The Writing Operation!

automotivated

automotivated

Well-Known Member
Hey there! Welcome to The Writing Operation!

This topic was created with the sole purpose to give all forum
members a chance to be creative. Regardless if you are a
seasoned writer who's comfortable pushing themselves to
different creative limits, or someone who's never attempted
to write out of their own free will (but has maybe always
been curious.) TWO is here for you!

Basic FAQ!

What is The Writing Operation?
TWO was an idea I came up with after joining
the AP forum community. I didn't see any
other forums that encouraged creative writing,
but I did see a lot of members either talking
about writing or making posts in other topics that
i though had potential. it wasn't entirely selfless,
i also wanted a space to write here, too! Although!
There's no point in making a whole new topic if its
not engaging, right? No fun in that.



What do you do in TWO?
TWO is a creative writing hub where you can post whatever you want in regards to writing, regardless of what it is. It’s just supposed to be a dedicated spot where you can write as much as you like, about what you like, if that sort of thing appeals to you. There’s no regiment here, just writing. Go wild.



What isn't allowed?
Whatever goes against forum rules. we're law abiding weebs here.
we can still have fun and not get banned :^)
Have fun. ​
 
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automotivated said:
Posting on here quickly to alert anyone following the topic and anyone else looking for this thread.

it’s no longer a weekly prompt regiment, it’s now just a write what you want when you want, sort of thing.

go wild.
Click to expand...

Oooo! SOUNDS FUN

TurkeyGami said:
Niiice. I'll be posting on hard mode when I get the chance.

I wonder if I should continue my Stupid Tents Deer Furry story here at some point? :thinking:
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This is beautiful. Please continue it, I’m on the edge of my seat
 
I had a dream last night. A vision of an ocean- or maybe it was a lake, I don't remember - that pulls things in. It wasn't made of water, but of something that covered itself in the guise of water. It looked cool, calm, and inviting. No apparent treachery, nothing could be seen waiting beneath through the clear ripples made by falling petals of the nearby apple trees planted along the banks. And that's how I knew it wasn't just water there, just a vision. It was windy out. Storming, just half a mile away, and yet the skies were clear above this pond. A simple oasis in a great sea of hardship.

Going through what I had, with the black things still chasing me and probably having picked up my scent by now, I needed this. It had just been too hard ever since I left. The moment I opened my eyes I was chased, pursued by monsters I could never hope to win against on my own. I tried everything. I tried to ignore them. I tried do drown them out. I even tried to kill them. But the more i tried the more I realized that all I could do on my own is run. Their storms chased me, and now I am here. Looking back, I can see movements through the trees. They're hunting. Searching for any chance to get inside my dream. But it seemed so safe here. Not hopeful, not happy, but safer than out there. The more I looked into the pond, the more inviting it felt. It showed me no reflection but for emptiness.

It was distracting me from the promise I made. The promise that was made to me, to survive this and when it was all over, to live happily with love. But that all felt so distant already. So distant, but so sweet a promise that its echoes could still be heard ringing through my mind. That promise of protection and salvation which I saw my ideal self in years ago, didn't compare to the opportunity before me. This abyss would allow me an escape from all the torment. Here, I could stay thinking to myself and waiting, yelling if I wished, screaming out into nowhere until it consumed me.

I had been shown this already. This danger. It was if I was gazing into the pits of hell, wanting to jump right in to escape.

My soul rejected it.

It's interesting the subliminal hold on you that a promise you make can have. It welds itself and weaves itself onto your soul, and it takes hold stronger than any temptation, so that even after your soul ditrties itself, it's still there clinging on. Not even the demons and dark things can tear it off. It's almost like it's a charm. Maybe something supernatural. But it was part of my soul, and so, it rejected the abyss. Something rose up inside me and roared. I instantly wished to wake up to the madness.

I found myself under clouds which blocked the sky from my vision. The pool was gone. Sitting up to gaze around, I found myself surrounded by the monsters. I smiled.

"Try to tear me apart if you wish," I said to them, standing up to run. My hands forming a shield in front of me.

"I'm going home if it kills me."
 
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TurkeyGami said:
I had a dream last night. A vision of an ocean- or maybe it was a lake, I don't remember - that pulls things in. It wasn't made of water, but of something that covered itself in the guise of water. It looked cool, calm, and inviting. No apparent treachery, nothing could be seen waiting beneath through the clear ripples made by falling petals of the nearby apple trees planted along the banks. And that's how I knew it wasn't just water there, just a vision. It was windy out. Storming, just half a mile away, and yet the skies were clear above this pond. A simple oasis in a great sea of hardship.

Going through what I had, with the black things still chasing me and probably having picked up my scent by now, I needed this. It had just been too hard ever since I left home. The moment I opened my eyes I was chased, pursued by monsters I could never hope to win against on my own. I tried everything. I tried to ignore them. I tried do drown them out. I even tried to kill them. But the more i tried the more I realized that all I could do on my own is run. Their storms chased me, and now I am here. Looking back, I can see movements through the trees. They're hunting. Searching for any chance to get inside my dream. But it seemed so safe here. Not hopeful, not happy, but safer than out there. The more I looked into the pond, the more inviting it felt. It showed me no reflection but for emptiness.

It was distracting me from the promise I made. The promise that was made to me, to survive this and when it was all over, to live happily with love. But that all felt so distant already. So distant, but so sweet a promise that its echoes could still be heard ringing through my mind. That promise of protection and salvation which I saw my ideal self in years ago, didn't compare to the opportunity before me. This abyss would allow me an escape from all the torment. Here, I could stay thinking to myself and waiting, yelling if I wished, screaming out into nowhere until it consumed me.

I had been shown this already. This danger. It was if I was gazing into the pits of hell, wanting to jump right in to escape.

My soul rejected it.

It's interesting the subliminal hold on you that a promise you make can have. It welds itself and weaves itself onto your soul, and it takes hold stronger than any temptation, so that even after your soul ditrties itself, it's still there clinging on. Not even the demons and dark things can tear it off. It's almost like it's a charm. Maybe something supernatural. But it was part of my soul, and so, it rejected the abyss. Something rose up inside me and roared. I instantly wished to wake up to the madness.

I found myself under clouds which blocked the sky from my vision. The pool was gone. Sitting up to gaze around, I found myself surrounded by the monsters. I smiled.

"Try to tear me apart if you wish," I said to them, standing up to run. My hands forming a shield in front of me.

"I'm going home if it kills me."
Click to expand...

Holy hell. I really hope you become a famous author someday because I don't know if I've met anyone who writes as well as you do. This is so, so good as usual.
 
TurkeyGami said:
I had a dream last night. A vision of an ocean- or maybe it was a lake, I don't remember - that pulls things in. It wasn't made of water, but of something that covered itself in the guise of water. It looked cool, calm, and inviting. No apparent treachery, nothing could be seen waiting beneath through the clear ripples made by falling petals of the nearby apple trees planted along the banks. And that's how I knew it wasn't just water there, just a vision. It was windy out. Storming, just half a mile away, and yet the skies were clear above this pond. A simple oasis in a great sea of hardship.

Going through what I had, with the black things still chasing me and probably having picked up my scent by now, I needed this. It had just been too hard ever since I left. The moment I opened my eyes I was chased, pursued by monsters I could never hope to win against on my own. I tried everything. I tried to ignore them. I tried do drown them out. I even tried to kill them. But the more i tried the more I realized that all I could do on my own is run. Their storms chased me, and now I am here. Looking back, I can see movements through the trees. They're hunting. Searching for any chance to get inside my dream. But it seemed so safe here. Not hopeful, not happy, but safer than out there. The more I looked into the pond, the more inviting it felt. It showed me no reflection but for emptiness.

It was distracting me from the promise I made. The promise that was made to me, to survive this and when it was all over, to live happily with love. But that all felt so distant already. So distant, but so sweet a promise that its echoes could still be heard ringing through my mind. That promise of protection and salvation which I saw my ideal self in years ago, didn't compare to the opportunity before me. This abyss would allow me an escape from all the torment. Here, I could stay thinking to myself and waiting, yelling if I wished, screaming out into nowhere until it consumed me.

I had been shown this already. This danger. It was if I was gazing into the pits of hell, wanting to jump right in to escape.

My soul rejected it.

It's interesting the subliminal hold on you that a promise you make can have. It welds itself and weaves itself onto your soul, and it takes hold stronger than any temptation, so that even after your soul ditrties itself, it's still there clinging on. Not even the demons and dark things can tear it off. It's almost like it's a charm. Maybe something supernatural. But it was part of my soul, and so, it rejected the abyss. Something rose up inside me and roared. I instantly wished to wake up to the madness.

I found myself under clouds which blocked the sky from my vision. The pool was gone. Sitting up to gaze around, I found myself surrounded by the monsters. I smiled.

"Try to tear me apart if you wish," I said to them, standing up to run. My hands forming a shield in front of me.

"I'm going home if it kills me."
Click to expand...
@TurkeyGami, a seasoned light novel author.
 
So I haven't been doing very well with my writings because of school (I put my novel in hiatus mode, and I haven't been doing too much poetry) but here is one poem I wrote/edited this year that I enjoyed. I have been on a kick of writing poems that deal with cycles of violence, and their place in poetry and my relationship in it all, as a male. This is my response to Seamus Heaney's bog poems (specifically, "Punishment") which inspired me to write about Hypatia, the historical badass and victim. I've been writing in double un-rhymed sonnets, which is almost a contradiction, but it feeds my absurdist heart and still creates a format that is interesting, I believe.

Hypatia
What did we gain in the trade, Hypatia,
When we fed your flesh into the fires?
As we drug your body through our foul streets
I wonder that nobody stopped to ask:
Was it all for your beauty, or your mind?
Were we but earthbound stones unmovable,
Large in number, but unable to hear
The language the universe spoke through you?
Even now, when upon a beach walking
Should I find sand-buried shells saluting,
I shall view them as dismembered fingers
Pointing into the past inherited,
Of when your body was turned to kindle
and recoil from the sanguine horror.

Where do I go now from here, Hypatia,
when they left us no grave to lay flowers?
Am I wrong to bear heredity’s guilt?
I know not as a man where my place lies,
So I will accuse and condemn Mankind,
And paint them for the villains that they were:
The new Gods let slip into young man’s lap
“Oh, how sweet must be the old god’s ichor?”
A nude pomegranate, its skin torn off,
Discarded upon some lost garden floor,
And like mad dogs, they lapped blood as if wine
- Baying like hounds, or braying like asses -
They heard not the whispered truth of the world
That ambrosia should taste not of copper.
 
CosmicOwlDream said:
So I haven't been doing very well with my writings because of school (I put my novel in hiatus mode, and I haven't been doing too much poetry) but here is one poem I wrote/edited this year that I enjoyed. I have been on a kick of writing poems that deal with cycles of violence, and their place in poetry and my relationship in it all, as a male. This is my response to Seamus Heaney's bog poems (specifically, "Punishment") which inspired me to write about Hypatia, the historical badass and victim. I've been writing in double un-rhymed sonnets, which is almost a contradiction, but it feeds my absurdist heart and still creates a format that is interesting, I believe.

Hypatia
What did we gain in the trade, Hypatia,
When we fed your flesh into the fires?
As we drug your body through our foul streets
I wonder that nobody stopped to ask:
Was it all for your beauty, or your mind?
Were we but earthbound stones unmovable,
Large in number, but unable to hear
The language the universe spoke through you?
Even now, when upon a beach walking
Should I find sand-buried shells saluting,
I shall view them as dismembered fingers
Pointing into the past inherited,
Of when your body was turned to kindle
and recoil from the sanguine horror.

Where do I go now from here, Hypatia,
when they left us no grave to lay flowers?
Am I wrong to bear heredity’s guilt?
I know not as a man where my place lies,
So I will accuse and condemn Mankind,
And paint them for the villains that they were:
The new Gods let slip into young man’s lap
“Oh, how sweet must be the old god’s ichor?”
A nude pomegranate, its skin torn off,
Discarded upon some lost garden floor,
And like mad dogs, they lapped blood as if wine
- Baying like hounds, or braying like asses -
They heard not the whispered truth of the world
That ambrosia should taste not of copper.
Click to expand...

This is actually really beautiful
 
did a bit of writing a while back, using TAT cards as stimulus... here's the piece i'm most proud of...

It was 8 o clock, and Henry had just emerged from the bathroom to find that Trevor had once again chosen to snag a few more precious moments of sleep before they headed to the mess hall to have a quick breakfast. He stood over his room-mate, resting one knee on the bed, and extended one arm towards his face. Softly he brought his palm down upon Trevor's mouth, and pinched shut his nose. He awoke with a start and pulled Henry's hand off his face. Shuffling away backwards from his aggressor, he slammed his head into the headboard with a solid thud. Henry chuckled. It had been just as entertaining as he had hoped.

Trevor was anything but amused, but he knew better than to question Henry's bizarre antics. "Why'd you do that?", "Dunno, just felt like it.". It was an exchange they had had often last year. Trevor did not know why he put up with a room-mate who was so evidently certifiably insane, but here he was, in his second year of college, and still holed up with the same freak. So since there was little point in attempting dialogue, he got up without comment and advanced towards the door, furiously rubbing with his hand the back of his head; and Henry followed.

They sat at their usual place, and were served the usual fried egg and three lamb sausages, with some butter and two lightly toasted slices of bread. They buttered their toasts, sliced the sausage, and quickly assembled their egg and lamb sausage sandwiches. It was not the tidiest way to eat, but it was fast, and time was of the essence. But as Trevor brought his sandwich to his mouth, he froze, for he saw that Jane too was sitting at her usual place, across the hall from them. To be seen by her with egg yolk dribbling down his chin; oh, the horror! Henry did not need to look to know what had happened. "Oh for God's sake Trevor! Stop gawking at her and finish your breakfast, we've got a class to get to," he said.

Not long after, Jane got up and left, and Trevor muttered a quick prayer of thanks. She would not be witness to that terrible sight that he imagined would leave her scarred for life and ruin what little chance he believed he had with her. As he and Henry themselves got up to leave ten minutes later, the bell began to ring. They were going to be late as usual.
 
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RogueLynx said:
did a bit of writing a while back, using TAT cards as stimulus... here's the piece i'm most proud of... though it's a case of my trying to write something that i most certainly do not know...

It was 8 o clock, and Henry had just emerged from the bathroom to find that Trevor had once again chosen to snag a few more precious moments of sleep before they headed to the mess hall to have a quick breakfast. He stood over his room-mate, resting one knee on the bed, and extended one arm towards his face. Softly he brought his palm down upon Trevor's mouth, and pinched shut his nose. He awoke with a start and pulled Henry's hand off his face. Shuffling away backwards from his aggressor, he slammed his head into the headboard with a solid thud. Henry chuckled. It had been just as entertaining as he had hoped.

Trevor was anything but amused, but he knew better than to question Henry's bizarre antics. "Why'd you do that?", "Dunno, just felt like it.". It was an exchange they had had often last year. Trevor did not know why he put up with a room-mate who was so evidently certifiably insane, but here he was, in his second year of college, and still holed up with the same freak. So since there was little point in attempting dialogue, he got up without comment and advanced towards the door, furiously rubbing with his hand the back of his head; and Henry followed.

They sat at their usual place, and were served the usual fried egg and three lamb sausages, with some butter and two lightly toasted slices of bread. They buttered their toasts, sliced the sausage, and quickly assembled their egg and lamb sausage sandwiches. It was not the tidiest way to eat, but it was fast, and time was of the essence. But as Trevor brought his sandwich to his mouth, he froze, for he saw that Jane too was sitting at her usual place, across the hall from them. To be seen by her with egg yolk dribbling down his chin; oh, the horror! Henry did not need to look to know what had happened. "Oh for God's sake Trevor! Stop gawking at her and finish your breakfast, we've got a class to get to," he said.

Not long after, Jane got up and left, and Trevor muttered a quick prayer of thanks. She would not be witness to that terrible sight that he imagined would leave her scarred for life and ruin what little chance he believed he had with her. As he and Henry themselves got up to leave ten minutes later, the bell began to ring. They were going to be late as usual.
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Thank you for contributing! I really enjoyed it, keep at it bc id like to see more from you.
 
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