Writer's Council V.2

I really don't see anything wrong with the godesses being involved. The idea of thier involvement in the overall plot of a fic is, as far as I've seen, original, and I think it's a great idea.

Oh, by the way, just one thing in the text I noticed you might want to fix:

Nervous and worried, he stepped out past the last line

Well, to site Vonda M. McIntyre's "Pitfalls of Writing Science Fiction and Fantasy",

Samuel R. Delany’s technique for determining whether a phrase is redundant (if you have any question): choose one of the words you suspect of being redundant. Switch it to its antonym. If the resulting construction is inherently ridiculous, an oxymoron, you have redundancy. For example, a “large giant.” As opposed to a small giant? Other common speech-habit redundancies include rich heiresses and consensus of opinion.

Hmm, by the way, or Mighty-Founder-of-theCouncil-2.0, would it be allright if I posted some links to some ridiculously useful articles/resources?

Go right ahead, this place is for all sorts of things

And that last paragraph you posted on words being redundant is absolutely genius, I gotta use that technique more often.

Yaaay! :3 Time again to break out the old resource list!

The Grand List of Overused Science Fiction Clichés- It's kind of confusing, but very useful.
How To (Legally and Ethically) Steal Ideas- It may sound wrong, but it's a GREAT article, I found it useful in the planning stages for my novel.
Mideival Demographics Made Easy- Might prove useful for some fantasy writers.
List of Questions for Character Development- EXTREMELY spiffy. USE OR DIE!
Enneagrams for Character Personalities- Not necessary, but ridiculously useful.
Mideival Names Archive- Useful if you like Medeival names.
The Grand List Of Console Role Playing Game Clichés- It's an RPG thing, but useful for fantasy cliches, nonetheless
Pitfalls of Writing Science Fiction & Fantasy This is the article I sited earlier. I looove this article, for some reason.
Stupid Plot Tricks: Evil Overlords, and Other Genre Cliches Another article I love. It's a list of, once again, cliches. It's a great read.

There you go, all labelled and everything. Go crazy, kids. ;D

Originally Posted by Lakayal

Yaaay! :3 Time again to break out the old resource list!

The Grand List of Overused Science Fiction Clichés- It's kind of confusing, but very useful.
How To (Legally and Ethically) Steal Ideas- It may sound wrong, but it's a GREAT article, I found it useful in the planning stages for my novel.
Mideival Demographics Made Easy- Might prove useful for some fantasy writers.
List of Questions for Character Development- EXTREMELY spiffy. USE OR DIE!
Enneagrams for Character Personalities- Not necessary, but ridiculously useful.
Mideival Names Archive- Useful if you like Medeival names.
The Grand List Of Console Role Playing Game Clichés- It's an RPG thing, but useful for fantasy cliches, nonetheless
Pitfalls of Writing Science Fiction & Fantasy This is the article I sited earlier. I looove this article, for some reason.
Stupid Plot Tricks: Evil Overlords, and Other Genre Cliches Another article I love. It's a list of, once again, cliches. It's a great read.

There you go, all labelled and everything. Go crazy, kids. ;D

My god, that list is awsome, I shall read them all! Thanks! *Very Happy Smile*

Edit: Instead of posting another... post... (redundency! HA!) I'll just edit this one. I am having a problem with Writer's Block and another problem with NEVER finishing a story. First, Writer's Block... I really want to do a Kafkaesque type story but I can't think of anything do write about. Second, Never finishing a story... I always have to do short stories because long stories are just to time consumming. I want to write a longer story or a book but... I don't know... can anybody think of ways to help me?

Cool i think i'll read them all some time soon. They may be useful.

Well, Leminnes, I can't help you with your first problem, but:

Second, Never finishing a story... I always have to do short stories because long stories are just to time consumming. I want to write a longer story or a book but... I don't know... can anybody think of ways to help me?

I had the exact same problem, man. I could absolutely NEVER finish anything.

That's when I learned about nanowrimo.

This november is National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo. Those writers who choose to participate by signing up on nanowrimo.org are taking on the challenge of writing a full 50,000-word book between the beginning and enf of November- no sooner, no later. I tried it last year, and with lots of dedication and frustrating hard work, I finished my novel and could finally have the satisfaction- I FINISHED something, for once! The strict deadlines actually gave me the drive to finish, and was the real push I needed to get my to get it done.

While it takes up a lot of time, it was a really great experience... yes, I'm doing it again next year and I'd definately reccommend it to any aspiring author.

I shall try for it... see if it helps... and it's too bad you can't help me with my other problem. Just wondering, do you know who Kafka is? *Goes off to sign up for nanowrimo*

...yep, thanks to wikipedia, but I don't know his writings or what kind of story "Kafkaesque" would be. ^^;

Yes, I've started more fics than I've finished *as in, there's actually quite a few I never finished* but the majority I have completed. I've done went completely through short, and long stories. My Zelda and Godzilla epics were all very lengthy. Some writer's don't approve of the tactic I'm about to explain, because it can rush you and make your work seem worse than it could be, but if you're driven to make sure you finish something, try this.

Make a date for when you want to finish it, and convince yourself as to why you want to finish it. Eventually you'll be obsessed with the idea of completing it by that date. I want to finish my Gundam fic on August 31st, because I want to finish it during the summer, but I want some time left in my vacation to kind of just bask in the joy that I've finished this major epic of mine *easily my biggest fic yet*.

So yes, it may seem unorthodox *and it is* but if want to make sure you finish a fic, use it.

Originally Posted by Lakayal

...yep, thanks to wikipedia, but I don't know his writings or what kind of story "Kafkaesque" would be. ^^;

Kafka is best known, probably, for The Metamorphosis. It's a short story, so you can read it if you want to get a feel for him. A report to an academy and In the Penal Colony are among his other stories I've read. I don't know quite how to put my finger on what "Kafkaesque" is. Try the rather brief definition here. Actually this one is better:

Frightening, threating, and bewildering in a vague and unexplicable way; - of situations or regulations. Often used to describe illogical bureaucratic entanglements with no reasonable solution.

In the penal colony is pretty freaky, as far as it goes. It's a bizarre story about some type of torture device... it's... quite weird.

Originally Posted by Lakayal

...yep, thanks to wikipedia, but I don't know his writings or what kind of story "Kafkaesque" would be. ^^;

Kafkaesque, also in Wikipedia... http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kafkaesque
But anyway, it is a story that on the surface it is a strange story with almost no meanings and doesn't make any sense at all but when you finish reading it you sit there and think... then all of a suddent the theme comes to you and your like "WOW!"... that's ussually how it works... I am still yet you figure out what the point of one of his stories is where a Guy (forgot his name) has an arguement with his father about a friend of his existing or not... and it just ends for no reason... IT'S CRAZY! *sighs* Still think about that one... If you have ever watched Paranoia Agent, it is very Kafkaesque...

Mirren: That is a good idea... I shall think about it, I'm not doing a Fan Fic though... I want it to be a bit more original...

Originally Posted by Bobslob

Kafka is best known, probably, for The Metamorphosis. It's a short story, so you can read it if you want to get a feel for him. A report to an academy and In the Penal Colony are among his other stories I've read. I don't know quite how to put my finger on what "Kafkaesque" is. Try the rather brief definition here. Actually this one is better:

In the penal colony is pretty freaky, as far as it goes. It's a bizarre story about some type of torture device... it's... quite weird.

My god, I loved Penal Colony... I have a collection of his short stories and right now I'm reading Description of a Struggle which has 4 parts in which 4 different "Struggles" are described that all interconnect with each other. I've only read the first one which is about a guy who goes on a walk with an "Acquaintance" he met at a house he lives in and think that the Acquaintance is going to kill him when they are just having a normal walk... MAKE NO SENSE!

Originally Posted by K9doggie

Thank you guys for helping me realize that my idea was too cliche. Now, I've decided that instead of the two "heros" saving the kidnapped girl, the girl will kill her kidnappers in some sort of interesting way. Oh, and what I am writing is a medeval fantasy story. A Zelda fanfiction to be exact. This story does not mention Link or Zelda.

Now all I need is ideas for this thing to happen. How should she be kidnapped and how should she kill them?

Hmmm...it really depends on what sort of character the girl is. Is she a tough as nails, no nonsense girl? Or is she shy and introverted? I'm not sure how you could get her kidnapped, but there are number of options for her to dispose of her captors. You could go the all out brawl or you could go for something a bit subtler. I would prefer the latter option as it, well, I dunno, I guess I just prefer it when people use their brain rather than brawn to resolve their situation. Perhaps she could poison their food? Or perhaps, if the kidnappers leave her alone for a bit (cliche, though it is, with the bad guys leaving the hero alone just long enough for the hero to plan their demise) and she could quickly sketch up a Wanted Dead or Alive poster and throw it out the window. Passer by picks it up, recognises the kidnappers and voila, you've got yourself two dead kidnappers. Although, for her to able to draw a competent sketch of her kidnappers in a short period of time would require some suspension of belief.

Originally Posted by Leminnes

My god, that list is awsome, I shall read them all! Thanks! *Very Happy Smile*

Edit: Instead of posting another... post... (redundency! HA!) I'll just edit this one. I am having a problem with Writer's Block and another problem with NEVER finishing a story. First, Writer's Block... I really want to do a Kafkaesque type story but I can't think of anything do write about. Second, Never finishing a story... I always have to do short stories because long stories are just to time consumming. I want to write a longer story or a book but... I don't know... can anybody think of ways to help me?

About your Writer's block, I have that problem too. People have suggested take a break from writing, go for a walk, and clear your mind. Then, when you come back, you'll probably have a better head for writing. Sometimes you need to take a break for a few days, or even a week. Go somewhere else and do something fun w/ some friends, like a movie or bowling or something. Just don't obsess over your Block, cuz you won't get anywhere. If it's plot developments issues that you're having, just take a break for awhile if it's getting you frustrated. Trust me, it helps me all the time.

And, even me, I have a hard time finishing stuff. Lakayal and Mirren, thanx for the tips; I might have to try them!

Oh, and one more thing: Lakayal -- those sites are totally awesome!!!!! ^___^

Originally Posted by Lakayal

This november is National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo. Those writers who choose to participate by signing up on nanowrimo.org are taking on the challenge of writing a full 50,000-word book between the beginning and enf of November- no sooner, no later.

Oh, I've done that. I missed it last year, due to forgetfulness, but I tried it the year before and, though I didn't finish, did manage to write 30 pages which, at the time, and now that I think about it, still is, quite a bit for myself. ^^ Meh, I have quite a bit of trouble with Writer's Block. Though I haven't found any particular solution to it, I find forcing myself to write, despite arbitrariness and the general ugliness of my prose, to be somewhat alleviating. But maybe that's only because I become depressed if I take too long a vacation from writing... O.o

I need some help on a Super Smash Bros. Melee vignette I'm working on. It's very convoluted, due to the fact I took several SSBM vignettes I had written during an episode of Writer's Block, and I was wondering if you all could give me a few suggestions on how to edit it. I've been told the first paragraph was overwhelming, and the vocabulary a bit lofty... Anything else?

During the gray, frosty months of winter, when a cold sun imparting no warmth lies frozen behind a sheet of clouds, its half-hearted luminosity hardly seeming to illuminate the day, its being a mere light that hangs blurred and impartial in the sky; and the days evoke sad memories of the balmy weeks that have inevitably given way to the advent of lower temperatures, thus wresting all feelings of stability from the chilled humanity below, and subjecting them to the caprices of Nature and the customary whims of Time, the tabloids of Nintendo City begin their howling, screeching into the frosted air a litany of falsehoods. Perusing the magazine racks of local grocery stores, one stumbles over a flagrant mesh of mendacious headlines, such as, “SMASHERS HOLD WILD FIESTA IN APARTMENT COMPLEX! Ganondorf, Bowser, and Kirby get drunk and smash up stuff. Longtime inhabitants get mad and speak out. Exclusive photos...”

The blowups were obviously simulated. Everything was blurred, indistinct, and the wild testimonies on page 6 of the tabloid slavishly servile to this pattern. It was a case of pure desperation: these types of faux exposé, with their silly season-esque exaggerations and sensationalized teasers, are waxing moribund with the readers. Readers want new, fresh ideas, and the Smashers, closeted behind the glass walls of Tourney Hall, just don’t cut it. No one cares about them, not until spring and fall anyway. The advent of winter signals the end of the SSBM tournaments, and so it is that the world drifts away and turns its attention to other things, juicier things, petty and salacious things that eat into the brain of the population and expedites its gradual, synthetic rotting. The media tries time and time again to keep public attention on the activities of the Smashers perennial, but the world doesn’t care. It prides itself on repudiating the dreary.

Some would say it was better that way. In the winter, when everything is dead or dying, and the bitter chill frightens away the gutless paparazzi of Nintendo City, it is best the Smashers be allowed to settle down into a state of quiescence for a little while. They’ve spent their entire fall pounding on each other so that the flopping abdomens of couch potatoes could quiver with laughter, the kids could scream and root, and the SSBM managers could rake in their paychecks. Winter is a time of hibernation. Let the self-sacrificing entertainers rest a little. The tournaments will be back in spring.

This is, of course, only the opinion of those commiserating few who sympathise with the Smashers.

Everyone knows the Super Smash Brothers Tournament competitors have sold themselves. Everyone knows the SSBM tournaments are merely the Super Bowl of Nintendo City, or the concerts featuring the musicians who stubbornly pursue dead careers; the contestants the grossly overpaid professionals proving the maxim, “Entertainment pays.” We sometimes wonder if they like it here, in the sylvan outskirts of the city. We wonder why they left their own homes, and their own time, to live here in an apartment complex largely inhabited by older people and called Tourney Hall, only to participate in a contest that requires they beat the living soul from one another. True, the wage is good, and the accompanying boons of free room and board as long as they stay on with the SSBM team commendable, but still we wonder: why did they prostitute their talents; why did they traded their freedom for this? Weren’t they happy, back there in their old homes? They’re so different from all of us—a group of twenty-six disparate heroes and heroines and villains, some of them humans, others amongst them fauna, still others outlandish creations that cannot be generally named—and they all know that we, the genuine human beings, the masters of this earth, hate them with a passion, for all their anthropomorphic qualities.

We, the residents of Tourney Hall, loathe the Smashers because they broke in upon the solitude of our suburban asylum. We loathe them because they embody everything life has stolen from us. We loathe them because the SSBT is the product of dreams that we could not envisage.

The managers dream, the people dream, and the Super Smash Brothers Tournaments are conceived. The members are dreams, wrapt in the misted shrouds of ether, bowing their modest heads as they pass through the glass doors of our apartment complex. The members of the SSBT are larger than life, smaller than life, life itself—they are the laughingstocks of the city, stumbling ciphers trying with desperate endeavor to conform to the monotony of life. They fumble with quotidian jadite and splinter the mundane shards, and then they wake renascent from the ashes of their folly and become, once more, the Untouchable Few that live in Tourney Hall.

Sometimes we call them gods—goddesses—heroes—heroines—villains—princesses —plumbers—animals—fools—the loves our life—the nectar of our existence—the amrita of our joy. We watched them come into the city, dressed in their uncommon garmenture, and toting their humble little carpetbags behind them, as they roll up in limousines and disembark upon steps carved from marble. They all cluster about each other, like furze on the moorland grey, striking against the tedium, and huddle in the elevators, as they ride up to their rooms on the sixteenth floor. They usd the special keys the managers have given them, and enter into their seasonal suites, the flamboyant rooms with the Lazyboys and glass coffee tables around the television; the rooms with the stereo and boombox and kitchen crammed with all the necessities. We laughed up our sleeves at them, as they unpacked their little bags and ogled at the high-tech kitchenware, and we wondered if they knew how to cook and doubted that they could. What hero could cook a simple omelet? or villain some grand and sumptuous dinner dish? We waited for the day that they would throw down the little plastic bowls and faux silver spoons, and buy a box of macaroni, or order a meat lover’s pizza. Everyone did that, because no one knew how to cook, and we despised the SSBT members for their endeavors, and consoled ourselves with the belief that they were just a bunch of rusticated ciphers who were arrogant in their humility, and wouldn’t last a day with their pink aprons and Rubbermaid plastic.

But they endured.

We might see the women going from SSBT member door to SSBT member door with their pans of food, laughing and talking, and when we passed by their rooms we could smell good food cooking, and we would loathe them. They were a crazy bunch, buying their raw ingredients from hippie health food stores, and the periphery of the big box supermarkets. Sometimes they went as far as ordering food from their home towns, and we were therefore treated to the squeal of eighteen-wheelers outside, and visions of countrified red haired women and corpulent men with muscular arms lugging crates of raw milk and cheese, yoghurt and cream, flour and butter, into the apartment complex.

We didn’t know what to make of them. They had their parties, when the tournaments were ended, and could therefore be described as a corybantic bunch, from the earsplitting racket of their music and bustle and laughter floating out of the community room. It was interesting to spy on them, to watch as they danced and mingled and sparkled in their freshly starched clothes.

The Smashers are always doing peculiar things that are considered repulsive by us civilized inhabitants of Tourney Hall. Yet, despite the vulgarity of their aberrant acts, we are fascinated by them. They greet people on the elevator, and actually seemed to like one another, and they band together when one of their number is being galled by the paparazzi, and chase the gutless photographers away. They went outside when it was eighty degrees Fahrenheit, and stroll in the village, window shopping. They sit on their balconies in the winter, and if you look hard enough you might see them leaned like a Keatsian nymph along the rail, looking out at the white, hiemal mist with an expression of quiescence about them.

We hate them... we love them... we ogle at their cheery peculiarity... and they never cease to smile, for all our mixed feeling.

These are Smashers. And this is us.

Originally Posted by Selah

I need some help on a Super Smash Bros. Melee vignette I'm working on. It's very convoluted, due to the fact I took several SSBM vignettes I had written during an episode of Writer's Block, and I was wondering if you all could give me a few suggestions on how to edit it. I've been told the first paragraph was overwhelming, and the vocabulary a bit lofty... Anything else?

Well this is going to take some thought, but straight off your 1st paragraph isn't really a pragraph. Is on e incredilby long sentence. That really needs to be broke up or better have portions of it removed for ease of reading. There is so much un-needed flourish scattered throughout.

I would also ask why you chose to write the narration in a third person tone - instead of a more nuetral voice? The narration is very drawn out in some spots, too much description that talks at and over the reader (ie the lofty sound) so it was difficult to finish.

I am at work right now but will edit this later once I have more time to look at the text.

The following is what I've written so far for a new original ficton of mine entitled Lionhart. Please tell me what you think of it.

Originally Posted by Lionhart

He was rather annoyed by the fact that his every footfall was heralded by the splish-sploshing of the filthy liquid through which he waded, and even further aggravated by the stench of the place, but his vexation was simply reflex; he had learned long ago to effortlessly force such distractions out of his mind—they had an awful tendency to spoil concentration and cloud judgment, two maladies a bounty hunter undergoing a covert operation can never afford to chance. First precept of stealth missions: the nature of the objective always takes priority to that of personal preference. Whether or not the circumstances are to your liking is irrelevant, and foolish to even consider, much less fuss about; you are going to accomplish your task in the manner that is required to accomplish it, or you are not going to accomplish it at all.

“Twenty more paces forward, follow the ascending passage to the left,” he said, reciting the instructions cataloged beside the blueprints his contacts had fabricated for him. Thousands of hours of working in the pitch-dark had eliminated all necessity for a light to read by; it was essential that hunters develop that talent—discovering how to navigate while remaining undetectable was not merely a suggestion, but a requirement. Once he had moved the prescribed distance, his eyes flickered up and down the conduit on his nigh side. A pair of grates allowed a small amount of light into the channel, but there did not appear to be any hazards.

“Looks clear,” he stated, as he set forth to scale the incline. The irritating splurging sound that had accompanied his steps in the main pipeline had softened to a mere pitter-patter that was almost comforting to hear in comparison; it certainly allowed concentrating on the mission ahead to progress much more easily. He squinted his gentle, rust-colored eyes ever-so-slightly as they were permeated by the shafts of light flooding into the tunnel through the grating on either verge. It turned out to be fortunate that he reacted as such, for he would not have noticed the fiend come at him otherwise.

But, in the mind of Dennon Hart, luck is not luck at all, but talent gone into overdrive.
He had already whipped his handgun free of its holster before its movement had yet to pass his eye, because he had guessed that something had noticed him squint, and perhaps had perceived his eyes as being closed. He had already jerked the trigger before he had even sensed its advance, because he had realized immediately that that same something was coming to kill him. It had already expired before it pounced, because he had known precisely where to aim. He had already shuffled out of the way before it hit the concrete of the pipeline, because, under the illumination of the grating, he could better examine his kill.

Dennon Hart planned all of these moves and employed each of these tactics and executed them with unmatchable finesse—all within the span of several seconds, if one must insist that enough courtesy has not been granted him as yet—because Dennon Hart was impossibly good at his job. And he knew it well; he had clients who enlightened him of this much each and every time occasion they spoke with him.

“It’s an insectoid, that’s for sure,” he said as he knelt to inspect the features of his would-be attacker. Its armor-like carapace was coated in a firm plasmic substance like beeswax. “Probably a hiveling, and probably not very old.” He cranked open the operculum of the creature and examined the inside of its mouth, which was sodden with whitish fluid—probably a toxin of some kind. “These biters are definitely not fully developed,” he said, collecting the liquid in a small clear container, “but it always pays to take samples, for science’s sake.”

He heard the scuttling of more than a few insectoid limbs closing in on his position; any companions this creature might have had must certainly have noticed the gunshot. “And I doubt I’ll get the chance later,” he finished, pocketing the specimen and readying his weapon. And Dennon Hart dashed further up the incline, to meet whatever threat awaited him.

They attacked him from the right confluent of the pipeline, so, naturally, it was reasonable to presume that if these organisms had a hive or breeding ground of some sort, that was the direction he needed to proceed if he wanted to locate it. Insects are creatures of habit.
His first responsive shot was adequate to fling one of the arthropods into another, resulting in the both of them toppling against the wall of the passage only to be trampled by their swarming brethren; his second and third struck their targets squarely in the roof of the mouth; the rest he did not bother keeping track of. It wouldn’t have done him much good, anyway.

One of the fiends came considerably close to tackling him to the ground, but a pair of well-placed projectiles eliminated the threat easily; another attempted to latch onto him and steal a munch out of his flesh, only to experience what it felt like to have its abdomen blown apart; a third proved quite resilient to bullets and had to be dealt with by virtually plunging the firearm inside the creature’s mandible and removing its midsection from its head. But, other than these minor trifles, there were no difficulties to speak of—as has been mentioned, Dennon Hart was impossibly good at his job. Killing the scum of the universe to him was not an action, but a thought, and Dennon Hart was capable of thinking very imaginatively. It made for an interesting tale to recount in one of the Guild pubs, which made for good publicity, and everyone could use some good publicity. Good publicity helps distract one from his own shortcomings.

And Dennon Hart had many shortcomings.

That's really great, but I had a few complaints.

First of all, the first sentence wasn't an attentiopn-grabber. It was really, REALLY long, too. A shorty first sentence is uaually the way to go, at least in my opinion and experience in reading.

Second, I'd advise against having Dennon talk to himself, because that kinda wierd. o__O; I'd suggest maybe having it italisizees thought text instead.

Other than that, sheer brilliance! I lurved it! :3

LionHarted, awsome detail. I didnt read it all, but from what I read, its really good. Dont really have any suggetions except for what Lakayal said.

Question, is anyone out their good at naming things? Im really bad at naming. I need names for a Fire God and Goddess, Water God and Goddess, Earth God and Goddess, Wind God and Goddess, and the Dark God. Also I need a name for the people who worship the Earth Gods, their a Nordic type people.


Also be sure to check out my story Son of Darkness, link in my sig.

Here's somthing I've been working on for mose of the summer. It's Science fiction mingled in with a bit of spontaneus prose. I intend for this to become a short graphic novel when I'm done. I'm about half way throuh. The dialoge is more like a movie script, I'll have long desciptions and internal monologues followed by quick conversations. Remember, this is just the bare bones, a script of sorts, so theres no "he said she said, he mumbled" etc.
Here's the first chapter, tell me what you think.

StarBoy: Battle Love

First off! This is a true story, but when ya think about it, it's jus' that! A story DUDE! DUDE! Look up in the sky and tell me what you see, no no, not the day sky, its all blue, an ocean above our heads, vertical abyss. I'm talking to you about the night sky! The sky of the old monsters, scropio, ursa major and her young! That giant ladle and persius. The sky of heroes! The sky of stories!. So without further adiue, thats total french by the way, let me begin, rap it in, out, bellybutton!

So, school ends, thats, right, the first afternoon of summer. Imaginations fly with sprinklers, water, secret codes, slurpies, oldies speak of pot dreams and drunk speak of drunkin dreams, I dream of...

SAM-Ed, this is summer vacation! Can you believe what I see, blue sky! Clouds! Downtown in the backround, ya see? Its heaven man!

ED-heaven on earth? Pssh, the only heaven I see is the heaven of taking a wiz, I do declare fair Sam! Drinking 3 bottles of kerns 100% natural water is not good for ones bowels--

Then, I saw her... my warrior princess, the girl I loved ever so long ago, the hot, the E, the N, the I, my sweet love, let us get on the chariots of fire and carry the sun over the skyscraper mountains!
Her name is Nicole...
She is moving in...4 houses away... from me...
And then I died.

I awoke to find my body on the gurny and my mind in the stars,Sam, mother, Dad, brother, nicole.. WAIT WHAT!! WHAT IS SHE DOING HERE! UGH.. MEGA UGH

Thank you achitka! I'll take your suggestions for improvement into consideration when I rewrite. I rewrote paragraph 1:

During the gray, frosty months of winter, when a cold sun imparting no warmth lies frozen behind a sheet of clouds, its being a mere light that hangs blurred and impartial in the sky, the tabloids of Nintendo City begin their howling, screeching into the frosted air a litany of falsehoods. Perusing the magazine racks of local grocery stores, one stumbles over a mesh of mendacious headlines, such as, “SMASHERS HOLD WILD FIESTA IN APARTMENT COMPLEX! Ganondorf, Bowser, and Kirby get drunk and smash up stuff. Longtime inhabitants get mad and speak out. Exclusive photos...”