?

Log in

User Profile
Friends
Calendar
The Vault Of Tales' Journal

Below are the 10 most recent journal entries.

 

 
  2009.11.14  22.34
Invitation to Join need_a_beta!

Hello everyone!


Are you looking for a fun, active, and interactive place to get beta help for your creative writings? Want a place where you can get grammar help, character development assistance, feedback about plot holes and story logistics, help with pacing, and also post and discuss writing topics, brainstorm ideas, request and get prompts, and participate in occasional writing games?


Well then,[info]need_a_beta may just be the place for you!


Check out our community rules here.


Our[info]need_a_beta community welcomes writers and readers of fanfiction and original fiction- and we are looking for new and active members! Come join us, there are plenty of ways and opportunities to participate, as a writer, reader, or both, but most importantly we’re all about writing and having fun!



 
 


 
  2007.04.16  22.52
Strange Little Planet

Started a new Short Story. Called Strange Little Planet. About a man named George. I'm not overly happy with it but it's amusing me and giving me something to write :)

Strange Little PlanetCollapse )



Mood: amused
 
 


 
  2007.03.22  19.18
Pulp Fiction?

So I've been trolling through all my old documents, looking for something I can add to with my recent inspiration to start writing again when I come across this. I've always loved pulp detective novels, this was one of my first attempts at writing in the pulp style, reading back over it i love it, I love the condensed writing, the over descriptiveness the sense of claustrophobia just from reading it.

Pulp Fiction?Collapse )

 
 


 
  2006.10.10  15.17
Inspired by the advent of me turning 30

My Broken Sense of Wonder

Part One.
People always point to a moment, one mirror moment when they lost the magic. I've never been able to see it like that. I never saw these things the right way, I could never pinpoint "one moment" Most of the things that have happened to me in my life have been gradual things. Like my childhood, somewhere between fourteen and eighteen it dissapeared. Just don't ask me when, how or why. It was the same with my hope, my dreams, every thing I've ever allowed myself to wish for. It's as if I woke up one morning in a dead end job in a dead end life and thought "What happened." I remember being younger, having dreams and looking up at the sky going "one day!" well one day turned into one month and one month into one year and one year, eventually one year became one life.

Self indulgent talk like this isn't standard for a Monday morning I do get that, however this isn't just any Monday morning. this is the day before I turn Thirty. Thirty years old, people laugh at me when I say that. Those older say what's the big deal, those younger go "hehehehe" and those of the similar age bracket, with a certain sad sense of humour make ominous Logans Run comments like "Last day Runner..." To me? Its a death sentance. It's the start of all the things I never achieved. "By the time I'm thirty." It used to be my catchphrase, used to be how my every sentance would start. "By the time I'm thirty, I'm gonna have played Wembley. by the time I'm thirty I'm gonna have seen Paris, by the time I'm thirty I'm gonna have kids, by the time I'm thirty I'm gonna be married." By the time I'm thirty, it was like a mantra. The Bill Jones by the time I'm thirty mantra. If only I could work like I could talk.

So here I am Friday October 27th, 2006. One day left. Twenty four hours till the end of the world. One day from Thirty. So here I am, sitting in work counting down the hours till I can get out of here and lose myself from the thoughts of all the things on my list that I never ever did. I had been meant to organise a party, I had said I'd get everything organised, what with one thing or another I had ended up not organising anything, half-assed procrastination, Shelley used to say that was my real mantra. "I'll do it later." or "in a minute." All my life those seemed to be the words I said most. It was with a sense of Irony that I sat here in work at nearly lunchtime emailing my sister rather than writing the mind numbing review I was due on this afternoon.

"Sorry Dani, never got anything organised, been snowed under at work.

Maybe go for a drink next week.

Bill."

It was a cop-out I know. All I would hear is the same crap over Shelley that I always did, "your too immature, you ought to listen to what she has to say... etc, etc, etc." If I'd told her once I'd told her a thousand times, Shelley and I had played itself out and neither of us had cared enough to fight for it. Oh we blustered but when push came to shove, we were both too interested in our own lives. Right there was where I always fell down, I was always too busy with my own stuff in my own head to be worrying about someone else. Problem was what I was usually busy with was wasting time, be it on Computer games, in the pub talking nonsense or watching football. There was always something in the way of the big stuff. Like tomorrow, birthday lunch or Glasgow Rangers FC Vs Inverness Caledonian Thistle FC. I had told my family I had to do a piece for work. "The worst thing though Bill, your not lazy. Your hard working and conscientious. You just don't DO any of the things your always saying you will." I'd hear this every week, I used to wait for it. The what's the problem with bill this week call from my caring Sister Dani.

 
 


 
  2006.03.20  14.07
A Day Unlike Any Other

There’s a man at the door, Mom, she said.

Who is it?

I don’t know; he looks ill. Come look.

Mrs. Baker came to the door, drying her hands. I’m right in the middle of doing dishes, she mumbled. Her daughter stepped out of the way.

Look outside.

Mrs. Baker leaned forward to look through the peephole in the door. She was silent for a moment.

Who is it, Mom?

I’m not sure. I don’t think we should let him in.

There’s a lady over there, Mom.

Where?

Mrs. Baker turned back toward the kitchen. A woman stood in the doorway. Her eyes were hollow sockets and her cheeks were sunken pits. She made no sound, but moved a little closer and stopped, swaying.

This is the day they always told us about, she told her daughter. Go open the trap door; I’ll be there in a minute.

Mom, I don’t want to.

They won’t hurt you; just go.

Her daughter stood in place, trembling.

Go do it! Hurry! I just have to get some supplies.

The woman made a rumbling cracking noise and started, slowly, forward. Mrs. Baker’s daughter ran down the hall. Mrs. Baker circled the woman and returned to the kitchen, where she pulled out the junk drawer, taking two flashlights and several packs of batteries out. She wrapped them in a dish towel and turned toward the doorway. A large man stood, blocking her, all black teeth and rotting scalp.

Mrs. Baker stopped. Daddy? She said.

Mommy! Her daughter cried, somewhere down the hall.

The man moved away, startled, and moved slowly toward the open door to the backyard.

Daddy! Mrs. Baker yelled. Don’t go!

Mommy!

Daddy, come back!

Mommy! Hurry!

Mrs. Baker moved to the doorway and watched her father lumber over the grass and out into the alley.

Mommy! She’s coming this way! I don’t like her, Mommy!

I’ll be there in a minute! Mrs. Baker said. Just close the door, I’ll be right there!

Mrs. Baker watched her father lumber away in his funeral suit, and was reminded of her childhood.

 
 


 
  2005.11.13  00.33
Beginning of a Frost Story

I know this Community has been all but dead for ever and ever, but with mine and render's attempts to start writing things together again I thought I'd revive this place with this little start I made on exercising my Creative muscles by writing a story about my usual Mr Frost. When it's ColdCollapse )

 
 


 
  2002.04.29  16.33
Untitled

This is the start of a story I keep meaning to get around to witting. Actually it's the start of a trilogy of stories I keep meaning to write. someday I might even do it :o)

BeginningCollapse )

 
 


 
  2002.02.19  16.58
November Rain

Have a read, tell me what you think, I am all too intruiged.

story in hereCollapse )



Mood: creative
 
 


 
  2001.12.28  21.03
Battlefield...(ooh first thing in)

The first thing he noticed as he began to stir was the smell, if not for that smell, he could have believed he was already dead. If he was honest, he was scared to move, to open his eyes, to see what he already knew. Slowly he flexed his fingers to begin the arduous process of moving. With his hands covering them, he slid one eye gingerly open. After a brief period of discomfort, he adjusted to the brightness of the sun and saw that it was a beautiful warm day. A reason for the rapidly sickening smell he saw as he rose to sitting, bodies, the bodies of mercenaries and soldiers intermixed in a slumber that would last them an eternity. All the reasons for fighting all the differences in ideology forgotten with the ring of steel on steel the power of the battle had taken them to a place from which they could never return. Realising that he was probably wounded he searched his body until his probing hands came across a sensitive pang in his ribs, a twinge that fuelled his memory to a vision of yesterday amongst these men some of whom fought for glory others for fealty and some like him for something so crass as money. He had stood clad in chain with a sword clutched in each hand so caught up in his ecstasy at the thrill of battle moving and swinging like a dancer with the other men on the field in a beautiful mesmerising dance that left many of its dancers dreaming of their next life. So caught up had he become he never even saw the horse ploughing towards him, not until it was too late and the Morning star had carried him to the ditch and with the sickening crunch of head on stone had he landed in the shallow murky waters. For no reason other than random chance he figured his still breathing, body must have been overlooked and he had survived. The only answer must have been that not enough of either army had survived for this to be a victory for any man that day. He sat for a moment contemplating his position as the only survivor on the field when something occurred to him he wasnt the only one breathing.

 
 


 
  2001.12.28  20.44
The Vault Of Tales

Welcome to the Vault of Tales. A community I created to share stories, ideas for stories, tales short stories and anything about writing, books and Fantasy or Sci-fi