The Official Writer's Ed Thread

[xXx]

Welcome to the Writer's Ed thread!

On here you can post anything and everything about writing fan fiction or films. This spans from opinions to facts.

Thanks for coming and enjoy.

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[Victarion]

Perhaps you have heard of the Gary Stu/Mary Sue litmus test? Are those created towards "fanfiction: or "fanfiction" and "original fiction" (meaning your own story, characters, etc.)?

Great idea for a thread! t:

---Morzan

 

[xXx]

Thanks Morzan!
Anybody else?

 

[Assassin32]

Does anyone know the exact rules when it comes to giving credit for an adapted screenplay? Like if you wrote a script about a man's life, and used an overwhelming amount of sources to piece your story together, do you list credit for all the little sources or what? I ask because I know that Oliver Stone's screenplay for "Nixon" is considered an original screenplay. So, does anyone know the rules?

I hope this is the thread for this.

 

[Victarion]

Hey guys, can I get your opinion on this character? One thing that concerns me is that he is simply too...insane. Thoughts and critiques are very much welcome:

Among the many specters that dotted the well-trimmed quadrangle of the university walked a single substantial figure. Casting a dark shadow over the grounds was the massive red façade of science building. As he approached, thoughts buzzed about the boy’s head like a swarm of angry hornets. In his mind he envisioned the payoff of his hard work of the past month. Studying tirelessly from the time he returned from school until late in the night. Reading his textbook, which was by no means an easy chore, and even using his time off on the weekends to bone up on the lectures of the past week.
He came to stand before the science building and suddenly a gale forced whipped up around him. Its unnaturally chilly wind cut through his wooly undercoat and chilled him to the bone. The doors burst open. From within the boy heard a deep, guttural rumble. The winds changed and began to tug at his lanky frame in an attempt to pull him into the mouth of the building. The boy put up no resistance. He was ready for this. He spread his arms and allowed himself to be pulled into the belly of the beast.

Almost immediately he noticed a change. The hellish growling had gone and he was standing in a white and black tiled hallway with nothing-out-of-the-ordinary red bricked walls. Automatically he began to walk down the hall and around a corner toward a specific classroom. His hand closed over the cool knob. Suddenly the boy felt a painful sensation in his gut (as if someone had landed a solid sucker punch) and was lifted off the ground by the force of the blow. As he flew back, what the boy saw left him speechless: he was still standing at the door to the classroom with his hand on the knob.

What the hell?

The body standing at the door stepped back and a slightly shorter form emerged. The shorter form said something and chuckled. The two forms of the boy reacted in sync with each other. As the physical form grabbed the shorter man around the throat and shoved him violently against the wall, the astral form dashed forward. The physical form drew cocked back and prepared to strike. The astral form tackled the physical form. To the astral form’s surprise, it didn’t pass through the physical form.

The professor slumped to the floor coughing and massaging his throat.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” the astral form of the boy asked quietly.

The physical form looked up at him from beneath a mop of messy brown hair. His eyes were red with anger. “What the hell’s right with me. That’s the question.”

He shoved the astral form off of him and got to his feet. “This bastard’s the reason for everything.” He said evenly, pointing at the professor. “I came in knowing what I had to do.” The physical form locked gazes with the astral form. His eyes were set with conviction. “I intend to do what I must.”

In those eyes, the astral form saw the very real fear that the boy had experienced. He remembered it clearly. In his early years of college, prior to graduate school the lad had taken a particularly tough science course and gotten stuck with who was most likely the least favored professor. He also saw a different kind of fear, fear of himself.

“This isn’t the way,” the astral form began slowly. “You-we-I need help-”
“No.” the physical form cut off the astral form. “I don’t need help.” He was pacing back and forth like a tiger at a zoo. “I’m not going to the asylum. Nothing in Heaven or Hell could get me there. Nothing, do you hear me!”

Without warning physical form bolted off after the professor, who was hurrying down the hall away from the crazy man talking to a ghost visible only to himself. “Get back here!” he snarled. The astral form floated hurried after him shouting for the physical form to “Stop it! To Hell with your pride, just admit you need help!”

The physical form didn’t hear anything except the surprised cry of the professor, which died to a miserable gargle as bony hands closed over the man’s throat. The astral form shouted after the physical form even as the edges of the hallway began to fade to black. It remained black until it was no more.

II

Cillian hit the snooze button twice (being that his only class of the day wasn’t until noon) before waking. After a hot shower he took a seat at his writing desk and opened the thick volume of Human Anatomy and Physiology, Sixth Edition. As his eyes moved up and down the pages, he found his mind wandering elsewhere, anywhere but to where it needed to be. It wasn’t that the book wasn’t interesting. The inner workings of the human body could be quite fascinating if it wasn’t taught by a clone of his old freshman biology professor.

Reciting the slides verbatim, never letting them “get their hands dirty” with a practical, always copping out with a “you will find more if you read” rather than “okay, here’s the gist; any questions?” and the indistinguishable squiggles he scribbled on the board that were supposed to pass for chromosomes or whatever. The two professors followed each other to a T.

Cillian closed the text and tried giving his notes a look over. He read them twice then attempted to rewrite what he had read in his own words. A side-by-side comparison revealed that he had nailed the basics. Satisfied, he decided to take a break for a late breakfast. As he was putting away the text book, he felt a twinge of guilt.

You should be working hard, Cillian. What’s this breakfast stuff? Is breakfast gonna save you from humiliation?

Shut up. I just spent two hours going over that ****.

We’ll see come this afternoon, won’t we? the voice of doubt asked sweetly. Won’t we?...

The rattling vibration of his cell phone on the writing desk brought him back to reality. The caller I.D. showed that it was Samantha . Cillian felt his spirits rising as he answered it.

“Morning, Sam.”

“Hey Cillian; got time to meet me for brunch?”

“Sure do. Have anywhere special in mind?”

“Nah, we can just get something at the student union. I’ll meet you at the usual spot?”

“Sounds great, love you.”

“I love you too, sug. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Cillian slipped the phone in his pocket, pulled on his overcoat and book bag and stepped outside for what seemed like the first time in years. Golden April sunlight diffused across the path, scattered by the branches of the oak trees that grew around the campus. The air had a fresh, clean feel which often followed heavy rains that Cillian’s sinuses actually agreed with. For once it was sunny in Oakendale, a coastal city plagued by overcast skies and frequent summer storms.

By the time he reached the student union the breakfast crowd had thinned considerably. Cillian found Samantha waiting at their usual table that overlooked the courtyard and fountain. When she saw him coming she met him with a hug. Cillian brushed aside a stray lock of brown hair and they kissed. God, it seemed like it had been forever since Cillian had seen her.
They made it through the food line in record time and returned to their table with trays of poached eggs and wheat toast.

“So,” Samantha began, “how’re your studies going?” she spoke with a cute Southern accent that was like the calm before the storm. Her question had been the key that was inserted into the lock. The mental bars slid open. Ugly and leering, doubt sauntered out of its prison and back into Cillian’s thoughts.

Slacking off when you know you have an exam to get ready for-

“Good, I suppose.” Cillian said gloomily.

“You suppose? You’ve been holed up in your dorm for the past month, Cillian.”

He sighed. “I had another one, Samantha.”

Samantha’s eyes widened in concern. “I really think you ought to try speaking to the professor again, Cillian. I really do.”

“I’ve went to him twice now, Sam. And each time he gives me the ‘Well, aside from the reading your book, I don’t know what to tell you.’”

Samantha laughed at his impression of the Anatomy teacher’s accent, which was either some form of African, Egyptian, or both. “Maybe you should explain to him the situation you’re in. It can’t hurt to try, you know.”

“What if I do something…”

“Do what, Cillian?” Samantha asked with a voice heavy with concern.

Throttle the life from that pathetic excuse of a human! the voice of doubt cried with a ferocity that frightened Cillian. Give him what he deserves! It started cackling like the Wicked Witch of the West.

“Something I might regret.” Cillian mumbled.

“Cillian…” she paused to choose her words carefully. Finally, she spoke: “There’s more to life than textbooks. You’ve been in my prayers for a while now. Ever since you stopped coming out of your dorm. Ever since I heard about your dreams. Just know that I haven’t given up on you.”
She laid a hand atop Cillian’s.

At her touch, the voice of doubt was wrangled and hauled back into its cell in the darkest corner of his mind. God bless you, Samantha.

Cillian nodded slowly. “Thank you Samantha. Thank you.” She smiled

hopefully. He glanced at his watch. “Well,” he said wearily, “time to enter the proving grounds.”

They hugged a last time and shared a last kiss. “Good luck, Cillian.”

____________________________________________________

Okay, that's a brief excerpt. Insane characters aren't neccessarily bad. Hell, I actually see this guy's determination to make the grade as great as Roland's to reach the Dark Tower, and we all know that

Spoiler

He let that poor kid die in the 1st book to accomplish his own goals

.

---Morzan

 

[eXperiment]

Great idea for a thread!