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The Warm-Up Room

Writing is an exercise, and like any exercise you can severely injure yourself without a proper warm-up.

Cold hands can lead to all sorts of miskates like typos and misplaced words, cold minds can lead to bad content and misplaced ideas, and a cold soul can lead to unoriginal and uninspired writing.


While I know many of you may already be confident in your own writing ability, we can meet on common ground in the idea that there's always room for improvement. However, don't confuse The Warm-Up Room with a center for improvement.


The Warm-Up Room is better described as a sharpening stone, where you can bring all of your imperfections, and your worst writing, and leave without them. Come here any day of the week and any hour, on any whim, and leave your trash or simply hack at any ideas you may have come across. You'll feel better for it, and after a proper warm-up maybe you'll be able to finally tackle that 80 page book you've told yourself you'd write, or at the least, find out just how @#$ up your writing can be.

That is, if you find it in your heart to leave. This place rocks.

Signed,
Del is on Fire

Our Slogan:

"A journey of a hundred levels begins with a single experience point."


Y.A.Q.
Yet to be Asked Questions

Why should I use the Warm-Up room?
To ensure Delfire's pyramid scheme is a success. He intends to make tens of thousands of people addicted to using the warm up room, and then later charge gold to post here and put up banner ads for Hostess Fruit Pies for a profit.

Or you can use it if you need to warm up, specifically a warm-up for your writing.


What makes the Warm Up room better than other threads?
No one said that Warm-Up Room is better than other threads. In fact, there are other threads out there that are just as cool, if not just as serious about writing as this thread. What sets apart The Warm-Up Room from other threads is that The Warm-Up Room is for warming up. There aren't many Warm-Up threads around......That rock this much face.

Oh, so you mean just like spam in the Chatterbox?
Yes, except it's nothing like spam in the chatterbox. Think spam + tangible content. The amount of posting is the same, the amount of randomness is the same, however, what's posted in the Warm-Up Room serves a greater purpose. ******** gold. That's right I said it. We're here to help you warm up for writing something that's important to you.


How can I help people in The Warm-Up Room warm-up?
By not maintaining a critical eye and adopting the belief that what's posted here isn't the best measure of the poster's writing ability.

How can I Warm-Up?
By freely posting whatever you'd like, whenever you'd like. Remember that great story idea that's been floating around in the back of your head for over a month? That questionable character you created that you want to flesh out? Write about them here without fear of looking like a bad writer, or an idiot. We're all idiots here, and if you can make sense of that, there'll be less problems in the long run, and more room for creative expression.

So we can be creative?
Absolutely! I abide to the idea that everyone has at least a teaspoon of creativity to them. Bring yours to the pot, and so we can see what soup you can make. We're just not expecting you to use the best water. You're free to make as many servings as you'd like.

"Peach cobbler?"

"Yeah, peach cobbler. Eating this peach cobbler will turn you into a super hero."

"You've got to be kidding me."
Roger's impatience was written on his face. Soon, the mob would be over to collect his couch, his car, and his life. His only hope lay before him, and he was running out of options. Dr. Hargrave stood up with a can of whip cream in his hands, and with the nozzle he squeezed out a generous helping of cream onto the cobbler. He started,

"Alright, maybe this situation may come off as a little strange to you. I can understand that, but the fact remains that even if this peach cobbler was switched out with the cobbler that turns you into a super hero, you should consider that if you're fighting the mob you're going to lose if you do it on an empty stomach."

Hargrave set the can onto the table and headed for the door. With his back to Roger, he opened it and before he stepped out he cared to mention,

"There's enough sugar in that thing to fuel a short adrenaline rush. If you're shot you're going to wish you'd eaten. I have nothing more to say and will be on my way."

Roger stared at him in disbelief.

"..."

And with that, Hargrave shut the door.

Just then, Roger could hear the screeching of tires in the distance. He immedietly became tense, and in his mind he searched for where he could have put his double barrel shotgun within his room upstairs. Then, something clicked.

Roger reached for a fork instead. A black limousene pulled up to his driveway as he began feasting on the cobbler like a malnourished beast, and within moments a throggle of men in black glasses and zoot suits were lined up at his door, each carrying a pizza deliver box.

"Roger, we know you're in there. Open the door before we open it for you."

(To be continued...Maybe)

"There we stood. Three brave penguins on the top of the glacier. At least two of us were brave. It was about noon and the sun was shining brightly, warming our slippery penguin bodies. I waddled around and waited for the polar bear to arrive. That stupid, cruel and evil polar bear. We had to do something about it. Our future depended on it, and since we were the only capable warriors of our village, we had no choice but to deal with it ourselves.

We've had enough of that polar bear. Both me, Squeeky and Tipi Tipi. That b*****d had slayed more then twenty of us, plundering our food supplies and scaring away all the fish from our territory. He had to pay, and today was the payday. I looked at Squeeky, the hunter of our village, an excellent one on top of that. There he stood with his beak shaking like a dying fish. He was obviously scared.
"Don't worry, it's only a bear" I told him.
Squeeky looked at me and sighed.
"I know, Pappy." he answered with a shivering voice

I patted Squeeky on the back and turned my attention to Tipi Tipi. He was a maniac. I have never seen a penguin with such bloodlust. He stood there armed with a large ice spear he had crafted the day before. He was the village smith too, very handy with snow and ice. He was waddling from side to side with the spear, patrolling and waiting for the polar bear to arrive. He came up with the plan just an hour ago. We were supposed to leap out of our hiding place when the polar bear was seen, glide on our stomachs down the hill and then knock it down into the water. When we got into the water, we'd attack it from every angle, forcing it to flee. Simple enough, I thought. We're masters of the water.

Tipi Tipi poked me with his spear and pointed towards the end of the hill. There it was, the polar bear. That large, white and deadly messenger of hatred. We lined up and prepared ourselves for a long slide down the hill. I glanced at the other two. Squeeky was just as scared as he had been before, and Tipi Tipi was grinning in a way that probably would've scared even the bear. It was mostly those yellow feathery eyebrows that made him look so dangerous. Tipi Tipi squealed, and that was the signal. I took a one-step momentum and off I went! Down the hill, snow flying around me and beneath me in a great speed. A world of ice and snow whirled around me. I could hear the sound of the others behind me as we closed in on the bear..."




This is the silliest thing I've ever written xd

Thanks. Your Penguin story rocks the casbah. It conjures up images in my head of penguin warriors ready for battle.

A bright snowfall had spread across the landscape enveloping everything in its grasp. Even the sun's rays could not contend with its brilliance, and with every snowflake it made its presence known. The slopes it created were said to be so illuminescent that lost travelers would swear they were wandering the horizon of a brilliant cloudy heaven.

As luck would have it, two wanderers now became enraptured in its serene, icy marvel. One of them, a tall, lanky man carried the other, and as a true testament to his determination, a rope around his waist served to drag what little supplies they had left on this outing.

His companion was a radiant, gentle woman who now lay in his arms wrapped in thick blankets and overcoats.

"Unnnnnnnh!"

She moaned as the wind blew sharper. With a firm stance the man stood against the wind and its millions of snowflakes and continued on their trek.
Seeking shelter from the cold, they encountered an underpass on the side of a mountain that provided just enough protection from the now violent winds. It was as if winter herself had sensed their arrival.

"Rest easy my dear Ellis. Soon this terrible snowstorm will come to pass, and when it does I'll carve a home for you out of the landscape with my own bare hands," the man told her calmly as he set her down to rest.

"You're a terrible liar," she said as her eyes told him to kiss her. The man and Ellis firmly locked lips, and within all of the chaos of a snowstorm, they found their own comfort in each other, their own warmth in each other.

However, it would seem that their comfort would soon be disturbed. The winds themselves let out a cry of disapproval, and in all of nature's fury crashed into the mountaintops creating an avalanche that left them encapsulated within the underpass. With only a small area of space to move and an earthen canopy above them their shelter had now found them in the form of walls of snow that reached up the underpass and blocked the sun's rays.

The underpass had now become a room, and one safe from the surface's mighty gale.

With the coming of the nightfall, the man had managed to make a splendid fire using dryed roots plucked from the underpass's earthy walls.

(To be continued...Nope, this isn't a full story in the slightest! I think I'll call this one FG 2.5. That's Eff Gee two point five.)

Penguins DO rule, you know 3nodding

Nice image! n_n

I feel like improvising a character study...

"Damn, do you ever shut up?" Terry threw a baby carrot at James, which glanced off the side of his Chicago Cubs cap and fell, forgotten, to the ground.
"Well, uh...jeez, sorry, I thought we were having a discussion."
"James, you dumbass, this is lunch. You don't 'discuss' during lunch. You talk."
"Okay, whatever...sorry."
"I get the picture."
James chewed on his tongue for a few seconds, picked up a knife, and started to vigorously hack into his chicken breast. "Ugh...they've gone from undercooking to overcooking in a week."
"Maybe someone got tapeworm."
"You generally can't get tapeworm from undercooked chicken."
"What did I tell you about shutting up?" Terry shoved some equally overcooked chicken into his mouth and began chomping.
"You just need to be accurate about some things, Terry."
"Mmph."
"Oh, wow, great answer."

(Thats all I can write for now...anyone got any ideas on where I should go with this?)