NationStates Jolt Archive

Because we all know you're full of shit:p Maybe you came out in some writings?

Here is some of my crappy writings.
Humans, they suck don't they?

All they ever do is whing about how high the petrol prices are or how gay people are getting married. SHOCK HORROR! What shouldn't gay people be afforded the same rights you are. You're pretty much the same person. They are phycially. Mentally no. People take so many things on face value. Like so many people thing being gay is just "stick your dick in someones bum" but it goes so much deeper than that. Its a relationship think just like hetrosexual relationships, maybe not so much like beastial relationships (although this may apply to the human half of it)

All in all humans are very retarded creatures that don't know anything "important".

I've written a novel. Still performing near constant editing, so I'm no where on my second novel.

I wrote a short story about time travel, I haven't edited it yet.
Here I'll post it on my website to improve my circulation (0 thus far, probably because I have no content).

Here. (http://exomnium.googlepages.com/home) It's entitled "Billiard Balls."

Don't critizise me I have a very fragile ego (and Id and Super Ego). But seriously, make suggestions.

I wrote a short story about time travel, I haven't edited it yet.
Here I'll post it on my website to improve my circulation (0 thus far, probably because I have no content).

Here. (http://exomnium.googlepages.com/home) It's entitled "Billiard Balls."

Don't critizise me I have a very fragile ego (and Id and Super Ego). But seriously, make suggestions.
Dont use Googlepages:p But seriously I thought that was quite good, maybe I didn't understand ti, you have to have more information leading to that point. Like I would think that was the end of the book after years of research. Oh yeah, and it kinda done beofre but the writing was awesome. Good work man:)

Dont use Googlepages:p But seriously I thought that was quite good, maybe I didn't understand ti, you have to have more information leading to that point. Like I would think that was the end of the book after years of research. Oh yeah, and it kinda done beofre but the writing was awesome. Good work man:)
Oh, I know its been done before, Its sort of a cliche introduction to time travel. I only have enough attention span to write short stories, so if I write a book, it will be an anthology.

I sort of wrote a prequel when I was bored in class one day, havent typed it up yet.

(and why not googlepages?)

Oh, I know its been done before, Its sort of a cliche introduction to time travel. I only have enough attention span to write short stories, so if I write a book, it will be an anthology.

I sort of wrote a prequel when I was bored in class one day, havent typed it up yet.

(and why not googlepages?)
Googlepages? Because Google is taking over the world of course!

Googlepages? Because Google is taking over the world of course!
If I am going to be a corporation's bitch, it is going to be google.

Plus, its free.

If I am going to be a corporation's bitch, it is going to be google.

Plus, its free.
Well said:cool: Actually, goto www.hp-h.com 50mb free webspace, but you have to be truthful

Well said:cool: Actually, goto www.hp-h.com 50mb free webspace, but you have to be truthful
So what. I like google. Not that I don't know HTML.

So what. I like google. Not that I don't know HTML.
Just some advice man:rolleyes:

Just some advice man:rolleyes:
Whatever, I just took the opportunity to have a homepage when I heard about it.

Here, back on topic. Here is some flash fiction:

Conflict!!

Eat it Hemingway.

It depends, what do you want? Short story, poem, song?

It depends, what do you want? Short story, poem, song?

OOOH! A poem about Kittys plz.

Alright, here's a short excerpt from the third chapter of my travelogue for you. I call it, 'Duodenum to Starboard: Sailing the bilious Seas'.

"I emerge into the open air once again, salty spray of sea air invigorating and cool in the night’s relentless breeze. I scan the scene by one of the open-air bars, where aging men sporting Viagara-enduced stiffies (as evidenced by the familiar outlines in their chinos) are trying to ply ugly women with fruity cocktails. A pervasive air of communal furtive horniness draws me closer, though the alternately bovine and porcine offerings of this late-night floating meat market leave me unmoved, without desire. Within earshot now I eavesdrop on conversation after conversation, looking for some stimulus and curious as to what apparently makes all these strangers tick.

A balding man in the obligatory ballcap is slurringly detailing his day-to-day as a salesthingy, while his eyes are riveted to the 8x10 area containing her chest. Other hopefuls include an investment banker, failing miserably in retaining the attention of a perfect little blonde girl, who in turn keep sneaking looks at a pair of astonishingly inebriated post-adolescent studs. Those two would need help getting back to their cabins later on, no doubt.

I soon realize that nearly all of the people present here are, in their lives back home, either vendors of goods or managers of money, usually other people’s money. In one fellow’s case, he was actually a vendor of money, operating a currency exchange in Dallas. A giant of a man was deriding the ‘Millionaire’s Club’ down below, claiming it didn’t hold a candle to his own casino in Vegas. What, were there no labourers on this ship? No bricklayers, no bakers, no candlestick-makers? Solid ‘B-Ark’ material here, to be sure.

I am accosted by a woman from Indiana, a rheumy-eyed hausfrau who claimed to remember me from some tour I was not a part of. She wants to dance, dance, dance! And nearly slops her suds of choice onto me in her mirth. Well, it’s not a party ‘til someone else spills beer down the front of my shirt, I always say. She pantomimes a tremendous ‘Oops!’ while pointing at my damp shirt. I wave her concern off jovially, wondering when to move away from her unsteady beerhandling. This woman then begins dancing in time with the music, an old, if exuberant ditty by Meat Loaf playing at an aggressive volume on the deck. I goof a few moves with her anyway, not wishing to seem distant or rude, however disinterested I am in her. She opens her eyes and is delighted to see I’m still there, a tentative grin tugging at my cheeks in what hopefully doesn’t appear to be too strained or forced a display of uninspired frolicking. She says a number of things, breath coming sodden with beer and – vodka? Vodka, but I cannot hear her over the din of the speakers. Is she asking me a question? Making a statement? I can’t tell at all because Meat Loaf is launching into yet another refrain of ‘Paradise By The Dashboard Light’, and I’m crap at lip-reading."

OOOH! A poem about Kittys plz.
Kitty Poem...IN EMO-VISION!

Kitty so dark
Dark like life
I cut the kitty
And drink its blood
Darkness all around
Pain
Suffer
I cut myself
Pain

I am writing mine....its been in work for so long....x-x I hate it and I love it.

Kitty Poem...IN EMO-VISION!

Kitty so dark
Dark like life
I cut the kitty
And drink its blood
Darkness all around
Pain
Suffer
I cut myself
Pain

Boo! :(

Boo! :(
Okay, let me try again.

Furry kitty
Pretty kitty
Dance a little
Do a ditty
Music loud
Dancin' proud
Furry kitty
Pretty kitty

Okay, let me try again.

Furry kitty
Pretty kitty
Dance a little
Do a ditty
Music loud
Dancin' proud
Furry kitty
Pretty kitty

Yay!

That was much better. :)

Kitty, kitty, kitty-ho,
Always knows just where to go,
Pretty ditty kitty herds,
Not half as pretty as my birds.

Yay!

That was much better. :)
Thank you!

Wanna read the lyrics to my version of Full Metal Jacket: The Musical?


[KHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!]

I'm a writer, too. I'm about 127 pages into my first novel, hope to publish it eventually. I don't want to show anyone it yet, at least not until it's edited.

Somewhat irrelevant, exomnia, but i read you story. The writing itself wasnt bad, but you should really learn what a comma splice is. You use them way too much and they hurt my eyes to read.

I write Fanfiction. For those of you who don't know, fanfiction is when you take characters from a book, movie, tv show..etc and write stories based on that book, tv show, movie..etc.
My fanfiction acount is here. This is a page that has all my stories on it..all my fanfictions on it.

http://www.fanfiction.net/~sunrise19

My early stories suck, cause I suck at spelling and didn't have a spell checker on my pc. That was all the way back in 2003!
My fics are much better now..

Enjoy if you choose to look at it!

I'm a writer, too. I'm about 127 pages into my first novel, hope to publish it eventually. I don't want to show anyone it yet, at least not until it's edited.

Oooh what's it about?

I've published two short stories in ADQ, a now defunct magazine put out by Steve Jackson games.

I've published two short stories in ADQ, a now defunct magazine put out by Steve Jackson games.

I hope they were about Kittys.

I have yet to write an original story, as I have difficulty coming up with original characters. They all end up more or less the same: dry, intellectual, and somewhat boring, like me. =/

But I have written some fanfiction. Most of that has been lost to history--FORTUNATELY--but there is one I'm currently working on. It's a Kingdom Hearts fanfiction, entitled "Rose Among Thorns." I write under the pen name DanielJacksonMPC, the name I actually typically use elsewhere.

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2620574/1/

Ignore the Jedi whatever person in the reviews. I say this because it's an ex-girlfriend attempting to bruise my ego by being as mean as possible. She originally made two anonymous reviews I deleted. Pathetic, really. =/

So, yah, enjoy. Or don't. If you do read it though, please critique. I can use all the critique I can get.

Kitty Poem...IN EMO-VISION!

Kitty so dark
Dark like life
I cut the kitty
And drink its blood
Darkness all around
Pain
Suffer
I cut myself
Pain

This sounds like terminal text from Marathon.

I hope they were about Kittys.
If not... *screechy wtchy voice*NO MORE MOD STATUS FOR YOU!!! :cool:

Quite long, I made it size one to take up less space. Copy and paste it into word or something. Oh, and tell me what you think ;)

The Long Black Veil
By Moto the Wise

She walks these hills in a long black veil,
She visits my grave when the night winds wail,
Nobody knows, nobody sees,
Nobody knows but me.

The clock struck ten. Juliet awoke with a start, torn away from the haunting dream, which recently seemed to come before her every time she closed her eyes. She had been running through a graveyard, looking, searching for…something. And as she grew more frantic with every second, she heard the ghostly words coming from everywhere, whisper quiet, and all the louder in her head for that. She was searching through the graves, looking; she could feel she was almost there….but she never reached it, whatever ‘it’ was. She always awoke. It was driving her insane!

She sat up in her chair, and looked blearily around her. She had fallen asleep with her book. She looked down at the title, “El Diablo” it read. It didn’t seem likely that it was causing these…well she supposed they were nightmares, although nothing bad seemed to happen. But that was the horror in it, the silent frantic waiting.

Just then, there was a loud banging on the door. Juliet looked up. With the tendrils of the dream still in her mind, she quailed away from the sound, remembering she was alone in the house. Her husband Tom had left for the pub to meet someone, she didn’t know who. It was quite strange really, he had got a call on the phone, someone whose voice he said he recognised. He had left a few minutes later, but would not say who it had been.

Her train of thought was interrupted again by another hammer-blow on the door. She chided herself; she should be welcoming to whoever it was, regardless of the late hour. However she still hesitated before rising to her feet and shuffling apprehensively towards the door. She looked through the small window set into it. Her heart gave a flutter; there he was! She tried to calm down, but then he caught sight of her in the window and gave her his friendly smile, so full of warmth. She smiled timidly back, and then stepped out of sight, to get the key. What was he doing here? He had never come to the house before. She retrieved the key, and quickly composed herself. Inside her a little voice was crying: “What about your husband? Where is your love for him?”, and she paused for a moment. But, she argued, it would simply be impolite not to answer the door, my feelings have nothing to do with it. Nevertheless she tweaked the top of her nightdress down a little as she walked forward again. She swiftly unlocked the door, and swung it open.

He smiled again, silently thanking her. She blushed slightly, realising now just how revealing her nightdress was. Instantly noticing her embarrassment, he averted his eyes slightly, for decency’s sake. That was the think she liked about Rob, he always was polite, always honourable, never brash or rude like Tom. She had met him one time when she was forced to go down to the pub to attempt to stop Tom’s drunken attacks on everyone else in the building. When she got there however, it seemed it was all over; Rob was holding Tom in place gently but firmly, while he talked in a soft, level voice to him. When Rob let him go he just sat down at the bar sullenly, like a schoolboy stopped from having his fun. Before she lugged that ape of a husband of hers home, she had talked with Rob for a while. Soon she felt she had known him all her life, and in some way she had. He reminded her of Tom back when they were young, the strong dependable rock of her life as he was then. Of course this was before he turned to the drink.

Then she realised he was speaking, “Sorry, could you repeat that?”
“Of course,” came his reply, “I was asking if my good friend Tom was home. I need to speak to him.”
She thought quickly, if she said Tom was at the pub, he’d leave, and she felt strongly that that should not happen. “He’s just gone off, I really don’t know where, but I think he might be back soon. Umm, do you want to wait for him?” She cursed herself, she sounded like a common tart. Apprehensively she waited for the indignation, but there was none, he simply said, “Are you sure I won’t be bothering you?” She knew the answer to that at once, “Not at all. Make yourself at home.” She turned to lead him through to the living room, accidentally brushing against him when she passed him, starting her heart fluttering again.

THis is not the entire version. Originally I posted up the lot, but since I am intending to put it into a complimation of short stories, and since there have been wiffs of someone nicking my work, I post the abriged version. Hope no-one minds.

Wow... o.o
And you aren't published? Why not do it yourself if your that good?

Wow... o.o
And you aren't published? Why not do it yourself if your that good?

I assume that is addressed to me? ;)

The problem is that I am fifteen years old. I have little time to write and little chance that a publisher would be interested in the work of an adolecent, no matter how good the work is :(

Yes it was to you, however I heard of self-publishing sites. Here is some:
http://www.lulu.com/
http://www.go-publish-yourself.com/
And children have written books before. :)

I assume that is addressed to me? ;)

The problem is that I am fifteen years old. I have little time to write and little chance that a publisher would be interested in the work of an adolecent, no matter how good the work is :(
Eregon. 'Nuff said.

Eregon. 'Nuff said.

Its not that bad....he just can do it himself.
BTW: Post 3500 lol!

Its not that bad....he just can do it himself.
BTW: Post 3500 lol!
Eh? No, I mean, Eregon was published when the dude was fifteen. If HE can get published, I suspect Moto here can.

I'm a produced and award winning playwright. I'd post something but the only thing that reads worse than a play is a portion of a play...

I'm a produced and award winning playwright. I'd post something but the only thing that reads worse than a play is a portion of a play...
Oooh. Plays. They the kinda thing a few college students could whip together in their spare time, or are they expensive lots-of-props plays? I ask 'cause I might be interested in performing one, if I can get the peeps for it.

Quite long, I made it size one to take up less space. Copy and paste it into word or something. Oh, and tell me what you think ;)

-snip-
Holy fuck. That was some good reading!

Oooh. Plays. They the kinda thing a few college students could whip together in their spare time, or are they expensive lots-of-props plays? I ask 'cause I might be interested in performing one, if I can get the peeps for it.
Little bit of both. Since I'm also a (far less accomplished) filmmaker I tend to keep the sets and stage direction minimal in the plays. Mostly because no one ever pays attention to them anyway, but also because if set is that important or detailed, I'd want it to be a film. TG me and let me know what your situation is and we can move from there. I may not get back to you tonight, though. I am a tad protective about my work and my identity, though, so if I act skiddish don't take it personally.

Little bit of both. Since I'm also a (far less accomplished) filmmaker I tend to keep the sets and stage direction minimal in the plays. Mostly because no one ever pays attention to them anyway, but also because if set is that important or detailed, I'd want it to be a film. TG me and let me know what your situation is and we can move from there. I may not get back to you tonight, though. I am a tad protective about my work and my identity, though, so if I act skiddish don't take it personally.
Oh, alright then. I'll TG you when I've got something maybe together. Not worth tryin' to secure a play if I can't get the people, yah?

my novel as it stands (http://www.hlj.me.uk/docs/Chronology%20as-is%2004'06%20-%20Huw%20Jones.pdf)

80-something pages. if you read it you must be really bored or something :p
oh and the prologue is hashed-together and very longwinded - i've never really bothered to edit it. just to warn y'all.

i've only ever let two people read it in its entirety before (one of them being glitziness of course :)) but they've both been really very positive and full of praise for it... so i'm hoping positing it on the web for the first time won't break my fragile ego with regard to it :p



i have crappy poems here (http://www.hlj.me.uk/mywriting.htm) too

my novel as it stands (http://www.hlj.me.uk/docs/Chronology%20as-is%2004'06%20-%20Huw%20Jones.pdf)

80-something pages. if you read it you must be really bored or something :p
oh and the prologue is hashed-together and very longwinded - i've never really bothered to edit it. just to warn y'all.

i've only ever let two people read it in its entirety before (one of them being glitziness of course :)) but they've both been really very positive and full of praise for it... so i'm hoping positing it on the web for the first time won't break my fragile ego with regard to it :p



i have crappy poems here (http://www.hlj.me.uk/mywriting.htm) too
This had better not be emo-y or else...

I wrote a short story about time travel, I haven't edited it yet.
Here I'll post it on my website to improve my circulation (0 thus far, probably because I have no content).

Here. (http://exomnium.googlepages.com/home) It's entitled "Billiard Balls."

Don't critizise me I have a very fragile ego (and Id and Super Ego). But seriously, make suggestions.
well i hope this doesnt bruise you too much but what the fuck happened at the end and why was it logically consistant? i hate revealing that i am rather stupid but...well...there is it. take pity on me and explain it please.

Quite long, I made it size one to take up less space. Copy and paste it into word or something. Oh, and tell me what you think ;)


i think i have read this before, moto.

but it wasnt under the name moto the wise....

does this mean you are someone i already know by some other NS name?

The Billiard balls was quite good i thoguht

I write Fanfiction. For those of you who don't know, fanfiction is when you take characters from a book, movie, tv show..etc and write stories based on that book, tv show, movie..etc.
My fanfiction acount is here. This is a page that has all my stories on it..all my fanfictions on it.

http://www.fanfiction.net/~sunrise19

My early stories suck, cause I suck at spelling and didn't have a spell checker on my pc. That was all the way back in 2003!
My fics are much better now..

Enjoy if you choose to look at it!
i think youre ready to leave fanfiction behind and write stories with original characters that can be published under your own name.

gee i hope thats not an insult, its just that i think of fanfiction as a place to start writing for an audience. then when you are good at it, you make your own characters so you can start getting money for your work.

It all started in Year 9 when I first started highschool. I walked into science for the first time, sat down and got out my book. Then I saw her. She was beautiful in my eyes, she had wonderful cascades of red hair and the whitest, purest skin one had seen. Little did I know that this was going to lead on to a epic learning the hard way.

I really didn't have any friends back then. Not people that I considered friends as when asked if they were my friend they'd say no but I think they considered me a friend. But I really couldn't consider them friends, escpecially when they were around other people, they were mean, they ripped me off at any chance and it was getting kind of pathetic. So I decieded to go and hang out with another group of peoples, one of which who was the centre-piece, had been in my class the year before. Now these people I didn't know. They seemed friendly enoguh apart from that time where I said an unwanted comment about Christanity, I have learnt since then. Anyway this gave me a kind of second chance at making friends. There was about seven of us at first. This is what first lead me to Esmé. She was the one I had seen in science on the first day. I'll tell ya I didn't believe in love at first sight then and I still don't now, but I believed in emmense liking at first sight.

Anyways as I got to know Esmé more I learnt more things about her that I liked, eventually she even like liked me, which in itself is weird at I was a condesending little bastard then. I didn't know it still about a year after, when the fairytale was over for me. But I saw so much simalarities in us, I grew to like her more and more over a period of a few months. Then it all changed, she just stopped giving so much attention to me, I don't know why she did but it seems so much clearer now. But we'll get to that later. She just stopped and I was confused, why would she do this? Did she suddenly see what a little bastard I was? But then she started focusing her attention on Storm and I got jealous, and when I (or anyone else for that matter) am jealous I can be even more of a bastard than I usually am. I started to make fun of her in any way I could. Really I suppose I just wanted her attention but I didn't know that then, I just knew it felt good to be a bastard and there was no other way around other than to be a bastard. This continued and sill continues to this day.

But now she has turned her attention to another, Gordon, that sounds geeky, hes not. He is really cool I like him, I liked (and still do) Storm. It was just when I was around her that I was a bastard to them. It still continues. In fact, what made me feel real shitty is I learned today that they (Esmé and Gordon) aren't actually "going-out" as they had told me, but they were doing it for kicks. I don't know what to do, I am completely lost. That is the story for now.

It continues

Wow, that wasn't a story that was auto-biographyical. Fuck :headbang: Now I am all fucking depressed~

well i hope this doesnt bruise you too much but what the fuck happened at the end and why was it logically consistant? i hate revealing that i am rather stupid but...well...there is it. take pity on me and explain it please.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Predestination_paradox#Ontological_paradox
You see, if I go back in time and give myself a ring. The ring is the original ring. It didn't come from anywhere, and it doesn't go anywhere, it just is.
Somewhat irrelevant, exomnia, but i read you story. The writing itself wasnt bad, but you should really learn what a comma splice is. You use them way too much and they hurt my eyes to read.
When I read this I just laughed. There are only 2-10 comma splices in the whole thing. I suppose in the second draft I'll go through and use semicolons. Thanks for pointing that out.

Short story (http://www.fictionpress.com/read.php?storyid=2100961) and another short story (http://www.fictionpress.com/read.php?storyid=2100959) that's actually a snippet from the novel in my head.

Constructive criticism is always welcome.

EDIT: Beyond the issues I seem to have with properly placing commas. I should really fix that.

I hope they were about Kittys.
No, actually, they were about cars. And blowing stuff up.

The Billiard balls was quite good i thoguht
Thank you. Does anyone get the reference in the title?

Oooh what's it about?

Glad you asked. :D

It's kind of a cross between Dungeons and Dragons, Edgar Allen Poe and Greek tragedy, based in a regional war that engulfs all of the nations there at some point or another. It has shifting viewpoints, i.e. one chapter it's from the eyes of one character in one region, then switches to another, then to another, so as to give a full view of everything that's going on without going on for paragraphs describing what just happened. I think it's worked well so far- it's taken me about 6 or 7 years to finally get a good beginning, and I might finish it this year or the next.

i think i have read this before, moto.

but it wasnt under the name moto the wise....

does this mean you are someone i already know by some other NS name?

I have put it up here before, but under the same name. Are you sure it wasn't under this name? What thread was it in? And even better if you can remember, WHO WAS IT? Thanks :)

Like so many people thing being gay is just "stick your dick in someones bum" but it goes so much deeper than that.
Sounds painful.

I've written a novel.Published?

This had better not be emo-y or else...
the story isn't (i think its quite intelligent and relatively novel (forgive the pun lol) imho)

the poems definatley stray into emo-esque territory... (i was genuinely clinically depressed at the time, so at least i have a real excuse, though 'emo' as they may be, i stand by them)

I have put it up here before, but under the same name. Are you sure it wasn't under this name? What thread was it in? And even better if you can remember, WHO WAS IT? Thanks :)
all i remember is that it was "a long time ago" and that i liked it. "long black veil" is one of my favorite songs so it sticks in my mine.

your join date is jan. 06. i think it was more than 4 months ago. unless you posted it as soon as you joined.....

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Predestination_paradox#Ontological_paradox
You see, if I go back in time and give myself a ring. The ring is the original ring. It didn't come from anywhere, and it doesn't go anywhere, it just is.


i guess im more stupid than you think i am.

most of it was fun. but you get to the end. the pen is a different color, a bloodbath ensues. its a logical conclusion.

dont be thinking that reading some discussion on wikipedia on time paradox stories is going to explain it for me. you need to.

i guess im more stupid than you think i am.

most of it was fun. but you get to the end. the pen is a different color, a bloodbath ensues. its a logical conclusion.

dont be thinking that reading some discussion on wikipedia on time paradox stories is going to explain it for me. you need to.
Think about this, one day you meet an older version of yourself who teaches you a song. You go on to sing the song and get rich doing it. This money alows you to fund time travel research and then go back in time and teach you the song.

The question is where did the song come from? The song didn't come from anywhere. It has no origin.

Now lets suppose that instead you get a movie reel. You sell the movie and make money, bla bla bla bla bla. You give the reel to yourself.

The question is where did the movie come from and where did the matter in the reel come from? Both didn't come from anywhere. They have no origin.

Now lets suppose that instead you go back in time and impregnate your mother (al la "-All You Zombies-"). You are born. Get rich some how and go back in time.

The question is, where did your Y-chromosome come from? Again.

Now lets suppose that your not human, you have the ability to reverse entropy in your body. You have terrible amnesia and forget everything every year. After a year you go back in time and forget everything, becoming yourself.

That would be the thing in my story. (Sort of)

No, actually, they were about cars. And blowing stuff up.
I suppose thats good enough...;)

Because we all know you're full of shit:p Maybe you came out in some writings?

Here is some of my crappy writings.

Yes, that is crappy.

"Cheers Drive"

The first time he saw her he was getting off the bus. As he walked past where she sat, he was distracted by the sight of her hair hanging down over the side of her sleeping face, and by the sight of the book open in her lap. L'etranger.
Camus he thought. Fucking Camus in the original French.
He didn't expect to see girls reading Camus on his local bus. Well, not reading, as she was asleep. But girls with Camus books nestled on their lap was unexpected.
He reasoned with himself at this reaction. Why exactly did it provoke something in him? It wasn't as if he had read Camus himself. It was just a name to him, redolent of something - learning? sophistication? - but still just a name. He was pulled out of his reverie by the realisation the bus had stopped. In a state of slight mental confusion he jumped off.

"Cheers Drive!"

Two mornings later, he got on the bus and saw her again. He was dressed as he normally dressed, slightly shabby, the clothes of a shift worker, and he suddenly felt like an impostor on his bus journey, the bus journey he had taken for years. She looked smart and well turned out, an office worker on the way to the office, a professional. Here he is clad in stained overalls confronted with someone from a different world.

She was reading, a small slim book whose title he couldn't quite make out, but the author name he could. Kafka. Jesus. Camus and Kafka. Jesus.

He sat down on the seat opposite, stretched himself lengthwise over the double seat, back against the window, so he was facing her side. This wasn't deliberate, this was his normal action on the bus, only the place he was sitting was different. His next action, however, was both deliberate and thought out. With a thought of "anything you can do" he pulled out his battered copy of The Brothers Karamazov and started reading.

With this, he made a rod to beat his own back, for several reasons. First and foremost, he was disturbing his natural daily rhythm. Books were lunchtime fare - he'd sit on the grass outside the factory smoking his rollups in the sun and escaping the grind in literature. The morning bus journey, on the other hand, was saved for tabloid newspapers, so he could read the football and gossip that passed for world changing issues, and the comment that masqueraded as news, and exist in the same universe as his work colleagues. By replacing that with literature, he could guarantee himself a morning of alienation from them.

The other problem was just as vital. He realised about 15 pages in how fucking turgid he was finding the book. If he had saved it till lunchtime, he could have made that realisation and dropped it the next day, secure in the knowledge that none of his workmates would ever ask "The Professor" why he couldn't handle great works of Russian Literature.

As it was, he couldn't drop the book now, because of the fear she would be on the bus tomorrow and that she would know instinctively why he had done so. Karamazov was not a book anyone could have read in a night. So he had to sit there, earnestly trying to read dull Russians give tedious sermons on morality and god on the vague off chance that she had noticed what he was reading. His mind wasn't really on the book anyway, and he sweated in a nervous funk that his feigning of interest in it was transparent. When his stop came he gave a huge internal sigh of relief and stowed the book in his coat pocket and got off.

"Cheers Drive!"

She was there the next morning. Damn. Damn, damn, fuck and damn. Now he had to keep reading. He was still unaware if she had even noticed him, but he had to keep on reading. The journey passed in an achingly slow dread of her leaning over and asking - in an imagined cultured voice - "So what is that book about then?" because if he was completely honest with himself, he didn't have a clue.

The week continued in the same pattern - morning book of slow russian dullness whilst casting surreptitious glances at unattainable woman, Cheers Drive, workmate alienation. Every morning for a week.

Luckily, with an almost palpable relief on the Friday, he finished the book with about ten minutes of his journey remaining. Almost instantly he pulled out the Mirror and started scanning the back page, escaping from worthiness in the overheated prose of transfers and horror tackles and hard fought nil nil draws. It was at this point he first became aware of her eyes on him. He could feel her regarding him with something close to bemusement, feel her mind asking the questions she couldn't quite form into words - "Karamazov and the Mirror? Low brow and High Brow? Is he a prole with Literary pretensions or a middle class kid slumming it?". Or at least, this was what he imagined she was thinking.

When he could see the industrial estate looming into view, he stowed the paper in his back pocket and slowly unravelled himself from the seat. Standing up, looming over her as he tried to balance himself against the sway of the bus, he happened to glance down at the book on her lap, something he hadn't done since he first opened the dusty second hand pages of his only ever foray into the world of Dostoyevsky.

Bridget Jones' Diary. Balls. Bridget FUCKING Jones' FUCKING Diary.

He was so stunned and disgusted, he forgot his habitual thanks to the driver as he got off the bus.

Come Monday, he was back permanently in his old seat at the back of the bus, a biography of Byron in his pocket for lunchtime, a tabloid open in his lap once more.

Think about this, one day you meet an older version of yourself who teaches you a song. You go on to sing the song and get rich doing it. This money alows you to fund time travel research and then go back in time and teach you the song.

Similar to some of the issue brought up in "the anubis gates" by Tim Powers - the main character is an academic who studies the work of an obscure Romantic poet, travels back in time and has various adventures involving ancient Egyptians trying to overthrow the British Government, Beggar-Kings and Lord Byron, then assumes the identity of the poet before he becomes famous and writes his poems from memory...leading to the question "who wrote the poems in the first place?".

Damn fine book. Damn fine author.

all i remember is that it was "a long time ago" and that i liked it. "long black veil" is one of my favorite songs so it sticks in my mine.

your join date is jan. 06. i think it was more than 4 months ago. unless you posted it as soon as you joined.....

I hope it was just me posting it before. I assure you it is all my own work. I am at a loss to be honest where they might have got it from...

Edit: Just to let everyone know I've taken of 2/3 of the story. Sorry, but I really am worried about any possibility of someone nicking my work.

If it was finished and you did it, its already copyrighted by you. You made it. Registering it with the copyright office would make sure its yours and if anyone DID take it, you could sue them.

If it was finished and you did it, its already copyrighted by you. You made it. Registering it with the copyright office would make sure its yours and if anyone DID take it, you could sue them.

I know. I can sue anyway in fact, if I can prove I wrote it. However trying to find out who in RL it was would be an almost impossible task.