137 replies to this topic

[Mara=^.^=]

You can upload it to another site and link to it (like Slinky did) or you can just copy+paste it into a post here.


~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[iloveslinky]

Ug, no fair! I'm doing Riley too!  :P

COPYCAT!!!!

Slink

P.S. Just kidding! ^_^

(like Slinky did)

EDIT: Mara, you can call me Slink or Laura if you want. Actually, that goes to everyone.

[Beks]

Mine has Riley as a girl, so it's all good! :thumbsup:

[CraazyOne]

OK, I'm entering. *everyone screams and runs away*

I just wrote a oneshot this evening, yay! There's no way I'm submitting it yet, though; I need to do some editing... Plus, I haven't even given it a title yet. XD

I hope it's halfway decent... :blink:


~Rach~

[iloveslinky]

That's awesome! Oh, and I LOVE YOUR AVATAR!!!! IT ROCKS MY NIN-EXISTENT SOCKS!!! Jackie rulez!

Slink

P.S. Ok, now you people have OFFICIALLY infected me. I've never used a 'z' in ANYTHING where it wasn't supposed to be. SAVE ME BEFORE I HURT ME!!!!! :drool:

[CraazyOne]

Thanks. ^_^ He does!

Oh, and "z's" rule. Why wouldn't you want to use them??? YAYZZZZ! *burned at the stake*

EDIT: Ahhhh! I just came up with a title for my oneshot. I'm calling it "The Ghost of Mrs. Hanky". LOL!!!!

EDIT (again :P ): I put my story up under the Creative Works section. Already. I noticed loopin has written a story about Violet Pinny, too. *cringe* I hope mine doesn't end up being similar. *goes to read loopin's story*


~Rach~

[Liziana]

I read both of yours, loopin and Rach, and I offically offically have no hope now... :unsure: -_-

But, since Mara asked so nicely, I'll enter something.

Maybe. Hopefully. -gets out thinking cap-

[Mara=^.^=]

Rach, can you post it here please?

And thank you Liz ^_^

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[CraazyOne]

Sure, Mara. Here it is.

And, Liz, thank you very much, but you DO have hope. I've read your stuff; AND YOU CAN WRITE. :thumbsup:


The Ghost of Mrs. Hanky


Her piercing blue eyes seemed to bore into Violet Pinny's soul, searching it for anything that needed "reproving". The relentlessly bright light glanced off her glasses as she shoved them back up her nose to reveal one tremendously large and hideous wart perched on its end. A frown crinkled her old forhead as she lifted her claw-like hand and jabbed one bony finger under Violet's nose.

"Forgot your homework again, eh?" Mrs. Hanky fairly crowed. "Ah, well, detention will do you some good, I think, Violet."

A terrified girl sat back and stared breathlessly at her substitute teacher. Mrs. Hanky truly was a living nightmare for the miserable students of Hunter Elementary. She was renowned for giving impossibly difficult assignments and "reproving" anyone who misbehaved, forgot their homework, was late to class, or committed any other heinous crimes. She was like a lithe tiger as she stalked past the rows of desks and awaited her moment to spring on some poor, unsuspecting fourth-grader. All sorts of rumors had sprung up like weeds in the childrens' minds. Mrs. Hanky spent long nights devising ways to torment children. Mrs. Hanky was a witch. Mrs. Hanky had sold her soul to the devil. Mrs. Hanky had no soul.

Yet, despite such terrible punishments as writing five-page reports on reasons to pay attention in class or being forced to memorize and recite the entire Declaration of Independence in one day, some rowdy boys insisted on testing Mrs. Hanky. Peter, an especially rebellious boy, took delight in flying paper airplanes when he thought their aged subsitute teacher wasn't looking. Of course, anyone with half a brain knew Mrs. Hanky had eyes in the back of her head.

"Peter." Her voice was smooth and slow, like a snake slowly cruising toward its next victim. "I'm so proud that you've volunteered to make a speech on the first flight..."

___________________

"...occurred in 1903, when Wilbur and Orville Wright..."

The young voice rang in Violet's ears, snapping her back to attention. She blinked and sat up straight behind her desk and returned her gaze to the anxious student giving the dreaded oral report. She'd been daydreaming again about her accursed fourth-grade teacher! Must Mrs. Hanky continue to haunt her even now? Irritably, she brushed back her chestnut hair and focused a stabbing glare in the direction of her pupil.

"That's quite enough, Ben." Her voice was soft and calm, but with that hidden threat buried within it. Poor Ben's brown eyes widened in fright. Unfortunately, Violet Pinny was too preoccupied with her disturbing memory to feel much pity for the boy. "You get an A for the report, but I want to see you after class to discuss your homework..."

"Forgot your homework again, eh?"

Violet shuddered. How many times had she had those dreaded homework discussions with Mrs. Hanky? And now here she was, easily condemning her students to the same fate. Then again, five-page reports certainly disciplined the children...

"P-please, Miss Pinny," Ben sputtered; "my grandma was sick and I didn't have time--"

Miss Pinny was so absorbed in reminiscing about the dreaded Mrs. Hanky that she hardly paid any attention. Her atrocious memories were making her especially short-tempered. "What a nice excuse, Benjamin..."

"Violet, what a nice excuse to explain your tardiness..."

No, Violet told herself, I will NEVER become a Mrs. Hanky...

A paper airplane twirled just above Violet's head. Jerking from her thoughts, she threw a terrible glance toward the boy who'd thrown it.

"Jonathon, thank you for volunteering to help Ben with his essay on the importance of doing your homework," she declared, her voice taking on that ominous, threatening quality once again. Violet despised paper airplanes. They always flew in such a roundabout way through the classroom, giving her a terrible, anxious flutter in her stomach. Paper airplanes invariably reminded her of Mrs. Hanky, and anything that reminded her of Mrs. Hanky had to be dealt with ruthlessly.

Jonathon sat back, horror etched on his young face. Oblivious to his discomfort, Violet rose to her feet, sending Ben scuttling back to his seat with a warning look. But at that instant, loud whispers from the back of the room drifted to her ears. Why was it she was always forced to deal with such rebellious children? It was dispicable. It was intolerable. It was far too much like the class Mrs. Hanky had ruled with her icy glare and deceitfully soothing voice.

"Madison, if you're having such an engaging discussion with Jenny, why not share it with the entire class?" Violet's lips bent in a cruel smile almost before she could help it. After all, whispering students brought back memories of the whispered rumors about Mrs. Hanky. And thus, whispering students must be given the same treatment Mrs. Hanky would have been given, had Violet earned the chance before the old woman's death. The feeling of triumph Miss Pinny always felt while disciplining her students was just the sort of sensation she would have savored if she'd ever had the opportunity to make Mrs. Hanky recite the Preamble to the Constitution backwards before a mocking class.

Fortunately for Madison, however, the school bell rang before Miss Pinny could exact her punishment. With expressions of immense relief, every student but the unfortunate Benjamin and Jonathon scooped up their books and fled from Her presence. It was a few minutes later before the boys could follow their classmates with dismal faces. The sentence had been pronounced:

"Five hundred words on why one must complete his homework and bring it to class."

Now Violet Pinny was left to straighten her desk and then head to the restroom to freshen up. For a few terrifying moments, the remembrance of the cruelties she'd subjected her students to came upon her like a whirlwind. Almost like...

But I didn't sound like Mrs. Hanky--of course not. I'm only killing her memory.

Relief spilled over her. Of course. It was ridiculous to even imagine herself as anything like Mrs. Hanky. She was simply removing anything that reminded her of the dreadful woman, and once she did, Mrs. Hanky would cease to haunt her.

Lifting her eyes to the mirror, Violet smiled to herself at another successful day's work. Surely she'd reproved the children enough, and they'd never misbehave in a way that would remind her of Mrs. Hanky again. Soon, the terrible old dragon of a teacher would only be a vague memory. "Mrs. Hanky," she said victoriously to the empty room, "soon, even my memory of you will be dead." Her lips curved in one final, slow smile.

But, strangely enough, for one brief and terrible instant, Violet caught a flash of her piercing blue eyes and slippery smile, and noticed something. Something like the ghost of Mrs. Hanky.



~Rach~

[.:!Gwen!:.]

Goddamnit, Mara. I was going to do an amazing story with so much detail and use of all the characters....in one sentence.

Now I'll have to use DESCRIPTION and GRAMMAR and other crap that I hate doing. -___________-

Oh well. :3






.:!Gwen!:.

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Good job on all the stories thus far, guys! Rachel... I think I almost died of laughter while reading yours. :lol:

Mrs. Hanky: -____-

Violet: x__x

LOL. XD Anyway, I think I'm doing well on my story so far. It's pretty... umm... interesting, I'll give you that. You'll just have to wait and see, though. *Creepy voice* Waaait and seee. :ph43r:

[Mara=^.^=]

I'm so excited to read more!

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

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Oh, that's good, 'cause I just totally finished my rough draft. LEIK OMGGG. *Happy peppy voice* XD I'm going to print it out and edit it at school today. I want to have my story posted and up soon! Hope you guys like it because I worked super hard on it.

:D <3

[.:!Gwen!:.]

WARNING: This sucks mother chickens. 8D


Tin Pan Alley

“Well, how’s it fit ya, doll?”

The stage director pointed to a set made out to look like a speakeasy. There was a bar in the southwest corner, boots piled on top of it. You didn’t need to be hep to figure out what those were for. They had a special pocket sewn on the inside of them for those flasks bootleggers were so rah-rah over.

The stage director popped open the top of his cane and took a drink of the juice inside. He wiped spilled liquor off his thick gray mustache, but anyone could tell what he was. You could smell alcohol on this guy from fifty meters back.

“Ritzy,” I replied. Speakeasies gave me the heebie-jeebies, but hey, you did what you could do in Hollywood to earn some dough.

“We got sheiks and flappers coming in from everywhere to fill this juice joint. Just, uh, don’t tell nobody about the booze.”

I nodded in response. They didn’t really enforce prohibition out in Los Angeles, so it wouldn’t really matter if I told somebody the fridge on set 13 was filled with juice. All the same, going to jail wasn’t really one of my life achievements. Of course, neither was acting.

“Ruby, why can’t you be more like your sister and study instead of going to those parties?” Ma would say to me.

I’d roll my eyes at her. “Ma, nobody wants to be a jane like her.”

“Well, you’re all wild nowadays. Your skirts and hair are all too short, and those poor boys have no idea what to do with their eyes. It’s improper, and I hope you get over these fads soon.”

“Fads or no fads, Ma, it’s crackers to sit at home and read all day. I mean, Sis is a great girl, but she needs to let herself go sometimes.”

Ma would put her wine glass down, and take her kerchief out of her sleeve. As she did this, she would give me these looks that I suspect come with age. Those looks made me want to put everything aside and just pick up a dime novel, anything to make her never look at me like that again. And for a while, I said to myself once this whole flapper thing blows over, I’m getting myself into college.

Unfortunately, it’s been seven years since that day, and after about three of them, I got tired of waiting.

It was 1925. I had seen all the audies, I had been to all the Duke Ellington shows. Dancing and singing and jazz were implanted in my brain to a point where I couldn’t do anything if I didn’t have “Swing Swing” in my head, beating out the rhythm of my movements.

I went to this brawl one summer night. I was a bit zozzled and was feeling like the cat’s pajamas. There was an announcement for someone to get up on stage to sing and do the Charleston to “Fascinating Rhythm.”

Someone called out, “Ruby Holiday would do it!”

"And how I would!" I called back.

There were a couple of wolf whistles as I went up on stage. I had a really ritzy outfit on. My dress was teal with crystals sewn to the hem. I had a matching hat with a red feather coming out of the top, and my shoes were red too. Sparkly dust came off them with every step I took. My neck also had some gold chains some of the girls were rah-rah about when it wound up in the stores. When I bought them, I had to scram out of there real quick like to avoid being mauled. When I wore them that night however, the flappers were on the edge and weren’t too keen to jump after me. The sheiks knew better than to snap off a necklace to give to some jane they’ve been carrying the torch for. Especially one that was on my neck.

So when I had finished singing, some old bird came up to me and said that I was a born entertainer, and wanted to bring me places.

I couldn’t tell him no.

And that’s my story. Of course, that part about the whistles was a bit—

“Ruby, I’m talking to you, sweetface!”

I snapped back to reality and found the stage director staring at me with his dilated pupils.

“Sorry, man. I was thinking about the old days.”

“You slay me,” he replied sarcastically. “Now, get ready for the scene. Chaplin will be here any minute.”

“I’ll get myself dolled up,” I sighed, stuffing a stray end of a kerchief back into my sleeve.

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Oh Gwen are you KIDDING me? That does not suck mother chickens. o: Your story is AWESOMMME. Probably better than mine, harhar. And you stayed very true to the time period! Good job, dahling. ;)

PS. Mines is about Ruby Holiday, too, ohnoes. So don't misunderstand or anything. Mines it totally different. Heh. D:

[Mara=^.^=]

Note: I AM reading all of these, I'm just gonna wait until all the entries are in before making an extensive commentary.

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

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Sounds cool, Mara! I can't wait to read your commentaries. I don't know why, but it's always just fun to read paragraphs of that stuff. XDD

*Spazzes out* I've finally got my entry up! SQUEE!! Click if you want to read:

The Addiction

[AnDrEa]

first of all Krista u rock! we (or at least I) have NO choice!

and second Mara I have a question, what are going to be the parameters that you are going to consider in our writing? like content, grammar, development of the character, humour, imagery, idk, what are you going to take into account for this?


o:) Andre o:)

[Mara=^.^=]

Standard stuff. Grammar, characterization, voice (if in the first person), description, dialogue...whatever you want to put in. Decent writing, basically. It doesn't have to be English-class grammar perfect, nor comedy-hilarious. WHATEVER YOU WANT.

~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =

[AnDrEa]

okay dokay tks!


o:) Andre o:)