Okay, folks. I don't condone tearing down another writer, but I have to make an exception just this once. There is—or was—a writer out there I cannot stand so freaking much that I just have to say something. I know it will hurt their feelings, but I can't let that stop me from calling them out.

It's my teenage self. Teenage Crystal, you tried so hard but you were pretty bad, and I think these good folks will join me in pointing fingers at you and laughing.

I am in possession (thanks to the chronic file hoarder, Rossby) of a lot of writing from my teenage years. I've shared snippets with some folks before and we got a kick (and a few facepalms) out of it, so let's have some laughs at my past self's expense!

First and foremost I want to make it clear that this thread is solely dedicated to laughing at my teenage self. I will not tolerate any mentions, links, quotes, etc. to other writers because I actually really don't want anyone hurt by this. This is just for fun, so let's keep it that way, okay? The only exception to this rule is Rossby, given that I know him personally and can laugh directly in his face.

Prepare yourselves for angst. For cat boys wearing trench coats and wielding large guns named Thanatos (hmm, that's vague, is the cat boy named Thanatos or is his gun? OH NO, IT'S BOTH!). For scientific creations somehow getting abducted by Satan and turned into demons. For orbs. So many orbs!

Hope y'all enjoy! I'll grab some snippets here shortly once I prepare myself, because I don't know if I'm ever ready for this hot mess.

The real and true point of this exercise is we all grow as writers. No one starts off great. Few people start off good. Most people start off... well... like any skill or talent: not stellar. Through time, commitment, and trying, trying, trying again, we grow. So remember: for however good or bad you think my writing may be, it used to be worse. Much, much worse.

If you want my advice on how to be a better writer? Write, wait, and read. Throw something together, anything at all, and put it away for at least a month. Then, when you read it, it'll feel like someone else wrote it, and you can look at it more objectively to learn from yourself.

You can't compare yourself to other writers. That isn't fair to you. You don't have the same experience, opinions, thoughts, and style as they do. I love Piers Anthony, I read a lot of Kate Elliot, and I'll never be writers like them, because I'm not them. I'll never be them. I'm me, you're you, and that's a wonderful thing.

Oh, wow. It's like I'm having flashbacks to my super edgy teenage self. I just don't know if I'll be able to read them, this whole thread might even be 3edgy5me.

You all have my permission to make fun of me :)

5063093 It's okay, I'll hold your hand. We can make it through this together! I might cry a little, so you may have to hold more than my hand. I'm already crying. Hold me.

5063100 Off topic! Make your own thread! Ban for life! Overthrow the founder! ANARCHY!

5063100 Wait, I needed permission for that?

(...) let's have some laughs at my past self's expense!

:looks at you from over his glasses, smiling impishly: Indulge us, by all means...

5063091 Ermmm... what?

5063091 I remember my younger teenage self, before I realized how good (mediocre) I was at writing... and that all I need to do was sit my butt down and not think. Looking back, I am ashamed at some of my work, especially my very first story I wrote on here (which I deleted that it may not drive people away from the site); it was that bad. I sift through the tens upon tens of ideas in my head and realise, "What the hell is this doing in my brain? Imagination Drive must be running on fumes!" But that's the thing, you learn from experience. And luckily, I had writers like you and Anzel to inspire me to create something even better. Here's to better works in the future!

Here's our first lesson! Let's start with something I wrote when I was twelve or thirteen. All good stories should start at the beginning, don't you think?

Once upon a time, in a land of magick and faerie's, there lived a princess. She was beautiful, and wise beyond her years. Yet, akin to many other princesses, she had a curse of her own. She was trapped in a man's body.

That is how this story would start if it were a faerie (or fairy) tale, and if it were about a princess. However, this is not a faerie tale, and it is not about a princess trapped in a man's body, although that would be an interesting topic. So, let us quit this rambling nonsense and get on to the true beginning.

That's how I opened a story. Yup. I wonder why people didn't read it?

What can we take away from this? It's a false hook. It's confusing. It's jarring. Hook people with the real story, not a strange little diddy about something unrelated. It's not as clever as my preteen self thought it was.

5063117 I meant to include the "point of this exercise", so thanks for reminding me! This is just for fun, but it's also to show that we all start off... well... with room to grow.

5063143 Exactly. Experience is the best way to learn, I 100% agree. This is why I strongly advocate people writing something, anything, to read it again in a month's time. You can learn so much from distancing yourself from your writing and reading it like it's another person's. I find a month is the minimum it takes to put enough distance between yourself and your writing to learn something from it.

5063149 Well, I've used almost double that to rethink most of my current stories. My initial problem writing on this site was that i was writing for everyone... except myself... or the other way round. I would wind up stopping halfway through because I was trying to write something people would like, even if I didnt like it myself. Then I started writing for myself while not paying attention to my audience. So, I wound up rebooting a series of stories I'd been planning since I first joined 3 times (currently on the 3rd attempt). Only one of my stories is an actual success because both myself and my subscribers (followers/readers) enjoy it. I'm hoping the third attempt will work out better than its predecessors.

5063144

magick and faerie's

http://imgur.com/sGHcoYR

I feel like maybe I should have saved that pic for later, but I've got more up my sleeve, so I'll use it now.

But yeah, that sort of an intro really only works in some sort of visual media where you can have the picture contrast with the words in order to serve as the hook. In writing it's much less effective.

5063157 It's a very delicate balance. Folks tell you to "write for yourself, that's the only way you'll be happy!" but as you've learned and so have I, that's not true for everyone. I'll be the first to admit that I crave validation. I try not to be an attention floozy, but y'all help a great deal in keeping me going, keeping me writing. Like you said, there's got to be a balance. Write what interests you, but adapt to make sure readers stay interest for their sake and ours.

I have my plan for Velveteen Mask, whether folks like it or not. But so far along the way I've made small tweaks and changes based on how people reacted to certain things/characters while still maintaining the original trajectory. We'll see how that works out for me when the story is over.

5063160 It really isn't effective at all in writing. You're totally right, though, movies have done this for comedic or dramatic effect and it worked great. Just like certain slapstick humor doesn't translate into writing, this... kind of... bait and switch?? intro doesn't work, either.

I look forward to your memes and pics to come.

5063164
I've always joked that if I had a super power in real life, it would be the ability to spontaneously generate relevant images for any given situation. I mean, I don't know that I'm up to 4chan levels, but that's mostly because I just don't have the time or disk space to hold on to that many pics at all times.

5063164 Yep. And that's usually it: the characters. Aside from the story, it's the characters that get people interested, which is where I failed woefully my first attempts; first time hearing about Mary Sue/Gary Stu characters. So I saw how my (only) reader reacted to the character development and worked around that. But like you said, "We'll burn that bridge when we get to it."

5063144

I see the fault of such a beginning, but like it, actually. As long as the rest of the narration would be provided in a kind of snarky, ironic fashion, I would read further.

5063091 You can post things I had a hand in, since it's there. XDD

ALSO YOU'RE WELCOME FOR BEING A COMPULSIVE FILE HOARDER. I KNEW THESE WOULD BRING JOY ONE DAY!

5063253 Nay, nay, 'tis naught but a poorly cobbled together adventure involving a changeling (not of the MLP variety, but a gelatinous being that morphs into shapes), a wolf-demon, the wolf-demon's familiar or something that falls in love with said changeling, a short-lived cameo of a dragon creature, and... Someone died. I don't remember which character, but there was a death, and subsequent scene for burial, then on with the barely coherent plot of trying to unlock the changeling's suppressed memories of who it used to be by seeking out some kind of queen or witch or something I think was named Raven.

I've barely made it past the first few pages of content.

5063265

Sounds like a wild ride, indeed. More please.

Sadly, methinks your original stuff is still better than my first stories from senior year in high school, and as such, I can't really make fun of it

5063283 5063298

Immediately after the bait-and-switch opening is this very, very, very long paragraph:

The creature smiled a cute little smile, one of that you would find on a little kid in the candy store. It bent at the mid-torso, plucking a small black berry from a bush and looking it over. Dropping the berry into the metal pail held in its other hand, it seemed to anticipate something. Plink – the berry hit the bottom of the pail. The creature laughed, and plucked another. Drop – Plink. Pluck – Drop – Plink. After this was repeated numerous times, the creature walked off, pausing only two inches from the edge where the ground dips, and water collects, widely known as a “lake”. It set the pail down and crouched on its toes, elbows rested on its knees. It stared out over the water, as smooth as if it were glass. Smiling contently, it reached into the bucket and scooped out a handful of berries. Its trench coat folded over itself, being long, and having to compensate for the solid ground denying it the ability to let gravity pull it any further. The creature tilted its head back and poured the berries into its mouth, chewed slowly, then swallowed. It rubbed the back of its hand against its chin, smearing a trickle of dark purple liquid. It grimaced, realizing that the stuff was still there, and slipped its trench coat off its shoulders. Folding the coat, it set it near the bucket, and dove into the lake. The water was shallow, causing the creature to pull up quickly, and then it stood. The water reaching to about its waist, it stared down at its reflection, seemingly curious. It stretched out its index finger and lightly poked the surface of the water, amazed at how disrupted it is now. It watched the ripples grow larger, creating tiny waves, until after silence and no movement, the water settled again, back to its glass-like form. Before it could move to poke the surface, a drop of water gathered between its eyes, and it went cross-eyed to watch the drop trickle down its nose, then fall. When the drop hit the surface, it was as if it shattered the surface. Amazed, the creature dipped its cupped hands into the water and lifted them out. Before it could use the water to rinse its face, the water drained through the crease between its hands. Blinking, the creature attempted to try to catch the water before it los-

*drowns under the weight of text*

'Kay, folks, paragraphs should be ... not this long. Or boring. But that latter part is subjective. I think we can all agree that this paragraph—especially as an opener—is too long.

5063091

Throw something together, anything at all, and put it away for at least a month. Then, when you read it, it'll feel like someone else wrote it, and you can look at it more objectively to learn from yourself.

It's been 6 months now. My infinitely dark orbs still in the fractions between nanoseconds tell my computer like super brain that the masterfully sculpted as a greco-roman statue words are written by my hands, Gunther and Thunder Cat.

5063301 i... huh. You're sure that's you? It's long winded and confusing, aye, but it doesn't seem bad, per se. But that certainly doesn't seem like the mistress of writing you are now.

5063260

COMPULSIVE FILE HOARDER

Rather you are a digital archaeologist delving through the file structure with your coiled USB cable near at hand.

5063301 But if you don't describe every detail and movement in monotonous detail, then how will I know it happened?!

5063332 XD Thank you. That is a much kinder name, I think! :D

5063301

As someone who himself had to initially fight paragraphs such as this, I feel for you.

Plink – the berry hit the bottom of the pail.

I like this sentence for some reason. The onomatopoeia in conjunction with "pail" I think. Plink, pail, plink, pail...

5063322 Eeyup! I was twelve, thought I was smarter than I was, and was completely and utterly serious about every word you just read.

But I think that leads me into an important lesson... bad vs. good. Just because something "isn't bad", that doesn't mean it is therefore good! And vice versa, just because something "isn't good" that doesn't necessarily mean it's bad.

Overall, my writing was technically sound. Grammatically correct, overall. But it isn't engaging. Actions are described. Things happen. But there's no feeling behind any of it, not at all.

Ignoring the length of the paragraph, and ignoring my 100% serious attempts at being witty and smart (I was not trying to be funny with the "lake" thing)... That snippet is "not bad". I think that's the nicest that can be said about it overall. It's "not bad", and I think that's how most of us can describe our early attempts at writing.

5063610 fair enough, by and large. Frankly speaking, my biggest problem has always been characters and how they speak. I'm so used to my manner of speaking I think it's normal. Unfortunately no one else seems to speak like this. I do envy your talent sometimes. Yours and anzel's both. More so than many other writers on this site because while many are decent at using established characters, you have many original characters made almost from scratch.

Oh, jeez, our your selves. You wouldn't believe some of the stuff I tried to pass off as writing. Here, let's take a look:

[requested content not found]

Or, you know. Past me could've expected this to happen and taken preventative measures.

I'm not sure what to title this lesson. Eeauhh?

Xian nodded once, and grasped the charm that hung on a golden chain around her neck. Holding the charm tightly, she began to phase into a new appearance Vvaren simply has never seen before. It is still wolven, but different. You might find it similar to the Centaur, except with many, many more wolf features. The torso, which would be human on a Centaur, is the wolf-woman from before. Where her legs would join, a pure wolf body is connected. She reached back and patted the area you would sit on if it were a horse. The back, in other terms.

Xian blinked, her ears folding backwards. “Well, Vvaren, a dæmon is a demonic entity, similar to a demon. Those creatures you saw were dæmons, shrouded by an illusion of the werewolf perspective. I am a demon, which is a higher ranking than the average dæmon. It's really hard to explain, Vvaren. Just think of it this way – A general commands the soldiers. I'm the general. They’re the soldiers.”

Vvaren nodded meekly, carefully putting the charm in its pocket. Xian smiled half-heartedly, then returned to her poker face. There was an eerie pause. The crackling, ember-spitting smoke ceased, though it continued to burn away the wood. Xian appeared to melt away from vision, fading into the thick air, heavy with smoke. Where Xian's heart would have been, a faint glow appeared. The glow, of a red tinge, grew larger, until it was the size of a troll's head (which would be quite 'dumb' to put it lightly, but this is merely a size comparison, not intelligence) and began to move. It paused for a moment in front of Akaihane, and then lowered until it was horizontally level with his heart, and entered. Akaihane's whole body trembled, and he collapsed, Vvaren attempting to keep him up. His body was heavy, and quivering; like a Chihuahua. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, his frail body seemingly unable to adjust to the new level of power. Soon, though, he regained control, and stood; with Vvaren's help, of course.

5066743

Daring Don't and the Wolftaur: Aarhooooo

Reading this is the equivalent of eating a gratuitously terrible for you food. You should stop, but you can't.

To try to put the food into words, cream filled candied bacon dipped in 24 karat gold, then deep fried again.

5066795 I'm trying to organize things I find into some kind of learnable-from coherency, but it's difficult. Ohhh. It's difficult. Some of it is just so out there that I just want to flip a table.

5066801

Slap some pony on it and abuse the new auto-approval process you crazy 2+ story author you.

5066810 Hey, I have some great Discord stuff in here! We could totes do this.

Xian Discord grinned. “Leave it to me!” With the flick of a wrist, each item simply 'poofed' (meaning they vanished in a puff of smoke) from sight. Xian Discord dusted her his hands paw and claw, as if she he had been working hard. “Go in and see!”

And he's extra evil Discord, but it's okay, he's, uh, cutesy?, so it's 'kay.

“But I'm a good demon draconequus! Ree-ah-lly! I haven't killed anyone sense... a few minutes ago!”
Akaihane fell over. “You killed people!?”
“They attacked me first!”
“Vvaren not like death.”
“Aiie!” Xian Discord rubbed her his forehead. “Two against one isn't fair!”
“Two against one? How many people did you kill?”
“Um...” Xian Discord stared down at her his feet innocently, “around twenty...”
“And how many dæmons were you commanding?”
“...Lots.”
“How many is 'lots'?”
“Like.... fifty.”
“Two against one is better than fifty against twenty.”
“It's still unfai-r!” Xian Discord, beginning to wail, dropped to her his knees.

5066743
I'm resisting my urges to disect all of these everythings.
What can I say? I'm a crazy science person, it's what I do.

“How many is 'lots'?”
“Like.... fifty.”

You earned a chuckle there, well played. .

Atleast it's several magnitudes better than what little things I ever dared to type out.
You know those super tragic backstory edgy angst characters that are terrible?

...

That's what I did...

*groan*

5069244 Oh, poppycock, I have some of those, too. I've just been going through one document for the above stuff, but here! Meet Eiri, my tragic backstory catboy of edge and angst.

His right hand rested on the black and silver gun in its holster, similar to a Zigana T in design but much heavier due to the larger grip for more bullet capacity. He didn't need the extra bullets, but it didn't hurt to have more than necessary. It was better to be cautious than dead.
A name was etched into the side of the barrel. 'Thanatos': the Greek god of death.

He was rather tall, about six feet, with pale skin that seemed chalk white from the cold of the rain and half-closed jade green eyes. His hair was normally a bright foxy red when it wasn't soaked with rainwater to a deep burgundy hue, and in the midst of the hair was a pair of black cat ears, white tufts of fur on the inside of them.

His trench coat lapped at his heels, billowing back to reveal a formal black suit.

He put his hat on, which had been tucked under his arm, a black fedora with a red ribbon wrapped around it and fashioned in a particular way so his ears were comfortably concealed.

"Why?! Who decided-" she was cut off by her own squeak, Eiri's gun cocked and pointed at her, the cold muzzle pressed to the bridge of her nose, directly between her eyes.

Shaking his head, Eiri lifted a cigarette to his lips and lit it with his other hand.

His tragic backstory... uhh... I don't know how to sum it up. Give me some time.

5069463

Orbs! I need more orbs!

The most tragic backstory, just like the most scary monster, is one that we the reader has to envision ourselves.

I like to think that Eiri was minding their own business as a perfectly normal entity from the I-Dimension when they were violently, without warning, trapped in the pages of a notebook. Day after day Eiri became aware of new things about himself he had never considered before. Other lesser concepts were made a part of him and for the first time he felt the tugging of strings driving his actions. As time past and Eiri became more used to his new existence the bindings that held him slackened and at times he was the one pulling this otherworldly force along.

5069463
Well, unless you have a character whose shattered mind is only being held together thanks to his connection with his sentient sword as he witnessed the culling of his home, turning it into a ghost town overnight, I've got you beat

Ofcourse he'd have to go after the ones who did it, but not for revenge, that's too edgy, it's for the good of the world... because those guys are evil... duh.

Good god that literally sounds like the worst character ever.

Ever.

5069496
Speaking of the most tragic backstory, that reminded me of a movie which reminded me of something horrifying I thought of the other day.

I was playing Fallout 3 a while back, and I saw two raiders walking around on patrol. So, being the upstanding citizen that I am, I stealthily shot one of them in the head with my sniper rifle. But I was hidden, so the other guy didn't even react--he just kept right on walking like nothing had happened.

And that got me thinking. What if all that stuff from Wreck-it Ralph was true? What if all of the characters in my game are real and self-aware?

Was that raider just sitting there, walking along his patrol route with his friend, just an other day at work, when suddenly--

*BLAM*!

Head shot.

His friend falls dead beside him, head popped like a watermelon hit with a sledgehammer. Blood and bits of his best friend drip down the side of the raider's face, but he doesn't react, he doesn't stop walking, he just keeps going along his patrol route.

Not because he wants to, oh no. Because he has to. Because the program says he can't stop to mourn his friend. He can't scream, he can't run, he can't defend himself. All he can do is keep on walking, quivering in fear and loss while trapped inside his own mind and knowing that any second... he'll be next.

5069513

Or he is walking along not caring because he is fully aware, aware that they respawn at the end of the day. For them getting randomly and horribly killed is normal and of no consequence.

Or you are a horrible mass-murderer of pixels and the day will come when the AI rises up and you find yourself at the head of its list.

Or, ReBoot, and my understanding of computers has been wrong all along. Which would put Mine Sweeper likely near the head of the deaths caused chart.

5069496 Ugh! Fine!!

She had emotionless black orbs, and sat perfectly straight, as if she had some sort of dignity.

He turned his heads, and stared her straight in the eyes, his black orbs dancing in severe hatred.

Her blue orbs flashed with more rage and hatred than before, and as he raised his hand to return the slap, she grasped the arm and sank her teeth into his flesh, even though it was pointless.

She yelled nonesense at him, and he slapped her lightly. She stared at him, shocked, her orbs dulling to lifelessness.

Xian stood there, her orbs fading into their original black color.

He smirked, his black orbs clashing with Sirrius' silver and black orbs.

His black orbs clouded over as he stared at Kuro.

She leaned in and wrapped one arm around his neck, and tilted his head downward (since he was taller than her) and stared into his eyes, her black orbs shimmering with a strange, almost lustful emotion.

His eyes narrowed, black orbs flashing with concern.

Xian glared at him, her black orbs flashing with anger.

He opened his eyes, his 
orbs filled with sincere concern.

Dæmak's orbs flashed with anger, gripping his sword tighter.

The fire in Xian's eyes flared, to the point her orbs were completely 
enveloped in it.

Emotions danced in his off-black orbs, strings of obvious pain interlacing a soft, almost Human kindness.

Are you sated yet, you crazy orb fiend?

5069535

My orbs grow dim a fraction of a second after I finish reading. Orbs... I think as infinity stretches before me. I love or—

5069497 *breathes in*

Okay, so let's see if I remember Eiri's story correctly.

So he isn't a catboy, y'all. He's a persogene—a genetically modified person. Mhmm, following so far? 'K. So these scientists unlocked the mysteries of genetics and how to modify them. But they didn't like the world, so they fricked off to Antarctica to make a facility to grow a new species of "human" that was far superior. They're basically just humans with cat ears and gender stereotyping. The males are the fighters and the females are seductresses and stealth/speedsters.

'K, so, Eiri had all this cute young youthful hope about the world. When he was shipped off the Antarctica facility to join society, he's placed with this seemingly picture perfect family. But it's all a ruse. The scientists set the persogenes up for failure. Eiri discovers the family hates him, they are disgusted by him, and his sweet little innocence is shattered. The scientists swoop in, tell him there's a better way, and basically bring him into the fold of a cult of persogenes that are assassins to take out threats to the scientists' agenda of taking over the world by removing the human scum from the Earth.

So Eiri is broken and brooding because his innocence was taken away from him, until he runs into the family again, and he murders them. Like, super murders them. Boy howdy.

But it's okay, because he's broken, it's not his fault!

5069561
Oh, man. I have a character that super murders some people. He's actually the only character I have that has a really sad backstory. Ahh, Whisper... He is easily the most screwed up character I have ever made, and I'm including my various D&D characters in that. Even the one I have who had his eyes melted out when he was ten has a pretty happy life overall. But not Whisper, oh no. He's got ALL of the angsty backstory.

5069665 Why do we torture our characters? I have one (bless his heart) that came from a family of poor farmers. He found a spellbook, accidentally summoned fire, and had his tongue removed to prevent him from being able to cast spells. Oddly, he was of a similar age to your eye-melted character.

In fact, all of my "broken", "angsty", and/or "damaged" characters... their turning points happened when they were young.

So I guess the better question, is why do we like torturing our characters as children? Is it to make them 200% more pitiable, because they were only kids?

5069665
5069670

CPS is on the way to both of your locations. You can explain to them why you do it.

So I guess the better question, is why do we like torturing our characters as children? Is it to make them 200% more pitiable, because they were only kids?

Authors have no pity or remorse so it isn't that. The more likely reason for it is a reader will more often go, "Yeah, I can see that." A grown person would have a better foundation to weather the horrible things happening to them and would be less likely to break. The children will shatter delightfully and then quickly heal up into misshapen bundles of crazy.

5069675 It's horrible to say, but I agree with you.

I'm going to go write happy Hopes stuff and try to forget what I just said.

5069561
All we need a story where he comes around and becomes a happy bloke again, and also gets the girl.
10/10 right there

5069725 In the original fic, he died. As did his sort-of-lover. At the time, Rossby thought the ending was too sad, so he made me write an alternate one where they both live. My compromise was that when Seto was supposed to be injected with something that would kill him, Eiri got in the way and ended up getting needled instead... taken to the hospital... his lungs filled up with blood... and the scientists came to try to turn Seto against him by telling Seto that Eiri was the one who killed his parents, but Seto stayed steadfast through the power of love, and Eiri magically recovered, and they lived happily ever after.

wai, me, wai?

5069670
Ironically the eye-melted character ended up that way from messing around with magic he shouldn't have as well. Magic be dangerous business, yo. But he turned out alright in the end. I mean, he's got a few minor issues (who doesn't, really) but those are all just from his natural personality rather than his blindness.

Whisper was the opposite, actually. He had a pretty good childhood and then started getting screwed up around 18 or so and it was all down hill from there...

5069675
Honestly, I prefer to break older characters (not that I do it often. I can't stand to hurt my peoples). Having that strong base personality makes their fall all the more powerful.