Anyone interested in reading something stupid I wrote?

[Charles Livingston]

I write a bit of fiction in my freetime. Until a couple of weeks ago I had never shown it to anyone but a friend of mine wanted to read some of it. So, I wrote a new short story in four installments. She liked it, but was a bit critical of it in certain areas. I dont want to shove my pathetic attempts at writing down the forum's throat, so I thought I'd ask first. Anyone interested in reading it?

Edit: I just realized I put this in literature and the arts. This fact in no way signifies that I think what I wrote is 'literature'. Pretentious crap, maybe, but certainly not literature.

[arcticpenguin]

Is it funny stupid or just stupid stupid?

If the former, I would be interested. Do keep in mind this is a very tough audience, and we'll really tear into it, so if you suffer from fragility of ego, this may not be a good idea.

[Chaos]

There´s always the JREF Writers´ Group.

PM Phil to join.

[Lord Emsworth]

Why not just post something? :)

[chulbert]

Originally posted by Charles Livingston
Edit: I just realized I put this in literature and the arts. This fact in no way signifies that I think what I wrote is 'literature'. Pretentious crap, maybe, but certainly not literature.

Why would we want to read something that you yourself think is "stupid" and "pretentious crap"?

[Charles Livingston]

Originally posted by arcticpenguin
Is it funny stupid or just stupid stupid?

If the former, I would be interested. Do keep in mind this is a very tough audience, and we'll really tear into it, so if you suffer from fragility of ego, this may not be a good idea.

Its not meant to be funny. I dont mind if you guys tear into it, I dont really fancy myself a professional writer or anything, its just for fun.

[Charles Livingston]

Originally posted by chulbert


Why would we want to read something that you yourself think is "stupid" and "pretentious crap"?

I dont really think it is those things, I was just trying to communicate that I dont expect you guys to think this is professional or even really good writing. I guess I was just trying to do it in a humorous, self-depricating way.

[Charles Livingston]

The red phone on my right rang for the first time in its existence. It was not loud, but rang with an infamiliar tone that screamed urgency. Not that I needed any encouragement to lift the receiver, that it was ringing at all was enough. "I've no idea whom you would propose, it is not such a simple matter. They would have to be sufficienlty familiar, not only with the principle, but its associated tasks. And of course, there are the personality issues." None of my concern it appeared, I would be instructed on who was chosen in due time. And that was it. There were no keys to be turned, no orders to be relayed. Not even one decision to make, at least not for me. The most important phone call of my life, the very reason I had sat in this chair for seven years, had lasted just seventeen seconds.

[Charles Livingston]

Well just what the hell was I supposed to do now? The call I had been waiting for my entire life had finally come, and my instructions were to wait! I had always known the decision wouldn't be mine, but was it necessary to inform me so early? It would be days before their decision was made, why not wait until it is done? Ah well, they had kept me waiting for all these years anyway, what was a couple more days to them, or me. If it weren't for my daily routine, the delineation of days on the calender would not have mattered anyway, at least not to me, at least not now. There was a time when I fought as hard as I could against them, when the days and nights were my own. But they had followed me from the place of my birth only to arrange appropriate accomodations here. There was no escaping them, or her, of this I had resigned myself long ago. Seven years to be exact. I could still have run, but they had made that rather difficult by this point and any thoughts of flight were therefore rarely entertained. No, I must wait. I still had many tasks to complete that day and the principle was the most important thing anyway. Or was it? Was this really what I would work my entire life for? Wasn't I happier when I was free of them, and it? Had I already forgotten the taste of freedom, the taste of a woman? Of course not. Seven years ago I was sure of this, but was I starting to believe their propoganda? I shuddered at the thought of her voice at everyday's conclusion, spoken through that invisible speaker buried in one of the only four walls I would likely ever see again, but was it not correct? Of course, it must be. After all, they only want what's best for me, and the prinicple.