The Creative Writing Thread

Electromotive · 10th February 2022, 12:31

Could not find a creative writing thread so made one. The closest we have is the spooky experiences thread.
This is where you spin the words and weave the tales. Take facts, make fiction. Get creative.

Rate, comment, and subscribe! Or not.

Electromotive · 10th February 2022, 12:33

The Tale of Ackmed Cold and Brittle

Ackmed was the guy the people of his village looked up to, for he was the only one from the village to land a job at a big company in the 2nd largest city in Ackistan. The company was a multinational auto company called Yundai. All those years spent behind an old computer toying with pirated Photoshop had finally paid off. Ackmed now had a respectable job with an M N C. The villagers sought his advice on everything from husbandry to finance. The village leader had offered Ackmed his daughter's hand in marriage. Ackmed was happy to accept after he saw the dowry.

Ackmed was the social media manager at Yundai, Ackistan. He has been at it for two years now. He had a lot of free time at work. Recently, Ackmed had become an investor of sorts. He had learned about magic internet money and how it was going to replace all conventional currencies. The gears of greed in Ackmed's mind set into motion. He borrowed money from the villagers back home and invested in a new fangled magic internet money called ICP (it stood for Internet Computer but the veterans called it ICyPee). Unfortunately, he invested all of his and other people's money when ICP was $400 per imagined unit and was going to revolutionize the interwebs. Or so he was told by the anonymous gurus on that racist forum he visited. And then ICyPee got flushed down the toilet.

Ackmed was now in debt. Big time. And he had no idea how he was going to return all that money he had borrowed, let alone the handsome returns he had promised. Only ray of hope was that Akistan's currency was on the verge of hyperinflation. May be the tiny amount of Bigcoin he had would appreciate enough to compensate his losses. Ackmed was scared. Because of this financial hardship Ackmed had to decide against taking on a second wife - the cute, young village tease whose father had already invested with him. Ackmed was bitter.

Ackmed used to pray only once a day, now his financial worries kept him occupied. If Ackmed's god was unhappy with him earlier, he was furious now. And on the 5th of February 2022, his god turned on the wrath.

5th of Feb was Mountain Valley Solidarity Day in Ackistan. It was a day the government had created as a reminder to the people to hate Nidia (the evil neighboring country) and support the occupation of mountain valley. But corporations being profit seeking entities, piggybacked on Mountain Valley Solidarity Day to peddle their goods as usual. Ackmed was responsible for creating and spreading the content on social media. Ackmed had handled the content for Mountain Valley Solidarity Day for the past two years. He did not think this year was going to be any different. He will do what he always did - tweak the old content, photoshop a new background and let loose the blue birdies on the interwebs. Little did he know the backlash the tweet was about to receive after he hit send.

The machinations of the god he was neglecting brought his seemingly innocuous tweet to the attention of someone with influence. Someone who saw an opportunity and took it. Here was a multinational company, which derived a large chunk of profits from Nidia, posting geopolitically sensitive content on social media. All hell broke loose.

Yundai was caught with their pants down. They did not want to be in that situation and they blamed Ackmed for it. Ackmed lost his respectable job at the M N C. He went home. Ten minutes later his wife ran out the door, sobbing.

Sad, dejected, angry, out of a job, out of money, and with the threat of the villagers lynching him looming on the horizon, Ackmed didn't have a choice. He ran away. He went and joined what seemed like a charitable outfit near the mountain valley. They provided free food, shelter, and protection. Or that is what his naive, angry brain imagined given the number of armed men patrolling the camp. That changed when he met the leader of the camp.

The man projected an aura of authority. He carried a big stick but he spoke softly. The man understood Ackmed was hurt and angry. He sympathized. He showed Ackmed the only way forward was through revenge and prayers. Lots of prayers. Nidia was the bad guy. Those subhuman pests were responsible for this low in his life and he must channel his vengeance to get into the good graces of god. There was a palace waiting for him in the kingdom of god and if he missed the young, cute village tease, god will treat him to 72 of those. He will finally be free of sin. Ackmed was sold.

Armed with a sub-sonic metal spitter Ackmed crossed into the mountain valley to rain hell on the pests across the line of imagined control. But god still did not favor Ackmed. A couple of the pests spotted him. He pulled the trigger. The metal spitter did not spit any metal or fire. He pulled again and was showered with hot needles and smoke. The metal spitter blew up in his face. Part of his skull lay on the ground. The last thing he heard was the subhumans mocking him.

Ackmed didn't die. May be there was a god after all. He flew up and called out to his god. No one answered. He screamed and was met with deafening silence. He realized he was in Nidia. May be god also hated Nidia and could not help him. He was trapped. He saw a Gunfield bike speeding down the dirt road. He snapped his fingers. The bike's fork weld froze and cracked. The biker, now on the ground, bruised, cursed Gunfield and swore to never buy another bike from them. Ackmed chuckled. He had powers now. Perhaps there was a god and this is what god wanted him to do.

And thus was born the tale of Ackmed - cold and brittle. He haunts the auto industry. He makes the metals thin, the plastics hard and the welds brittle. He blows tyres. He bends rims. He creates problem for bulle' baba to solve. They are not on good terms. Ackmed is badass. May you never encounter him.

---Fin---

Disclaimer: Any resemblance to any entities living, dead, or putrefying is purely coincidental and should be ignored for the good of the auto industry.

srini1785 · 10th February 2022, 14:42

Let me be your first critic here:

I came here expecting something creative but was disappointed. Rule 101 of Creative writing: Be original. Although, aspiring authors cannot totally shun current affairs, retelling an actual event by adding a few cliched characters does not qualify as creative writing.

Don't get me wrong. Nothing personal here but just wanted to point it out so that further posts are more nuanced.

One · 10th February 2022, 14:58

Quote:

Originally Posted by Electromotive

He haunts the auto industry

Can Ackmed really haunt the auto industry by crashing their prices. He will have many believers then starting with me...

Electromotive · 10th February 2022, 15:18

Quote:

Originally Posted by srini1785

Let me be your first critic here:

I came here expecting something creative but was disappointed. Rule 101 of Creative writing: Be original.

Thanks for your critique. I would appreciate some pointers and examples as to what exactly being original means/involves.

I ask because I am new to this. I mostly write technical stuff. I thought I was being original trying to look at the incident from the viewpoint of the guy responsible for the now infamous tweet. I extrapolated from there and heaped on cliches for effect.

srini1785 · 10th February 2022, 17:14

Quote:

Originally Posted by Electromotive

Thanks for your critique. I would appreciate some pointers and examples as to what exactly being original means/involves.

I am no creative writer and thanks for taking my critique in your stride, it takes some balance to accept criticism. From my understanding, an essay, regardless of subject, has to have a central idea that is new to the present trend or pushes the boundaries of the present trend, is creative writing. The idea is the central pivot and the subject can be anything ranging from Technology to social justice. By that definition, "Heart of Darkness" by Joseph Conrad, the White paper which defined the "ARPANET", "Das Kapital" by Karl Marx are all creative writings in their own disciplines as their central themes define something new.

Anyway, there are others in the forum who can be of better help. Thanks.

joyee · 8th January 2024, 20:34

Hi everyone! This is my first short story, written a year ago. I was inspired to write this based on my trip to Bhutan in 2020, after I saw those magical mountains and lovely monasteries! This was originally posted on my personal blog on Blogspot. Hope you enjoy reading my work of fiction and do post your thoughts and suggestions below!

The Tale of a Spiritual Slipper

'When in Rome, do as the Romans do'- what an apt expression to describe the bizarre incidents I experienced on my trip to Bhutan. These happenings occurred a couple of years back and now that I have in retrospect, thought about the event many times, I can put them down on paper.

Bhutan is truly a paradise, and the tiny Himalayan kingdom holds many hidden treasures for the wandering traveler, with many stunning destinations off the beaten track. Excited to explore this beautiful country, I had driven there in my trusty steed, my ten year old Suzuki Alto.

I had explored all the breathtaking waterfalls, forests, mountains and temples that Bhutan had to offer and had almost reached the end of my itinerary. My last stop was to be the Katsho goemba, an old, out of the way Buddhist temple situated on the top of a dizzying cliff. This was to be the highlight of my visit.

After a strenuous hike, I reached the top where I could see glimpses of the temple. There was a mild chill in the air. The mellow sunshine glistened off the dew on the grass. A koel was cuckooing in the distance, from the cherry trees in full bloom, growing on the edges of the cliff. The sky was a pure, light blue, the kind you see very rarely. The temple itself was a majestic sight. Rich, red-brown gables, fairy windows, geometrical doorways. Painstakingly carved pillars and prayer wheels in shades of gold, blue, red. Tapestries of Buddha, birds and animals adorning the walls. Traditional Tibetan butter lamps everywhere. Its timeless feel was completed with a couple of robed monks, huddled on the floor, meditating.

I had long forgotten the ache in my knees from the steep trek. I stepped into the goemba entrance in a spell like state. I had barely looked around when a pink cheeked lady rushed towards me. She was wearing an elegant kira (a Bhutanese robe for women), her hair pinned at the back of her head with a gold bun-pin. Her frantic gestures at my feet were at odds with her otherwise elegant composure.

After a couple of minutes of jabbering and pointing, I figured out that she wanted me to remove my shoes. I quickly slipped my Mitsubishi slippers off when she pointed at a stone plaque. It read-'Please remove your foot ware at the entrance as it is forbidden to enter a holy place with shoes on' in Bhutanese as the woman explained after another minute of gesturing. After apologizing to the woman, I went on to enjoy the rest of my visit. I was ushered into a prayer hall which was a small room with an earthen floor, prayer flags hung up on the walls. Butter lamps shone their light across the room. And in the center of the room was a priest in full prayer attire, a red robe, surrounded by brass jugs, a dong, a worn book and a scroll with scriptures, among other things. I sat cross legged on the floor at the back of the room with the other visitors.

The experience was breathtaking. The monk chanted beautiful hymns, and it was so heavenly I could've stayed there for hours, absorbing his divine energy. I came out of the room a refreshed person.

I stepped out into a chilly breeze. The sun had been replaced by a couple of clouds. Just as I had reached my car and was about to bid Katsho goemba farewell, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to meet a monk. He had a beatific smile.

''I saw- you know, uhm...'' He looked up at the now greyish sky. ''Yes!''

I was wondering what he saw.

''Aah, now I remember. You came into the goemba with shoes, no?'' said he.

''Umm, yes, my apologies, I missed the sign'' I was confused. What did this monk want with me? ''But I took them off immediately after I was told.''

''Ohh, good, good.'' He gave a sigh of relief. ''At least the effects will wear off.''

Before I could ask him any more, the monk turned around without a word and walked off with an air of finality. Confused, I opened the car door and was about to get in. All of a sudden, I felt an overwhelming dizziness. My head started spinning, I saw stars, and I slumped to the ground. It all happened in a flash. The rest was just a vague memory- it felt like I was watching everything unfold on television. A group of monks gathered around me and picked me up. I was driven to a hospital and wheeled into a room with blinding white lights. That is it, I do not have a single recollection of what happened after. What followed was two full months of probing and puzzling by the doctors. And then, as inexplicably as it had all happened, I woke up from my slumber. Later, the doctors told me that none of them had a clue about what happened to me. They had run all the tests that they could and yet, they had no explanation.

Well, what is my take on it? Frankly, I don't think I can explain any of this. It's still far too hard for me to understand, even after running the sequence of events in my head a gazillion times, for two years. But this I know for sure- Bhutan has always been a mystical place and it will remain an enigma wrapped in mystery for me.

The memory of the monk, looking back at me with a knowing smile when I was being carried away, will forever remain etched on my memory. And when I was lying in that hospital bed without a clue of what had happened to me- all I saw were my well worn Mitsubishi slippers, floating around in the cloud of my dream.

xxxx

Everything in this story is fictional except for Katsho Goemba. I have never been there, but the description is that of monasteries in Bhutan I have visited. Hope you enjoyed it, and always try and pay attention to mysterious signs! Maybe just as a precaution, wear running shoes instead of slippers if you are ever in Bhutan!

10th February 2022, 12:31	#1
Electromotive BANNED Join Date: Aug 2021 Location: Terra Posts: 207 Thanked: 1,690 Times	The Creative Writing Thread Could not find a creative writing thread so made one. The closest we have is the spooky experiences thread. This is where you spin the words and weave the tales. Take facts, make fiction. Get creative. Rate, comment, and subscribe! Or not.
	(2) Thanks

10th February 2022, 12:33	#2
Electromotive BANNED Join Date: Aug 2021 Location: Terra Posts: 207 Thanked: 1,690 Times	Re: The Creative Writing Thread The Tale of Ackmed Cold and Brittle Ackmed was the guy the people of his village looked up to, for he was the only one from the village to land a job at a big company in the 2nd largest city in Ackistan. The company was a multinational auto company called Yundai. All those years spent behind an old computer toying with pirated Photoshop had finally paid off. Ackmed now had a respectable job with an M N C. The villagers sought his advice on everything from husbandry to finance. The village leader had offered Ackmed his daughter's hand in marriage. Ackmed was happy to accept after he saw the dowry. Ackmed was the social media manager at Yundai, Ackistan. He has been at it for two years now. He had a lot of free time at work. Recently, Ackmed had become an investor of sorts. He had learned about magic internet money and how it was going to replace all conventional currencies. The gears of greed in Ackmed's mind set into motion. He borrowed money from the villagers back home and invested in a new fangled magic internet money called ICP (it stood for Internet Computer but the veterans called it ICyPee). Unfortunately, he invested all of his and other people's money when ICP was $400 per imagined unit and was going to revolutionize the interwebs. Or so he was told by the anonymous gurus on that racist forum he visited. And then ICyPee got flushed down the toilet. Ackmed was now in debt. Big time. And he had no idea how he was going to return all that money he had borrowed, let alone the handsome returns he had promised. Only ray of hope was that Akistan's currency was on the verge of hyperinflation. May be the tiny amount of Bigcoin he had would appreciate enough to compensate his losses. Ackmed was scared. Because of this financial hardship Ackmed had to decide against taking on a second wife - the cute, young village tease whose father had already invested with him. Ackmed was bitter. Ackmed used to pray only once a day, now his financial worries kept him occupied. If Ackmed's god was unhappy with him earlier, he was furious now. And on the 5th of February 2022, his god turned on the wrath. 5th of Feb was Mountain Valley Solidarity Day in Ackistan. It was a day the government had created as a reminder to the people to hate Nidia (the evil neighboring country) and support the occupation of mountain valley. But corporations being profit seeking entities, piggybacked on Mountain Valley Solidarity Day to peddle their goods as usual. Ackmed was responsible for creating and spreading the content on social media. Ackmed had handled the content for Mountain Valley Solidarity Day for the past two years. He did not think this year was going to be any different. He will do what he always did - tweak the old content, photoshop a new background and let loose the blue birdies on the interwebs. Little did he know the backlash the tweet was about to receive after he hit send. The machinations of the god he was neglecting brought his seemingly innocuous tweet to the attention of someone with influence. Someone who saw an opportunity and took it. Here was a multinational company, which derived a large chunk of profits from Nidia, posting geopolitically sensitive content on social media. All hell broke loose. Yundai was caught with their pants down. They did not want to be in that situation and they blamed Ackmed for it. Ackmed lost his respectable job at the M N C. He went home. Ten minutes later his wife ran out the door, sobbing. Sad, dejected, angry, out of a job, out of money, and with the threat of the villagers lynching him looming on the horizon, Ackmed didn't have a choice. He ran away. He went and joined what seemed like a charitable outfit near the mountain valley. They provided free food, shelter, and protection. Or that is what his naive, angry brain imagined given the number of armed men patrolling the camp. That changed when he met the leader of the camp. The man projected an aura of authority. He carried a big stick but he spoke softly. The man understood Ackmed was hurt and angry. He sympathized. He showed Ackmed the only way forward was through revenge and prayers. Lots of prayers. Nidia was the bad guy. Those subhuman pests were responsible for this low in his life and he must channel his vengeance to get into the good graces of god. There was a palace waiting for him in the kingdom of god and if he missed the young, cute village tease, god will treat him to 72 of those. He will finally be free of sin. Ackmed was sold. Armed with a sub-sonic metal spitter Ackmed crossed into the mountain valley to rain hell on the pests across the line of imagined control. But god still did not favor Ackmed. A couple of the pests spotted him. He pulled the trigger. The metal spitter did not spit any metal or fire. He pulled again and was showered with hot needles and smoke. The metal spitter blew up in his face. Part of his skull lay on the ground. The last thing he heard was the subhumans mocking him. Ackmed didn't die. May be there was a god after all. He flew up and called out to his god. No one answered. He screamed and was met with deafening silence. He realized he was in Nidia. May be god also hated Nidia and could not help him. He was trapped. He saw a Gunfield bike speeding down the dirt road. He snapped his fingers. The bike's fork weld froze and cracked. The biker, now on the ground, bruised, cursed Gunfield and swore to never buy another bike from them. Ackmed chuckled. He had powers now. Perhaps there was a god and this is what god wanted him to do. And thus was born the tale of Ackmed - cold and brittle. He haunts the auto industry. He makes the metals thin, the plastics hard and the welds brittle. He blows tyres. He bends rims. He creates problem for bulle' baba to solve. They are not on good terms. Ackmed is badass. May you never encounter him. ---Fin--- Disclaimer: Any resemblance to any entities living, dead, or putrefying is purely coincidental and should be ignored for the good of the auto industry.
	(4) Thanks

10th February 2022, 14:42	#3
srini1785 BHPian Join Date: Dec 2005 Location: bang Posts: 878 Thanked: 3,117 Times	Re: The Creative Writing Thread Let me be your first critic here: I came here expecting something creative but was disappointed. Rule 101 of Creative writing: Be original. Although, aspiring authors cannot totally shun current affairs, retelling an actual event by adding a few cliched characters does not qualify as creative writing. Don't get me wrong. Nothing personal here but just wanted to point it out so that further posts are more nuanced.
	(3) Thanks

8th January 2024, 20:34	#7
joyee Newbie Join Date: Oct 2023 Location: Hyderabad Posts: 24 Thanked: 408 Times	Re: The Creative Writing Thread Hi everyone! This is my first short story, written a year ago. I was inspired to write this based on my trip to Bhutan in 2020, after I saw those magical mountains and lovely monasteries! This was originally posted on my personal blog on Blogspot. Hope you enjoy reading my work of fiction and do post your thoughts and suggestions below! The Tale of a Spiritual Slipper 'When in Rome, do as the Romans do'- what an apt expression to describe the bizarre incidents I experienced on my trip to Bhutan. These happenings occurred a couple of years back and now that I have in retrospect, thought about the event many times, I can put them down on paper. Bhutan is truly a paradise, and the tiny Himalayan kingdom holds many hidden treasures for the wandering traveler, with many stunning destinations off the beaten track. Excited to explore this beautiful country, I had driven there in my trusty steed, my ten year old Suzuki Alto. I had explored all the breathtaking waterfalls, forests, mountains and temples that Bhutan had to offer and had almost reached the end of my itinerary. My last stop was to be the Katsho goemba, an old, out of the way Buddhist temple situated on the top of a dizzying cliff. This was to be the highlight of my visit. After a strenuous hike, I reached the top where I could see glimpses of the temple. There was a mild chill in the air. The mellow sunshine glistened off the dew on the grass. A koel was cuckooing in the distance, from the cherry trees in full bloom, growing on the edges of the cliff. The sky was a pure, light blue, the kind you see very rarely. The temple itself was a majestic sight. Rich, red-brown gables, fairy windows, geometrical doorways. Painstakingly carved pillars and prayer wheels in shades of gold, blue, red. Tapestries of Buddha, birds and animals adorning the walls. Traditional Tibetan butter lamps everywhere. Its timeless feel was completed with a couple of robed monks, huddled on the floor, meditating. I had long forgotten the ache in my knees from the steep trek. I stepped into the goemba entrance in a spell like state. I had barely looked around when a pink cheeked lady rushed towards me. She was wearing an elegant kira (a Bhutanese robe for women), her hair pinned at the back of her head with a gold bun-pin. Her frantic gestures at my feet were at odds with her otherwise elegant composure. After a couple of minutes of jabbering and pointing, I figured out that she wanted me to remove my shoes. I quickly slipped my Mitsubishi slippers off when she pointed at a stone plaque. It read-'Please remove your foot ware at the entrance as it is forbidden to enter a holy place with shoes on' in Bhutanese as the woman explained after another minute of gesturing. After apologizing to the woman, I went on to enjoy the rest of my visit. I was ushered into a prayer hall which was a small room with an earthen floor, prayer flags hung up on the walls. Butter lamps shone their light across the room. And in the center of the room was a priest in full prayer attire, a red robe, surrounded by brass jugs, a dong, a worn book and a scroll with scriptures, among other things. I sat cross legged on the floor at the back of the room with the other visitors. The experience was breathtaking. The monk chanted beautiful hymns, and it was so heavenly I could've stayed there for hours, absorbing his divine energy. I came out of the room a refreshed person. I stepped out into a chilly breeze. The sun had been replaced by a couple of clouds. Just as I had reached my car and was about to bid Katsho goemba farewell, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to meet a monk. He had a beatific smile. ''I saw- you know, uhm...'' He looked up at the now greyish sky. ''Yes!'' I was wondering what he saw. ''Aah, now I remember. You came into the goemba with shoes, no?'' said he. ''Umm, yes, my apologies, I missed the sign'' I was confused. What did this monk want with me? ''But I took them off immediately after I was told.'' ''Ohh, good, good.'' He gave a sigh of relief. ''At least the effects will wear off.'' Before I could ask him any more, the monk turned around without a word and walked off with an air of finality. Confused, I opened the car door and was about to get in. All of a sudden, I felt an overwhelming dizziness. My head started spinning, I saw stars, and I slumped to the ground. It all happened in a flash. The rest was just a vague memory- it felt like I was watching everything unfold on television. A group of monks gathered around me and picked me up. I was driven to a hospital and wheeled into a room with blinding white lights. That is it, I do not have a single recollection of what happened after. What followed was two full months of probing and puzzling by the doctors. And then, as inexplicably as it had all happened, I woke up from my slumber. Later, the doctors told me that none of them had a clue about what happened to me. They had run all the tests that they could and yet, they had no explanation. Well, what is my take on it? Frankly, I don't think I can explain any of this. It's still far too hard for me to understand, even after running the sequence of events in my head a gazillion times, for two years. But this I know for sure- Bhutan has always been a mystical place and it will remain an enigma wrapped in mystery for me. The memory of the monk, looking back at me with a knowing smile when I was being carried away, will forever remain etched on my memory. And when I was lying in that hospital bed without a clue of what had happened to me- all I saw were my well worn Mitsubishi slippers, floating around in the cloud of my dream. xxxx Everything in this story is fictional except for Katsho Goemba. I have never been there, but the description is that of monasteries in Bhutan I have visited. Hope you enjoyed it, and always try and pay attention to mysterious signs! Maybe just as a precaution, wear running shoes instead of slippers if you are ever in Bhutan!
	(2) Thanks