Creative Writing Taught by Amalthea for Grendel students
Rules Please only post when the title states a class is open. You may enter only two Nightmare's per stage at a time! Do not claim growth points for your Nightmare until the class is over and nepsah has quoted you stating you have passed. Should you do the assignment incorrectly you will be quoted stating you did not pass the class. When your character turns in their homework assignment you should write a small in-character RP response of them handing the homework to Amalthea. Any length can do.
Posted: Tue Sep 01, 2015 10:35 pm
Class Activity
Writing about Taboos Opens: First of the Month Closes Last day of the Month, 11:59pm EST This may change if fewer than 3 students post within 2 weeks.
"Creative Writing is often used as an outlet to discuss an array of socially acceptable and unacceptable topics- how does writing about the "taboo" affect whether or not that topic remains taboo?"
Rules Post a roleplay response in this thread of your student turning in their assignment. The response must be a minimum of 150 words.
nepsah Crew
Malevolent Mage
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nepsah Crew
Malevolent Mage
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Posted: Tue Sep 01, 2015 10:36 pm
Students Attending
Posted: Wed Sep 02, 2015 10:52 pm
nepsah
Silvanus wasn't quite sure what to think as he sat in class. What if the teacher recognized his style? What if one of the other students did? He sat in complete fear, twiddling his thumbs nervously as he ran the thoughts through his head again and again. Of course...with the assignment, he finally felt like he could do some good. Thus, after returning home late that night, he took to the desk in the corner and began to write.
Literature can be almost anything, but to me, it is everything. Anything written, or imagined, can be considered literature. Since I've been young, I've loved to write. Even my earliest attempts could indeed be considered literature, for there's a passion behind them, even if they aren't very good. I believe that for something to be literature, there really has to be a feeling behind it, something to drive it and make the reader feel emotions. Even if it's complete gibberish, like some of the more avant garde novels out there, if there's a feeling the author can portray to the reader, then it is indeed literature.
This indeed, does include music, or even something as mudane as a flier. There's always an emotion behind, such as excitement or sorrow, that will bring the audience in with it. Many great composers have been able to even tell a story with their songs, such as the many pieces that reflect upon the 50 Year War and its aftermath. These, in effect, are just as important as the books that cover the same material, only in words. It is simply my belief that each kind of literature is important in its own way, and that we can't simply rely on books to express the meaning of the word.
When class started the next day, the Baphomet nervously set the sheet down upon the professor's desk before taking his seat, trying to practice the breathing exercises Rosie had taught him....
The literature assignment had been dull, but at least this time their assignment was more interesting. Guilt was something that Guereda was confident that they could write about. By the time they had finished, their eyes were watering. They wiped away the moisture and silently stood up to hand in their paper to Amalthea, when to their horror, they reread the board. "No more than" five hundred words? They looked down at their paper. They'd written far more than that! They rushed back to sit down and hurriedly re-edit. There. That would have to do. The story would just have to start in media res, that was all...
Nicky’s ears rang. “I’m sorry…what?”
“This afternoon. You can’t take it off.” He plucked the page from her hands and ripped it in half. “You’re our best employee,” he said to her disbelieving face. “Your prose is professional, concise, and unbiased. We need you to pick up the Rogerson report. It’s due by 5 PM. Now, if you can get it done before the deadline, you can have the rest of the day off.” He continued shredding the paper into one-inch strips, then into one inch by one inch squares. “But we can’t let you leave.”
Nicky stared at him. “But my son’s—”
“There will be other games,” Mr. McCook said flatly. “Your son will understand.”
As she was ushered from the door, Nicky knew he was wrong. Just as he had been wrong the last three times he’d held her back. It was just…this was the first time he had been so blatant about it. Nicky sat back down at her desk and sighed. She looked at the framed picture of her son on her desk, dressed in his softball uniform with a bat leaning against his shoulder. He looked so happy, and her heart filled with pride every time she looked at it. Sammy didn’t have another parent. Just Nicky. Nicky, who had to pay for his clothes, for his food, for softball practice. The fact was…she needed the money. The firm paid well, well enough for this single mother to support her son on her own. But it demanded so much…
She imagined the look on his face when she was late, again. When she didn’t show up to the softball game, again. She turned on her computer and waited for it to reboot, face buried in her hands. Helpless tears trickled out as she imagined that warm, happy smile fading into sullen, resentful betrayal. The computer binged as it turned on. She wiped away her tears and got straight to work. Her fingers flashed over the keys, the red and blue and green lines of the autocorrect appearing and disappearing as she corrected her work as she typed. Two-thirty, right, the game started in half an hour, she could make it.
Three o’clock, she’d miss the first inning, that was okay, so long as she was there at the end…
Four o’clock, she’d take him out for pizza, I promise, Sammy, we’ll go out for pizza and ice cream and a movie!
With half an hour to spare, Nicky turned in the report. Dismissed at long last from her prison, she raced out the door, her briefcase and coat left behind. They didn’t matter anymore. Sammy mattered. But before she reached her carriage, the phone rang. The number belonged to one of the other softball parents. She opened it up.
“Mom,” Sammy said. His voice rang with hurt. “Where are you? Why didn’t you come to the game?!”
This sort of assignment was right up Reda's alley. They loved writing about real-life stories and bringing history to life. The question was then, what to write about? Which event in their life would yield the most interesting story? They looked down at the page and nibbled their pen. The obvious answer was on their lap, snuggled in and asleep with a blanket across their face to shield them from prying eyes. But...no. That would be a bad idea. As in, expensive fine-bad. So no. An earlier story would have to do...
They shifted their baby on their lap and got to work writing. They attached a note to the top of the page and turned it in. The note said simply, "Her name has been changed, but the story is entirely true."
=====
Ryanne was being annoying again. She was always being annoying, by my count—she talked too loud, snapped her gum, stuck it everywhere. But she was in most of my classes, so I just had to put up with her. Most days that was easy—I usually sat on the opposite side of the class from her, she usually didn’t talk to kids like me. I didn’t have to worry about her most of the time. So why did the teacher have to pair me up with her on a field trip?!
So I rolled my eyes as our class wandered through the museum. She was always one step behind me, her words of disgust at the displays mirroring my own private disgust at her. Ryanne just didn’t have a filter, did she? “That vase is ugly.” “That dress, seriously?” “Gods, that girl looks like a skank.” That last one was directed towards a portrait of Princess Elena. Classy. I bit my tongue and kept trudging forward, the words of the docent drowned out by the albatross around my neck.
But as we left the history section and entered the natural history section, I saw my opportunity. A girl like Ryanne would be easy to scare into silence here, right? I bided my time, looking at each display in turn, trying to find something to scare her with. My best window of opportunity was in the transitional room—a room that displayed how our ancient ancestors lived with nature. The room was full of masks…
Ryanne was distracted by a wall covered in cured skins. Now was my chance. I silently lifted a mask from a pile at the hands-on exhibit and snuck up behind her. I slipped it over my head, raised my arms behind her in a threatening gesture, and waited for her to notice.
She saw the shadow on the wall first. She stiffened, then slowly turned around to look into a fearsome mask with the fangs of a rabid bear. I let loose a rumbling roar in my throat, a grumbling, gravelly sound, full of hunger. Ryanne screamed in terror!
And then she…she laughed? What was this?
“Guereda!” she laughed. She patted my shoulder with her hand. “You scared me!” She patted me again and relaxed. “That’s a pretty neat mask, actually. Really nice recreation of an Anchrelle era bear-dance mask. Do they have any from the Kestren settlement?”
I took off the mask and stared at her. She waggled her eyebrows at me. “What?” Ryanne said. “Ancient history’s my thing. Recent stuff might be boring, but the ancient stuff?” She shook out her hair. “Come on, I’ll show you around. This exhibit’s amazing, you’ve got to see it!”
Maybe Ryanne wasn’t so bad after all. Even if she did snap her gum all the time…
Guereda groaned silently at the assignment. Writing news stories was not their idea of fun. For one thing, they were supposed to be objective--how could you be objective and write something interesting?
Oh well. This was their assignment, and they'd just have to write it. They wrote a much shorter piece than usual, but they simply didn't know what else to say that hadn't already been said...
Last week, a rally for the re-election of Governor Snike was disturbed by several protesters. The protesters interrupted the governor’s speech by breaking into the sound booth at the hall where the rally was taking place and playing loud fart noises over the speakers. The speech was drowned out by flatulence until the speakers were turned off. The protesters were removed by security guards, and order was restored half an hour later.
Governor Snike is suffering from a bout of unpopularity following several public statements against the immigration of Daydream races into Below. They are also facing allegations of gross corruption in the Great Council, with charges including election fraud and bribery. Whether this is true or not has still not yet been decided. Governor Snike has leveled accusations at their rival, Techsen, accusing her of sending her supporters into their rally to disrupt it. Techsen denies any association with the protesters. The protesters also deny any association with Techsen—when interviewed by police and by reporters, they insist that they simply represent concerned citizens who want to educate the public on Governor Snike’s foreign policies, albeit in an immature and sophomoric manner. It is unclear at the present time how the protest will affect Governor Snike’s or Techsen’s poll results.
“Future rallies will be more heavily guarded by security personnel,” Governor Snike’s representative said Thursday, “starting with Sunday’s luncheon in Asphodel.” One suspects also that beans will be removed from the menu.
Guereda looked over their paper unhappily. They weren’t sure if they had done a good job or not—was it not objective enough? Or was it not creative enough? Oh well, it was what they’d managed to write…
nepsah
I have no idea if you still want to be quoted for this, so I'm sorry in advance if this disturbs you!
Guereda spent a long time considering their homework assignment and figuring out how to answer it. They wrote their essay as soon as they could, typing it out on their computer over the course of an evening while their children played in the background. Finally satisfied with their work, they reread it over again, edited a few things, and asked for opinions from their lover. Mesi looked it over and nodded, asking Reda a few questions for clarification and suggesting a few edits. Reda considered the edits and added them in before rereading the whole thing again and printing it out.
Reda was really quite proud of the essay, smiling at the professor as they handed it in. They had put a lot of thought and effort into this essay, and they hoped that the professor didn’t disagree with it too much. They’d heard stories about professors who flunked students because they disagreed with them.
Abrus looked at the prompt. He still wasn't sure if creative writing really pertained to his major, but he guessed it was all fine as long as it helped him grow as a performer. The kirin tapped his pencil against his horn. It was a kind of habit he had developed as the years passed. Something about it helped him focus. Abrus finally attained some inspiration and started writing furiously. There were so many things that made a story good. He often watched other kirin in his carnival preform their acts. Some had stories they acted out, some told stories, some made illusions to stories. Either way they all had amazing things to tell. Abrus grinned as he remembered a rather charming tale one of the other kirin had preformed not long ago at all. It had been spectacular, a combination of body movements, illusions, and costumes that really got the watcher's imagination fired up.
Guereda had to think about the subject for a while. Taboos? Which taboos? There were so many taboos across both worlds, it was hard to separate them all out from each other, figure out which ones could be talked about, which ones had been talked about, and which ones needed to remain unsaid. Fire magic taboos among Dryads? That could stand to be written about, and even challenged. The Fey taboo on violence? Writing about it would be interesting, but that might be a taboo that would be better left in place, even if it could stand to be tweaked. Taboos on hurting children, or on necromancy? Those were…less good to challenge.
Writing about a taboo only affects the taboo under specific circumstances, Reda wrote. Writing about a taboo can open up conversation about aspects of the taboo that had so far never been addressed, or had rarely been addressed. A good piece of writing, fiction, nonfiction, or a mix of both, can challenge our ideas and start conversations. It can explore subtle nuances of the taboo. If enough people read the work, and if enough of the conversations started by that work filter through the public consciousness, the taboo could be weakened or even disappear over time.
On the other hand, some writing about taboos are merely sensationalism. Some of the facets of the taboo they might explore could strengthen it. For example, if a piece of writing talked about child sacrifice and necromancy, it could remind people why necromancy is so universally feared and reviled, which could spark a stronger backlash against those accused or convicted of necromancy. All of this could easily come from a piece of creative writing, whether good or bad.
Guereda typed out their argument and turned it in to the professor the next day.
Abrus looked at the prompt. He still wasn't sure if creative writing really pertained to his major, but he guessed it was all fine as long as it helped him grow as a performer. The kirin tapped his pencil against his horn. It was a kind of habit he had developed as the years passed. Something about it helped him focus. Abrus finally attained some inspiration and started writing furiously. There were so many things that made a story good. He often watched other kirin in his carnival preform their acts. Some had stories they acted out, some told stories, some made illusions to stories. Either way they all had amazing things to tell. Abrus grinned as he remembered a rather charming tale one of the other kirin had preformed not long ago at all. It had been spectacular, a combination of body movements, illusions, and costumes that really got the watcher's imagination fired up. 