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 Creative Writing

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Anathema
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Nombre de messages : 231
Date de naissance : 09/12/1991
Age : 25

MessageSujet: Re: Creative Writing   Mer 25 Nov - 1:09

N'est ce pas ? Tout ce qu'on peut faire dans les prisons comme histoires... (d'ailleurs, j'adore la réplique de Teddy que tu a cité. C'est juste trop drôle.)

Oui je l'ai rendu mais vu que c'était à rendre le lundi matin 10h30 et que je l'ai finit le lundi matin à 3h01...
De toute façon je dois le réécrire pour lundi.

Non même pas, elle est toute jeune et tout, 30 ans a tout casser... D'ailleurs elle avait apprécié mon "red hot juice" pour le sang, donc je m'étais dis que bon...
Après, je crois qu'elle est américaine, peut être que le référence au sexe la choque...
Peut être n'at-elle pas compris juste parce qu'elle a pas osé lire le passage en entier (c'est l'impression que j'ai eu en tout cas).
Et elle veut que je rende ça "plus clair".
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La Halfeline
Prophète de Lilith
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Nombre de messages : 1973
Date de naissance : 28/08/1987
Age : 30
Localisation : La Comté-Franche

MessageSujet: Re: Creative Writing   Mer 25 Nov - 1:33

Ah ben comme ça ma correction aura quand même servi à quelque chose. Smile

Citation :
Peut être n'at-elle pas compris juste parce qu'elle a pas osé lire le passage en entier (c'est l'impression que j'ai eu en tout cas).
Et elle veut que je rende ça "plus clair"
Lol !! Si tu dois rendre ça plus clair il va falloir lui faire un dessin de pénis en annexe !
En même temps, si elle n'avait pas osé affronter le passage, elle ne t'aurait pas donné comme consigne de l'expliciter, non?

Mais franchement, Ana, si tu fais plus clair, ce sera plus une blague. Même pour moi, qui ne suis pas native, c'était limpide. Explique-lui juste de quoi il retourne entre adultes. Dis "male genitals", ça fera très professionnel. Wink

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Anathema
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Nombre de messages : 231
Date de naissance : 09/12/1991
Age : 25

MessageSujet: Re: Creative Writing   Mer 25 Nov - 1:42

Bah oui je sais bien... En plus je la trouvais marrante moi cette blague... Bah, je la laisse, de toute façon, elle est maman depuis pas longtemps alors je suppose qu'elle en a vu d'autres (haha).

Merci en tout cas, de ton avis éclairé. Je suis rassuré à vrai dire.
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La Halfeline
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Nombre de messages : 1973
Date de naissance : 28/08/1987
Age : 30
Localisation : La Comté-Franche

MessageSujet: Re: Creative Writing   Mer 25 Nov - 1:44

Tu sais, depuis l'immaculée conception, on ne peut plus se fier à personne.

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Anathema
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Nombre de messages : 231
Date de naissance : 09/12/1991
Age : 25

MessageSujet: Re: Creative Writing   Dim 29 Nov - 19:33

Retravaillé un peu mon texte.
Re gros merci Half, parce que tes corrections m'aident vraiment, d'une part à avoir un meilleur texte mais aussi à comprendre les erreurs et éviter de les refaire.

First Scene.

Pete : Lawyer. Slim, nervous. A brunette. 45 years old but seems older.
Andrea : Cop. Energetic and easy to anger. About 25 years old.
Edward : Private Eye. Dressed in green, always playing with his can. 35.
James : FBI Agent. Bright blue eyes, blond hair, in his early forties.

The room is in plain concrete, light-gray painted, with a table in the center, some chairs around. Against the up-stage wall stands a coffee machine. A red light goes on and off on the wall, above the machine.
In the left corner, up-stage, are a man and a woman, back to the public. They look at something near their feet.

Pete (straightening and turning a bit toward the public): - Do... do you think he's dead ?

Andrea (doing a similar movement) : - Judging by the distance between his body and his head I'd say yes, he is. But you know me, I'm not an expert.

Edward (coming from a door at the opposite of the stage) : - Well well well, Andrea my dear. Would I dare say that you seem a little... sarcastic this evening ? (Content with himself) Yes, I dare !

Pete (faintly, stepping back from the corpse, curling in the corner of the coffee machine) : - Oh my god he's dead.

Andrea (who turned immediately to face Edward) : - What the fuck are you doing here, Edward ? Have you anything to do with the riot ? Or the murder ?

Edward (standing right in the middle of the stage, one hand on the table, the other playing with his cane) : - Really sweety, your actual lack of deductive skills, I mean, a lack even deeper than usual, is scaring me. I, obviously, came here for the sole purpose of interrogating some delinquent individual imprisoned here and... The entire building is in high level alert, the door down the hall, as well as most of the doors of the prison, are presently sealed so I am arh... as you'd say... “stuck” here as you are.

Pete (as faintly as before) : - Dead... he's... he's dead...

Andrea (red with rage, just managing not to shout at him) : - And for the murder ?

Edward (slightly annoyed, contemptuous) : - Oh please, I know you cops are chosen for your lack of brain and bovine behavior but for the love of all dear, stop asking inept questions !

Andrea (goes quickly toward Edward, in large strides, looking like she's about to punch him) : -You little...

James (coming from the same door as Edward before, and staying near it) : - What. Is. Going. On. In. Here ?

Everybody turns to him

Pete (hysterically, shouting really loudly, still hidden from James in his corner) : - He's dead !

James (glares at the coffee machine) : - Who is dead ?

Andrea : - It's none of your damn business ! It's a police business !

James (smiles at her, flirting) : - Oh, I hadn't seen you, lovely lady ! (goes near her, gently takes one of her hands. With a deep and rich voice) Hello you. You see, it's a wonder that this is police business because I happen to be a FBI agent. (shows his badge) I'm Jesse. James Jesse (winks at her) At your service. And, you are... ?

Andrea (very coldly) : - I, mister Jesse, am... a cop. A very pissed off and very not interested at all cop.

James (winks again at her then turns to the others, very cheerful) : - So, where is this corpse ?

Pete (panicking, jumping out of his corner) : - He's here. Ohmygod ohmygod please someone do something !

James (sees him and grins wildly) : - Pete ? You ? Here ? What a delightful surprise ! So, wanna show me our dead buddy ?

Pete (trembling, shows him) : - He's here and... the head is.. is there.

James (goes near him, bends over, staring at the corpse and examining it) : - Well, he sure looks dead ! (beaming)

Edward : - Oh, many thanks to you, Ô great, dashing and clever God of the cluemasters ! Now, I'd like to ask the real question... Was he dead before or after we were the only ones locked up in here ?

Andrea (growling and turning toward James) : - Hey ! It's true ! Where the heck are you coming from, you fucking Fed ?

James (straights himself up, almost jumpily, delighted) : - I was in the... How should I say it to a lady ? Bathroom ? Toilet ? Oh I know ! I was, lovely lady, in the powder room !

Pete (bursts suddenly into a real loud and cackling laugh, hysterically) : - The powder room ! Hahah !

Edward : - Ô dearest Divinities, we are so dead... (slumps onto a chair).

Andrea (clears her voice and her mind by coughing a little and turns to face the public) : - Alright guys ! I propose that, given that we're all suspects, and in that respect unable to properly run the investigation before the end of the riot, we just sit down, waiting for the rescuers to come in.

They all do that. The lights go down, the stage is in the dark, except for the red alarm.

Second Scene.

All the same characters.

They are all sitting around the table, some of them with cups from the coffee machine in front of them. They are all silent and seem bored to death, as if they had been here for hours already.

Pete : - Can't we at least put... something on him ? I... I really can't stand it any more, seeing him rot just there.

Andrea and James (in the same monotonous tone) : - Do not touch or disturb the scene of crime.

Edward (snickering) : - Listen to these brave, self-righteous and well-trained law enforcers...

Andrea and James (simultaneously) : - Shaddap ! (Andrea glares at James who smiles brightly and smugly at her).

Pete : - Hey James... You seem a bit... preoccupied... what's on your mind?

James (looks at him, playful) : - You mean, apart from the whole prison riot and confinement thingy ? (Sighs then says, more seriously) Well, I'm... I'll... It appears that... I think I'm going to be a grandfather.

Pete : - Really ? (all his face lits up) Good news, finally ! So who's the lucky girl who managed to put a hand on your little Dick ?

Everybody stares at him blankly. Pete's face goes all white.

Pete (stammers) : - I... I meant... I didn't mean to... I... It's not what I... I... (shouts) I know that your dick's anything but little !

Edward (shocked, incredulous) : - Pete ? Boss ? Boss what are you sayi...

Pete (panics again) : - I meant... Richard ! Your son ! Richard who's nicknamed Dick ! Like all the Richards ! (breathes with some difficulties)

James (pets kindly Pete's shoulder) : - Don't worry bud...

Andrea (ironical, pissed off and wanting to change the subject) : - Edward old chum ? Would you be so kind as to explain to all of us why you did just call our friend Pete over there “Boss” ?

Edward (tense and defending himself) : - Well Andrea my dear old “I'never'have'no'clue” friend... Of course I've worked for Pete. He's an lawyer after all, and me a private eye. It's only natural that two beings looking for a truth, that none of our beloved so called “detectives” in the police has enough brain cells to find, join forces most of the time. I mean, enough brain cells even if they put them in common.

James (menacing) : - The job that brought you in there in the first place, the interrogation. It was for ol'Pete ?

Edward (stares at James as if he knew something worth blackmailing him. Voice low and full of threatening innuendo) : - Well... It's funny that you ask because... It happens to be a case that you might find... Oh, quite interesting... (as if for himself) Oh yes, quite interesting indeed... and most entertaining too... yeah...

Without being seen, Pete, looking worried, guilty and a bit menacing, is trying to sneak off.

Andrea : - What are you talking abo...

Big noises from the hall, sounding like some prisoners trying to open the sealed door.

James (to the public, in a monotone tone) : - Oh my god... We are going to die...

Lights fall again. End of Act One.
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Anathema
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Nombre de messages : 231
Date de naissance : 09/12/1991
Age : 25

MessageSujet: Re: Creative Writing   Mer 2 Déc - 3:12

Mmmmh... je viens de poster sur LJ l'intégralité de ma nouvelle policière (pas encore corrigée).
Ici.
Pour les curieux.
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Anathema
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Nombre de messages : 231
Date de naissance : 09/12/1991
Age : 25

MessageSujet: Re: Creative Writing   Mar 8 Déc - 3:07

C'est encore moi !

Exercice marrant aujourdhui. "None of them knew the color of the sky" Ecrivez la suite, sur une page entière. Vous avez 20minutes.

Sinon, j'ai rendu ma "short story", écrite en 2heures dimanche soir, completement pas inspirée. Mais le résultat est marrant.



Deep into the darkest alley of the town stood the infamous pub known as the Hanging Wolf.
Inside, it was full of shadows and smoke, coming from the chimney as well as from the many unidentified things smoked by the customers. The roof was low, making the tallest of the people obliged to bend their heads when they were standing. Everybody was speaking in murmurs, and some times groans. The air was full of a smoked, dirty, sweaty scent and of some kind of menace.
In the darkest corner of the room, around a small table made of heavy old wood, were four people, maybe the most dangerous and frightening of all the scum of the world reunited in this pub.
Emerging a bit from the shadows thanks to his enormous stature, was a man in his fifties, who would had been qualified of handsome if it wasn't for his eyes, cold as ice, and the cruel expression of his mouth.
Another distinctive bit of his appearance was the deep, royal blue of his huge beard, cut with art and never receiving the littlest drop from the beer drank with fervor by the giant.
At his right, the back oh his chair against the rocky wall, was a skinny redhead, wearing bright green and white clothes colored in a pied pattern. On his head, something between a hat and a hood shadowed his face. His delicate and long finger were playing with something looking like a little woody bagpipe, the same kind used by berger to make the sheep follow him.
His expression was grim, and the glass of amber alcohol next to him was nearly untouched.
Right in front of him, a nervous little man was moving on his chair, in such a jumpy way that he seemed about to fall at any time. He worn simple but well cut clothes, and an enormous leather belt on which something was written. The huge glass of beer in front of him was empty more because of the amount of brew onto the table that the one in the man's stomach.
The last of the assembly was a little old woman, with a foulard on his hair, a smoking cup of something hot, unknown and highly alcoholic in her hands and seemingly hundreds years of age. She was the only one smiling – or, more accurately, smirking – and seemed pretty much inoffensive.

It was the blue bearded man who spoke first. And, although he as murmuring as all the people in the Hanging Wolf seemed to do, his voice was as deep and rich as the color of his facial hairs.
“- Gentlemen, my lady, I welcome you all of the fairy-tales villains anonymous. I called you to meet here because you are, as far as I know, the more wanted criminals of all the Fable kingdom. To start, I suppose it's better to do some presentations. Do some of you know each other ? Nobody ? Then I'll start.
Some of you may have already heard of me. I'm of a noble blood and had a great wealth. I'm, if you want to put it like that, rather unlucky in love matters. I had a few tens of wifes, all young and beautiful, but none of them was trustful. They called me - can you imagine that ? - a serial killer. Really, me, a noble and important person ! A serial killer... “
He then sighed out of indignation and continued his presentations.
“- You can go, Piper.
- Hello. I am, as our host has just say, a musician. In fact, I used to travel from town to town to honestly gain my life, until some... malicious people tried to cheat on me. Of course, I had to avenge myself, and teach this peasants something they'll not forget soon.
- And what was it ?
- I drowned their kids like I drowned their rats.”
His tone was dry and cold, like he didn't do any difference between children's life and rats'life. The little man – the one who asked the question – seemed shocked but the other two didn't show any signs of emotion. The instigator of the meeting nodded to him and asked to the eldest to be so kind to introduce herself to the others.
She answered in an assured and grinding voice, often sneaking her tongue on her lips.
“They say, about poor old me, that I'm a threat, yeah, a threat. They say I've killed people. I did, oh yes, I did. It were some insolent young fine-looking women, and brash princes, and maybe some servants, I never remember the servants. And they say I plotted against the state ! They call me a terrorist.” She spatted on the floor. “They use this mortal word to qualify my own actions ! No respect for the eldest they have this people ! No respect at all!”
Then she continued to mumble and whisper things, while the blue-bearded host explained that she was indeed accused of terrorist actions and lot of poisonous murders. Then he and the redhead turned to watch the little one, waiting for him to introduce himself.
“- I... I didn't do anything of what they accused me of ! See this belt ? I'm a tailor, and I wrote on it “7 killed in one time !” because it's what I did to some flies ! But they think it was people, and want me in jail. But I'm innocent !
- Really ? Tell the other what you did to the giants.
- The... the giants ? Well... I killed some of them yes but...
- And to the king and the princess ?
- I didn't killed them ! Just... tricked them to... steal their kingdom and wealth. Oh, and I did enjoyed the wedding night too.”
Cutting the tailor from saying things the Piper didn't want to hear, this last one asked, in an angry and a bit nervous tone, to the serial killer, why on Earth he made them come to meet here.
The answer was prompt and full of passion.
“- It is because, gentlemen, I don't believe at all in the changes happening now. Merging our world with the mortals'one ? It is pure craziness. And I'm fairly opposed to the way they treat us, wanting to apply to us the same rules mortals are applying to their one criminals. But we are powerful. If we're together, we can change things ! We can take over the Fable realm and bend it to our wishes. So, are you in ?
- You want to blow up the Fairy Parliament ?”
The witch's question was joyous and hopeful.


A light tune of pipe was heard in the cool morning air. Well, in fact, it could have been heard if it wasn't for all the terrorized screams which filled up the air.
People were running in all directions, trying to avoid the endless army of rats flowing in the place were stood the Parliament. The guards were all occupied to both evacuate the frightened crowed and fighting the enraged vermin.
Using this distraction, a bear-sized man, wearing the same uniform as the guards, was making his way onto the building, carrying a huge barrel. The tailor was ahead of him, talking people into letting them go.
In the street, a bit of meters from the Parliament, the old woman was watching his barrel being taken into the building with an expression of pure delight on her face, and eyes shining with mischief.
Then, singing to herself some childish song, she climbed away, trying very hard not to burst into a cackling laughter.

It had been, in a way, beautiful, reflected the Piper. The colors of the fire, so impressive really. Yellow and orange, amber, blue in the middle, with a bit of emerald green on the edges. And the shape of the explosion, like a big mushrooms, projecting away little bundles of burned fur, and human members too. Projecting rocks and woods, and people. And the perfect fire was purifying the building, sending away waves of hot air, comforting his own rheumatic articulations.
But, thinking about it, he wasn't really sure that dying in the action was part of Bluebeard's plan. Neither that he or the tailor knew what their fate were about to be.
But who cared anyway ? It was, in his mind, some really good joke the Sorceress did to them. Maybe should he try to find her ? Who knew, she may be able to show him some interesting tricks to do with his music. As long as he didn't accept to drink anything from her, he should be fine.
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