Quote: Original post by Avatar God
I find that both of those are true - ability and practice.

Indeed. But I have a saying.

Every discipline is derivd from concept and paradigm which leads to a trail of tehcniques. Martial arts, managing people, writing, good videogames. Before the techniques of mrtial arts came to be their was the paradigm and the schema of thought that allowed one to create such marvelous thoughts and ideas. Most people simply latch on to the techniques. But it is important for you to understand the oncepts and paradigms that lead to them so that you can use your own thoughts and experience to come up with your own.

"Those who innovate thrive, and those who imitate die. By adding on using your own analysis and experience while still staying true to the original teaching one thrives. Those who simply imitate die."

I understand the thought process in which these writing training techniques come from, and have developed some to teach children myself. Thus in the area of writing training is not neccessary for a being such as I.

Natasha was falling out of the window. Every sequence of events has a consequence, and this was the result of a prank I did. I put a pin in her shoe. After she was pricked while putting on her shoe I told her that I had laced it with a deadly virus, and she would die a cruelly painful death. These days you can get anything by putting a few coins in a vending machine, eh? Overcome with fear, well, like I said she was falling out of the window. It wasn't long after that that she was lying in the center of a circle of red blood on the ground, the fall being so high that she preactically exploded. And the sound... a memory I wish that I could forget. It makes me cringe whenever I think of it. For a prank, I have lost a friend.

Every time I hear that... that plague, that virus of a sound a coin makes as it falls to the floor, I see her. Natasha, in her red dress and shoes. She dances so elegantly, so swift that I begin to feel lost in the motions of her hair as she circles around my heart....

It's the wind that always brings me back. The window, somehow it's open again and I suddenly feel the need to close it. But, if I get up, will I remember her again? Will she be there when I sit down? I don't know if I can take that chance. The wind, the window... it will have to wait....

She laughs as we make way to the car, the moon's grace giving me even more to like about her. My hand in hers we nearly frollic through the night, and she is so beautiful that I never want to let go. Around the corner and towards the parking lot so quick, we never even notice the dark figure until he speaks, telling us to stop. I turn and the coin in my other hand slips, along with the joke I was about to tell. As it falls... I fall... and I see the gun.

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To be concluded? I don't know... Spur of the moment! I almost used all ten words in the first paragraph. :P Heh. Anyway, fun activity. Thanks Techno!

2) Shoe

Natasha lent against the window, the sound of falling rain enveloped her. Lost and alone, she stared into the emptiness of the lonely street.

A sigh she emitted, as she once again tossed her coin. Would it be the day of tails? Would she stain the carpet red? She stared at the metallic circle. Heads. Her sickness, her virus, would live to see another day.

Slowly, she put on her shoes, and left out of the door. Though she had often hoped for purity, the rain now was only a mockery, as she faded, discontently, into the distant haze.

Quote: Original post by LessBread
Um ... ex·or·cise

C'mon, if you're going to do that, you need to mention 'improv' too.

A coin rolls into her shoe, the thick circle of shining metal teetering slightly before toppling to the floor. Her gaze travels outward along the coin's invisible track to behold a mercurial virus spreading over the floor, a glistening flood of silver. Natasha is lost in the glow of it. A window to a whole new life opens wide before her. This would take her out of the red.

As the sound of the falling coins ceases, so does this train of thought, derailed by the sight of a uniform. One of the guards has taken charge of the situation, sending a nearby attendant to fetch a dustpan. Grounded again after her momentary flight of fancy, Natasha turns back to the tour group and continues to explain the vagaries of life in Dark Age Frisia.

Hmmm, I'm not as eloquent at writing as everyone here appears to be, but I can't resist but give it a go:
----
To coin a phrase, the shoe was on the other foot. Natasha thought she could destroy us, but the virus had come full circle. She is now lost to us. Lost forever. The broken window still marks her exit with bright red blood. I can still hear the sound of her scream, and imagine the splat as her falling body is uncermoniously halted by the pavement below.
---
Ummm....I told you so! I think I'll go visit another forum now. :)

You all read like pulp writers. Or bad science fiction authors.

Quote: Original post by Oluseyi
You all read like pulp writers. Or bad science fiction authors.

That's because we are! [grin]

I really don't know how to write anything non-fiction, to be honest. It always comes out with the same hack style. Practice is what's desperately needed, not to mention useful criticism.

Quote: Original post by Oluseyi
You all read like pulp writers. Or bad science fiction authors.

Man, I can see why they made you 'staff' buddy - you're extremely helpful.