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The first guy I ever liked...

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    The funny thing is, I actually wrote this story in response to someone else's plea for help on how to write creatively, on Yahoo answers( go there, it's a really nice place, without the arrogance and cynicism of the student room) BUT HEY! Christopher Columbus found America by mistake!! So y'all! Here it is. By the way, when I write, I always listen to music to get me in the mood. The song I listened to was towers by Bon Iver. I hope that this can be realised without listening to the actual song. If not, well, hmm...ANYWAY!! The story...

    God, I just pray that this is never read by this person I'm talking about. Anyway, I've been on a detour long enough. Here it is..

    There he was. The rock star. At the end of the corridor: everything else around him seemed to fade into a translucent mist of pale yellow and framed faces. As I gravitated towards the end of the corridor, each shuffle was amplified. The moment was long and awkward...almost as if time prolonged it, to revisit the strum of his lounge guitar- his cool, steady gait.

    His sable hair sounded well with his strong jaw, as it swung from side to side. But it did not just fall from his face. Not at all. It hung, and held real presence: it put on a show for all. As he graced the corridor, a smirk filled his olive, tanned face. He knew he was liked. For sure he knew. His dark brown eyes were a total giveaway, and left nothing to the imagination. But he could do what he wanted. After all, he was his own rock star.

    And I was just another one of his fans.

    As he reached the end of the corridor, the music died out, and finally I returned back to the normal rhythms of life.

    I went to that same concert, at that same venue, for those same three years of my life. Yes, his cavalier was sometimes too loud, as adduced through arrogant glances...but, he was a true rock star. And during all of his numerous numbers, rounds of applause, gorgeous smiles, and bursts of just pure charisma, I never had the courage to ask him his name.

    I never met this guy again. In fact, I still don’t know his name.

    I don’t think I ever will
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    Hey!
    I dunno why, but it seems like people pick and choose what they respond to on here a bit much. Anyway, here I am.
    I'm really not in a position to give feedback but since you asked - I really like it! The last paragraph is especially good at getting the mood across in a natural way. I used to be like 'I can only write songs when I listen to other songs' but if you think about it - that's kind of a good thing.
    Sorry there's no structure to this post it's a bit of a jumble, but I'd cry if nobody replied to my creative writing!
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    Brought a tear to my eye
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    Dear lord, this is a forum not a chatroom. No replies in 17 minutes does not mean everyone hates it.

    Though I can't say I like it sorry. I see what you were trying to get at, but I feel that everything's too rushed to convey any real emotion. You could quite easily expand that into something longer. Although the last sentence (Just before "I never met him again" was fantastic.
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    LOL, thats positively gorgonzola in extra mature cheddar sauce on the cheesyness scale!

    So great stuff, very rare.
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    (Original post by Stopmessing)
    Brought a tear to my eye
    Thanks man. I'm not too sure how to interpret that comment though. TSR is filled with cynicism, and sarcasm. If it's genuine, then I really appreciate it.
    Anyway, listen to Towers by Bon Iver. It's an absolutely beautiful song. Much more beautiful than this story.
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    I wrote it by pure coincidence. I was on yahoo answers, writing a question for something. But I guess that some things aren't planned. This happened to be one of those moments.
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    (Original post by Pthaos)
    Dear lord, this is a forum not a chatroom. No replies in 17 minutes does not mean everyone hates it.

    Though I can't say I like it sorry. I see what you were trying to get at, but I feel that everything's too rushed to convey any real emotion. You could quite easily expand that into something longer. Although the last sentence (Just before "I never met him again" was fantastic.
    I'm used to the debate section where someone answers in a matter of seconds. I guess I was impatient- I wanted a response. However, I did think it was quite surprising that no one commented. Irrespective of time, if there were 34 views, there should have been more comments. It just shows how love itself is a very personal subject matter.

    Anyway, it does show that us physics nerds can be creative!
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    No offence, but this sounds like a bad fanfiction.
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    improved version:


    There he was. The rock star. At the end of the corridor: everything else around him seemed to fade into a translucent mist of pale yellow and framed faces. As I gravitated towards the end of the corridor, each shuffle was amplified. The moment was long and awkward...almost as if time prolonged it, to revisit the strum of his lounge guitar- his cool, steady gait.

    His sable hair sounded well with his strong jaw, as it swung from side to side. But it did not just fall from his face. Not at all. It hung, and held real presence: it put on a show for all. As he graced the corridor, a smirk filled his olive, tanned face. He knew he was liked. For sure he knew. His dark brown eyes were a total giveaway, and left nothing to the imagination. But he could do what he wanted. After all, he was his own rock star.
    And I was just another one of his fans.

    As he reached the end of the corridor, the music died out, and finally I returned back to the normal rhythms of life.

    I went to that same concert, at that same venue, for those same three years of my life. Yes, his cavalier was sometimes too loud, as adduced through arrogant glances...but, he was a true rock star. And during all of his numerous numbers, rounds of applause, gorgeous smiles, and bursts of just pure charisma, I never had the courage to ask him his name.

    And I still don’t know his name. I don’t think I ever will.
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    So. I take it you're good at Physics, then?
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    (Original post by PoziHQ)
    There he was. At the end of the corridor. And everything else around him seemed to fade into a translucent mist of pale yellow, and framed faces.As I gravitated towards the end of the corridor, each shuffle was amplified. The moment was long and awkward...almost as if time prolonged it, to revisit the strum of his lounge guitar.

    His sable hair sounded well with his strong jaw, as it swung from side to side. But it did not just fall from his face.Not at all. It hung, and put on a show for all. As he graced the corridor, a smirk filled his olive, tanned face.He knew he was liked. His dark brown eyes were a total giveaway, and left nothing to the imagination. But he could do what he wanted.

    After all, he was his own rock star. And I was just another one of his fans.

    As he reached the end of the corridor, the music died out, and finally I returned back to the normal rhythms of life.

    I went to the same concert, at the same venue, for the same three years of my life.Yes, in rock star fashion, his cavalier was at times too loud for my ears. But he was a true rock star. And during all of his numerous numbers, rounds of applause, gorgeous smiles, and bursts of just pure charisma, I never had the courage to ask him his name.

    And I never met him again.
    Other than that you're all right, but you ought to engage the senses a bit more. This is a formative sexual experience: I want musk and mirrors.

    Formative experiences need ****ery, but they need the exact right frequency of ****ery. Words like "sable" - it's just French for "sandy", come on - and "cavalier", whatever that means in context; "he graced the hallway"; "gravitated"... it serves only to obscure the meaning. I had much trouble figuring out what was actually going on and where each person was.

    The list in the final sentence is very weak - "numerous numbers"? "Rounds of applause" are countable when you're surging with hormones? Remember not to say his hair "hung", that's got bad connotations.

    The first sentence and the one that starts "after all" are very good. You've got some clever uses of words like "rhythm of life" and "sounded well with" and "amplified", which is great but does not a memorable image make. It's all in the delivery, if you see what I'm getting at.

    Sorry to be scathing, I realise it's from the heart, and that's all that matters really, that you write from the heart.
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    (Original post by Arekkusu)
    Other than that you're all right, but you ought to engage the senses a bit more. This is a formative sexual experience: I want musk and mirrors.

    Formative experiences need ****ery, but they need the exact right frequency of ****ery. Words like "sable" - it's just French for "sandy", come on - and "cavalier", whatever that means in context; "he graced the hallway"; "gravitated"... it serves only to obscure the meaning. I had much trouble figuring out what was actually going on and where each person was.

    The list in the final sentence is very weak - "numerous numbers"? "Rounds of applause" are countable when you're surging with hormones? Remember not to say his hair "hung", that's got bad connotations.

    The first sentence and the one that starts "after all" are very good. You've got some clever uses of words like "rhythm of life" and "sounded well with" and "amplified", which is great but does not a memorable image make. It's all in the delivery, if you see what I'm getting at.

    Sorry to be scathing, I realise it's from the heart, and that's all that matters really, that you write from the heart.
    Thanks for the criticism - read the improved version.
    The story itself wasn't actually supposed to be very sexual. I wasn't raging with hormones...I was more in love with his image-bad I know, but that's how people are.

    Oh, and sable is actually another word for jet black. Cavalier was used to describe his arrogance. He was quite an arrogant person- cavalier is just another word for arrogance. When I talked about the loudness of his cavalier, I meant his large ego. I chose to say "loudness", as I was just extending the idea of him being a rock star.

    It's short, because it's supposed to be like that of a song- quite short.Also, I chose not to go into a lot of detail, since I want the story itself to be like that of the memory. I my mind, I don't heavily recall everything that happened. The idea of not knowing where he was, is supposed to be like that. And the effect thus is that you tend to have to re read it. Like a vague memory.
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    I don't want to be accused for spamming, but please do read the improved version!
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    [QUOTE=PoziHQ;36857381]The funny thing is, I actually wrote this story in response to someone else's plea for help on how to write creatively, on Yahoo answers( go there, it's a really nice place, without the arrogance and cynicism of the student room) BUT HEY! Christopher Columbus found America by mistake!! So y'all! Here it is. By the way, when I write, I always listen to music to get me in the mood. The song I listened to was towers by Bon Iver. I hope that this can be realised without listening to the actual song. If not, well, hmm...ANYWAY!! The story...

    God, I just pray that this is never read by this person I'm talking about. Anyway, I've been on a detour long enough. Here it is..

    There he was. The rock star. At the end of the corridor: everything else around him seemed to fade into a translucent mist of pale yellow and framed faces. As I gravitated towards the end of the corridor, each shuffle was amplified. The moment was long and awkward...almost as if time prolonged it, to revisit the strum of his lounge guitar- his cool, steady gait.

    His sable hair sounded well with his strong jaw, as it swung from side to side. But it did not just fall from his face. Not at all. It hung, and held real presence: it put on a show for all. As he graced the corridor, a smirk filled his olive, tanned face. He knew he was liked. For sure he knew. His dark brown eyes were a total giveaway, and left nothing to the imagination. But he could do what he wanted. After all, he was his own rock star.
    And I was just another one of his fans.

    As he reached the end of the corridor, the music died out, and finally I returned back to the normal rhythms of life.

    I went to that same concert, at that same venue, for those same three years of my life. Yes, his cavalier was sometimes too loud, as adduced through arrogant glances...but, he was a true rock star. And during all of his numerous numbers, rounds of applause, gorgeous smiles, and bursts of just pure charisma, I never had the courage to ask him his name.

    I never met this guy again. In fact, I still don’t know his name.

    I don’t think I ever will..
    /QUOTE]
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    (Original post by PoziHQ)
    Thanks for the criticism - read the improved version.
    The story itself wasn't actually supposed to be very sexual. I wasn't raging with hormones...I was more in love with his image-bad I know, but that's how people are.

    Oh, and sable is actually another word for jet black. Cavalier was used to describe his arrogance. He was quite an arrogant person- cavalier is just another word for arrogance. When I talked about the loudness of his cavalier, I meant his large ego. I chose to say "loudness", as I was just extending the idea of him being a rock star.

    It's short, because it's supposed to be like that of a song- quite short.Also, I chose not to go into a lot of detail, since I want the story itself to be like that of the memory. I my mind, I don't heavily recall everything that happened. The idea of not knowing where he was, is supposed to be like that. And the effect thus is that you tend to have to re read it. Like a vague memory.
    Oh cool sorry, and I call myself a linguist. Didn't know sable was black and didn't know cavalier was a noun, thought it was just an adjective myself, very much stand corrected.

    That's an interesting way to frame it, I see where you're coming from with that. In light of that I can't really say what it lacks, but there's a certain - gah, I dunno - viscerality that it somehow seems to miss. Personally I think it would work better if you had developed yourself more as a character beforehand, say as a scene in a larger memoir or something - because to some people the experience might not be immediate, they might not have fancied a rock star.

    I guess the use of obscure words like sable and such is tied to this. Say the character's some goth girl into mystical stuff, it would seem more natural to hear her think words like that, but we need to know that beforehand to empathise, I think - unless the audience is other people like that, for example if it was fanfiction it would be fine as that worldview is well established among fangirls.

    IMPROVED VERSION: waaaaaaaaaay better
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    (Original post by Arekkusu)
    Oh cool sorry, and I call myself a linguist. Didn't know sable was black and didn't know cavalier was a noun, thought it was just an adjective myself, very much stand corrected.

    That's an interesting way to frame it, I see where you're coming from with that. In light of that I can't really say what it lacks, but there's a certain - gah, I dunno - viscerality that it somehow seems to miss. Personally I think it would work better if you had developed yourself more as a character beforehand, say as a scene in a larger memoir or something - because to some people the experience might not be immediate, they might not have fancied a rock star.

    I guess the use of obscure words like sable and such is tied to this. Say the character's some goth girl into mystical stuff, it would seem more natural to hear her think words like that, but we need to know that beforehand to empathise, I think - unless the audience is other people like that, for example if it was fanfiction it would be fine as that worldview is well established among fangirls.

    IMPROVED VERSION: waaaaaaaaaay better
    The irony is that I know his name now! BUT HEY, A LITTLE BIT OF MYSTERY MAKES A GREAT STORY!!

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Updated: March 30, 2012
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