Miscellaneous Chatter > Writing
Viramsata: Battle of the Authors
What Came Before:
--- Quote from: Swense ---Hmm. Sounds interesting, I'd certainly be willing to give it a go.
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What Came Before:
--- Quote from: Callan S. ---I was actually thinking of seperate stories and authors cherry pick from others stories*.
So you describe from a perspective, with a bit of extra detail all around (don't keep it too tight to the subject the character is focusing on), then others might pick up from some part of that extra detail and extend it under another perspective?
* And for anyone who says this is similar to a perspective, stop being so clever! ;)
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What Came Before:
--- Quote from: Madness ---You could have it right tight on the character, Callan. Then I might simply decide that the actions or words or allusions by that character are what I'd like to explore - your perspective mentions an event or city, etc.
I suggest drawing the line at writing the deaths of other perspectives (use this word rather than character because I can see the bowl of petunias making an appearance).
Also, no limit in time or space, though our ideas do not have to roam such edges if they don't.
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What Came Before:
--- Quote from: Madness ---Today it was the theater.
The actors paced on the stage. It was an antique piece, something performed in wordless song. At peace with the fallen.
Projecting meaning was a practice Azrael thoroughly enjoyed. He'd found in his lifetime that attributing meaning was far more pleasing than having intent spelled out for him.
They wore uniforms hundreds years old. Preserved originals if Azrael gauged right. He inhaled at the smell of smoke. Saw as much as felt the creased and cracked leather.
A historical performance...
And Azrael would know.
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What Came Before:
--- Quote from: Camlost ---Marden glided across the stage with the grace of smoke on a battlefield. She had performed the steps so many times before that she could get lost in their silent rhythm, letting her thoughts wander to the audience.
What was this performance to them, this dirge for the vanquished? Was it history, was it art, was it simply wealthy posturing?
She caught glimpses of rapt faces in the crowd as she drifted across the stage, the stage lights reflecting in the eyes of the dimly lit crowd. Except for one. As she spun, her eyes caught his, dark, hoary and immeasurable.
And she staggered in her dance..
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