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  1. #51
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    applied to columbia and nyu for there writing programs
    thought about iowa writers workshop but shure and fuck wasn't going to live in iowa for two years
    things really slid downhill when I ended up tripping acid that one time in Kentucky where shit went real wrong in a good way
    people thought I had talent and potential at one point proved them wrong
    quit writing about ten years ago
    no regrats

  2. #52
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    pffft

  3. #53
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    Quote Originally Posted by MakersTeleMark View Post
    We already have one of those.
    I miss that room.

    Sent from my SM-G950U using Tapatalk
    Quote Originally Posted by Downbound Train View Post
    And there will come a day when our ancestors look back...........

  4. #54
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    I am gifted in the fact that I have a dual space to write for a living, and also step up to the mic.

    Not too many people who can do both with regularity and consistency.

    It's dramatic, just the way I like it.

    And, I'm single, take photographs, and am amazing in bed.

    #tinder

  5. #55
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    Quote Originally Posted by Danno View Post
    I write creatively, but I am not a creative writer.
    Have you tried sketching, or drawing instead?

    I've mostly transferred over from long-form to just capturing ideas in a different form.

    Granted, I can't build the shit, or bring my visions and ideas to fruition, but, given our mandated creativity sucking jobs, it's been a really cool endeavor for me. I've got stacks of Field Notes that go back over a decade. It keeps me on my toes, for me.

    Try it.

  6. #56
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    Feb 2005
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    I'm currently trying to source from china, and reverse engineer those little solar powered moving ornaments, like the hello kitty, but something totally different.

    I don't know how that world works, but I definitely have an idea of the final issue. Stupid things like that, or sketches, or small writings, gets me along.

    I think, no matter what field you gravitate towards, be that homeless and using a rock to sharpen your edges, to a physicist, the right-brain creative side exists in all of us, and is not honored or respected in this society.

    I, for one, embrace it.

  7. #57
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    Oct 2003
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    Quote Originally Posted by dookey67 View Post
    OL, I apologize for c$nting up your thread earlier.

    I'm curious as to whether or not you have shared your writings with close friends and family yet? If so, what was their feedback?
    Also, what are you writing? Non-fiction, fiction, fantasy, crime, poetry, stream-of-consciousness, soap operas, sci-fi, horror, etc.?
    You are welcome to c$nt up anything you like, ha ha. Mostly short stories, a few of which I am trying to string together into a short novel (a novella? That’s sounds odd to me). I also write about running sometimes, which ends up being more stream of consciousness, but I digress.

    Years ago (90’s), I wrote a column for a buddy’s Onion-Esqe site and actually had a bit of a following, which was fun. Was a caricature of the worst of entitled UES wall st Yuppie Douchebags. That was fun- very few people knew it was me. I probably would have gotten fired if the bank I worked for found out, like Large on Barstool...


    Sent from my iPhone using TGR Forums
    No Roger, No Rerun, No Rent

  8. #58
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    Dec 2012
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    Quote Originally Posted by flowing alpy View Post
    dibs on SFB’s
    The broku audience is a small but passionate group who don't mind the occasional picture of a hand with dirty fingernails holding a small round treat with a hole.

    OL, what about starting with children's books? The 0-8 yr group still read stuff. I haven't read a book in 20 years--just don't have the time and big words confuse me.

    Larry the Loafer--Adventures of a Shoe.
    "timberridge is terminally vapid" -- a fortune cookie in Yueyang

  9. #59
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    Sep 2001
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    Back before the pig fat and cholesterol of the soul had accumulated to this extent, before questions of maturing sobriety and ear hair were subjects of angst, when large boats of iron roamed the striped tar and rock, a long lost maggot of ill repute and sagging morals used to run a little website called Aspect Journal.

    It was a turgid little wad of bon mots and acrid sleazes, a cornucopia of wrought characters and mangled projections where several of us used to leave droppings and musings on the nature of this idiotic pastime, skiing. Travel, troupes, tongues and transitions found a booth in which to reside for a while. It too, as well as some of its participants and luminaries, slipped back into the ethers as time oozed on.

    I contributed several cheep p00ts and greatly enjoyed the dribblings of a wide variety of maggots. We used to have contests even, voted on, but not so much criticized, or topics or tangents that heliced off into spiraling mad and unrelated h00haw. Several entries or smeglets got published in Powder and The Ski Journal. That was fun.

    I did author a few ditties and squat songlines, one recounting a hitchhiking foray from Portland, Oregon to Milwaukee and back circa 1975 in a failed attempt to score drugs with skiing on the way and back. I write, but have no illusions about a career, even a retirement pastime. My most public exudings are here now. I guess I've gotten further down the pike on keeping my pleasures personal.
    Merde De Glace On the Freak When Ski
    >>>200 cm Black Bamboo Sidewalled DPS Lotus 120 : Best Skis Ever <<<

  10. #60
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    Quote Originally Posted by fastfred View Post
    applied to columbia and nyu for there writing programs


    Quote Originally Posted by Buster Highmen View Post
    I contributed several cheep p00ts
    Writing question. Does the "00" thing symbolize something other than a grade of steel wool?
    "timberridge is terminally vapid" -- a fortune cookie in Yueyang

  11. #61
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    Quote Originally Posted by Timberridge View Post
    Writing question. Does the "00" thing symbolize something other than a grade of steel wool?
    It's bait for the trite.
    Merde De Glace On the Freak When Ski
    >>>200 cm Black Bamboo Sidewalled DPS Lotus 120 : Best Skis Ever <<<

  12. #62
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    Dec 2012
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    Like b00bs?
    "timberridge is terminally vapid" -- a fortune cookie in Yueyang

  13. #63
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    Quote Originally Posted by Buster Highmen View Post
    Back before the pig fat and cholesterol of the soul had accumulated to this extent, before questions of maturing sobriety and ear hair were subjects of angst, when large boats of iron roamed the striped tar and rock, a long lost maggot of ill repute and sagging morals used to run a little website called Aspect Journal.

    It was a turgid little wad of bon mots and acrid sleazes, a cornucopia of wrought characters and mangled projections where several of us used to leave droppings and musings on the nature of this idiotic pastime, skiing. Travel, troupes, tongues and transitions found a booth in which to reside for a while. It too, as well as some of its participants and luminaries, slipped back into the ethers as time oozed on.

    I contributed several cheep p00ts and greatly enjoyed the dribblings of a wide variety of maggots. We used to have contests even, voted on, but not so much criticized, or topics or tangents that heliced off into spiraling mad and unrelated h00haw. Several entries or smeglets got published in Powder and The Ski Journal. That was fun.

    I did author a few ditties and squat songlines, one recounting a hitchhiking foray from Portland, Oregon to Milwaukee and back circa 1975 in a failed attempt to score drugs with skiing on the way and back. I write, but have no illusions about a career, even a retirement pastime. My most public exudings are here now. I guess I've gotten further down the pike on keeping my pleasures personal.
    Out f00king standing! Bravo!


    Sent from my iPhone using TGR Forums
    No Roger, No Rerun, No Rent

  14. #64
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    Quote Originally Posted by Timberridge View Post
    Like b00bs?
    There ya go!
    Merde De Glace On the Freak When Ski
    >>>200 cm Black Bamboo Sidewalled DPS Lotus 120 : Best Skis Ever <<<

  15. #65
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    Here's one:

    >>>>
    The Stinky House on Keystone in gVallingford was the house where we did the reverse shoplifting, buying a case of mixed pickles, some doll parts from a junk store on Greenwood, putting the doll parts in the pickle jars and leaving them at the Food Giant on 45th just down the street from Murphys were a lovely lass of a friend was tricked into wandering around that loud Irish tavern yelling for Mike Hunt.

    The Stinky House

    Creaking open the door, the militant mildew laid it's lock on your nose.

    The dingy, northern light seeped through window, green with molds. Large indiscriminant insects hovered next to the bathtub, rubbing their squeaky viola legs together, reminiscent of used car salesmen.

    The bathroom was layered with legions of dirty towels that had to be beaten into submission.

    The toilet was textured Jackson Pollack taupe and avocado green.

    More than one phonecall to Ralph talking to God about Buicks had been made on that telephone.

    The crown jewel of the installation were the mushrooms: several clusters of 4 inch long mucilaginous mycological monsters clinging to the showerstall tiles that truly defined the funkiest loo ever.

    The living room was jumbled with an assortment of ripped couches, plastic milk crates, dilapidated chairs, reeking beer bottles and cigarette butts.

    The couches were consistently strewn with one dirtbag chrysalis or another, exuding a transluscent, sweaty glow, wrapped in some once glorious 800 fill portawomb, a bag of partly smoked funkweed within reach.

    It was fair game to attempt to lob a butt into the yawning maw of the unsuspecting snoozer.

    The ceiling sported an intricate Celtic knot, better entertainment than the battered TV with the coat hanger antenna where we watched Letterman and the Flying Circus, not to omit Benny Hill.

    Chunks of plaster randomly bombarded the unaware.

    Socks of the indigent littered the scene and were burnt in secretive piles in the back yard.

    The dining room had a formica table. We had no utensils. Any "meal" involved beating each other with chunks of whatever beast was available and wrestling for the carcass.

    An old Macintosh stereo inhabited the built-in china cabinet and stacks of LPs and singles from bands like the Residents or Bush Tetras slumped in the corners.

    The kitchen was beyond dirty. Hazmat suits should have been required for the layers of festering cold cuts, rotted eggs, moldy bagels and creamcheeses.

    It could've asphixiated a Frenchman.

    It squelched any appetite, was rarely used and never cleaned except when Dean the Weirdo had a glass smashing tantrum and then only the shards of foot gashing glass were sought.

    The cabinet doors had been victims of late night doodle fests and were wrought with intricately meaningless cuniform, curlicues, cartoons and porn.

    Coupled with globs of wax, p-tex, and art projects: pickled dolls parts, hacked and reglommed plastic army men and circuit boards that had "YouAre Here-->" stenciled into them, it was home, a rainforest of new undocumented species.
    <<<<
    Merde De Glace On the Freak When Ski
    >>>200 cm Black Bamboo Sidewalled DPS Lotus 120 : Best Skis Ever <<<

  16. #66
    Join Date
    Sep 2006
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    Truckee, CA
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    Quote Originally Posted by Buster Highmen View Post
    Here's one:

    >>>>
    The Stinky House on Keystone in gVallingford was the house where we did the reverse shoplifting, buying a case of mixed pickles, some doll parts from a junk store on Greenwood, putting the doll parts in the pickle jars and leaving them at the Food Giant on 45th just down the street from Murphys were a lovely lass of a friend was tricked into wandering around that loud Irish tavern yelling for Mike Hunt.

    The Stinky House

    Creaking open the door, the militant mildew laid it's lock on your nose.

    The dingy, northern light seeped through window, green with molds. Large indiscriminant insects hovered next to the bathtub, rubbing their squeaky viola legs together, reminiscent of used car salesmen.

    The bathroom was layered with legions of dirty towels that had to be beaten into submission.

    The toilet was textured Jackson Pollack taupe and avocado green.

    More than one phonecall to Ralph talking to God about Buicks had been made on that telephone.

    The crown jewel of the installation were the mushrooms: several clusters of 4 inch long mucilaginous mycological monsters clinging to the showerstall tiles that truly defined the funkiest loo ever.

    The living room was jumbled with an assortment of ripped couches, plastic milk crates, dilapidated chairs, reeking beer bottles and cigarette butts.

    The couches were consistently strewn with one dirtbag chrysalis or another, exuding a transluscent, sweaty glow, wrapped in some once glorious 800 fill portawomb, a bag of partly smoked funkweed within reach.

    It was fair game to attempt to lob a butt into the yawning maw of the unsuspecting snoozer.

    The ceiling sported an intricate Celtic knot, better entertainment than the battered TV with the coat hanger antenna where we watched Letterman and the Flying Circus, not to omit Benny Hill.

    Chunks of plaster randomly bombarded the unaware.

    Socks of the indigent littered the scene and were burnt in secretive piles in the back yard.

    The dining room had a formica table. We had no utensils. Any "meal" involved beating each other with chunks of whatever beast was available and wrestling for the carcass.

    An old Macintosh stereo inhabited the built-in china cabinet and stacks of LPs and singles from bands like the Residents or Bush Tetras slumped in the corners.

    The kitchen was beyond dirty. Hazmat suits should have been required for the layers of festering cold cuts, rotted eggs, moldy bagels and creamcheeses.

    It could've asphixiated a Frenchman.

    It squelched any appetite, was rarely used and never cleaned except when Dean the Weirdo had a glass smashing tantrum and then only the shards of foot gashing glass were sought.

    The cabinet doors had been victims of late night doodle fests and were wrought with intricately meaningless cuniform, curlicues, cartoons and porn.

    Coupled with globs of wax, p-tex, and art projects: pickled dolls parts, hacked and reglommed plastic army men and circuit boards that had "YouAre Here-->" stenciled into them, it was home, a rainforest of new undocumented species.
    <<<<
    Making an educated guess here, but you didn't get your cleaning deposit back, did you?
    "Man, we killin' elephants in the back yard..."

    https://www.blizzard-tecnica.com/us/en

  17. #67
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    Sep 2006
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    Quote Originally Posted by Timberridge View Post
    OL, what about starting with children's books? The 0-8 yr group still read stuff....
    Larry the Loafer--Adventures of a Shoe.
    The Y/A market is bustling these days, as well...
    I know a former co-worker (we reviewed comic books and action figures together during the heyday of IGN and just before and right afer the second dotcom burst back in the day) who has written no less than 5 Y/A novels (4 of them are a series) and all of them have been published by "major" publishing houses: DAW (an imprint of Penguin/Random House) and Scholastic Press. She also writes comic books, mostly tween girl oriented stuff (Batgirl, Barbie, Clueless).
    Her first book, fwiw, was self-published, though.
    I keep meaning to ask her how she "broke into" the majors, but she always seems to be out and about touring and promoting her works (she hits up bookstores for reading tours, hits all the comic book conventions, etc., she, as has been stated prior in this thread, markets and promotes herself and her work to the appropriate audiences). I may have to "interview" her to see how the book world operates these days (i.e. how much $$$ she is making, how much of her "job" is writing and how much is promotion, etc.).
    "Man, we killin' elephants in the back yard..."

    https://www.blizzard-tecnica.com/us/en

  18. #68
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    Aug 2007
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    United States of Aburdistan
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    7,281
    I started an alternative newspaper at MSU, I think it lasted about 6 years. I didn't know what a zine was at the time, I was in MT and un-cultured, but after going to CA for a summer I realized it was a Zine. I don't think me a good writer though, but it was like punk rock, you just do it without experience because you 'have' to and mainly the student paper really sucked and pissed me off. Having an angst-y Zine in cow country in the 90s was a trip, and surprisingly every copy was taken on campus after a few came out, which was super trippy. I got to meet all the creative writing weirdos that felt isolated in Montana, they surfaced quickly after reading it. Ha, there were only a few though to be honest...most transferred after a year or two.

  19. #69
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    Quote Originally Posted by Buster Highmen View Post

    one recounting a hitchhiking foray from Portland, Oregon to Milwaukee and back circa 1975 in a failed attempt to score drugs with skiing on the way and back.
    "Ex mathematician, now mythemagician"


  20. #70
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    Quote Originally Posted by Norseman View Post
    "Ex mathematician, now mythemagician"

    I hope you enjoyed it.
    Merde De Glace On the Freak When Ski
    >>>200 cm Black Bamboo Sidewalled DPS Lotus 120 : Best Skis Ever <<<

  21. #71
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    Quote Originally Posted by Buster Highmen View Post
    I hope you enjoyed it.
    Of course.

    But you need to find the rest.

  22. #72
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    Oct 2003
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    In Your Wife
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    Quote Originally Posted by Buster Highmen View Post
    Back before the pig fat and cholesterol of the soul had accumulated to this extent, before questions of maturing sobriety and ear hair were subjects of angst, when large boats of iron roamed the striped tar and rock, a long lost maggot of ill repute and sagging morals used to run a little website called Aspect Journal.

    It was a turgid little wad of bon mots and acrid sleazes, a cornucopia of wrought characters and mangled projections where several of us used to leave droppings and musings on the nature of this idiotic pastime, skiing. Travel, troupes, tongues and transitions found a booth in which to reside for a while. It too, as well as some of its participants and luminaries, slipped back into the ethers as time oozed on.
    Heh, I had a couple short pieces "published" on Aspect Journal. Ah memories.

  23. #73
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    Quote Originally Posted by MakersTeleMark View Post
    Have you tried sketching, or drawing instead?

    I've mostly transferred over from long-form to just capturing ideas in a different form.

    Granted, I can't build the shit, or bring my visions and ideas to fruition, but, given our mandated creativity sucking jobs, it's been a really cool endeavor for me. I've got stacks of Field Notes that go back over a decade. It keeps me on my toes, for me.

    Try it.
    Well, my job and your job, while nominally the same, are worlds apart. The "write creatively" I was referring to IS my job. Writing is my craft, and obsessively working on that craft is part of the job. While there is structure to it, a lot of it is creative and allows one to write creatively. It's just not creative writing. I don't need another creative output. I just need more time to ski and bike.
    "fuck off you asshat gaper shit for brains fucktard wanker." - Jesus Christ
    "She was tossing her bean salad with the vigor of a Drunken Pop princess so I walked out of the corner and said.... "need a hand?"" - Odin
    "everybody's got their hooks into you, fuck em....forge on motherfuckers, drag all those bitches across the goal line with you." - (not so) ill-advised strategy

  24. #74
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    I can still smell Poutine.
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    Heh. I've been around for more than one glass smashing fit.

  25. #75
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    Jul 2002
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    Quote Originally Posted by Not bunion View Post
    I write every week.

    If you want something riveting I will send you my latest work, its a stormwater plan for a 10K sq ft mansion in the Y/C. I can't wait to see how this ends.
    Must have been a draining experience
    Quando paramucho mi amore de felice carathon.
    Mundo paparazzi mi amore cicce verdi parasol.
    Questo abrigado tantamucho que canite carousel.


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