story lines free to use

Rainy depressing Sunday here and am stuck on a play and a screen play about college friends who now rob banks. Only thing I wrote all day was; (about a bank robber who is mad about his wife throwing him out)

sing to the tune of "You're still the one"

We've been together since way back when
Sometimes I never want to see you again
But I want you to know, after all these beers
You're still the one I got whisperin' in my ears

You're still the one -- who hogs the bed
Still the one -- that slaps my head
We're still having words, and you're still the one

You're still the one -- that makes me mad
Still the one -- who takes my half
We're still having words, and you're still the one....."

:-||
 
Dan said:
am stuck on a play and a screen play about college friends who now rob banks. Only thing I wrote all day was; (about a bank robber who is mad about his wife throwing him out)
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They do a big job, but are recognized leaving by an old college classmate, who then looks them up and cons them out of the moola.
Or not...

Take er slow and steady brother, it'll come.
 
Oh the horror of the blank page with the cursor winking in the corner :eek:

Writer's block is the pits. I would hate to count the times when I've sat staring at the screen and the words won't come.
On the other hand though when I've been in the groove and the words are flowing like a torrent I can become terribly antisocial and even more than a little ill mannered towards those around me. Flood, fire, the riders of the Apocalypse, - I couldn't care less, all I want to do is write!
 
Intrepid Wheelwoman said:
Oh the horror of the blank page with the cursor winking in the corner :eek:

Writer's block is the pits. I would hate to count the times when I've sat staring at the screen and the words won't come.
On the other hand though when I've been in the groove and the words are flowing like a torrent I can become terribly antisocial and even more than a little ill mannered towards those around me. Flood, fire, the riders of the Apocalypse, - I couldn't care less, all I want to do is write!
Click to expand...

Yes, when you're in the flow the words write themselves as if you are a witness reading as words appear on the screen or typewritten page. Being distracted is a major irritation since you want to find out what happens next, what words will appear to inform. And once distracted those words are gone forever since they were of that moment and none other. New ones will come in a renewed endeavor, but who knows what the lost words might have been?

When I was younger I labored at the written word, but once I no longer "tried" writing became much easier and at times I feel more like the instrument than the writer. I don't know if that makes any sense. Possibly not... ha! Like painting or dancing or singing, writing should be fun... co creating and celebrating the world one word at a time.
SB
 
It's very hot and humid here at the moment which isn't helping any with my fatigue symptoms. Rather than just spend all day flopped out on my bed I'm starting to put together an idea for a story I have which is about living with a disabling illness. Me being me though I've go no interest in writing a biographical story when I can go running off into the wild country of the imagination instead :)
As some of you know I have problems with Narcolepsy which tosses me unexpectedly into full REM sleep which is why I don't drive a car anymore. The basic idea behind my story is that the struggle against illness takes place in a dreamscape rather than the real world, though some connection with the world outside the dreaming does take place.
 
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Interesting, Anne. I wanna read chapter three. also one.
Was imagining another passenger, a tall gentleman with red hair who is a mysterious American, an oilman from Pennsylvania named Marvel, George Marvel, who follows behind our intrepid traveler and guard. He stops and looks back over his shoulder at the rusted railroad iron, giving it a knowing look...pats his leather brief case and continues on to the passenger car. He climbs in and finds his seat, WD-40.
SB
 
Oh delightful, - WD40! I have never laughed so much Silverbear :D

Chapter One is complete and I'm basically happy with it. It's only a short chapter, but in many ways quite personal as I'm writing mostly from my own real time experience and what any author writes is afterall a reflection of themselves. I would only really want those whom I consider to be good friends to read it as it would be very easy to mistake that which is of the story for that which is my actual life experience and make an incorrect conclusion.
Chapter Two needs further work to complete it and Chapter Three only exists in rough notes and in my head. I shall continue to work on my story as it has been rattling around inside of me for far too long.
 
Just across the aisle our Intrepid Train Woman is seated, appearing to look out the window at the train platform, but well aware of the tall man with red hair and of the guard seated in the row behind her. She becomes tense when she notices the man looking at her through mis matched eyes, one a pale blue and the other gray, reminding her of something canine. She almost laughs aloud when she sees him remove a sheep's skin coat as if he has just come back from a bombing mission in WWII and has the thought of his being a wolf in sheep's skin clothing.
"I'm surprised at how hot it is here in January. I had actually thought there might be snow on the ground", he said while stowing the coat in an overhead compartment. She replied mostly to herself, never looking away from the window, "well, this is the southern hemisphere, you know." Seated now, the tall man leaned into the aisle. " Excuse me, but don't I know you? Haven't we met somewhere before?"
She turned away from the window as the train lurched forward, looked at him across the aisle and said, "Yes, Mr. Marvel, in this exact same place the last time I had this dream."
Momentarily taken aback, the tall man smiled at the revelation. "Of course, a recurrent dream! So nice to see you again!"
SB
 
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Anne,
Forgive me for high jacking your dreamscape rail line with my diversionary side track. I want to know more about the tracks rusting away and the disappearing railway stations. I wonder if your rail line leads into... the twilight zone...
Wait! I hear a voice calling out, "All aboard!" Hurry, we don't want to miss our train, do we?

SB
 
Silverbear, it was lovely of you to offer me an ally on my journey into the dreamscape, but this is one story where I have to do all the storytelling. We are getting days with 29 degrees C temperatures and over 80% humidity so during daylight hours I spend most of my time deeply asleep simply because I can't do anything else until the sun goes down and sane temperatures return. It was after I awoke from yet another expedition into the dreamscape that I knew I had to edit away the beginning of chapter two from my original posting.
I can tell you though that the intrepid Somina doesn't get on the train because she wants to explore the extent of the decay that's eating away at the edges of the City. The City has an excellent rail network as you might have gathered and it is important in a similar way to the circulation of the blood being important to the human body.
You certainly don't need to have studied psychology to understand the City is highly symbolic of myself :)
The City is a very interesting place needless to say and I've come to know it fairly well. And like all spirit journeys into self sometimes one sees what one does not want to see.
 
I understand that your narrative comes from your inner self in a way that a clever story fabrication does not. Yours is a journey into self, the mystery of your life. It is a personal vision quest of a deeply spiritual nature and is therefore a serious matter. Wishing you well, my friend.
SB
 
i used to write all the time in an almost blacked out, drunken state. i'd wake up and read it, totally amazed. aside from the horrible spelling errors (or the fall asleep on the keyboard and wddfghvchuftyuiiiooiii woul show up) it was some pretty cool stream of consceince type stuff.

i used to post it all on myspace, back when that was cool. i think it's still there under my alias "the derelict prophet."

kinda off the subject, but relating to "painting with words," i always loved the japanese literal definition of sarcasm. "laughter with knives."
 
After work I took the Momma’s baby out back for a run. She is an Aussie shepherd. All auburn, (even her eyes) Red chest and heart of gold. Truly the Momma’s baby and follows her around like, well a dog. Wile out back with her, I realized how much I could learn from her. After an 18 hr day on 2 hrs of sleep, when I walk in the door, bath the people I love with wet kisses and make sure they know I need them more then my next breath. Be ready, willing and able to give up all so that they are OK. Sit when asked and play when invited. When nap time comes, have a paw on every body in the bed and reassure all not only that I am there for them, also that they are there with me.

But above all else, only pee in designated areas, or the neighbors point and laugh and Momma gets that look.
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The day ended like the last 32. Finished mowing lawns at the golf course. Walked to the store and bought food, beer and tobacco. On the way back to the bar I live above, I stop on the trail next to the water fall and drink 3 beers and smoke 3 cigarettes. Today a chip-monk sat with me for the 3/4 of an hour. He was at first skittish. Then calm. A cat happened past, across the river and eyed us both, the burly ruff neck and the chip monk. The chip monk became concerned again but soon relaxed. The cat wondered off and the chip-monk did as well. Tomorrow I will bring nuts for him (gonna call him "Franciscan", he's already a monk) I chose to believe that pleasant discourse gives God cause to smile more then the best plied prayer. On the way to "my spot by the falls", I was driven past by a man who had beat me out of my car in a business deal. He is a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier. As our eyes met, there was fear in his. The ego liked it, but that lessens the spirit. Was glad to have met the chip monk. Hope and pray you are all well, as I do every night.
==============================================================

Give
A tale of two villages

1 village in need of more water to arrogate their rice patties
Asked a village to the south on the same river if a dam could be
Placed on their lands. The village elders tasked a man named Send to
Travel south with their request. As tribute, the messenger brought
Gifts of 3 goats and a wagon of rice to request permission to build
The dam. (That would be 12 oxen, 11 wagons of rice and a goat in
Today’s economy)

The war lord of the south became angry at the audacity of the
Request and struck Send when he proposed foreigners not only set foot
On the Warlords lands, but also build on them. A great battle ensued
And the northern village decimated the warlord's forces. After so much
Devastation to both peoples, there was no funding or materials to
Build the dam.

The monsoon came. The worst any could remember or had ever heard
Of in tales of old. The valley soon flooded and completely washed away
The southern village leaving what survivors there were with out homes
Or livelihoods.


The moral of the story; when dealing with folks, give a damn and
Never hit send in anger.

D.T.K

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I once gave a dam, but soon became constipated because of the reduced flow of liquid life. Thereafter, I resolved to just give a little dyke...........a little dyke seems to please most people. It's also much less work than giving a dam.
 
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