matter at this point in the story... hooked: hook, line and sinker!
However, in music (to me), there is folk music and then there is art music. A genius, like Astor Piazolla, can bring both together to move the world, allow a free-world to see, to hear the discordant tango metaphor of a dancing tyranny, feel the whippings and the torture. In his art, of and for the masses (the tango), he stops a nation from dancing to the murderous disharmonious cords of a dictator.
So, we have folk-writing and then we have art-writing. Getting too arty, too talky, too too,... can be the kiss of death for any art form.
Your thoughts on this genre. please elucidate or equivocate or profounduate... feel free to make up words, as I often do.
Ghost stories
Gothic literature
Monster literature
Weird fiction
Macabre fiction & non-fiction
Morbid fiction & non-fiction
Cadaverous fiction & non-fiction
Zombie fiction
Vampire fiction
Dark fantasy
Psychological horror (my favorite)
Horror poetry
>>The Life Beyond
Written by: Rupert Brooke
He wakes, who never thought to wake again,
Who held the end was Death.
He opens eyes
Slowly, to one long livid oozing plain
Closed down by the strange eyeless heavens.
He lies;
And waits; and once in timeless sick surmise
Through the dead air heaves up an unknown hand,
Like a dry branch.
No life is in that land,
Himself not lives, but is a thing that cries;
An unmeaning point upon the mud; a speck
Of moveless horror; an Immortal One
Cleansed of the world, sentient and dead; a fly
Fast-stuck in grey sweat on a corpse's neck.
I thought when love for you died, I should die.
It's dead.
Alone, most strangely, I live on.
Alone, most strangely, I live on.
I had no problems getting in. I found old site fast and comfortable, but I know the new site will become like an old friend as soon as we bond and have a few beers together.
Thanks Sol.
Can you you build a page or forum dedicated to CONTESTS that are tNBW generated, announced by you and can be commented on by members
On scribophile members are able to create contests within their dedicated groups and reward contestants with points (or precious jewels or gold or sheep).
A sticky-googy forum for CONTESTS, where members can place links to outside contests would also be very helpful... and perhaps profitable,
Thank you - max
Schizophrenia and being "a single man with a grudge against the world that is real." is contradictory. Either he has paranoid delusions, which are not real, or he is justified in his beliefs for his grudge but has a social dysfunction like anger-management or many other issues unrelated to schizoaffective disorders. Norman Bates (Ed Gein) was not schizophrenic, or if he was (of a kind other than a "functional paranoid"), that was not the interesting, fictional-plot producing, part of his mental illness which showed itself in sexual psychopathy.
Interestingly enough, I met Robert Bloch, the writer of Psycho, years ago ( video taped his seminar presentation in film school). Man, was he a comic! I realize now that I write in a similar vein, not the jugular... a pun from him. I'm thinking Eddie Gein originally had a grudge against the world (to say the least, read his bio... holy shit!), as most of us do, but his insanity spiraled out of control and inspired his gruesome taxidermist proclivities. Thanks CHARLES, you reply gave me new insight into my WIP
Detective Herman He & Detective Randy Yu
He and Yu are of Japanese/Chinese heritage names.
Would these homonym names throw you off?
I am running these guys in 1st person present.
The nature of my novel is delusion, deception.
Thanks - max
I would like suggestions for a book or short story with a delusional MC, a functional paranoid schizophrenic, a single man with a grudge against the world that is real. If a suggested book is stream of consciousness, even better. Thanks - max
I'm reading The Plantagenets at a very slow pace. The state of my mind and body fluctuates by the week.
But, I would like suggestions for a book or short story with a delusional MC, a functional paranoid schizophrenic, a single man with a grudge against the world that is real. If a suggested book is stream of consciousness, even better. Thanks - max
maxkeanu wrote:North by Northwest-
In film school we had Ernest Lehman as a guest one night, wrote the original screenplay for NNW. Everyone was expecting great literary and cinema revelations, but Ernest admitted that, "we just made it all up (the locations) as we went along". So, like a rough draft (or a thousand cans of raw, unedited film... cans, as it was called in the old days) the real creativity happens in the editing room or appears as the novel is edited.I also met Cary Grant's maid. And, I met Hitch.
I remember hearing that story on TCM, Max. Not the part about them having cans and cans of film, but that he and Hitchcock...I have to write out his name because I didn't meet him
...sat around and made it up. Maybe how they got Cary to sit across from Eva was left on the cutting room floor.
I kid you about meeting 'Hitch', but count me very impressed, jealous and in awe. As for Cary Grant's maid...what did she have to say?
dags:)
What the maid said: "Why Mr. Keanu, you're the spitting image of Cary! Mr. Grant won't be home until tomorrow. Why don't you come in and we'll get to know each other...."
In truth, I was the just an errand boy for my film school and I met many Hollywood film industry people way back when. I even met Jaws! Richard Kiel. And, Steve McQueen and, and, and, and....
North by Northwest-
In film school we had Ernest Lehman as a guest one night, wrote the original screenplay for NNW. Everyone was expecting great literary and cinema revelations, but Ernest admitted that, "we just made it all up (the locations) as we went along". So, like a rough draft (or a thousand cans of raw, unedited film... cans, as it was called in the old days) the real creativity happens in the editing room or appears as the novel is edited.
I also met Cary Grant's maid. And, I met Hitch.
(= unreadable) material
Having once owned a small bookstore on the island of Kauai, I made money selling mostly readable material, i.e., beach reads, tourist maps, dirty magazines (and videos). (= unreadable) material... meant I starved
And then there was a group of searchers; readers who wanted answers to the mystery of the human condition. One of my favorite customers was Bob Denver, aka Gilligan, who lived in Anahola at the time. The man was a voracious reader of fine literature, the classics and books in the pop culture realm. Well read and down to earth... smart, he could talk story, too.
People read for different reasons. Personally, I read THE TIN DRUM at 13 and although I'd didn't really understand a lick of the real meanings of tyranny, war, or being a dwarf, I knew the author was making a much bigger point about life and ones stature in it
In The Tin Drum, I also encounter my first unreliable narrator, and since I am also an unreliable narrator, I found a direction in life and writing. Do you believe that?
I came to terms with being a dwarf, realized writing was all about telling lies and trying to make stylized lies work on gullible readers... to keep them guessing.
Think of all the lies Conrad told in, The Heart of Darkness. The readership of the time, Victorian England, thought colonialism was fine and dandy, but his lies tricked them... the real story was King Leopold of Belgium, whose policies and greed caused the exterminated and death of millions of natives of that country. And, who knows, may have exacerbated the Ebola virus to jump the jungle to humans in that area.
Conrad moved a segment of society to a new level of understanding, thus he is now revered, plopped into lit-fict categories by bookseller, Amazon and librarians world-wide.
