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I have no idea if this would catch on, but does anyone think it would be a good idea to have a thread for creative writing? Short stories, poems, scripts, a random scene you wrote when you were bored. I think the risk is pretty low that someone on here steals your work.

Or "I wrote this for school/work, what do you guys think?"

Anyone?

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I'm interested - as you may know I'm looking to get into univeristy for Creative writing. To be honest, though, I typically don't like to put my work out there (mostly because I'm overly critical about it). However, I'd enjoy reading others work, and maybe I'd draw up something special for this purpose that I wouldn't mind propping out for anyone to read.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Here's a cute ballet I wrote back in grade 7 or 8 for our poetry assignment:

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Simple Times

I’m always looking up; my neck is really sore,

I wish I were big enough to open up the door,

My stomach is growling, I’d really like a snack,

And I know what is in the cupboard way at the back.

I’d really like those chocolate cookies, in the cupboard, at the back.

Why does it have to be so high, it really isn’t fair,

I’ve looked around the kitchen, I think I’ll use the chair,

I thought this would be faster, but it really weighs a ton,

This dragging, pulling, pushing is really not much fun.

I’d really like those chocolate cookies, in the cupboard, at the back.

I put my belly on the chair and lift with all my might,

I stand up straight and look around, there’s still no one in sight,

I wonder what my mom would say if she could see me now,

I’d like to think that she’d be proud, but she’d probably have a cow.

I’d really like those chocolate cookies, in the cupboard, at the back.

My father’s just the opposite, I’m sure that he would smile,

And as I’m looking all around, I can see for a mile,

The counter top is full of stuff I’ve never ever seen,

And looking out the window I see places I’ve never been.

I’d really like those chocolate cookies, in the cupboard, at the back.

I can not believe I almost forgot what I’m doing here,

And looking at the cupboard the cookies are so near,

I reach inside and grab the sack,

I get back down and have my snack.

I finally have those chocolate cookies from the cupboard, at the back.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Anyone else suddenly hungry?

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Maca's post made me remember I have some old English assignments in my gmail account from high school, here's a really stupid play I wrote. It's about the Boston Red Sox saving the President. It was written maybe a month after they won the World Series in 04. I'm pretty sure I killed Derek Jeter in this story or something, I forget what happens. Kind of long so only read if you've got the time.

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Setting: A dark night in Boston, Massachusetts. It’s a clear summer night, seemingly perfect. There is a baseball game at Fenway Park and the whole city is excited because the New York Yankees have come to town.

Manny – Boston Left Fielder

Johnny – Boston centre Fielder

Curt – Boston Pitcher

Derek – New York Shortstop

George – American President

Terrorist 1

(The scene starts with a view from above Fenway. It’s the 7th Inning Stretch)

Public Service Announcer: Ladies and Gentlemen! Please welcome your president of the United States to sing “Take Me Out To The Ball Game”…Mr. George Bush!

(George walks out the pitcher’s mound. Johnny and Manny are talking in the dugout)

Johnny: This is pretty cool, eh? (motions towards the president) Having the president at Fenway to sing?

Manny: I guess. It’d help if he was not wearing that Yankees hat.

(Johnny looks on in shock)

Johnny: He does realize he is in Boston and not New York, right? He could get killed out there.

(George is continuously booed, there seems to be technical problems with the microphone)

Manny: Man, this is taking forever. (looks around the stadium) Hey, what are those guys doing up there? Secret Service?

Johnny: No, they told us where they would be before the game and that is not it.

(Manny runs out of the dugout and borrows some binoculars from a fan)

Manny: Johnny, they have guns!

Johnny: No way! We have to tell someone!

Manny: I doubt we have enough time. We have to think of something, quick!

(Johnny and Manny start moving around the dugout frantically. This alerts the rest of the team. Curt moves in to find out what is going on)

Curt: Manny…Johnny…What the hell are you guys doing?

Manny: Think of a way to take someone out on the upper deck, fast!

Curt: (smirks)…considering I am one of the greatest to ever pitch in this league, I do not think I would know how. (laughs)

Johnny: We do not have time for this Curt. We think the president is about to be assassinated!

Curt: Like I care, I voted for Kerry.

Manny: Curt!

Curt: Ok Ok. Manny, Didn’t you just blast one over there the other night against the Braves?

Manny: Yeah….

Curt: Could we not just set that up again?

Johnny: You know Manny, it sounds really crazy and highly unbelievable but it just might work.

Manny: I guess….

Curt: Come on Manny, you can be hero here.

Manny: I’d rather be a hero by getting a World Series MVP or something…wait, I already did that. Well, It’s worth a shot. Hehe, Aren’t I punny?

(Curt and Johnny shake their heads in disgust)

Manny: Fine…lets just get this done so we can kill the Yankees again.

Curt: Sounds good to me!

Johnny: Man, we are really lucky that there are still problems with that microphone. What a weird and downright lucky time for that to happen.

Curt: We can just pretend we are putting a show on for the fans while they work on it.

(Curt and Manny walk out to the mound. Curt gets his footing while Manny digs in at the plate. The fans realize what is going on and cease their booing. Their two heroes are out there now and they are going nuts)

(View changes and the audience gets their first look at the terrorist. He’s masked and speaks broken English)

Terrorist: Ah…I am ready now. The American pig-dog shall pay for his sins! I will be rewarded for my efforts back in my homeland. These fools have no idea what I am about to do.

(The Terrorist loads his rifle and cocks it. He pulls the trigger but it gets stuck)

Terrorist: Damn it! How terrible unlucky of me. I hope nothing weird and unbelievable happens while I fix this problem.

(Scene changes back to Curt and Manny)

Curt: Alright, I will make it easy on you

(Curt lobs a pitch towards home plate. Manny crushes it with perfect precision. It hits the terrorist directly in the face just as he is about fire. The gun careens to the right and a shot is fired.)

Derek: Oh My God! My hand! My hand has been shot! There is a hole right through my hand!

(In their hatred of the Yankees, the Boston fans laugh hysterically at the demise of the Yankees franchise player. Just then, they are able to get the microphone working.)

George: Thank you Manny and Curt. I have no doubt in my mind that bullet was meant for me but considering this is the Yankees and Red Sox, who knows? (laughs) You have done a very great and heroic thing, a service to your country. You will no doubt be rewarded. Now ladies and gentlemen, I believe I have a song to sing. But I have one more thing to do (He takes Yankees hat off and throws it to the dirt. He pulls out a Red Sox hat and slides it on proudly. The crowd is ecstatic. George then starts into the song way off tune but the crowd does not care. They cheer on anyway. Scene fades out)

------------------------------------------------------------

And just noticed the mark was e-mailed back to me. 90%, lost marks cause I didn't use square brackets. She was a bitch anyway. I also just remembered I got a poem printed in a book when I was in grade 10, it was actually about the Avalanche. I don't know if I still have it anywhere though.

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Haha, I love the irony of Curt voting for Kerry. :lol:

I used to love creative writing, despite being a math person. I pissed off one of my teachers back in the day because I shunned "Math Counts" for "Power of the Pen" for my elective. I got to go to a competition as an alternate once and can still remember one of the stories I wrote. It was about a guy who wakes up on a deserted island and has to live a hard life on his own until he dies, only to wake up and find only a few hours have passed. Turns out it was all a simulation as punishment for a crime. 5-6 years later I'm going through watching all the episodes of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and I come across the episode which I apparently totally ripped off.

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I used to love creative writing, despite being a math person. I pissed off one of my teachers back in the day because I shunned "Math Counts" for "Power of the Pen" for my elective. I got to go to a competition as an alternate once and can still remember one of the stories I wrote. It was about a guy who wakes up on a deserted island and has to live a hard life on his own until he dies, only to wake up and find only a few hours have passed. Turns out it was all a simulation as punishment for a crime. 5-6 years later I'm going through watching all the episodes of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine and I come across the episode which I apparently totally ripped off.

Ever seen Dark City?

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Mirror Me Silly

These snow covered caterpillars

Have some messages to deliver

They’re in little white envelopes

And they bear the stamp of hope

Slowly gliding towards their goal

Their might, it can chase any soul

Their sight in your tracks you will stop

Raise your fear until sweat drop

They’re on a path of redemption

Desired flight since conception

Symmetrical halves ring true

Fills the world with the brightest blue

Mirror me silly if I’m wrong

Wings to fly me where I belong

I’m self centered like the sun

Cocooned here for my time is done

Why is it we always struggle?

Even when we’re not in trouble?

Hide away from world’s natural light,

Curled up tight and full of fright

Listen to their encouragement

Break out of this establishment

Free yourself and fly, fly, fly

You’ll never know if you don’t try

These snow colored caterpillars

Their messages now delivered,

They wear the little blue wings

And forever follow all of their dreams.

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  • 4 weeks later...

The Sleepless Nights of Georges Laraque

Practice had been good that day. The leaders had been leading, the skaters had been skating, the coaches had been coaching and a limited amount of convicted mobsters had been allowed within the impressive, new training facility Habs owner George Gillette had had built in Brossard, Quebec. Each player seemed to be utterly focused on preparing himself for the next game. All but one. In the corner of the rink, all by himself, troubled and saddened, danced the hulking Georges Laraque, raining down punches upon a mob of invisible assailants. He continued to train tirelessly, wowing the felons in the crowd that had managed to attend, his body a citadel of strength, his braids a chique example of modern fashion. Flexing, bending, jumping. Ceaseless, tireless, faultless. And yet despite the man's superhuman pugilistic abilities, the man seemed to take no pride from his incredible skill level at his job. He seemed to be... was it possible?... sad?

Mercifully for Georges, Carbo's whistle blew, signalling the end of the practice. The rest of the team, however, was commenting on how disappointed they were to be prevented from continuing their training, which they, of course, took very seriously indeed. (This is not to say that none of the younger players ever explored the wide variety of options that the Montreal nightlife presents, but these occasional excursions did not seem to be taking any toll, mental or physical, on their persons.) As the players made their way toward the dressing room, accepting a jovial pat on the backside from their captain and mentor, Saku Koivu, they spoke of trivial matters, some doing their best attempt at a re-enactment of the Ryan O'Byrne own goal, others exchanging pieces of juicy team gossip.

"Hey," called Andrei Kostitsyn amiably, "Roman, has Pasquale given you--"

"...the address of the warehouse we're all meeting at tonight?" Finished Sergei. The brothers had an annoying habit of finishing each others sentences.

"Yeah," responded the Czech veteran, "but the place is right near Red Fisher's house. We're going to need to be super discreet if we don't want any of the paparazzi to notice us."

"Okay, sounds good. I'll see if I can get Kovy to fly us in with his--"

"...personal jet. We should be safe from the media that--"

"...way."

For Laraque, however, this trip to the showers was only another reason to slump his shoulders and stare at his feet. It was in this manner that he bumped into the younger Kostitsyn and brought the above conversation to a halt. The three Europeans instantly rounded on the big enforcer. It was Hamrlik that spoke first:

"Ew, get away you dirty enforcer. I thought we told you last time that if you want to shower after practice, you're going to have to do it in the urinal. We don't let useless goons like you onto the real team."

"But... I want to be included too. I'm a nice guy and I contribute heavily to charity. I'm not like all the other goons! I play a respectful brand of hockey and follow a strict code of morals." This last point referred to both his honourable fighting tactics and his deep-rooted Puritanical beliefs.

"Ha ha!" Laughed the Brothers Kostitsyn. "As if a violent fighter like you could be a gentle hum--"

"...an being. We don't use our fists to make a living, we have to use our brains. Why don't you quit this game and--"

"...go become a construction worker!" The trio stalked off, leaving Big Georges all by himself.

"But I only want to prove that I'm not just a fighter. For the first time, I want to really accomplish something in my life. But none of my teammates like me because I'm an enforcer. Don't they see that I only fight when my opponent accepts my challenge and that I never hit when the other player isn't ready?" His speech continued on in this fashion for quite some time until Francis Bouillon, the last man to leave, awakened him with some fresh harsh words.

"What the hell are you dreaming about, goon? Practice is over and you know you're not supposed to be in the showers with us."

"You too? But we're both Quebeckers. I thought maybe you'd be willing to be my friend and defend me against all the bullies in the locker room."

"Not for your salary, I wouldn't. You're pathetic; I thought you were an enforcer! Why don't you just bash their heads in like a young Gregor Clegane? You know what, that's précisement why you're so useless on this team. Look at me, I'm three quarters of a foot shorter than you, with a dick a sixth of the size, yet I stand up for my teammates while you follow your stupid code."

This remark hurt Georges specially because of his devotion to his religion and the Zen-like state that compliance with his customs had always placed him in. Did he really want to compete in an industry that pressured him to give up his ideas about civility, respect and fair play, all to gain the respect of a few teammates? It was, he decided, an impossible situation, and because of this, he shook his shaggy head, letting his spectacular braids snap and twirl in the air.

"Can't a guy be a tough hockey player and a nice guy?"

As an answer, Bouillon headbutted him in the jaw and walked out of the showers, exasperated.

That night was a difficult one for Big Georges who had had trouble sleeping all season. Sometimes he would get up and play Dance Dance Revolution. He was not particularly good but he had noticed that the game was improving his footwork. One practice, after playing sixth dances straight the previous night, he had managed to pass Jaroslav Halak in one of the skating drills. He was so euphoric after this feat that he forgot to take in the fact that the young netminder was decked out in full goalie gear. On other nights, he would call up Bob Gainey and pester him about his role on the team. Although Gainey was one of the few people in Montreal that had earned his respect and admiration, Georges still felt that his answers were often not very helpful.

"######, again? Georges, we brought you in to crack skulls open. What part of cracking skulls open is confusing you? That's your damn role. Call me in middle of the night again and I'll send the Kozfather out to crack yours. Come to think of it, I really do need that cap space if I want to haul in Jokinen..."

"I win more of my fights than anyone else in the league, I just want to be a useful hockey player as well."

"Well guess what? You're NOT useful. Get over yourself and start taking lives. You're a goon and you always will be. Nothing more. A disgraceful, violent, disrespectful, talentless GOON!"

"That can't be true. I follow my code, I give to charity, I never fight without consent, I..."

But by this time, Gainey had already been in tears of laughter.

"Alright, alright, that's enough already. An enforcer with a code! Well, my harmless mouse, I congratulate you in advance on your certain Lady Byng win."

"Carbo told me I could play against Philadelphia! I'll show you."

"What? The guy's my friend but this is the last straw, he's gotta go. The Montreal pressure's clearly gotten to his head."

The following morning, Big Georges woke up determined and confident. He had been reading self-help books by one Kieran Hawking and had finally built up the strength to stand up to his teammates. Having already murdered the old fourth line and dumped their bodies in Pasquale Mangiola's basement he knew that he would be getting a rare chance to play the game.

When the magic moment finally came for Georges to take his first shift (this was at 18:26 of the second period), he jumped over the boards, choke slammed Riley Cote with his right hand while simultaneously blasting a slap shot top corner with his left. He skated over to the bench feeling happier than he'd been in months but none of his teammates congratulated him for the effort. Laraque's second shift came at the midway mark of the third period with the Habs on the penalty kill. Big Georges was on the ice for eight seconds before splicing Scott Hartnell from his soul. He promptly picked up the loose puck and hustled down the ice. Being a bigger guy, this run of glory took up the remaining 9:52 of the period, but it resulted in another slap shot goal, this one piercing threw three Flyers bodies on its way to the back of the net.

Big Georges Laraque winded up being the first star of the game, finally having proven to the world that he was more than just a nice enforcer. The next day he was busted for being on steroids, denied it, was tried for perjury and winded up in prison with the notorious Blaze as a cellmate. Try as attorney-at-law Alex Stream might, he could not get the jury to overturn the decision. Furthermore, without his steroids, Laraque lacked his old ability to rip the bars off their moorings and bust out of jail. Trapped, he finished his life in jail with Blaze, still saddened, still troubled, but never again alone.

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Sometimes he would get up and play Dance Dance Revolution. He was not particularly good but he had noticed that the game was improving his footwork. One practice, after playing sixth dances straight the previous night, he had managed to pass Jaroslav Halak in one of the skating drills. He was so euphoric after this feat that he forgot to take in the fact that the young netminder was decked out in full goalie gear.

LOL. Best part by far. I can definitely picture the joy on Laraques face if this ever happened. :P

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The Sleepless Nights of Georges Laraque

"######, again? Georges, we brought you in to crack skulls open. What part of cracking skulls open is confusing you? That's your damn role. Call me in middle of the night again and I'll send the Kozfather out to crack yours. Come to think of it, I really do need that cap space if I want to haul in Jokinen..."

That's right, that's my week-end job. But I'm thinking of quitting, Gainey wont let me crack Koivu's skull open. I told him. "Bob, I'll even do it for free! For the good of the team, you know we're better without him." He said I was right, but acted all paranoiac and was whispering stuff about "Gillett's men are everywhere" and "Even his wife doesnt know"...

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LOL

man, awesome, you have so much time on your hands?! :P

next time I'd like a bigger role please ;)

I now understand everything going on with the habs though...

Saku Koivu the mentor.

the Kost bros, aka the mob bullies

BGL, the sad giant

etc

:lol:

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LOL

man, awesome, you have so much time on your hands?! :P

March break, man. I hope to write more in the next week.

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  • 4 months later...

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