/hob/ - Hobbies

Let's just say I didn't reinvent the wheel so much as I redesigned it to fit Evel Kneivel's tires…

And here's another Doraemon one, a Kuragehime one and a Bakuman one.

Honestly I'm just dumping these here cause this may have been a momentary thing I did that was but the friction that came forth as I finished another project that left me with such a hangover (I can feel it fading away already), and these are just the ones that weren't too random of ideas. To make it simple it was fun while it lasted, but work is like alcohol if being a workaholic is a thing =_=.

>>67974
>>67970
>>67969
>>67964
are all of these made by AI or written by yourself?

>>67975
Both.
Some are half and half, but most of these I just came up with the idea yet editted it nonetheless (and even added my own bits).
Basically I took heavy advantage of the "what should happen next?" And the "one paragraph at a time" tool
https://perchance.org/ai-fanfic-generator
It's amateur but it's fun, ngl.

>>67976
ok just wanted to know…it's hard to write 'what's next/ happen next' in a story

A fanfiction I tried to pull through, with help from ai, yet realized that (at least on an emotional level) I was biting on more than I could chew with.
Long story short: it would've had to involve Hobbes from C&H and what I can only describe as Everything Everywhere all at once meets the Fate anime franchise (but with Hobbes as Jobu Topaki/Joy and Susie Derkins as Evelyn, with a bit of Natasha Romanov so it made sense).
Fortunately I know for a fact I wouldn't have gained anything by finishing this kind of work anyway.
Trust me.

Also I wrote what is essentially a sequel to this cringeworthy fic from High School (I even gave it a title that fits the theme) with ai too:
fanfiction.net/s/3820372/1/FS-and-Chill

Writing… Another creative outlet in which idiots believe that what AI generates for them counts as their own creations.

If some glorified, politicized chatbot wrote any part of it, keep it out of this thread.

>>67979
to me, using AI is cheating

>>67980
>to me using ai is cheating
I apologize.
I forfeit the fanfiction game forever. =_=

>>67981
daijobu

>>67982
。。。知らない
>>67979
Understood.
Though do include that with an asterisk in the next writing thread.

>>67983
きっと大丈夫さ

Does anyone have any experience, knowledge etc about the "business" (subculture,"scene" etc) of fanzines, political fliers, independent pamphlet writing, religious tract etc? Im interested in the activity itself…stickers even ,or stencils. Im trying to start small by buying notebooks, taking up pen\pencil writing again, trying to learn different forms of "drawing" the words. I also try to frequent those "old man bookstores" , the well known book fairs and stand-rows zone in my city, and such things.
>pic semi related

restart another story, I can't help myself

Janon

>Chapter 1

Still alive in his mother's womb, the young future wanderer was already showing prodigies in terms of magic.
“He will be born a prodigy under the aegis and blessing of the Gods and of God” said his mother, touching his belly.
She went to bed in her sofa bed

It is customary to give the child's first name at birth. But only the oracle can give the child's first name. His first name and his destiny will be revealed to the oracle when it touches the child.

9 months later, the young magician was born and he was already being prepared for the ritual even though he had just uttered his first cries and cries

My red tongue felt rough against my teeth, it brought back memories of cats in my childhood licking their wounds. A face I didn't recognize was reflected in the mirror. The neighbor's dog whines when it smells me and hides behind its owner. I would have hit the ground cables with a copper hoe and felt my tendons break. I smiled gently because I knew better.

As I left the hall I hummed lullabies, the wrong notes announcing mistakes like syntax. The medicines worked and the tremors stop. I didn't differentiate between real and fake feelings. The mind is like a ship on a misty sea that has lost its course. I lower the chalice filled with blood and pour it into the roots, thick and blooming.

Tar flows thickly in the stream. The rain turned the green leaves brown. Poems have sung about a giant who stretched his arms towards the sky. I travel over the meridian and come back on the red express train. The end result is a self-created wonderland.

Mothers are ashamed and fathers disappear, but children play. They walk in life to the rhythm of Newton's cradle. It was time when the movement of the pendulums stopped and the sky began to whistle. With bleeding eyes, they falter out of the dugouts. Commands fade to a whisper as dirt and splinters overwhelm the senses.

The last letter written in blood, paid for by the next of kin, arrives. We broke the porcelain dishes and bought wreaths with flowers. The ceremony echoed inside the domed building. Trembling fingers are crossed under the gold-framed paintings. A mother falls to her knees near her son and hears the call as the night darkens.

I've read Schopenhauer's essays on authorship and on style, I think people who are interested in these topics should check them out. (https://www.gutenberg.org/files/10714/10714-h/10714-h.htm)

few ideas I want to bring forward: he mentions beauty of the style comes from the idea itself, rather than the embellishment one adds to his sentences or the overall mastery one has of the language. so essentially he suggests rather than trying to perfect your usage of the language you should polish your ideas and those correct ideas will adhere to the right words. as a result better authorship will emerge.

another point he makes is neither writing a lot nor reading voraciously can make you a better author (latter is something at on point I thought was the key). he thinks writing all the time weakens your ability to think considerately and follow your thoughts, and in turn makes you a scatterbrained author. and with reading you can only discover the usage of metaphors and other methods of using language in action. this can teach and allow you to activate your already existing innate abilities accordingly but if you don't have them in the first place reading will do nothing to make a better writer of you.

>>68171
intresting
so if you don't read too much and write occasionaly you can be a better writer?

>>68171
>I've read Schopenhauer
Then anything you write afterward has no value. Your inner psyche is forever tainted with his whining, semantic-bending ooga booga scratches on his basement wall. If you read anything of his because a college professor or some due online told you to, then you've been pranked.

>>68191
have you read Schopenhauer? what makes you say he's a fraud?

>>68192
I never said he was a fraud, in fact his "philosophy" is pretty on-par for the time period it came from. Like so many other well-known "thinkers" of the time, his writings are bland on the surface and only occasionally dip in to nihilism and misanthropy to break the monotony, with him using his own set of semantics (I.e "people say X is X but according to MY PERSONAL definition of X, X is actually Y") to justify his textual layaboutting.

He's well known, but not well respected, and anyone who takes his work seriously has got to be as boring as he was. And now he's dead; died alone like he wanted.

>>68193
damn…that's devastating. can you give me exemples of x is not x but y?

>>68192
don't bother

>>68195
why? I want to know because I kind of like him and put him in a pedestal as a philosophers compared to other philosophers, so I. want to know because he affected me

>>68196
i meant don't bother replying to that retard

Not mine but a transliteration I made of a poem I like, originally written in Spanish:



The distance between here and
a star that has never existed
because God has not managed to
pinch the skin of the night that far!
And to think that we still believe
that world peace is bigger or more
useful than the peace of a single savage…
This desire for relativity in
our contemporary life—
is what gives space an importance
that only exists within us—
and who knows how long it will take us
to learn to live like the stars—
free in the midst of what is endless
and without anyone to feed us.
The earth does not know the paths
it walks daily—and
rather, those paths are the
consciousness of the earth…
But if it’s not so, let me ask a
question: -Time, where are
you and I, I who live in you and
you who do not exist?


- Alfonso Cortes, a literal squizo writer from Nicaragua. Circa 1930(?)

>>68218
I think the rhythm and verse of it might have been lost in translation, unless it's meant to be freeverse.

>>68219
yeah, this hard to keep the rythm of the original while you try to be as accurate as possible with the translation.

>>68191
thanks for the worthless input I guess.

>>68194
read Schopenhauer and deter his value on your own. he is a great writer, opposite of the guy whom you're responding to: he uses few words to convey lot of ideas. even if you disagree with his philosophical conclusions you will find value in the language alone, which is why I posted his writings on authorship and style because he seems to really understand it. and again opposite of the retard you're responding to there aren't many philosophers from his era that you can read with such ease.

Nietzsche said this. but how to not have a terrible depth when you write a book ¿(T_T)?

When you write a story, are you trying to make people learn a specific lesson or political view? Or do you just expect people to interpret and relate to the events in their own way?
I want to get into writing or creative work but it feels weird to push a specific message, it feels like propagandizing people.
Let's say it's the best case scenario and something I write becomes mega successful, I don't want to homogenize humans into all having the same viewpoint because they read my propagandistic work.

>>68338
write a fantasy book?

>>68338
>When you write a story, are you trying to make people learn a specific lesson or political view?
No.
I don't really write fables (specific lessons) or political works.
One day when I feel competent enough I hope write a work loosely inspired by Atlas Shrugged, just because I am convinced I could get the same ideas across without the story telling being so shit, but as far as stuff I have actually written or currently writing, they are pretty devoid of politics, preaching, or propaganda.

If you don't want to write stuff with a message then you don't have to.
Write what you enjoy writing and tell stories you think someone would enjoy hearing. When it comes to fiction, it's about the storycraft first and foremost. Focus on making a good story told well first and foremost and worry about all that other stuff in subsequent drafts.

A Walk in the Park

Prologue


Steam rose from the black reflective disk. Transfixed, a man sat gazing into the darkness. He did not move; he did not blink; he did not breath in that moment as his mind fell deeper and deeper into the inky darkness. The crashing tinkle of the bell of the front door drew the man out of that black pit. He peeled his eyes away from the abyss and observed the outside world once more. The sound announced the entrance of a uniformed police officer who scanned the area before walking with a deliberate stride towards the man, taking a seat across from him . The officer looking down nervously at his fidgeting hands. The man's icy blue cold stare looked through the officer, face set in a stony lack of expression. The officer glanced up opening his mouth to speak before stopping and quickly looking back down with a shiver. The silent moment stretched uncomfortably into a minute. The man's gaze unwavering, the officer still unable to bring himself to meet it.
"Can I get you anything darling?"
The stalemate broken by the outside influence of a well meaning waitress who leaned expectantly at the officer with her little notepad primed to take a order.
"Uh, no. I will just be here a couple of minutes I think." The cop said.
Shifting her focus she ask "Freshen up your coffee dear?"
The man gave a single nod. With that assent she was quick to refill the dark mirror in a mug of black coffee and leave the two men alone.
The man sipped, then took a long deep breath. The comforting smells of sizzling lard on the grittle mingling with the strong coffee brewing. He set the mug down and cupped it with both hands, letting it's warmth radiate up his limbs and defrost his cold expression. He finally look at the officer sitting across from him. Really looked.
Bags under his eyes that don't fit his still youthful face. Nicks in his face from shaky hands and shakier mind. The slump of his shoulders and unease in his posture. He still nervously fidgeted, unsure of what to do with his hands.
Taking another sip the man cleared his throat. "Danny?"
The officer jittered a bit on the spot before responding "Uh, right, um, how do I explain this? "
He paused to collect his thoughts "Detec-"
The man raised his hand to interrupt. "Just Jack now. "
The officer nodded before continuing in a rush "I called you, what I mean to say is that you are the only one I know who can deal with this. Whatever this is. They ether don't know what I mean and blow it off as nothing or they know what I mean and want nothing to do with it. But you know and I think you can handle it."
The man named Jack took another sip from the mug and waited.
"There is this park, you know the one with the fountain that is always broken. Popular with dog walkers. "
Jack nodded before answering "Lupes park. I still remember busting that flasher back when I was around your age there."
The officer smiled quickly before it faltered into his previously stressed expression once again. "That's the one. Here is the thing. People don't walk their dogs there anymore. They…" He trailed off taking a moment to compose himself. "There is something there that is causing all the dogs to freak out."
The officer glanced up at Jack before looking back down. "It isn't just that. The animals are missing.
"Missing?" Jack said
The officer nodded "Yeah, missing. Used to have squirrels , birds, all kinds of stuff you usually see in a park. Now the place is scary quiet. "
Jack sipped his coffee and grunted in response.
"If that was all I probably could just ignore it like everyone else at the precinct is. But Frank is gone too."
Jack raised a questioning eyebrow and waited for the officer to continue.
"He is a homeless guy that practically lives in that park. I sometimes checked in with him while on patrol. Good guy, would keep me posted on the goings on in the area. Kept out of trouble himself. Now he has vanished without a trace. I tried, I really tried to get someone to look into it, but him being homeless the higher ups told me he was likely transient and just up and left. I knew him. He loved that park. It meant something special to him. He wouldn't just disappear with no one seeing him and him saying nothing to no one. "
Jack took a deep breath, closed his eyes, then slowly let it out before responding. "Why are you really asking me about this? I am just a normal everyday citizen now. I Don't do investigations anymore."
The officer began to tremble. He clenched his hands before speaking in a whisper "I can feel it. That something isn't right. When I went down there I got the same feeling."
He then looked up into Jack's eyes for the first time "The same feeling as that time."
Jack nodded in understanding.
"I-I-I can't go there anymore. Not when I have that feeling. The only thing that saved me is not knowing. You know yet still are here so maybe you can go and find out what is really going on. Before something really bad happens."
Jack leaned back and responded "I will remind you again that I am not a detective, not a cop, I am just a normal guy. What exactly to you expect me to do 'if something really bad happens'?"
The officer went back to looking at his restless hands. "Maybe you could use your new job. Get the word out if it turns out to be something. Get some heavy artillery down here to deal with it if necessary. "
"My new job? You mean writing nonsense about local ghost tours and ufo sightings for next to minimal wage while I look for a real job?" Jack asked.
"Yeah, you are sort of a reporter, and if this is anything like the last time that gave me this feeling then-"
Jack cut the officer off saying "If it's like the last time then people won't be able to handle it and I certainly can't go to print with it."
He then rested his head on his knuckles "though I suppose I could edit it into something acceptable if your feeling turns out correct. And if it isn't then I can spin it into a mystery story. Ether way it is content I suppose."
Raising up his head, Jack took a long drink from the mug before returning it to the table. "Still, having some armed backup and authority would be nice. What do you say?"
The young police officer rapidly shook his head hard, eyes locked in horror as a peppering of "no-no-no-no" escaped his lips.
Jack raised his hand to calm him before saying "It's fine. If I suspect it's anything more than my pepper spray can't handle then I will simply run. That said, I will text you the details of when I go and a second meet time here for a debrief. If I don't make second contact then call in the carvery. "
"t-thank you for doing this." The officer said.
"Sure, pay me back by covering the bill, both my coffee now and whatever we order when I get back to tell you what I find. That will make us even. "

I want to write a book set in the 19th century. It's my favorite century of all time. but I have poor knowledge on it :(. to me 19th century sounds like an adventure to me.
if any of you wrote a book (or just some paragraphs) please tell me, I'll hladly read what you wrote

>>68353
Is there anything stopping you from learning more about the 19th century?
If that is the only thing preventing you from writing a book set in that period then a research session and maybe reading books from the period should get you in the proper mindspace with the knowledge needed.
From there you can just look stuff up whenever you run into it in your story.

Like I knew very little about the terms for parts of forts, but there was a fort in my story, so I just looked it up on the spot and put it in. It was that simple.

>>68354
>From there you can just look stuff up whenever you run into it in your story.
very good idea! thank you

Where do you guys post stuff to get feedback/readers?

I feel like it's hard to make progress in getting better or generate motivation just writing to the void.

I could post stuff here but I doubt anything but the shortest of short stories would really be welcomed or read.

>>68512
i dont, nobody would read my ultra autism, i sent drafts to a few people on the internet years ago and they either said nothing or gave advice that would have required me to rewrite it from scratch. since then i just dont show anybody and dont intend to ever.
i write very niche autistic grimdark stuff that nobody would be interested in. i don't enjoy doing it but God forces me to or something. i feel suicidal if i don't write.

I've wanted to write for years but my Autism-ADHD(diagnosed) makes it impossible to herd my thoughts in the same direction for more than 30 seconds at a time, even now as i type this

>>68515
As someone who also has that, practice helps.
I fidget and play music while I write so that helps too.

Honistly most of my life I hated writing. But slowly over time after years of making longer and longer post to image boards I eventually noticed I was having fun writting pages worth of stuff.
So I started writing short stories. Then not so short stories.
Still haven written a book yet, but I think I will eventually get there.

But my point is, with practice the mind adapts and overcomes.

Let me tell you of a bit of trouble mister Anders had to deal with last moon.
You see he recently came into some property down yonder. Nothing too fancy. Had a aged trailer home. A bit of a overgrown yard around, then 5 acres of trees, mud, and unfriendly bushes around that. To properly make it his own the first thing that had to be taken care of was that rough yard. So rough that even pulling into the property was a risk to his truck. Looked only a few months away from being fully reclaimed by the wild. Worst yet it provided a enticing habitat for all sorts of critters. Critters that if left to their own devices would want to take up residence in the trailer. So bringing down a heap of tools he got to work. First clearing out the driveway, returning it into a proper dirt road connecting to the street. Then spend a few hard days clearing the brush of the yard so he could then mow it.
It was while doing this he seen what looked to be a huge game trail leading to a small packed down circle out back of the yard. Bewildered at what animal could leave such a big game trail he looked closer for sign of what it was. What he found was huge foot prints. The detail of them were worn away by a hard rain the night before but what he did see made his mind boggle. The foot prints were as long as his finger tips down to his elbow. Almost two feet if guessed. Wider than his head too. But the thing that most concerned him was that the prints came in pairs instead of all fours. He only knew of 2 animals that could walk a ways on two huge feet. He threw out the idea of it being some sort of massive giant man instantly. Even world record holding men didn't quite have feet that sized. So by process of elimination it had to be something far worse. A gigantic grizzly bear must have been wondering around. Worst yet it made a habit of coming by often for the game trail to be carved out of the wall of greenery surrounding the yard. Though he was curious about a few things. Why would a bear keep coming over to the property to the same pressed down circle in the back yard? Why would they do so in their hind legs? It wasn't like there was food in the yard.
To satisfy his curiosity, Anders went to town and bought himself one of those fancy trail cameras. Found a good spot, and hid it real good.
Night later he goes to check the footage only to find the brand spanking new camera smashed to pieces. However it wasn't so smashed that he couldn't pull the memory card from it. After sorting through photos of typical night time critters. Your racoon, opossums, and the like. It was only the last photo that was worth getting bothered about. It was unfocused and hard to make out any detail but in that final frame the outline of 5 huge fingers moments before destroying the camera. Fingers arranged not like a bear paw but long like a ape's and coming to a palm like a person's hand.
Mr Anders didn't know what to do. He stood there looking at the blurry photo covered with goosebumps and his hair raised. No one would believe this. No one could help with this. In this truth Mr Anders was alone and he figured he had to deal with it on his own. Shaking off any fear he prepared himself for the night to come. He set up on the roof of his house with a tarp over him. Made it look like it was under repair or something. Then in a gap he peaked out with binoculars. He had to see for himself. Had to confirm what he suspected. Most of all he had to know why his property. So he sat, quiet as a church mouse, waiting as the moon shone overhead. For hours he sat as part of the background. Then he tensed as a rustling from the game trail began. He peered over with the binoculars and adjusted the focus. Heart pounding and hands sweating as he strained his muscles to stay still. The sound of bushes being pushed aside got louder. Anders eyes got wider. Then it came into view in all it's glory in the moonlight. Mr Anders guesstimated that it was at least 9 feet tall. Covered in bear like fur, walking upright like a man, but with long ape like arms. There was no question what Anders was looking at. Standing there in his yard was a big foot.
The big foot lumbered over to the circle then looked over at the game trail. To Anders shock the bushes rustled again. Another big foot emerged from the trail and joined the one that came before in the circle. They grunted at each other before stooping down. The second one clutching something in it's fist. It let out a low rumbling hoot then dropped what was in it's hand in the circle. They were white and looked small in the hands of the giant man like beast. The other growled then picked up the doohickeys and raddled them in his hand before casting them down again as the second big foot drew a line on the ground.
Anders adjusted his binoculars and angled himself to get a better look at what they were doing. He could see the small white things the big foots were throwing. They were the knuckle bones of a sheep. Then it all clicked in his head. Two big foot were shooting dice in his backyard at night. Something they seem to have made a habit of given the path worn through the bush and the circle on trampled down on the ground. The fear in comprehending the scene in front of him vanished and was replaced by mild amusement. Already a plan forming in his mind as he watched the two big foot take turns throwing the knuckle bones and keeping score.
It took a month for the big foots to come back. When they came they got quite the surprise. For you see Mr Anders had been busy as a bee and prepared something just for them. He had continued fixing up the yard, making it real pretty like like he planned. But where that circle was depressed in the greenery before, he had built a proper ring with big ol logs for seats for the big old big foots to sit, a slate to keep score, and even a little box for odds and ends including chalk for the slate and some spare dice.
The big foots looked over the set up then looked at the house to see Mr Anders at the window, beer in hand to just gave a wave before he went back to watching football on tv. The big foots gave a appreciative hoot then went on to play knuckle bones and the nicely build ring. At least that is how Anders tells it. Though I will say when I went down yonder to see him, he rightly did point out the tracks they left and left no doubt the the truth of his story to me, that I now relay to you.

>>68518
This one is just a little idea I had.
Pretty different from anything I have ever written before and intentionally kept short and self contained.

I actually got the idea from a phrase used by a youtube ad read about needing night vision to catch bigfoot and windigos shooting dice at night as a joke.
If the folksy writing is cringe let me know. Again, never wrote in that style before so not sure how well I pulled it off.

Working on another portal fantasy story.
This time I am aiming to keep things fast pace and installments short. Like around 2000 words or less for each chapter, with those chapters broken up into smaller chunks.

I am also pushing myself by having 3 protagonist instead of one. I am recycling some stuff from previous stuff I written, like names, themes, and magic systems, but I feel this work is pretty original.

So in the fantasy thing I am writing I am thinking about making iron, especially cold worked iron, a hard counter to magic.

Looking for second opinions on this or other ideas.

Have you worked on a magic system and did it have a kriptinonite like weakness?

>>68535
what about silver, like in the witcher?

>>68536
Something like silver would be fragile so can't be used for armor or weapons and doesn't really have the same folklore connections.

Plus aesthetically cold iron gives off a more gritty image then delicate and gleaming silver.

In fact, because silver is such a good conductor, I was thinking of it a common element in magical devices and artifacts, along with other things associate with jewelry such as gemstones, gold, platinum, etc.
That way the reader could know at a glance how powerful a magical device is because it usually directly correlates with it's monetary value in a rather obvious way.
Which makes cold iron even more of a contrast as a anti-magical material.

>>68537
ok. so whats your magic system?

>>68538
Still working on it.
It's pretty soft for now, to be hardened as the main characters (and thus the audience) learn more about it.

>>68539
cool

Damn, I don't remember it being this hard to make progress the last time I tried to write a larger project.
It's not that I am getting stuck. I know more or less what to write next. It's just focusing enough to get it down.