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  1. #11
    unscannable Tigerlily's Avatar
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    I feel as though I'm in a time warp.

    Quote Originally Posted by Ivy View Post
    Editor's Note!

    I've been meaning to start a thread like this for ages. Didums, I'll erase your essay if you're uncomfortable being the inaugural essay writer.

    We have a bit of a brain trust going on here at MBTIc. I know there are many, many talented individuals in a number of fields who frequent this site. I think it would be cool if folks could post their writing here to have it critiqued/edited. The degree to which it is critiqued/edited can be agreed upon by writer and reader. (In other words, if you're the writer then ask for what you want, and if you're the reader give whatever of what is asked that you feel like giving.)

    I'll move my recent "help me do my job" thread in here at some point, too.

    ************************************************** **********************************

    Didums, why don't you post a sample of your writing somewhere on the site? I'd be interested in seeing what you consider to be "Real, Creative, FREE writing."

    I have found that the nuances of clear writing are sometimes lost on the profoundly gifted and in fact there is a niche market for freelance editors that I am currently trying to break into--translating smart-people-ese into clear, interesting (to a general or even an academic audience) writing.
    Quote Originally Posted by Ivy View Post
    (I've added this post to the OP) And, posts above moved from here.

    I've been meaning to start a thread like this for ages. Didums, I'll erase your essay if you're uncomfortable being the inaugural essay writer.

    We have a bit of a brain trust going on here at MBTIc. I know there are many, many talented individuals in a number of fields who frequent this site. I think it would be cool if folks could post their writing here to have it critiqued/edited. The degree to which it is critiqued/edited can be agreed upon by writer and reader. (In other words, if you're the writer then ask for what you want, and if you're the reader give whatever of what is asked that you feel like giving.)

    I'll move my recent "help me do my job" thread in here at some point, too.
    Quote Originally Posted by reason View Post
    Didums,

    In five years you should read that essay again.
    that good advice for all of us. reflecting to measure our growth is a positive thing.
    Time is a delicate mistress.

  2. #12
    veteran attention whore Jeffster's Avatar
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    Any kind of writing or just "essays"?
    Jeffster Illustrates the Artisan Temperament <---- click here

    "I like the sigs with quotes in them from other forum members." -- Oberon

    The SP Spazz Youtube Channel

  3. #13
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    Quote Originally Posted by Jeffster View Post
    Any kind of writing or just "essays"?
    Any kind, be Free!

  4. #14
    Senior Member htb's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by reason View Post
    Didums,

    In five years you should read that essay again.
    Explain, Lee, if you could. I read Didums' skeptical thread, and I couldn't help but think of how often that same repudiation showed up on INTPc. Is this some kind of INTP rite of passage?

  5. #15
    unscannable Tigerlily's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Jeffster View Post
    Any kind of writing or just "essays"?
    why don't you share your essay on bewbs? lol
    Time is a delicate mistress.

  6. #16
    veteran attention whore Jeffster's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Didums View Post
    Any kind, be Free!
    Okay, well I posted this in my personal thread, but it didn't get much response. Maybe it will here. I'm not really looking for "editing" per se, but any comments are welcome. Keep in my mind I wrote it at age 17.



    "Games"


    You can't play chess by yourself.
    No matter how hard you try.
    You have to have an opponent.
    Someone to match strategies and tactics with.
    Even if it's an electronic machine,
    There has to be something moving the opposing pieces.
    Say you play the white pieces.
    You wait a long time, carefully planning your first move,
    Thinking about what reaction the black pieces might have.
    But when you move that first white pawn,
    THERE IS NO RESPONSE.

    Then, in a tiny moment, so quick you could miss it by blinking,
    Your opponent is there.
    Your opponent's hand reaches out to move a piece.
    But then, as quickly as it appeared, the hand is gone.
    It didn't completely vanish,
    But it moved to a checkerboard, and made a move there.
    A safe move,
    A move that you've seen a thousand times before as an opening strategy,
    But this is the first time someone's tried it against you.
    But what to do now?
    One one side of your chess board, a white pawn has been moved.
    On the other side of the chessboard, there stands an untouched army of black pieces.
    On one side of a checkerboard, one black piece has been moved.
    On the other side of that same board.
    THERE ARE NO RED PIECES.
    How in the hell can you respond when there are no red pieces?
    Can you find them?
    Are they hidden?
    Why are your opponent's black pieces there and not your red ones?
    Your opponent has two armies, and you only have one.
    How can you make your next move?
    To move on the chessboard, a black piece has to be moved first.
    To move on the checkerboard, you need some fucking pieces!!!

    Captured pieces from other games laugh at your predicament.
    They're not really rooting for your opponent.
    They're just amused that you failed to move when you were in control.
    They seem confused as to why you started your fifty meter dash forty-nine meters behind everyone else.
    Some other pieces seem to be rooting for you,
    They cheer you on, and wish you luck.
    But they can't find your red checkers for you.
    Some of them seem confident that you'll find them.
    Others are not so sure.

    You were scheduled to compete in so many events.
    Why the hell haven't you shown up for the rest of them?
    It's one goddamn game of chess!
    Or is it checkers?
    You don't even know what game you're playing anymore.
    How can you possibly be expected to win when you don't know what you're playing?
    Maybe you're not supposed to win.
    But even if you're not supposed to win, are you supposed to lose?
    Maybe it's destined to be a draw.
    After all, your opponent hasn't beaten you,
    Only made it seemingly impossible for you to move.
    You're in a stalemate.

    Many players of other games pass by and don't seem to notice.
    They've already won or lost their games,
    Or they're warming up for the next one.
    But yet you wonder if, out of your eyesight,
    There's someone else in a stalemate with their opponent.
    But even if you knew for sure, even if you met this other player,
    Could you give each other tips?
    Or would you just both stare blankly at each other,
    Wondering the same things?
    You've heard of stalemates like this one,
    But you always thought there was a conclusion.
    Maybe the pieces are scattered,
    Or some other act of nature ruins the game.
    Sure, there are no winners or losers in that case,
    But there is an ending.
    A solution.
    A break in the monotony that is a draw.
    You find yourself wishing that one of two things would happen.
    Your fondest dream is that your red pieces magically appear,
    And that you move them to the best of your ability,
    And win the game.
    A glorious victory that no one will soon forget.
    But if you can't have that,
    Then all your heart and mind wishes for some great hurricane to blow the pieces away.
    A storm so great that the pieces are lost forever,
    And all that remains of the playing boards is the space they once occupied.

    Maybe not.
    Maybe that's not what you really want at all.
    Maybe you've convinced yourself that it would be better to have the game disappear, then to lose it, or even draw.
    Perhaps, you'd really like a fellow player who knows of your predicament.
    Not like the watching captured pieces,
    But a real understanding of where you are,
    And where you came from.
    When you were thinking about that first move,
    The first square you planned to move that little white pawn into,
    You thought you had all the time in the world.
    That everything would just stop and wait for your great initiation.
    But all the other games went on without you.
    All you were to them was one less competitor.
    One less opponent who could take the prize.

    Stop it!
    Stop dreaming backwards and forwards!
    Fuck strategy!
    Fuck patience!
    It's time for action!
    You must find those red checkers NOW!
    You're searching wildly,
    Through boards and cases of other games,
    Through the rubble of abandoned toyboxes of yesterday,
    Through garbage cans,
    Shopping malls,
    Hobby shops,
    Abandoned warehouses,
    Toy factories,
    EVERYWHERE!
    You search madly, ravenously, forsaking all other aspects of all games,
    Ignoring everything and everyone that tries to reach you.
    Painfully, hopelessly, you plough through the remains and the debris,
    Until, as you reach your final searching point,
    The highest element of your dreams,
    You reach into the final nook and cranny in
    ONE LAST GASP OF COURAGE, AND.........

    Nothing.
    You find no red checkers.
    Sure, everyone has black ones.
    Everyone has white and black chess pieces.
    No red checkers.

    All the other games have ended now.
    You stand alone on a battlefield,
    With only your useless army to keep you company.
    You stare across the board at where your opponent used to be.
    Oh sure, the opposing pieces are still there,
    Though they've collected cobwebs, and rust,
    And all other evidences of age.
    There's no one behind them however.
    They're once again simply pieces.
    Your opponent has long since abandoned this game,
    And gone on to more productive ones.
    Once again, you're playing by yourself.
    This time you become the act of nature.
    You removed the lifeless pieces of your opponent from both boards.
    Then, one by one, you dismiss your army.
    The King and Queen, your strongest competitors, are boxed for another time.
    You say goodbye to the bishops, rooks, and the Knights, your mighty warriors, who step softly into the night.
    Then you urge the pawns off the board, all except for one.
    The one pawn that you moved,
    The one glimmering light of your gallant attempt,
    You let it stand for awhile.
    Then, after a short time, even the lone pawn realizes the futility of his remaining.
    He starts to leave the playing field,
    And then turns, and gives you one last look as if to say,
    "You tried, my friend. That's all anyone can ask for."
    Then, after a slight smile in your direction,
    The pawn slowly, and softly, walks off the board,
    Leaving an empty grid, that stares at you with an empty, meaningless gaze.

    You can't play chess by yourself.
    No matter how hard you try.
    You have to have an opponent.
    Someone to match strategies and tactics with.
    There has to be something moving the opposing pieces.

    ALWAYS.

    -- 2/5/94, 2:01 A.M.
    Jeffster Illustrates the Artisan Temperament <---- click here

    "I like the sigs with quotes in them from other forum members." -- Oberon

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  7. #17
    Wonderer Samuel De Mazarin's Avatar
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    Death by Lockjaw

    A prefatory Urdu couplet (author's composition):

    "woh baat-e-alfaaz hai woh baat-e-muktum ki...
    zaraa be-aawaaz ho, tu kaafi bolegi."


    "Word-speech is the opaque speech...
    Be silent; you'll say plenty."





    "Zeneh! Zeneh! Oh, what have you done?!" the old man cried furiously as he made his way up the hill towards the startled young boy. Four other crones stumbled behind the first, a hobbled little swarm of wizened faces bobbing up and down, looming larger and larger as they neared their target, yelling admonishments all the while:

    " You fool! You're upsetting the natural order!"
    " One can never trust the young ones... they're too finicky!"
    " Let's beat some sense into him!"
    " No, no, let's reason with him... that'll really leave some bruises!"

    The boy sighed. Just an hour earlier, he had left the confines of the village down in the valley, running up the hill for a quiet moment by himself, away from the chattering voices of everyone else.

    He reflected on the eight years of his life: ever since birth, he had been jostled back and forth by the adults who could never stop talking and moving about. Not a moment of the day passed without some sort of agitation. Indeed, that was the rule of the village: inactivity leads to atrophy, so never be inactive. But as a child, he couldn't quite articulate his irritation with constant attention, the ceaseless, frequently meaningless back-and-forth.

    When he woke up, it was to the sound of clattering dishes and needlessly loud "Good Mornings!" and "Hallos!". On his way to school the other boys and girls would yell and carouse, knocking into him in their glee and inventing ridiculous games to while away the time as they made the ten-minute commute to classes. Not a moment could be spent 'doing nothing': the world thrives on activity, on blood and sweat and noise. The more the better. Books and radios in the bathrooms, adults monitoring the children in the playspaces to ensure none of the kids were slacking off and musing on their own.

    His parents had, at first, tried to ignore his deplorable penchant for stillness, but soon embraced vigorous corrective measures. These included forced conversation, one of the worst forms of what he viewed as punishment:

    " So, how was school today?"
    " It was alright."
    " Just alright?"
    " Well, it was fun."
    " What do you mean by 'fun'?"
    " I don't know. Uhm... can I go now, Ma?"
    " Sure. What will you be doing?"

    He would fidget for a moment, but could hardly think of another way to put it: "Nothing."

    "Nothing? Nothing?! Ranbar? Ranbar! Come in here and listen to what our son has just said he will be doing!"

    And the boy always knew what was coming. Soon his father would come in, grab him by the shoulders, stare, gaze, glare, and peer into his eyes in a fugue of visual commands designed to stimulate the boy's better energies, at the same time assaulting him with Socratic questioning, giving him light, stinging slaps whenever he failed to answer quickly enough.

    And now, having finally found a moment to himself, he could see the village elders bearing down on him. They had had the intolerable vision of a solitary figure, displaced from the village and dangerously alone with its head arched towards the placid skies above. None of the others in the village wanted much to do with the boy and his parents were horrified that a son of theirs would prove so isolationist. The village elders would do their work. They would soon make him submit to their brutal and unrelenting dialectic.

    The boy, on the other hand, was determined. It was time for him to make a stand. He would not utter a word. He would stare at them, blocking out their eyes and watching the strange, compressed faces of their nostrils, looking like hollowed-out eye sockets, and their mouths, yammering, distorted, and overlarge. He didn't know how to tell them that he was a lost cause. Indeed, if they didn't talk so much, they might have understood.


    ___________________________

    [This is an unfinished piece... it's supposed to be the beginning of a short story... this is to my mind a repudiation of the idea, occasionally bandied about, that the author's personality type uniquely determines the content of his or her writing or even the dominant mode of thinking of his or her protagonists... regardless of how you view the quality of the material.]
    Madman's azure lie: a zen miasma ruled.

    Realize us, Madman!

    I razed a slum, Amen.

    ...............................................

  8. #18
    Senior Member reason's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by htb View Post
    Explain, Lee, if you could. I read Didums' skeptical thread, and I couldn't help but think of how often that same repudiation showed up on INTPc. Is this some kind of INTP rite of passage?
    It seems to be a phase which INTPs go through during their teenage years, ocassionally persisting through their twenties. The experience of reading such an essay in a few years is likely to be very humbling--I have had similar experiences--and that is no bad thing, some of us could do with more humility.
    A criticism that can be brought against everything ought not to be brought against anything.

  9. #19
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    Quote Originally Posted by reason View Post
    Didums,

    In five years you should read that essay again.
    I was thinking almost exactly that.

  10. #20
    @.~*virinaĉo*~.@ Totenkindly's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by murkrow View Post
    There's no way I'm reading that.
    Try to think of paragraphs as super sentences.
    Quote Originally Posted by Didums View Post
    Okay its in 3 paragraphs now, good luck, lol.
    Cool. I was seeing "The Curse of Bluewing" there on your brow for a moment.

    Even with 3 paragraphs, though, it's still pretty dense.
    "Hey Capa -- We're only stardust." ~ "Sunshine"

    “Pleasure to me is wonder—the unexplored, the unexpected, the thing that is hidden and the changeless thing that lurks behind superficial mutability. To trace the remote in the immediate; the eternal in the ephemeral; the past in the present; the infinite in the finite; these are to me the springs of delight and beauty.” ~ H.P. Lovecraft

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