Christac
12-03-2005, 02:56
A largish man, with long flowing black hair, black eyes and a scar down the right of his face, something left over from his past, sat on a rock edge, several thousand meters underground. Beneath him a seemingly endless pit, stretching into the distance, further than the eye could see. This was the man known as Saerat, feared by his enemies and pitied by his friends. His famous sword was sitting next to him, as he thought through closed eyes, drifting in and out of sleep as he did. Down here, there was no day or night, just shifts, and at all hours picks could be heard, chipping away at the rocks all around, a dim glow of neon lighting filling the tunnels, just enough for you to see where you were going, but not enough for you to see others. The smell of sweat was always in the air, and dirt was something that you put up with.
How did he end up in this place?
Had the last few years just been a dream? Something his mind had created to escape the reality?
His brain taunting him, letting him escape, just for an hour before bringing him back here?
Here?
HERE!?!
He stood up with a jump and looked round him, before letting out a massive scream. One that would deafen a man in a normal situation. But this was not even heard several meters away. Against the noises of the equipment and the blasting echoing around the place, this was just another scream to add to the others in the shaft. Screams of hatred, of pain, of regret, and of giving up were common place here, and kept people awake during their rest periods.
“Oy! Who was that?” Said a man coming close to him.
This man wore a blue helmet, a blue jacket over a white shirt, and blue, black and white camouflage trousers, as was the norm for the guards down here. He walked up wielding a large iron club, they were not afraid of a few accidents around here if anyone got out of line.
Noticing that he was not holding a pick. “Hay! Get back to work!” He shouted at Saerat with a tone of authority before stoking his club with his left hand.
Saerat ignored him, and ran his hand through his hair. Still thinking silently to himself, trying to remember what had happened.
“Hay, I’m talking to you” The guard shouted again, now reaching down and pulling his silver pistol from its holster, “turn and face me! Now!”
His expression soon changed to one of fear, his eyes narrowed and his mouth appeared smaller. As Saerat turned, he realised who he had been talking to.
“Oh! Its you! I’m sorry for disturbing...” The guard broke of and made an act of spotting something the other side of the platform next to them, and looked firmly at this imaginary situation.
“Hay, you two!”
He ran off toward the nearest exit. Saerat watched till he went out of view again, and stared out at the large hole in the ground. There he was, back on good old Trogath 12XX. He found himself pacing on the edge, as he thought of how little this dump had changed since he left it…
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10 years previous
The country stood still, everyone from senor citizens to eight year olds waited for the news. Those who needed to work brought radios in, to listen to the minute by minute broadcasts. Today was the last day of the Saerat court case and people from all over the globe wanted to know how it would turn out.
The case had been followed very closely, KNS (Kreplin News Station) had already deemed it “the biggest and most controversial court case in Christac’s history”. They had been there since the first day, getting shots of Saerat getting taken by the police, interviews of witnesses and asking the people on the streets what they thought of the case.
“How and more importantly why, a young boy, named Saerat, barley the age of twelve had killed three policemen with his father’s sword, before turning it on his own parents, both keen employees of the Kreplin corporation’s finance sector?” was the question on everyone’s mind
Saerat entered the court room that day. His shoes making an echoing sound on the hard wooden surface beneath. He was wearing a tattered pair of jeans and a ripped shirt, which was covered for the most part in blood. There was no change of cloths allowed for the accused. That would cost the government money, and that is something the government could not stand loosing.
His lawyer was holding his arm and made sure that he could get through the press crowding the place. The lawyer was supplied by the state. A kid with no parents left could not get his own. But Wilk Thomson was a good man; he was not in it for the money, he was not wearing an expensive suit and more importantly, believed that Saerat could win the case.
As Saerat walked through the room, everyone’s head turned. He already knew the results of the trial before he got halfway up the room. The evidence against him was too strong. Wilk had told him not to worry, but he could not help it.
He was taken by two men and placed in the doc, as the judge, bent over the front of his desk, and looked Saerat in the eye. He looked upset. It was clear that he too, knew what the verdict was going to be, after looking for about a minute he asked for the jury for there decision.
His fear confirmed, Saerat started crying and fell to the floor. On his knees, his head in his hands, he wailed, tears dropped and all he could do was plea to God. Wilk walked to him and put his hand on Saerat’s shoulder, there was nothing he could do.
“Order in my court room!” the judge shouted at the young Saerat and his lawyer. “Order! Guards, remove the lawyer from the boy!”
Two large men, who could easily pick three Wilks up each, dressed completely in red with black caps walked up to Wilk.
“No need to touch me” he said “I’m going”
He walked to the defence table, pulled out the wooden chair and took a seat. He bit his nails, stared into space and thought; he had never failed a case before.
He had lost
This 12 year old was going to spend his life in prison, and it was his fault.
He was not good enough to save him
Saerat, still with tears forming, looked up as a young man wearing a black suit walked up to the judge. Saerat could not know why, but the security moved to let him through. This was not allowed in a court room, and Wilk knew this.
Standing up and addressing the man he said “Get away from the stand and take your seat, sir” He glanced back at the judge. “You cannot allow this! This is against some of our earliest laws”
The man smiled as he walked up to the judge, “You don’t know who I am. Do you?” He said calmly to Wilk.
“I do” said the lawyer, “and that is exactly why I want you to leave and take your seat”
The man pointed at Wilk, and the police on guard grabbed him by the arms, and started dragging him past those sited in the room. His shoes kicking, you could hear some muffled screams as one of the guards put their hand over his mouth. There were whispers and awed looks coming from those watching in the benches and those around the world.
A man of his stature, getting involved in a case like this?
“May I suggest” The man said loudly to the judge and those present “that the child not be put into a prison, but instead into Kreplin’s custody, for us to give him a good future in our science sector?”
The judge looked him firmly in the eye, before looking round the room, at those people watching the case, and then at the television cameras, allowing people to see this world wide. He knew that everyone was watching him, waiting for a reply. The judge could not refuse a suggestion by the Kreplin Corporation, but he knew that this offer, though it sounded generous, would put the boy’s life at risk. Kreplin was not well known for its survival rates in that sector.
He thought for a good five minutes, before looking once again, down at the boy
Saerat noticed the man was sweating quite a bit, he could tell that he was almost scared of what he had to say, and that he wished he wasn’t there.
“Young Saerat, if I were to give you two options, one being a life in prison or two working for the Kreplin corporation Science sector, which one would you choose. I want you to think long and hard about this”
The strange man looked shocked. This judge had almost undermined him, his face scrunched up and he scowled at him.
Saerat did not really understand the question; he had only ever heard the word Kreplin about three times in his life. He was too young to understand exactly what was happening, wiping the tears from his eyes he looked up.
“What is Kreplin?”
The strange man laughed as did a lot of those watching. He turned to the boy and still smiling said
“What is Kreplin?”
“What is Kreplin?”
“What isn’t Kreplin!?!”
Nearly everyone watching was laughing now, people in their houses and at their place of work was also amused at this statement.
The man was now inches away from Saerat, the boy could feel his warm breath against his face. He picked a card out of his pocket and handed it to the boy before backing off.
“Here you are! This is what Kreplin are”
Saerat read the front;
Kreplin; ensuring jobs, wealth and security across the galaxy. It read across the top, followed by the company logo consisting of an eagle, holding the dollar sign, with people of all nations beneath watching.
Saerat’s eyes lit up, he had seen this symbol many times before, he always took it for granted, but now he thought about it, that symbol had always been wherever he had gone. It was at the top of his school at the moment, and, looking up, he saw that it was also on the wall behind the judge.
This court was built by funds kindly given by Keener inc. underneath it, in much smaller letters was written a branch of Kreplin.
Saerat looked back at the card, and at the logo behind the judge. There was something else about that picture which he was forgetting, something important.
Suddenly it came to him; he had seen that logo recently. The whole world watching, he held up the card and ripped it into pieces. A dozen torn shreds of paper fell to the ground, and Saerat put his foot on top of them.
The crowd were shocked, mummers everywhere, Saerat heard one old man on the front say “he deserves all that he gets, the ungrateful little sod”
The man wearing the suit in front of Saerat was furious “How dare you do that you…!!”
Saerat looked directly in the mans eyes. The boy was breathing heavily, hatred flowing through his veins, he found it difficult not to run at this man. He was finding it ever difficult to talk, he wanted to hurt this man so much “I refuse your kind offer” he managed to say, before looking down to the floor again.
“You can’t just go and do that!” The man said, going red. “I put it to the court that he be forced to join Kreplin, as the child is clearly my prop…”
“Your what!?!” shouted Wilk, who had broken free from the guards grips “C’mon, tell them what you were going to say Georaz”
The guards quickly noticed their mistake. Embarrasst; one of them re placed the hand over Wilk’s mouth and apologised.
Georaz was taken aback by Wilk’s request. He had to find another end to the sentence he was saying, and quick. Looking flustered he said “clearly my responsibility”
That would do, he would make a phone call when he leaves, make sure the news don’t show that bit later
“His parents were both high up in Kreplin, and although he did this terrible deed, I feel that they would want him to come and be looked after by us”
There were mummers of agreement around the court. Saerat looked upwards at the judge. He was also nodding his head. “Agreed” He finally said. A look of relief spread across his face.
“I object!” shouted Saerat to everybody’s surprise. He had picked up some of the language from Wilk and knew roughly what this meant.
The judge looked shocked and leaned over his desk again. “Under what grounds?”
“You asked me what I wanted” said Saerat, looking annoyed at the judge “and my answer is I want to go to prison”
As the boy was led away, Wilk ran up to him. “I will fight this” he said “I will not let you rot away in some dark hole somewhere”
Saerat did not have time to answer, he was pushed out the court room and forced through the press quickly by several armed guards. He was taken outside and forced into the back of an armoured van.
No one else there, and no one to comfort him, he cried, for the last time, he cried.
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Saerat was thrown onto the prison ship several days later, he would remember this day for the rest of his life.
He walked up the metal steps one at a time, the chain round his hand rattling at each step. When he reached the top step he fell face first onto the cold steel floor. He slowly managed to clamber back up without the use of his hands. As blood dripped down his chin, he looked around at the other seats. These grown men, covered in tattoos, staring at him. They would be the only company he would have for the next six years.
He walked to his seat, and was chained down by one of the guards. To his left, what had to be a fifty year old man, staring forward without blinking, and to his right, a man with a scare stretching from his forehead to his cheek.
There’s no point making conversation with these two he thought when he saw them. So he tried the bloke opposite, he looked like he was about eighteen or nineteen, had blond hair and was praying when Saerat first saw him.
“Hello my name’s Sa…” Saerat started saying
“Cut the crap kid, once we get off this ship, I’m not going to remember your name” He interrupted.
“Oh” Saerat muttered and was turning to look away.
“But hay, we have a good three hours before we get to the big T, so lets pretend that this conversation is actually going to benefit one of us, and try and kill some time” The bloke said. “So, what do you want to know?”
Parnassus
12-03-2005, 18:22
I'll be the mean one and give you some grammatical tips. Seriously though, I'm trying to help, and not trying to beat up your writing.
You have commas where you don't need them.
A largish man, with long flowing black hair, black eyes and a scar down the right of his face, something left over from his past, sat on a rock edge, several thousand meters underground.
A largish man with long flowing...sat on a rock edge several thousand meters underground.
You also have several comma splices and sentence fragments. This is worse than having too many commas Stylistic grammar is one thing; bad grammar is another. And as much as it sucks, established writers are the only ones that can really get away with really odd styles. - take Joyce, for example - he likes dashes - so much that they're all over his work - no, seriously. Writers pretty much have to stick to standard style, unless it's clear that you're doing something creative, on purpose. Joyce, as our example again, uses a dash at the beginning instead of using quotation marks to signify a conversation.
Beneath him a seemingly endless pit, stretching into the distance, further than the eye could see.
Beneath him a seemingly endless pit stretched into the distance, farther than the eye could see.
His famous sword was sitting next to him, as he thought through closed eyes, drifting in and out of sleep as he did.
His famous sword was sitting next to him. As he thought through closed eyes, he drifted...
Noticing that he was not holding a pick.
This isn't a sentence. One of the editing tools they teach in grad school is to read your paper backwards, sentence by sentence. It helps you catch grammatical errors that you normally miss when you read your own writing.
As a contrast, I like what you've done with the italicized thoughts. The short bam-bam-bam sentence structure works well there. Just make sure that you're either using complete sentences, or there is a very good reason that you're not. "His best friend was dead. Dead." That works fine. "Wondering what he could do next" - that doesn't.
Screams of hatred, of pain, of regret, and of giving up
This is good parallel structure.
I realize that by and large you're trying to do two things with your sentences: describe it as you see it in your mind, and make it sound "literary".
Those are good goals, but try to simplify your sentences. Sentences that are too flowery tend to rush your description of something that you want the reader to notice. Break it down and really describe it. It'll give the reader a better understanding of what you're trying to say.
And seriously, don't take my comments as me slamming your writing. I'm just pointing out some flaws so you can make it better.
LazyHippies
13-03-2005, 11:25
I hate to do this to you, but I want to be honest. The story is horribly written. It seems like the story its self might be good. However, it is so full of grammatical errors that it is practically unreadable. Nearly every sentence is a run-on sentence. There are too many commas in the wrong places and not enough in the right places. There are sentence fragments scattered throughout. The descriptions are way too wordy. There is such a thing as describing too much, and this story illustrates it.
You have the imagination, you just dont have the technique yet. I recommend you go ahead and write your novel, but do not attempt to get it published. No one is going to publish that in its current form. Sit on the novel for a few years until you have taken enough writing courses to where you can go back and edit your novel and polish it. You have a very rough but large chunk of diamond. Now you need the skills necessary to cut and polish it into a priceless jewel.
LazyHippies
13-03-2005, 11:33
Anything you write is automatically copyrighted to you. Getting a copyright from the government is simply a means to prove that you are the original author. It is not necessary to obtain a copyright in order to have one. Your writings are automatically your intellectual property the moment you write them down. The only thing a copyright does is provide you with verifiable proof that you are the original author. It makes it alot easier for you to file a law suit against someone for stealing your words. However, if you did not get a copyright on something through the government but you can still prove you are the one who wrote it (for example, by pointing to it on this web site with the time stamp of when it posted), then you can still win a law suit. That is, of course, unless the user agreement you accepted when you signed up to this message board system said that you are giving jolt the copyright to everything you post here. In which case you just lost your copyright to that work.
Niccolo Medici
13-03-2005, 12:03
I hate to do this to you, but I want to be honest. The story is horribly written. It seems like the story its self might be good. However, it is so full of grammatical errors that it is practically unreadable. Nearly every sentence is a run-on sentence. There are too many commas in the wrong places and not enough in the right places. There are sentence fragments scattered throughout. The descriptions are way too wordy. There is such a thing as describing too much, and this story illustrates it.
You have the imagination, you just dont have the technique yet. I recommend you go ahead and write your novel, but do not attempt to get it published. No one is going to publish that in its current form. Sit on the novel for a few years until you have taken enough writing courses to where you can go back and edit your novel and polish it. You have a very rough but large chunk of diamond. Now you need the skills necessary to cut and polish it into a priceless jewel.
I second that. Its a tough thing to say; but you need work with your writing fundementals. You need to learn or apply your use of commas, semi colons and sentance structure better.
I would advise cooking up several short stories, each working on a particual "theme" in your writing; fight scenes, love scenes, tear-jerking scenes, suspenseful scenes, etc. Write out those stories, edit them as best you can and pass them out to friends. They will praise you, unless they are brutally honest (keep those!), and praise your writing. Feel free to puff up your ego a little with their praise.
Now, wait a few months. Wait until the short story is no longer fresh in your mind. Have your friends make all their comments again, and re-read your short stories. Notice anything missing? Notice any scenes that are a little confusing, now that you aren't familiar with that idea in your head?
By doing this perhaps you'll get a better sense of what you are capable of, what you need work on, and what you need to read up on for inspiriation.
I sucked at actions scenes for years. They all sucked. Whenever I personally was excited to write them, they ended up confusing. My friends all praised them, but months later, when I was working on new stories, they came back and told me the truth; I need more work.
Writing is a process of bettering your own skills, like any other hobby, talent only takes you so far. You have talent, to be sure, but work on your SKILL.
Lacadaemon
13-03-2005, 12:06
Anything you write is automatically copyrighted to you. Getting a copyright from the government is simply a means to prove that you are the original author. It is not necessary to obtain a copyright in order to have one. Your writings are automatically your intellectual property the moment you write them down. The only thing a copyright does is provide you with verifiable proof that you are the original author. It makes it alot easier for you to file a law suit against someone for stealing your words. However, if you did not get a copyright on something through the government but you can still prove you are the one who wrote it (for example, by pointing to it on this web site with the time stamp of when it posted), then you can still win a law suit. That is, of course, unless the user agreement you accepted when you signed up to this message board system said that you are giving jolt the copyright to everything you post here. In which case you just lost your copyright to that work.
Copyright, being property, can be relinquished or transfered however. Thus by posting something on an internet forum, any and all rights in the work can indeed be surrendered, depending upon the user agreement.
In other words, check jolt's TOS &ct. and policy towards posts on their server. The mere fact that it is posted here may transfer copyright to jolt.
(I d/k I never read those things.)
LazyHippies
13-03-2005, 13:02
I'd like to write a book as well, but I have to deal with too much stuff atm... ~sigh~
ANYWAY
If you want to copyright your work, go here: http://creativecommons.org/
Nuff said.
Creative Commons is a very bad idea. Why would you want to release your work and lose control over how its used? If you use a creative commons license, you actually have less rights than if you use no license at all. Creative Commons is a licensing scheme, meaning that you are giving license for people to use it in certain ways. If you dont use creative commons then you are not giving anyone any license to use it and you maintain your rights. In fact, if you publish using a Creative Commons license you greatly increase your chances of being turned down by publishers because you can no longer offer them exclusive rights (since you already gave some of your rights away).