Trisphee - Jibber-jabber?

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School puts stress on me so my thoguhts go jumble mumble and nothing ever seems good. -sighs-
-hides away, starting to get disappointed with her self- <o<;
-goes to uplaod more photos on dA- At least something I don't judge my self for much, lol.

I haven't had a teacher assign me fiction to write since... eight grade?

That's six years.

All of my writing assignments were for essays.

Well, I tell a lie. I took a creative writing class, but the writing pieces weren't assigned. It was just "write a poem" and you wrote a poem.

I loved that class. But I can't seem to motivate myself to write in my free time, or stop writing in my head and start putting it on paper.

I actually have a few pieces of my writings from High school that survived being in my gaia journal. I have one that I wrote after one of the standardized testing things.

The bodies of my fallen brothers littered the battlefield. The dry soil of this wasteland absorbed their blood with a great thirst. Enemy shots still tore through the air, bullets struck the ground near my feet.
An allied jet flew from behind us, toward the enemy strong hold, an explosion soon followed when a missile made contact on the base. The enemy fire had ceased for a moment, until a rookie soldier let out a cheer, only to join the list of K.I.A. when a sniper shot made impact on his forehead.
The remaining troops of our platoon took cover, with an enemy sniper our lives was in their hands. Soon the ground shook, entering the battle from or line was the piece of equipment that would tip the scales of battle in our favor. It shot the large explosive toward the resistant army. Smoke flooded the ground from the shot.
The sound of the tank rolling forward covered the sound of gunfire. When the dust began to settle, the rookie's corpse caught my eye. It was in the path of the tank's treads. I reached out to pull his body out of the path when a sharp, burning pain tore through my left shoulder. My rifle fell to the ground, the wound stung with the gathering of sweat and dirt settled within.
The tank stopped rolling, it's cannon turned to the direction of where the shot had came from. A shot from the long barrel left a small crater within the ground beneath us. Hoping the shot connected with the sniper, I reached out with my right hand to grasp the fallen brother by the collar. With my left arm currently detained, I had to push with my legs to retrieve the corpse.
I had saved the boy's body for the box trip home. The tank had moved closer to the enemy base when the scales tipped back into their favor. The large piece of equipment exploded. A mine had been triggered, resulting in the destruction of the machine, and death of two soldiers.
Our numbers were falling quickly, while theirs seemed to double. Radio silence broke, the order to retreat had been sent. Only thing harder than combat was trying to run from it. Our troops began to take off towards where we had been dropped off, expecting to see our rescuers on the heliport. It was there, for what seemed to be an eternity while I was running to it, with the rookie soldier's corpse over my shoulder.
Suddenly I had fallen, due to a great force against my back. When I managed to look back towards the chopper, it had already began to take off. Other soldiers that had not been able to reach it stood idly by, until the bullet fire struck them, the enemies had followed us. Then the worst thing occurred, the departing helicopter was struck by a bazooka shot. It burst into flames and fell with an explosion.
My eyes searched for other allied troops. They found none living. I crawled to a large boulder, to conceal myself from the enemies' sight, for the time being. The rookie's body laid only a few meters from me, he was on his chest. I saw what had knocked me down. Bullet holes covered the rookie's back, it had acted like a shield for me. A quote I had read when I was younger flashed through my mind, "A dead man's gift only leads me to suffering," and it soon came true. June 26, 2012, has been named the worst day of my life.
The only thing I remember after seeing the rookie's body, was the enemy soldiers rushing around the fallen troops, taking their equipment and dog tags, only giving them a bullet in their head in exchange. Then the enemy troop yelled something, I can't remember what, probably something about me being alive, followed by me being struck in the face with the butt of his rifle. I awoke in this dark, death stench room.

Oh my gosh, how can such pretty flower be called something so creepy as hydrangea? =0= It make think of some... I don't know, sickness. >o>

I... am not going to post my writing here. xD

I'm sure no one cares.

also:

vBulletin exceeded its bandwidth, eh?

Oh. I suppose that's a good for a story of such theme.
Funny as it is, it was Twilight that inspired me to try first person writing and I actually like it. The first person view, not the Twilight, I mean. XD
I like to get too much in the head of my characters which seems weird in 3rd person, but normal in 1st. I like to look at the world trough their eyes, literally. I suppose it's harder that way, but I still like it.

Me cares, Plushie!

-won't show hers because it wouldn't make sense without whole chapter posted and that's too long and it's kinda crappy- >o<;
-so shall stop talking about her experiences, too-

I can post an old poem-thing I tried to retranslate recently, though.

Twilight is something I'll never put my hands on...

I like messing around with person/tense. One of my favorite things to do is make it seem like one person is narrating when that's not the case, or make it seem like the story is taking place in third-person when it's not, or the past when it's the present.

I took a creative writing class in college. I wanted to write genre fiction, but the class consisted of half poety and half realistic fiction. We were forbidden to write genre fiction. I was not impressed.

That's poop. And I just wont write poems. Eew. I don't hate them I just hate writing them myself.

That's cool, Plushie. O:

Ahaha, everyone was so into it, I had to see what's so great about it, so I can decide for my self. At first, it didn't seem so crappy, but it got worse and worse.... and so much worse I think it couldn't go further more. >o>

Aw, Sei. D:

We were allowed to write pretty much anything in my creative writing class.

My favorite piece was probably the flash-fiction piece I did.

It's like, a vague story in less than three hundred words that's supposed to shock the viewer at the end.

Also, I love poetry. :>

Poetry is such a forgiving medium. It can be anything you want it to be, and as long as you're not trying for one of the structured poetic styles, you can make you poem into whatever you wish and no one can tell you it's wrong. It might not flow correctly, it might be trite or dull, but it can't be wrong.

I just rather say what I think normally rather than making it some magical stuff.

I haven't been "taught" to write poetry, I just write down my thoughts and sometimes they turn out poem-like.
I promise to never post anything again, but this is the old poem-thing I talked about previously. x3
It has a melody too, in Latvian version. <o<; And probably tons of grammar/logic errors in English.

My poems would probably just sound like rants.

Well, as long as you get them out, it's all good.
I have plenty of poems I probably wouldn't show anyone, especially since no one would get them or just roll eyes at me/look at me as freak. I don't really care about it, but what's the point of specially trying to summon that, unless you want to shock someone?

Yes, well, that's the difference between writers and the rest. xD

I appreciate when people can bend words and meaning and make them into something else, or use structure and spelling to say something other than what the words on the page say. I love symbolism and puns and wordplay, pretty much every form of literary figures of speech, and... words. Pretty much, I just like words. And languages. And how effective certain words can be in certain situations. I like the psychology of them and how some words can make you angry or docile without really saying anything different.

Like I was reading in this book on rhetoric and debate, the use of "passive voice" often lulls a debate partner into a false sense of security and brings down their guard while still setting your point. And the use of "blame words" like "you" will make them angry, even if the topic isn't actually about them. It's just an automatic response to those words.

EDIT:

And rants sometimes make the best poems, to be honest.

Yes. Yes. C: Words are amazing. Language is amazing. =*-*= I find it fascinating what words can do, create and destroy. That's why I would like to work with them, even if only as translator. I like to notice the "signatures" and "tones" of people who write, even if it's regular chat. It gives insight in person more than they sometimes realize. I don't try to give other tone to my self, though, I probably could, 'cause I don't have to hide anything.

...I wrote a poem about words. :>

xD

I wanna read, haha. x3

Hmm...

Maybe I will put my stuff in the Writer's Diary section as a portfolio.

I was always rather afraid to do it because people might be all "this sucks, how are you a writer for the site?"

I would be afraid of the same thing + possible stealing (bad experience), but I am pretty sure no one would go like that. XD

No one would steal my work lmfao.

There'd be no point of it. It's not as if my brain produces Harry-Potter-Fame-Level writing. I will never be able to make billions off of what I write, and no one else will be able to either.

Hmmm...

-goes to make a portfolio, she supposes.-

Well, there are sometimes some jerks... -wrote a story for her "friend's" enjoyment and she totally stole it ._.- And... some of my poetry has been stolen, too, but that was even heavier case. -sighs-

Well, even if they do steal it... what for? They might be able to enter a contest with it or something and win some sort of prize, but most contests only accept pieces that have never been entered into contests before. And if they try making a "career" off the writing, there'd be no way to duplicate the style.

Well, I was 14 at that time... and she showed it off as her work in school. ._. And got good grades for it. Dx
And the other case... I have no idea. That person just did. She took my poems, slightly redid them and then published. ._.
I don't enter writing contests, ever. -is fail-

You we're just extremely unlucky. Why didn't you go to court with them? Well if you had the original. I sure as hell would. I'd make sure they would get debts they could never pay off. It may seem harsh but hey, stealing is stealing.

I've entered contests.

I think they're fun.

And they've made me... $500 in total. So, yay! :3

And how did she get published? In the newspaper or something? Because I know for a fact that no one publishes poetry from first-timers. Unless they're poetry-dot-com, but they're a bunch of scam artists and I want them to burn in the fiery pits of Hell so they don't count.

... I couldn't, for multiple reasons. In first case we both were underaged, too, and it wasn't worth it anyways. It's not like I even could afford that, lmao.
But since then, I am a little paranoid about showing my writing. I keep telling my self no one needs/wants it, but...

I think some people steal cause they are jealous. My friend decided to hate drawing cause she never become better than me. She was better on all other subjects but drawing she just couldn't beat me at and that made her pissed. She never stole my drawings though she just decided to be a bitch about it. It was the same thing with video games.

Well. It was my Literature teacher in second case.
._.
She got a poetry book published from her own money (not first one). She also let me publish some of my poems in it.
And then I got the book and... saw the poems. It was shock.
She was one of the few people I kinda trusted. it hurt. But I had to get good grades for graduating and she was the good, nice person, everyone would be like "wuh, no ways"... It would be too much of hassle. ._.

If honestly she "got inspired" from many poets. >o>
... I don't really want to talk about it anymore. I kinda still feel hurt, since it happened just this February. ._. Our relationships quickly turned for the worst, 'cause there were some other argues and... well, yeah.

-hides in cloud and hums- theme chaaange.

lmfao.

Self-publishing (publishing from your own money/paying a small publishing house to print your book) is not really publishing at all. Sorry, it's a scam, too. Your teacher got her just deserts in the end just by self-publishing the book.

If the publishing house isn't paying you, you're not really published. You might as well go to the office supplies store and bind the books yourself for all the good it'll do. And then, for good measure, pay everyone you come across to read it or take it off your hands.

@Yuki:

Yes, thievery is the highest form of flattery. Chances are, if someone stole your work, they were just jealous they couldn't do the same or better.

What matters to me is that they're out in the book format, she has gifted them to friends and even sold some part to random people. And, heck, I don't care about the publishing fact so much as the fact she did it in the first place. It could as well be written on toilet paper and handed out some people and it was still wrong of her to do it.

Well of course no it's still not okay but kids do stupid things like that. If adults do it they deserve no mercy. :/

Sadrain@ Well obviously she is a bitch. I'm sure she knows it as well. She must not care though.

I fret if only this or that wasn't inspired by something I have read so no one could say I am not original, that I am stealing stuff, but she blatantly went out and stole it. Ugh.
Okay, I am gonna be quiet now.

Her victory is hollow. She's showing off the poetry to her friends and family with pride she doesn't possess, because she knows the poetry isn't hers. It's completely worthless. She paid for something that's worthless, she knows it's worthless. I bet every compliment is probably like a knife to the gut for her, but she keeps on lying to her self and others because she thinks that's what she needs to feel accomplished.

I find her story extremely sad, to be honest. The fact that she self-published stolen poetry speaks volumes about how low her self-esteem must be. She might not show it, but obviously the woman is full of self doubt and self loathing to the point where she just thought seeing her name in print would make it "better", no matter what the name was attached to.

It's a pity that you got hurt in all the mess, but just know that you still came out the better in the end of it all. You wrote poetry that someone thought was good enough to steal and be used as a source of pride and attention.

Yeah...one day she might realize "omg what the fuck did I do" and there's nothing she can do to be forgiven or make it undone.