258292 réponses à ce sujet

[cannedcream]

NCLanceman wrote...

Nothing to cry about. We're all family here.

*LastSupperSnip*

Saved.

[cannedcream]

RedTracer7 wrote...

Right-O.  Noted.  I tend to do that as I write on the fly... like my mind locks onto a single word and tries to use it as much a possible.  Editing should handle that...

As to the context... yep.  I thought the scene I left 'Beneath the Veil' with at the end of part 3 needed major expansion.  And so now Shepard has feelings...

Well that's just wrong.

[RedTracer7]

Azint wrote...


I found this in my pictures folder.

The creepiness of that deserves some ROCK N ROLL.

Modifié par RedTracer7, 01 juillet 2010 - 06:21 .

[RedTracer7]

cannedcream wrote...

RedTracer7 wrote...

Right-O.  Noted.  I tend to do that as I write on the fly... like my mind locks onto a single word and tries to use it as much a possible.  Editing should handle that...

As to the context... yep.  I thought the scene I left 'Beneath the Veil' with at the end of part 3 needed major expansion.  And so now Shepard has feelings...

Well that's just wrong.

Big risk, I know.  He's supposed to be all beard and round-house kicks.

But... _______________

[NuclearBuddha]

“I’ve half a mind to send you away like I did him, but I don’t want to be saddled with another spy like that maid. Oh, I’m sure Arterius thinks he’s quite clever, but she’s already gotten more than she bargained for, I’ll wager.” Again, he gave that queer laugh, spittle collecting in the corners of his mouth. He produced a handkerchief to dab the moisture away, but moved jerkily, seemingly out of practice in moving his own joints. “But no, look if you like, for all the good it will do you. The original rubbings are in the portfolio on my desk.”

I signaled to Miss Williams, who fairly leapt to peruse the explorer’s work. She produced a notebook and began transcription as Dr. Newstead continued. “They’re a poor treasure for the lives spent obtaining them. The whole expedition was ill-fated form the start: our departure was overshadowed by the first messages back from the Pabodie Expedition, and our return merely a footnote on the heels of their tragedy. I had thought to claim the plaudits rightfully ours and to do the memory of those who died in that hellish wasteland justice with the release of my manuscript, but, well, I am certain you know the results. Those cowards Dyers and Danforth, only now they speak up as to what they truly saw, trying to stop the Starkweather-Moore expedition? They’d best have a care lest they share my fate: disgraced, the laughing-stock of academia, a prisoner in my own home!” At this, he was seized by another paroxysm, this one nearly apoplectic in violence.

Regaining his composure at length, he went on, “granted, our expedition was less ambitious in scope and perhaps more esoteric in goals than the geological study Pabodie intended. However, drilling ice cores to discover the different strata of sporation was and remains a noble goal! Imagine it: a perfect record of the plant life from untold aeons, remarkably preserved beneath those eternal glaciers. What discoveries might have come of this? But now, I am ruined both in career and soul by this expedition.”

Seeing that he was truly a man in despair, I hastened to offer him my reassurances, but earned only another gestured rebuke. “I’ll not have your pity, sir! You, you who hasn’t an inkling of the suffering dealt to me. You think I care for my reputation, the aftermath of my Antarctic explorations? Not in the face what I saw there beneath the ice. It haunts me, yes, haunts. I feel its weight upon my mind, and now, now I know it lurks… But no, I go too far.” After an outburst of such fervor, his startling lapse into reticence bespoke a more terrible secret behind his agitation and other peculiarities and despite the warmth of the room I found myself shuddering at the implication. Here was a man, delivered mundane blows enough to shake anyone’s resolve, and there was something more that he feared.

For a time, silence reigned but for the eager scratch of Miss William’s pencil in her notebook. Now and again she would gasp at some half-realized illumination presented in the eldritch and benighted transcriptions she was working at. Stealing a glance at her, I could see that though she had gone very pale, and perspiration beaded her forehead. I would have reassured her, or perhaps taken her place, but Dr. Newstead chose that moment to continue.

[RedTracer7]

NuclearBuddha wrote...

“I’ve half a mind to send you away like I did him, but I don’t want to be saddled with another spy like that maid. Oh, I’m sure Arterius thinks he’s quite clever, but she’s already gotten more than she bargained for, I’ll wager.” Again, he gave that queer laugh, spittle collecting in the corners of his mouth. He produced a handkerchief to dab the moisture away, but moved jerkily, seemingly out of practice in moving his own joints. “But no, look if you like, for all the good it will do you. The original rubbings are in the portfolio on my desk.”

I signaled to Miss Williams, who fairly leapt to peruse the explorer’s work. She produced a notebook and began transcription as Dr. Newstead continued. “They’re a poor treasure for the lives spent obtaining them. The whole expedition was ill-fated form the start: our departure was overshadowed by the first messages back from the Pabodie Expedition, and our return merely a footnote on the heels of their tragedy. I had thought to claim the plaudits rightfully ours and to do the memory of those who died in that hellish wasteland justice with the release of my manuscript, but, well, I am certain you know the results. Those cowards Dyers and Danforth, only now they speak up as to what they truly saw, trying to stop the Starkweather-Moore expedition? They’d best have a care lest they share my fate: disgraced, the laughing-stock of academia, a prisoner in my own home!” At this, he was seized by another paroxysm, this one nearly apoplectic in violence.

Regaining his composure at length, he went on, “granted, our expedition was less ambitious in scope and perhaps more esoteric in goals than the geological study Pabodie intended. However, drilling ice cores to discover the different strata of sporation was and remains a noble goal! Imagine it: a perfect record of the plant life from untold aeons, remarkably preserved beneath those eternal glaciers. What discoveries might have come of this? But now, I am ruined both in career and soul by this expedition.”

Seeing that he was truly a man in despair, I hastened to offer him my reassurances, but earned only another gestured rebuke. “I’ll not have your pity, sir! You, you who hasn’t an inkling of the suffering dealt to me. You think I care for my reputation, the aftermath of my Antarctic explorations? Not in the face what I saw there beneath the ice. It haunts me, yes, haunts. I feel its weight upon my mind, and now, now I know it lurks… But no, I go too far.” After an outburst of such fervor, his startling lapse into reticence bespoke a more terrible secret behind his agitation and other peculiarities and despite the warmth of the room I found myself shuddering at the implication. Here was a man, delivered mundane blows enough to shake anyone’s resolve, and there was something more that he feared.

For a time, silence reigned but for the eager scratch of Miss William’s pencil in her notebook. Now and again she would gasp at some half-realized illumination presented in the eldritch and benighted transcriptions she was working at. Stealing a glance at her, I could see that though she had gone very pale, and perspiration beaded her forehead. I would have reassured her, or perhaps taken her place, but Dr. Newstead chose that moment to continue.

Seriously Buddha, I read parts of CoEM just to get into the writing mood.  It has a.... soft spoken epicness that is infectious.

Expect a huge ****ing comment on your blog sometime soon.  I started going into just about every section, breaking off the pieces of awesome and examining them.  Just need to finish it...

[Azint]

NuclearBuddha wrote...

“I’ve half a mind to send you away like I did him, but I don’t want to be saddled with another spy like that maid. Oh, I’m sure Arterius thinks he’s quite clever, but she’s already gotten more than she bargained for, I’ll wager.” Again, he gave that queer laugh, spittle collecting in the corners of his mouth. He produced a handkerchief to dab the moisture away, but moved jerkily, seemingly out of practice in moving his own joints. “But no, look if you like, for all the good it will do you. The original rubbings are in the portfolio on my desk.”

I signaled to Miss Williams, who fairly leapt to peruse the explorer’s work. She produced a notebook and began transcription as Dr. Newstead continued. “They’re a poor treasure for the lives spent obtaining them. The whole expedition was ill-fated form the start: our departure was overshadowed by the first messages back from the Pabodie Expedition, and our return merely a footnote on the heels of their tragedy. I had thought to claim the plaudits rightfully ours and to do the memory of those who died in that hellish wasteland justice with the release of my manuscript, but, well, I am certain you know the results. Those cowards Dyers and Danforth, only now they speak up as to what they truly saw, trying to stop the Starkweather-Moore expedition? They’d best have a care lest they share my fate: disgraced, the laughing-stock of academia, a prisoner in my own home!” At this, he was seized by another paroxysm, this one nearly apoplectic in violence.

Regaining his composure at length, he went on, “granted, our expedition was less ambitious in scope and perhaps more esoteric in goals than the geological study Pabodie intended. However, drilling ice cores to discover the different strata of sporation was and remains a noble goal! Imagine it: a perfect record of the plant life from untold aeons, remarkably preserved beneath those eternal glaciers. What discoveries might have come of this? But now, I am ruined both in career and soul by this expedition.”

Seeing that he was truly a man in despair, I hastened to offer him my reassurances, but earned only another gestured rebuke. “I’ll not have your pity, sir! You, you who hasn’t an inkling of the suffering dealt to me. You think I care for my reputation, the aftermath of my Antarctic explorations? Not in the face what I saw there beneath the ice. It haunts me, yes, haunts. I feel its weight upon my mind, and now, now I know it lurks… But no, I go too far.” After an outburst of such fervor, his startling lapse into reticence bespoke a more terrible secret behind his agitation and other peculiarities and despite the warmth of the room I found myself shuddering at the implication. Here was a man, delivered mundane blows enough to shake anyone’s resolve, and there was something more that he feared.

For a time, silence reigned but for the eager scratch of Miss William’s pencil in her notebook. Now and again she would gasp at some half-realized illumination presented in the eldritch and benighted transcriptions she was working at. Stealing a glance at her, I could see that though she had gone very pale, and perspiration beaded her forehead. I would have reassured her, or perhaps taken her place, but Dr. Newstead chose that moment to continue.

Dialogue heavy, I'll let this one slide because of that.

[NuclearBuddha]

RedTracer7 wrote...
Seriously Buddha, I read parts of CoEM just to get into the writing mood.  It has a.... soft spoken epicness that is infectious.

Expect a huge ****ing comment on your blog sometime soon.  I started going into just about every section, breaking off the pieces of awesome and examining them.  Just need to finish it...

Even this comment here means a lot to me.  Thank you, and I'm glad you're getting some use out of it.

[cannedcream]

NuclearBuddha wrote...

“I’ve half a mind to send you away like I did him, but I don’t want to be saddled with another spy like that maid. Oh, I’m sure Arterius thinks he’s quite clever, but she’s already gotten more than she bargained for, I’ll wager.”

[NuclearBuddha]

Azint wrote...
Dialogue heavy, I'll let this one slide because of that.

Ah, but remember?  This is the crazy wall-of-dialogue edition.  You know, like Picture in the House or the last few pages of the Case of Charles Dexter Ward.

[NuclearBuddha]

cannedcream wrote...

NuclearBuddha wrote...

“I’ve half a mind to send you away like I did him, but I don’t want to be saddled with another spy like that maid. Oh, I’m sure Arterius thinks he’s quite clever, but she’s already gotten more than she bargained for, I’ll wager.”

Figured it out, did you?

[cannedcream]

NuclearBuddha wrote...

Figured it out, did you?

I had my suspicions, and they seem to have been confirmed.

[NCLanceman]

RedTracer7 wrote...

Seriously Buddha, I read parts of CoEM just to get into the writing mood.  It has a.... soft spoken epicness that is infectious.

What it has is a properly realized sense of dread.

Imagine a truck with it's parking break disengaged rolling downhill into a house in the middle of the night. It's dark. The people inside the house can't hear it roll, even as it violently picks up speed. They -at best- can make out it's slithering form as it rushes toward the house... and that's if they bother looking out the windows in the first place. Then, just before impact, a stray thought meanders into the homeowner: "Did I set the brake?"

This story can maintain that feeling for more than five to ten paragraphs at a time, and that is an accomplishment.

[Azint]

NuclearBuddha wrote...

Azint wrote...
Dialogue heavy, I'll let this one slide because of that.

Ah, but remember?  This is the crazy wall-of-dialogue edition.  You know, like Picture in the House or the last few pages of the Case of Charles Dexter Ward.

...Which is why I let you pass.

[RedTracer7]

NuclearBuddha wrote...

Even this comment here means a lot to me.  Thank you, and I'm glad you're getting some use out of it.

I was trying to find a picture that would, in but a view pixels, express the level of epic this work has.  But the very nature of it, soft-spoken as CotEM is, makes such a task impossible.

It's like 300:
-Naked Fights
+Intriguing Characters, complete with odd quirks
+Creepy-Ass Maids
+A Plot that is actually interesting
+A very... ?victorian? feel.

[Lividity Jones]

NCLanceman wrote...

What it has is a properly realized sense of dread.

Imagine a truck with it's parking break disengaged rolling downhill into a house in the middle of the night. It's dark. The people inside the house can't hear it roll, even as it violently picks up speed. They -at best- can make out it's slithering form as it rushes toward the house... and that's if they bother looking out the windows in the first place. Then, just before impact, a stray thought meanders into the homeowner: "Did I set the brake?"

This story can maintain that feeling for more than five to ten paragraphs at a time, and that is an accomplishment.

Damn...

That's probably one of the better metaphors I have heard in recent memory.

[NuclearBuddha]

NCLanceman wrote...
What it has is a properly realized sense of dread.

Imagine a truck with it's parking break disengaged rolling downhill into a house in the middle of the night. It's dark. The people inside the house can't hear it roll, even as it violently picks up speed. They -at best- can make out it's slithering form as it rushes toward the house... and that's if they bother looking out the windows in the first place. Then, just before impact, a stray thought meanders into the homeowner: "Did I set the brake?"

This story can maintain that feeling for more than five to ten paragraphs at a time, and that is an accomplishment.

There was an anthology, maybe it was an Orson Scott Card one (?), that defined "dread" in the introduction as walking into your child's room while they're asleep and wondering "was I the one that left that window open?"

[cannedcream]

RedTracer7 wrote...

I was trying to find a picture that would, in but a view pixels, express the level of epic this work has.  But the very nature of it, soft-spoken as CotEM is, makes such a task impossible.

It's like 300:
-Naked Fights
+Intriguing Characters, complete with odd quirks
+Creepy-Ass Maids
+A Plot that is actually interesting
+A very... ?victorian? feel.

I'm. . .not sure how to feel about this comparison. . .

[NuclearBuddha]

Azint wrote...

NuclearBuddha wrote...

Azint wrote...
Dialogue heavy, I'll let this one slide because of that.

Ah, but remember?  This is the crazy wall-of-dialogue edition.  You know, like Picture in the House or the last few pages of the Case of Charles Dexter Ward.

...Which is why I let you pass.

It's really kind of funny how Lovecraft knew he was terrible at dialogue.  The rest of his faults he would argue were actually strengths, but he knew he couldn't write dialogue.

[Weiser_Cain]

Is this about tali?

[Azint]

NuclearBuddha wrote...

There was an anthology, maybe it was an Orson Scott Card one (?), that defined "dread" in the introduction as walking into your child's room while they're asleep and wondering "was I the one that left that window open?"

Somewhat related.

[cannedcream]

NuclearBuddha wrote...

NCLanceman wrote...
What it has is a properly realized sense of dread.

Imagine a truck with it's parking break disengaged rolling downhill into a house in the middle of the night. It's dark. The people inside the house can't hear it roll, even as it violently picks up speed. They -at best- can make out it's slithering form as it rushes toward the house... and that's if they bother looking out the windows in the first place. Then, just before impact, a stray thought meanders into the homeowner: "Did I set the brake?"

This story can maintain that feeling for more than five to ten paragraphs at a time, and that is an accomplishment.

There was an anthology, maybe it was an Orson Scott Card one (?), that defined "dread" in the introduction as walking into your child's room while they're asleep and wondering "was I the one that left that window open?"

I find both to be unsettling.

[NuclearBuddha]

Weiser_Cain wrote...
Is this about tali?

Yes.  This chapter, not so much, I admit.  But in general, yes.

[Azint]

NuclearBuddha wrote...

It's really kind of funny how Lovecraft knew he was terrible at dialogue.  The rest of his faults he would argue were actually strengths, but he knew he couldn't write dialogue.

For what it's worth; your dialogue is not terrible.

[RedTracer7]

NuclearBuddha wrote...

There was an anthology, maybe it was an Orson Scott Card one (?), that defined "dread" in the introduction as walking into your child's room while they're asleep and wondering "was I the one that left that window open?"

Or like after you murder your spouse, and then call the police to report it as an accident.  But it is only as the squadcars pull in that you notice that you still wear the bloodstained shirt you commited the deed in.  As your doorbell rings, you feel an emotion for the first time that night:

That would be Dread.