#1
[account deactivated]
#2
The Future is Here
Post rating: ~
A helicopter flies around and the people inside look at the ground

A white man meets a tribe of weird guys who think that farming is cool
A famous band meets in an art deco hotel and they watch television

Japanese man whose father is an octopus and whose mother was a maiden invents pornography. He promotes it madly with all the money he makes from being extra productive because of his arms. This one can have a lot of cameos for famous singers

Edited by Myfanwy ()

#3
Post rating: ~
i dont like story pitches, everything depends on the first few lines of prose or verse or what have you. if you have that it doesnt matter how goofy your pitch is, whereas bad writing will ruin evern the awesomest story
#4
Post rating: ~
imo you should post like the first paragraph from these stories then we can judge if we would want to keep reading or not
#5
el area metro
Post rating: ~
I want to write a story inspired by this song I really like rite now that's about a dude who hires a prostitute that his wife paid to kill him bc she knew he was cheating on her with hookers but he defends himself and escapes from the hotel room and then goes to find her for revenge
#6
Post rating: ~

discipline posted:
first person perspective of a day in the life of the president, a la american psycho



This sounds potentially interesting.

I'd recommend a scene where he's vigorously masturbating after ordering a drone strike. The whole movie should have an internal monologue to see what goes through the president's head but that scene should leave the audience wondering whether he's jacking off to alleviate the feelings of guilt for creating so much death and destruction or because he has the power of a god who can snuff out life with the wave of his hand. Sprinkle hints confirming both possibilities before said pivotal scene.

#7
Post rating: ~
in internet forum poster decides to ditch life and move to libya and when he does he is cured of his sugar addiction!! a coming of age story
#8
US
Post rating: +
short story about magical peasant rebellion against feudal wizard masters gets more and more surreal and anachronistic until you realize you're reading the ramblings of a mentally disturbed person from a dystopian horror future where the rich are technological transhuman overmen whose abilities are so inexplicable to the defeated slave human population they think it's magic, and don't recall how they actually got into their desperate situation
#9
Post rating: ~
a hacker gets a nock on his door. it's the bunny man. the bunny man tells the hacker to follow the trail... the rabbit trail, so see where it leads, let your expectations fall away and just experience the surreal with curious eyes. the hacker follows the trail to a club where he is told to take a pill that makes him wakeup. when he wakes up he sees that the world is not at all waht he thought it was because he had to many expectations but now he sees pure raw data, a painful reality. the world is really a mess
#10
Post rating: ~
The novel begins with Lord Eddard Stark (Ned) in Winterfell, ancestral home of House Stark, a noble house of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros and rulers of the North. Ned executes a deserter of the Night's Watch, with his sons among the witnesses. On the return to Winterfell, Eddard's sons discover six direwolf pups, which are entrusted to Eddard's six children. The direwolf is the sigil of House Stark and is integral to the Stark family. King Robert Baratheon visits Eddard at Winterfell, with the Queen and Court. Because he trusts him, King Robert asks Eddard to become the Hand of the King. Eddard agrees, against his instincts, and at the same time promises his wife, Lady Catelyn Stark to investigate the death of the previous Hand, Lord Jon Arryn, who may have been the victim of political intrigue involving King Robert's wife, Queen Cersei and her powerful family of House Lannister.

Before the Starks leave for King's Landing in the South, Eddard's young son Bran Stark is gravely injured when Jaime Lannister tries to kill him because he accidentally witnesses incest between himself and his twin Cersei. Bran survives but remains in a coma and becomes a paraplegic, causing him to stay behind. During his recuperation, an assassin attempts to murder Bran, but his direwolf saves his life as well as his mother's. Catelyn realizes her husband faces danger in King's Landing, so she travels there by ship to warn him, leaving the eldest son Robb Stark to rule as the Lord of Winterfell. Not long after Catelyn's departure from Winterfell Bran awakens from his coma and names his direwolf Summer. Upon Catelyn's arrival in King's Landing, she is brought to a meeting with Petyr Baelish, or Littlefinger, a childhood admirer, who identifies Tyrion Lannister as the owner of the dagger used in the attempt on Bran's life. Littlefinger then brings Ned to see Catelyn in secret. While traveling back to Winterfell, Catelyn encounters Tyrion and takes him captive. She changes her destination and takes him to the remote Eyrie, where her sister Lady Lysa Arryn, widow of Lord Arryn, rules as Lady of the Vale. Lysa blames the Lannisters for Jon's death and is eager to execute Tyrion, but he demands trial by combat and regains his freedom when his unlikely champion, Bronn, wins the duel.

Meanwhile, Lord Eddard travels toward King's Landing, the capital, taking with him his daughters Sansa and Arya. Eleven year-old Sansa is betrothed to King Robert's twelve year-old son Joffrey, the heir apparent. At King's Landing, Eddard assumes the duties of the Hand and the ruling of Westeros as Robert is uninterested in bureaucracy. Eddard learns that Robert's heirs are in fact Jaime Lannister's children by his sister. He contacts Cersei and offers her a chance to escape before he tells Robert the truth, but Robert is killed on a hunt before Eddard tells him. Robert's youngest brother Renly suggests that Eddard should use their combined household guardsmen to detain Cersei and her children and take control of the throne before the Lannisters can act. Eddard refuses on the grounds that it would be dishonorable. Instead he recruits Littlefinger to have the city guards arrest and charge Cersei, but is betrayed. Eddard is arrested, Sansa made a captive, and Arya escapes.

Cersei and Jaime's oldest son Joffrey is crowned as Robert's heir, and immediately has Eddard imprisoned and ultimately executed. Prior to Eddard's death, Lord Tywin Lannister wages war against Houses Stark and Tully and their supporters in retaliation for Tyrion's abduction by Catelyn. As the news of Eddard's execution spreads, a civil war, later dubbed the War of the Five Kings, erupts. Robb Stark leads an army of northmen to rescue his father and sisters in King's Landing, but upon learning of Eddard's death, goes to the Riverlands to raise support from his maternal grandfather Lord Hoster Tully. Jaime Lannister leads the siege of Riverrun, while Lord Tywin holds a large army south of the river Trident to prevent Robb from advancing to King's Landing. In a bold move, Robb covertly detaches his cavalry toward Riverrun while his infantry carries on toward Tywin's army. Tywin, joined by the liberated Tyrion, repulses the Stark footmen but discovers too late that they were a decoy. Shortly afterward, Robb's forces surprise and destroy the Lannister camp besieging Riverrun, capturing Jaime in the process. Renly Baratheon proclaims Joffrey's illegitimacy and with the support of House Baratheon and House Tyrell, declares himself King of Westeros, becoming the second of the war's five kings. Robb Stark becomes the third when the Stark and Tully bannermen proclaim him King of the North.
On the Wall

The Prologue of the novel introduces the out-kingdom northern wilderness beyond the Wall, an ancient 700 foot high, 300 mile-long barrier of ice and magic fortifying the Seven Kingdoms, manned by the Brotherhood of the Night's Watch. In the lawless lands north of the Wall, a small patrol of Rangers from the Night's Watch encounter the Others; with all except a single survivor killed. Jon Snow, the bastard son of Lord Eddard and despised by Catelyn, is inspired by his uncle Benjen Stark, the First Ranger of the Night's Watch, to join the Brotherhood and go to the Wall. Jon travels north to the Wall with the Queen's brother, Tyrion Lannister and other members of the Night's watch. He becomes disillusioned when he discovers that it is little more than a penal colony meant to keep wildlings in check.

At the Wall, Jon unites the recruits against their harsh instructor, and protects cowardly but good-natured Samwell Tarly. Jon hopes that his combat skills will earn him assignment to the Rangers, the military arm of the Brotherhood. Instead he is assigned as steward to the Lord Commander of the Watch, Jeor Mormont. He arranges for his friend Sam to be made steward to elderly Maester Aemon. Meanwhile, Benjen Stark leads a small party of Rangers on patrol beyond the Wall but fails to return. Nearly six months later, the dead bodies of two of the rangers from Benjen's party are recovered from beyond the Wall, and their corpses re-animate as wights in the night. Undeterred by sword wounds, they kill six men while Jon and his direwolf Ghost save Lord Commander Mormont by destroying a wight with fire. For saving his life, Mormont presents Jon with the Valyrian-steel bastard sword "Longclaw", an heirloom of the Lord Commander's house. Jon's friends then give him a pommel for the sword in the shape of a white direwolf's head, representing both House Stark and Jon's direwolf, Ghost.

When word of his father's execution reaches Jon, he attempts to desert the Night's Watch and join his half-brother Robb's war against the Lannisters. His friends among the Brotherhood convince him to return. Mormont convinces Jon that his place is with his new brothers, and that the war for the throne does not compare to the evil that winter is about to bring upon them from the north.
In the East

Across the sea in the Free City of Pentos, Viserys Targaryen lives in exile with his thirteen year-old sister Daenerys. He is the son and only surviving male heir of Aerys II, "the Mad King", who was overthrown by Robert Baratheon during the War of the Usurper. Viserys arranges to sell his sister in marriage to Khal Drogo, warlord of nomadic Dothraki horse warriors, planning to use Drogo's army to reclaim the Iron Throne of Westeros for House Targaryen. The wealthy merchant, Magister Illyrio, who has been hosting Viserys and Daenerys, gives as his wedding gift three petrified dragon eggs. A knight exiled from Westeros, Ser Jorah Mormont, joins Viserys as an advisor.

Unexpectedly, Daenerys finds trust and love with her barbaric husband, and they conceive a child who is prophesied to unite and rule the Dothraki. Drogo shows little interest in conquering Westeros, which provokes the temperamental Viserys to lash out at his sister. Initially, Drogo endures Viserys and punishes his outbursts with public humiliation. But when Viserys publicly threatens Daenerys, Drogo executes him by pouring a pot of molten gold on his head. As the last Targaryen, Daenerys takes up her brother's quest to reclaim the throne of Westeros.

An assassin unsuccessfully attempts to poison Daenerys and her unborn child. Enraged, Drogo agrees to invade Westeros to seek revenge. While sacking villages to fund the invasion, Drogo is wounded. The wound festers, and Daenerys commands a captive maegi to use blood magic to save him; however, the treacherous maegi sacrifices Daenerys' unborn child to power the spell, which keeps Drogo alive in a vegetative state. As the leaderless Dothraki horde disbands, Daenerys takes pity on her once-proud husband and smothers him. Eager for revenge, she orders the maegi tied to Drogo's funeral pyre and places her three dragon eggs on the pyre with Drogo. While she watches it burn, Daenerys is seduced by the beauty of the flames and walks into the inferno. Instead of perishing in the flames, she emerges unscathed and with three newly-hatched dragons draped around her. The few remaining Dothraki and Ser Jorah swear their allegiance to her.
#11
penitent
Post rating: ~

tam posted:
short story about magical peasant rebellion against feudal wizard masters gets more and more surreal and anachronistic until you realize you're reading the ramblings of a mentally disturbed person from a dystopian horror future where the rich are technological transhuman overmen whose abilities are so inexplicable to the defeated slave human population they think it's magic, and don't recall how they actually got into their desperate situation



i would read the fuck out of this

#12
penitent
Post rating: ~
a middle aged jew comes to terms with his identity and relationship issues. cmon howard jacobson tenner says i can beat you at your own game put dem fists up
#13
Poronto
Post rating: +
a man gets reincarnated as a duck. he hates ducks though and has hated them all his life. he gets bought from the duck store by his ex-lover's husband, the husband of the woman who stabbed him to death in a fit of jealous rage. he tries to exact petty and futile revenge on them by laying eggs in the VCR and quacking all night and stuff, all the while painfully aware that his human consciousness and memories are slipping away, he is becoming more and more duck like. eventually he flips out and rabidly attacks the woman who murdered him, pecking the shit out of her. this startles her so much she falls backwards down the stairs. unfortunately she only breaks her ankle. her husband throws him out of the window into the pond. impelled by a sudden urge he swims to the very bottom of the pond, where grinning at him through the weeds and murk is his own decomposing human corpse. he forgets about it and goes to dabble around some more
#14
penitent
Post rating: ~
jesus christ returns to earth, becomes a schizophrenic homeless man (again?) on the streets of los angeles, turns into a cause celebre after being accused of a murder he didn't commit, after his acquittal his rambling but visceral writings + artlessly powerful paintings are fetishised and dissected by thin-lipped bloodless bourgeois liberal intelligentsia
#15
penitent
Post rating: ~
actually im going to fuckin write that
#16
Poronto
Post rating: +
a man wakes up in the morning at 7.30am with the alarm just like every other morning. he listen to the radio while brushing his teeth, drinking some nescafe and eating a blueberry muffin. meanwhile his cute little dog called Scruffles is sitting at his feet watching him intently. Once the muffin has been eaten, he walks over to the hall closet where the leash is kept, Scruffles trotting along behind him. The morning walk circumnavigates a single block, passing the Vietnamese bakery and Mr Khan's store, where they drop in and buys a pack of Pall Malls. After returning home the man checks his email, looks in his closet and puts on his work clothes. he can't find any clean socks in his drawer though. he goes to the laundry basket and pulls out a pair. Sniff, sniff. Hmm, these are ok. He then checks his watch, puts his shoes on, pulls on his coat, and gets in his car. Traffic is a bit heavier today than usual, so he arrives at work with only five minutes to spare. A woman from another office in the same building who he occasionally talks to is there, but she has almost finished her cigarette and is in a hurry, so they exchange a few words and go into the building. The man then sits down at his desk. His colleagues greet him idly, he returns the favour. He opens up a spreadsheet. His job for that morning is very simple and he could finish it in twenty minutes if he wanted to, but he needs to make this last all morning. He opens up Google Chrome and plays Angry Birds for a bit, then he reads a few forums and newspapers and the like. He has been living for a long time with the guilty certainty that everyone else in this place is working very very hard at their computers and if anyone found out what he was doing with most of his time he would be fired for sure, and publicly humiliated as well.

He goes to have lunch with a few other people from the office who he is on friendly terms with. On the way back he catches sight of the woman whom he has passed in the corridor or shared an elevator with several dozen times over this past year. He knows she works somewhere on this floor but he's not sure where. He would dearly like to know because he finds her very physically attractive, especially her face. Sometimes they smile at each other, but not today as she appears not to have seen him. He wonders what her voice sounds like. Then he forgets about her because it's time to sit in the same chair and pretend to do the next task. Before he knows it, it's home time. He thinks about cooking something tonight but figures he doesn't feel like. He gets takeout instead and eats it in front of Netflix, sharing some with Scruffles. Then he puts Scruffles in the car and they drive 15 minutes to the dog park. Scruffles has a fun time playing with the other dogs, and the man has a nice time chatting with the other dog owners. They have some very interesting anecdotes about the quirky behaviour of their pets, so much so that the man is hard pressed to hold his end up, and resorts a few times to outright mendacity in terms of Scruffles' idiosyncracies. After an hour or so the dog park is starting to empty. Man and dog get in the car and go home. The man pats the dog on the head and commands him to go in his basket. Scruffles doesn't need telling twice. The man then plays a video game for a few hours, tiring of this and going back to Netflix. He drinks a few beers while doing so, then starts to feel sleepy. Scruffles wants to go outside so they go into the yard. Then they go back in. The man gets into his bed and goes to sleep. The end
#17
Kurdt
Post rating: +
You are not the kind of guy who would be at a place like this at this time of the morning. But here you are, and you cannot say that the terrain is entirely unfamiliar, although the details are fuzzy. You are at a nightclub talking to a girl with a shaved head. The club is either Heartbreak or the Lizard Lounge. All might come clear if you could just slip into the bathroom and do a little more Bolivian Marching Powder. Then again, it might not. A small voice inside you insists that this epidemic lack of clarity is a result of too much of that already. The night has already turned on that imperceptible pivot where two A.M. changes to six A.M. You know this moment has come and gone, but you are not yet willing to concede that you have crossed the line beyond which all is gratuitous damage and the palsy of unraveled nerve endings. Somewhere back there you could have cut your losses, but you rode past that moment on a comet trail of white powder and now you are trying to hang on to the rush. Your brain at this moment is composed of brigades of tiny Bolivian soldiers. They are tired and muddy from their long march through the night. There are holes in their boots and they are hungry. They need to be fed. They need the Bolivian Marching Powder.

A vaguely tribal flavor to this scene – - pendulous jewelry, face paint, ceremonial headgear and hair styles. You feel that there is also a certain Latin theme – - something more than the piranhas cruising your bloodstream and the fading buzz of marimbas in your brain.

You are leaning-back against a post that may or may not be structural with regard to the building, but which feels essential to your own maintenance of an upright position. The bald girl is saying this used to be a good place to come before the assholes discovered it. You don't want to be talking to this bald girl, or even listening to her, which is all you are doing, but just now you do not want to test the powers of speech or locomotion.

You have traveled in the course of the night from the meticulous to the slime. The girl with the shaved head has a scar tattooed on her scalp. It looks like a long, sutured gash. You tell her it is very realistic. She takes this as a compliment and thanks you. You meant as opposed to romantic.

"I could use one of those right over my heart," you say.

"You want I can give you the name of the guy that did it. You'd be surprised how cheap."

You don't tell her that nothing would surprise you now. Her voice, for instance, which is like the New Jersey State Anthem played through an electric shaver.

The bald girl is emblematic of the problem. The problem is, for some reason you think you are going to meet the kind of girl who is not the kind of girl who would be at a place like this at this time of the morning. When you meet her you are going to tell her that what you really want is a house in the country with a garden. New York, the club scene, bald women – you're tired of all that. Your presence here is only a matter of conducting an experiment in limits, reminding yourself of what you aren't. You see yourself as the kind of guy who wakes up early on Sunday morning and steps out to cop the Times and croissants. Who might take a cue from the Arts and Leisure section and decide to check out an exhibition – costumes of the Hapsburg Court at the Met, say, or Japanese lacquerware of the Muromachi period at the Asia Society. The kind of guy who calls up the woman he met at a publishing party Friday night, the party he did not get sloppy drunk at. See if she wants to check out the exhibition and maybe do an early dinner. A guy who would wait until eleven A.M. to call her, because she might not be an early riser, like he is. She may have been out late, perhaps at a nightclub. And maybe a couple of sets of tennis before the museum. He wonders if she plays, but of course she would.

When you meet the girl who wouldn't et cetera you will tell her that you are slumming, visiting your own six A.M. Lower East Side of the soul on a lark, stepping nimbly between the piles of garbage to the gay marimba rhythms in your head. Well, no, not gay. But she will know exactly what you mean.

On the other hand, almost any girl, specifically one with a full head of hair, would help you stave off this creeping sense of mortality. You remember the Bolivian Marching Powder and realize you're not down yet. No way, Jose. First you have to get rid of this bald girl.

In the bathroom there are no doors on the stalls, which makes it tough to be discreet. But clearly you are not the only person in here to take on fuel. Lots of sniffling going on in the stalls. The windows are blacked over, and for this you are profoundly grateful.

Hup, two, three, four. The soldiers are back on their feet. They are off and running in formation. Some of them are dancing, and you must follow their example.

Just outside the door you spot her: tall, dark and alone, half hidden behind a pillar at the edge of the dance floor. You approach laterally, moving your stuff like a Bad Spade through the slalom of a synthesized conga rhythm. She jumps when you touch her shoulder.

"Dance?"

She looks at you as if you had just suggested instrumental rape. "I do not speak English," she says, when you ask again.

"Fran

She shakes her head. Why is she looking at you that way, as if tarantulas were nesting in your eye sockets?

"You are by any chance from Bolivia? Or Peru?"

She is looking around for help now. Remembering a recent encounter with a young heiress's bodyguard at Danceteria – or was it the Red Parrot? – you back off, hands raised over your head.

The Bolivian Soldiers are still on their feet, but they have stopped singing their marching song. You realize that you are at a crucial juncture vis-Back on the horse. Now we're really going to have some fun. Something like that. You suddenly realize that he has already slipped out with some rich Hose Queen. He is back at her place on Fifth Ave., and they are doing some of her off-the-boat-quality drugs. They are scooping it out of tall Ming vases and snorting it off of each other's naked bodies.

Go home. Cut your losses.

Stay. Go for it.

You are a republic of voices tonight. Unfortunately, that republic is Italy. All these voices waving their arms and screaming at one another. There's an ex cathedra riff coming down from the Vatican: Repent. Your body is the temple of the Lord and you have defiled it. It is, after all, Sunday morning, and as long as you have any brain cells left there will be a resonant patriarchal basso echoing down the marble vaults of your churchgoing childhood to remind you that this is the Lord's Day. What you need is another overpriced drink to drown it out. But a search of pockets yields only a dollar bill and change. You paid twenty to get in here. Panic gains.

You spot a girl at the edge of the dance floor who looks like your last chance for earthly salvation. You know for a fact that if you go out into the morning alone, without even your sunglasses -which you have neglected to bring, because who, after all, plans on these travesties? -the harsh, angling light will turn you to flesh and bone. Mortality will pierce you through the retina. But there she is in her pegged pants, a kind of doo-wop Retro ponytail pulled off to the side, as eligible a candidate as you are likely to find this late in the game. The sexual equivalent of fast food.

She shrugs and nods when you ask her to dance. You like the way she moves, the oiled ellipses of her hips and shoulders. After the second song, she says she's tired. She's at the point of bolting when you ask her if she needs a little pick-me-up.

"You've got some blow?" she says.

"Is Stevie Wonder blind?" you say.

She takes your arm and leads you into the Ladies'. A couple of spoons and she seems to like you just fine, and you are feeling very likable yourself. A couple more. This woman is all nose.

"I love drugs," she says, as you march toward the bar.

"It's something we have in common," you say.

"Have you ever noticed how all the good words start with D? D and L."

You try to think about this. You're not quite sure what she's driving at. The Bolivians are singing their marching song, but you can't make out the words.

"You know. Drugs. Delight. Decadence."

"Debauchery," you say, catching the tune now.

"Dexedrine."

"Delectable. Deranged. Debilitated."

"Delinquent."

"Delirium."

"And L," she says. "Lush and luscious."

"Languorous."

"Librium."

"Libidinous."

"What's that?" she says.

"Horny."

"Oh," she says, casting a long, arching look over your shoulder. Her eyes glaze in a way that reminds you precisely of the closing of a sandblasted glass shower door. You can see that the game is over, although you're not sure which rule you broke. Possibly she finds H words offensive. A purist. She is scanning the dance floor for a man with a compatible vocabulary. You have more: detumescence, for instance. Drowning and depressed; lost and lonesome. It's not that you're really going to miss this girl who thinks that decadence and Dexedrine are the high points of the language of Kings James and Lear. But the touch of flesh, the sound of another human voice… You know there is a special purgatory waiting for you out there in the dawn's surly light, a desperate half sleep which is like a grease fire in the brainpan.

The girl waves as she disappears into the crowd. There is no sign of the other girl, the girl who would not be here. The Bolivians are mutinous. You can't stop their treacherous voices.
#18
tardy on these heaters
Post rating: ~
a day in the life of a drone pilot a la the second part of beckett's molloy
#19
tardy on these heaters
Post rating: ~

deadken posted:
jesus christ returns to earth, becomes a schizophrenic homeless man (again?) on the streets of los angeles, turns into a cause celebre after being accused of a murder he didn't commit, after his acquittal his rambling but visceral writings + artlessly powerful paintings are fetishised and dissected by thin-lipped bloodless bourgeois liberal intelligentsia



Sounsd really Powerful and Insighftulness

#20
tardy on these heaters
Post rating: ~
“Vampyr Point. Even the name of the town tells you it’s evil. The yellow coast fog drifts through the streets at dawn and brings a fresh taste of danger that even the sun cannot crack. It’s home to beholder gang leaders, ogre thugs and the worst scum that humanity can dreg up. Even the Eladrin Mayor isn’t on the up, but he’s too slippery to catch – so far. Me ‘n’ my friends are the only hope in this gods-forgotten place. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve an appointment with an elf and a whiskey bottle.”
#21
Poronto
Post rating: +
a young boy attempts to write a story. however he finds he is a crushing Bore and full of Hot Air too boot. he accepts this defeat with grace and becomes a professional in the finance industry
#22
Post rating: -
why don't you pitch some good posts instead
#23
Post rating: ~
.

Edited by disestablishmentarian ()

#24
Post rating: ~
.

Edited by disestablishmentarian ()

#25
Post rating: ~
.

Edited by disestablishmentarian ()

#26
Post rating: ~
.

Edited by disestablishmentarian ()

#27
[account deactivated]
#28
Post rating: ~

tam posted:
short story about magical peasant rebellion against feudal wizard masters gets more and more surreal and anachronistic until you realize you're reading the ramblings of a mentally disturbed person from a dystopian horror future where the rich are technological transhuman overmen whose abilities are so inexplicable to the defeated slave human population they think it's magic, and don't recall how they actually got into their desperate situation



this is literally my d&d campaign atm

#29
Post rating: ~
idk if we're earnestposting itt but i've got an idea for a play i'd like to write one day, it's a doomed love story about a librarian and one of Nikolai Vavilov's assistants during the siege of leningrad. they're basically each faced in their professional life with an ethical dilemma of how best to preserve civilization in the face of such overwhelming horror (she can either distribute the library's collections as kindling, he can offer seedlings from the gardens as sustenance, or they can each preserve this wealth for the benefit of future generations) and whether they can reconcile with one another after the things they have done and seen. i totally know what impper's getting at about the writing though, which is why i'm not even touching it for another 5-10yrs at least
#30
el area metro
Post rating: ~
A Turkish film fanatic who murders a journalist for doing a bad review of taxi driver later escapes from prison and tries to kill Pope John Paul so he can prove to Jodie Foster how much he loves her
#31
Dont Mess With Sucess
Post rating: ~
i want a buddy cop movie where one cop is a genius but has no arms or legs and the other cop is super strong but has no head and they have to work together, to shoot protestors with rubber bullets
#32
[account deactivated]
#33
Post rating: ~

swampman posted:
i want a buddy cop movie where one cop is a genius but has no arms or legs and the other cop is super strong but has no head and they have to work together, to shoot protestors with rubber bullets


master blaster?

#34
Dont Mess With Sucess
Post rating: ~
i want a new take on identity horror where people start giving birth to exact genetic copies of the mother or father
#35
Dont Mess With Sucess
Post rating: ~

discipline posted:
this is the best thread ever


hm, interesting story idea, but do you think it could be made believable

#36
Post rating: ~

swampman posted:
i want a new take on identity horror where people start giving birth to exact genetic copies of the mother or father


wot about brain plasticity....

#37
Dont Mess With Sucess
Post rating: ~

parabolart posted:
wot about brain plasticity....


i think the horror is mined from intergenerational alienation honestly. set it in violently collapsing capitalist democracy, like fifteen years into the future, and you could have people getting hung by copies of longtime friends. perhaps the genetic copy element could add pressure by stripping away the last remnants of social mobility - you'll do what your father did because you are your father - jobs become inheritable which further dilutes the distinction between employment and slavery and so on

#38
Post rating: ~
Flesh this out. think about your dad. what's your dad like.
#39
Dont Mess With Sucess
Post rating: ~
in a certain way, he's like president george w bush, because i never met him
#40
el area metro
Post rating: ~
i've always actually wanted to do a story from the view of the personal assistant of that silicon valley CEO who had a secret underground party mansion and was having cocaine / hooker paries for his clients and then got busted