JeffreyJabs, The Reader
I'm working on a horror sci-fi adventure storygame right now, but it is a very longterm project, so don't get too hyped just yet.
If you need any help with any of your writing, just let me know through message and I'll see what I can do. Just don't ask about how to use advanced editor options.
If you need something to read, try Edgar Allen Poe's Masque of the Red Death, Stephen King's Dark Tower series, A Clockwork Orange, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, or any of Lovecraft's short stories.
Don't forget to stay physically active - it'll keep you out of the really dark places most of the time.
This is a narrative about detachment and leaving things behind. I would recommend exploring all the branches.
Articles WrittenIntroduction to Grammar
Recent PostsHello from a ghost on 4/15/2022 8:31:09 PM
Hi, I guess I just wanted to post here because I was checking out some of my old accounts during my name change process a little while ago and I stumbled on this site. Right now I'm migrating any progress on my unpublished storygames to my Google Drive for memory's sake. I went ahead and published one of the storygames I was working on at the time, Away to a Hill, that was more or less finished; it captures a lot of the angst I had about myself and the future back then.
I used this site a lot when I was an insecure high school student during my senior year. Looking back through some of my posts when I was briefly active during the fall of 2017, I found a lot of myself craving validation, hoping people online would view me as artistic or funny or intellectual. I'm trans now, and it's particularly funny to see my high school self complaining about They/Them pronouns as grammatically incorrect and promptly be corrected by some interesting guy named Steve. It's even funnier when I realized that I made a typo on my Article on Grammar that says to place a comma at the end of every sentence,
So, thanks for all the memories. I had a lot of fun reading EndMaster's and BerkaZerka's storygames and just generally shitposting in the forms. Hope y'all are doing well.
December Contest on 12/7/2017 6:18:48 PM
There's nothing stopping you from just taking the idea and running with it without entering the competition ... I think.
December Contest - Puzzle, Mystery, or Riddle Game on 12/5/2017 8:04:09 PM
Considering the fact that I've never used/published the story, I don't think finishing it counts as re-using it. I would estimate that I'm not even halfway done.
December Contest - Puzzle, Mystery, or Riddle Game on 12/5/2017 6:22:15 PM
I thought of just writing "It's a mystery storygame, so I'm not going to reveal anything," but that would get old quick, especially if I have to say the same thing every single time I update.
I actually entered the contest to force myself to finish a mystery storygame I'd already started a while ago. It's going to be a pretty long game, so I'd better start now.
The story centers on exploration of a dark cyber-universe that was hastily designed as an escape from vital functions that were draining the world's resources. Depending on what pathway you choose for him, the main character will explore various parts of this nightmarish techno-underworld. However, his main goal is escape.
As it stands, the storygame does not seem much like a mystery to begin with, but as the multiple storylines develop, the waters get murkier: something's not right. At the start, the story is more closely related to the 'puzzle' part of the prompt I chose because it's all about finding out how to escape in various situations (It's titled "Escape Key").
This week, I plan on doing some more brainstorming on how to fix/continue what I've written so far.
For now, here's a sample from the end of the first page:
Earth. Sounds nice, doesn't it? Reminds you of perhaps too much sunlight soaking your skin like a faucet, of rough clay in between your fingers, of actually waking up from your dreams. People don't dream much anymore. We live in a neverending dream, beyond the sun. As sparse, grayish wraiths glide past me in the flickering light of the escalator, I know one thing that kindles deep within my essence, branded there like the light that entered my eyes from that star but would never leave.
I want out.
December Contest on 12/4/2017 7:36:51 PM
Edit Lock: Can I still enter if I don't have 100 points? I mean, negative points is possible, right?
December Contest on 12/4/2017 7:36:00 PM
I'll take the puzzle, mystery or riddle game. Be warned that I will probably take plenty of creative liberty with the word "mystery."
Morgan's All Purpose Argument Thread on 11/2/2017 10:02:59 PM
I'm fine with the entire collection of identity movements, but I am not fine with the grammatically incorrect use of They/Them. You are a singular entity, not a plural one.
Howdy on 10/23/2017 8:00:51 PM
Oh, potatoes. http://abcnews.go.com/Archives/video/june-15-1992-dan-quayle-misspells-potato-10952070
Random Poetry Thread on 10/23/2017 7:54:51 PM
This reminds me of a poem by H.P. Lovecraft titled "Nathicana," in which the speaker complains of a horrible "coma called living" while yearning for his love in the dream-world.
This is much more related to Halloween, though, because this poem's speaker has fallen in love with a homely ghost/corpse and not a pale dream goddess. Nice job!
A bit of poetry on 10/21/2017 10:25:45 PM
Since I'm in the mood for poetry, here's one of my poems that I wrote a little while ago:
The cord tightened round the neck,
As this fear burned emptiness,
Staring at me, eyes of stone,
Slouched upon his ashen throne,
Boiling wax dripped from his claws
My scorched back winced hard bleeding, raw.
His coarse grip an eyeless gaze,
Set on purging one more stain,
Made my heart skip two spaces left,
Its beat an airless howl, bereft:
How could one man destroy so much?
What fiery glance, what bloody touch-
What would I give to hold mine own,
This steel length, to hang the crown.
But then I looked up yet again,
Saw two eyes flashing, wearing thin,
Beneath those sores, those two deep bags,
Folding up and down like caves,
The pits of Hell extinguished, froze,
Just one drunk fool there, one old man,
His slick black hair spread far too thin,
Atop a heavy, morose grin.
I wept for him, for all of them,
That black, confused mass wavering there,
The sun burnt on these folds of flesh,
Where tributaries ran endless,
Another space, another sky,
To think that two hands could touch lives,
To think that beneath his gold shirt,
There lay a slowly pounding heart,
Nor did it stop, but it survived,
One small mallet strike a time,
My knots of rage frayed away,
There was no hate there, only shame.
If only I could tell him so,
But still the rope length quickly closed,
If only words could heal time,
If only voice could stop a mind,