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fellowshippers2005-03-22 01:10 am
doodle-lover.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2005-03-22 01:10 am
New Member! I come baring gifts!
Title: The Arts
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
doodle_lover
Pairing: Orlijah(eventually, I promise), Monaboyd, OFC/OFC(Lily/Andi)
Rating: This one is PG, but it will run to R in later chappies
Summary: Elijah is a film student who just moved to New Hampshire, Orlando is his teacher
Feedback: isthe oxygen I need to breathe awesome and makes me happy...
Warnings: AU (And I'm not from New Hampshire, so I apologize in advance if anything is wacky)
Disclaimer: Can't you even let me dream!?...no, i guess not…
Notes: This is a WIP, but I'm a few chapters ahead. I'll post every week or so, depending on RL and how far ahead I get. Thanks for reading!
Elijah rolled over in his new dorm room bed, and lifted his new pillow over his head, contemplating throwing his new alarm clock onto his new rug, then kicking it out of his new door, into his new hall, in his new dorm, on his new campus, in his new state. But, instead, he flailed around for a second, kicking off his new sheets and old comforter. Sighing, he took the pillow off his ears and reached over to his new bedside table and fumbled off the annoying jangling of the alarm. Flipping around, he looked up at the ceiling, stretching, glancing around at all the posters he had put up the day before. There was his Mixology poster, and his crazy ‘this is what you wanna to look at when you’re high’ poster. Staples for any college dorm. Turning onto his side, he yawned and squinted at the alarm. 10:45. He still had an hour before he had to be dressed and over at Charleston Hall. And then another 15 before his class started. God bless late days.
Knowing how he hated mornings, and preparing for late night benders, Elijah had scheduled all of his classes later in the day. Not a single class before noon. Swinging his legs over the bed, he shifted his weight, and sat up, stretching up to the sky, light blue tee shirt riding up from the waistband of his boxers. Reaching down, he grabbed the hem of the shirt and yanked it up over his head, running a hand through his hair and thanking the heavens that he didn’t have a roommate yet. According to the Office of Housing, his roommate was lost in transient, which worked fine for him. He stood and stretched his legs out in front of him, one at a time. The drive over was still taking a toll on him. Try imagining being cramped in a Honda Civic for a few hours. Yeah. And he was short, too. Well, not exactly short, slightly shorter than the average Joe, his mom used to say. Sliding his boxers to the floor and stepping out of them, he reached into the closet, damp air sending chills down his spine, and slipped on his robe. He grabbed his shower kit and a towel, slid his feet into some shower shoes, and headed to the communal showers.
About fifteen minutes later, he unlocked the door, closed and locked it behind him, and walked back over to his closet, dumping his towel in his dirty clothes hamper,
(yes, Mah, always put stuff away.)
and putting his kit on a washcloth so it wouldn’t drip everywhere.
(see, Mah?)
He went over to his stereo
(yes, Mah…he had to bring it.)
and stuck on one of his new favorite CD’s, of the moment anyway, Reel Big Fish’s Cheer Up album. It was classic wake-up music. He took off his shower shoes and placed them on the washcloth, so they wouldn’t drip either, humming along with the song. Next, he took off his robe and hung it on the hook on the back of the closet door. It was cold. He still wasn’t used to the weather here in New Hampshire. He had come from Newport, Rhode Island and you would think that he would be used to it, but…this was a different cold. He opened his top drawer, pushing aside socks and an unopened box of condoms
(yes, Mah, always safe.)
and grabbing a pair of boxers, green plaid. He pulled them on, and started rummaging for a pair of jeans. He found a pair, and took them off the hanger. Shaking them out, he looked at them lovingly.
(yes, Mah, still have them.)
Thread bare in places, scribbled on, torn, holy, marked up with Sharpies, they were his favorite pair of jeans ever. The idea for his first short film was written on these jeans, right there in maroon Sharpie. That film was what got him into this school with a full scholarship. He tugged them on, still fit perfectly. Elijah reached into the closet again, finding a tee shirt, maroon to bring out his eyes and the scrawled Sharpie, with a faded, obscure band logo. Then he rummaged for one more shirt, a light blue and green striped button up. He slipped it on, leaving it unbuttoned and rolling up the sleeves to about his elbows, singing with the lyrics coming from the stereo. Opening his unorganized sock drawer once more, he grabbed a pair of socks and sat down on his bed to pull them on, along with his comfy, old, drawn-on dark green Chucks.
(yes, Mah, still have them, too.)
Standing back up, he went over to his mirror, and brushed his teeth with his electric toothbrush, and mint toothpaste, humming along in the back of his throat. Spitting, he contemplated his hair. Hair or hat? Rinsing, he decided hair for the first day. He swung open the medicine cabinet door, short, bitten fingers drumming out the beat on the mirror. Taking down the light green jar, he closed it the door, and opened the jar.
(yes, Mah, still used it.)
Slicking his fingers up with the cool green gel, he sang along with the CD, working the sticky substance between his hands. Working from the back forward, he applied the styling product, mussing and messing his hair. Sticking parts up and slicking parts down, he looked it over carefully.
(yes, Mah, you don’t get a first impression twice.)
Deciding it was as good as it was going to get, he washed his hands, and screwed back on the cap, placing it back in the cabinet.
(see, Mah?)
Glancing at the clock, he thought about grabbing some food. Turning off the CD mid word, he pulled on a jacket, grabbed his over the shoulder, onto the back, one strapped book sack, full of the days materials, and swung it on. Sticking his wallet in a back pocket, and taking his keys and sunglasses off his table, he closed the door on his first morning at NHFA.
(don't know if i can do this, and if i can't just tell me, and it's gone...but...here's a pretty...)
sorry if it's a repeat...
ETA: I fixed some of it..but, I don't know if it works. If it didn't, or if it's not liked, just tell me and I'll delete it and get out of the way...
Author:
doodle_loverPairing: Orlijah(eventually, I promise), Monaboyd, OFC/OFC(Lily/Andi)
Rating: This one is PG, but it will run to R in later chappies
Summary: Elijah is a film student who just moved to New Hampshire, Orlando is his teacher
Feedback: is
Warnings: AU (And I'm not from New Hampshire, so I apologize in advance if anything is wacky)
Disclaimer: Can't you even let me dream!?...no, i guess not…
Notes: This is a WIP, but I'm a few chapters ahead. I'll post every week or so, depending on RL and how far ahead I get. Thanks for reading!
Elijah rolled over in his new dorm room bed, and lifted his new pillow over his head, contemplating throwing his new alarm clock onto his new rug, then kicking it out of his new door, into his new hall, in his new dorm, on his new campus, in his new state. But, instead, he flailed around for a second, kicking off his new sheets and old comforter. Sighing, he took the pillow off his ears and reached over to his new bedside table and fumbled off the annoying jangling of the alarm. Flipping around, he looked up at the ceiling, stretching, glancing around at all the posters he had put up the day before. There was his Mixology poster, and his crazy ‘this is what you wanna to look at when you’re high’ poster. Staples for any college dorm. Turning onto his side, he yawned and squinted at the alarm. 10:45. He still had an hour before he had to be dressed and over at Charleston Hall. And then another 15 before his class started. God bless late days.
Knowing how he hated mornings, and preparing for late night benders, Elijah had scheduled all of his classes later in the day. Not a single class before noon. Swinging his legs over the bed, he shifted his weight, and sat up, stretching up to the sky, light blue tee shirt riding up from the waistband of his boxers. Reaching down, he grabbed the hem of the shirt and yanked it up over his head, running a hand through his hair and thanking the heavens that he didn’t have a roommate yet. According to the Office of Housing, his roommate was lost in transient, which worked fine for him. He stood and stretched his legs out in front of him, one at a time. The drive over was still taking a toll on him. Try imagining being cramped in a Honda Civic for a few hours. Yeah. And he was short, too. Well, not exactly short, slightly shorter than the average Joe, his mom used to say. Sliding his boxers to the floor and stepping out of them, he reached into the closet, damp air sending chills down his spine, and slipped on his robe. He grabbed his shower kit and a towel, slid his feet into some shower shoes, and headed to the communal showers.
About fifteen minutes later, he unlocked the door, closed and locked it behind him, and walked back over to his closet, dumping his towel in his dirty clothes hamper,
(yes, Mah, always put stuff away.)
and putting his kit on a washcloth so it wouldn’t drip everywhere.
(see, Mah?)
He went over to his stereo
(yes, Mah…he had to bring it.)
and stuck on one of his new favorite CD’s, of the moment anyway, Reel Big Fish’s Cheer Up album. It was classic wake-up music. He took off his shower shoes and placed them on the washcloth, so they wouldn’t drip either, humming along with the song. Next, he took off his robe and hung it on the hook on the back of the closet door. It was cold. He still wasn’t used to the weather here in New Hampshire. He had come from Newport, Rhode Island and you would think that he would be used to it, but…this was a different cold. He opened his top drawer, pushing aside socks and an unopened box of condoms
(yes, Mah, always safe.)
and grabbing a pair of boxers, green plaid. He pulled them on, and started rummaging for a pair of jeans. He found a pair, and took them off the hanger. Shaking them out, he looked at them lovingly.
(yes, Mah, still have them.)
Thread bare in places, scribbled on, torn, holy, marked up with Sharpies, they were his favorite pair of jeans ever. The idea for his first short film was written on these jeans, right there in maroon Sharpie. That film was what got him into this school with a full scholarship. He tugged them on, still fit perfectly. Elijah reached into the closet again, finding a tee shirt, maroon to bring out his eyes and the scrawled Sharpie, with a faded, obscure band logo. Then he rummaged for one more shirt, a light blue and green striped button up. He slipped it on, leaving it unbuttoned and rolling up the sleeves to about his elbows, singing with the lyrics coming from the stereo. Opening his unorganized sock drawer once more, he grabbed a pair of socks and sat down on his bed to pull them on, along with his comfy, old, drawn-on dark green Chucks.
(yes, Mah, still have them, too.)
Standing back up, he went over to his mirror, and brushed his teeth with his electric toothbrush, and mint toothpaste, humming along in the back of his throat. Spitting, he contemplated his hair. Hair or hat? Rinsing, he decided hair for the first day. He swung open the medicine cabinet door, short, bitten fingers drumming out the beat on the mirror. Taking down the light green jar, he closed it the door, and opened the jar.
(yes, Mah, still used it.)
Slicking his fingers up with the cool green gel, he sang along with the CD, working the sticky substance between his hands. Working from the back forward, he applied the styling product, mussing and messing his hair. Sticking parts up and slicking parts down, he looked it over carefully.
(yes, Mah, you don’t get a first impression twice.)
Deciding it was as good as it was going to get, he washed his hands, and screwed back on the cap, placing it back in the cabinet.
(see, Mah?)
Glancing at the clock, he thought about grabbing some food. Turning off the CD mid word, he pulled on a jacket, grabbed his over the shoulder, onto the back, one strapped book sack, full of the days materials, and swung it on. Sticking his wallet in a back pocket, and taking his keys and sunglasses off his table, he closed the door on his first morning at NHFA.
(don't know if i can do this, and if i can't just tell me, and it's gone...but...here's a pretty...)
sorry if it's a repeat...
ETA: I fixed some of it..but, I don't know if it works. If it didn't, or if it's not liked, just tell me and I'll delete it and get out of the way...
no subject
no subject
Again with the constructive criticism, I agree with the paragraph comment above. Perhaps you ought to consider getting a beta to help you out with the how to's... Also, while detail is something I love, too much of anything is never good...
This is all said in the spirit of kindness and with the hope that I will see more of this story soon.
no subject
no subject
I'm not sure if it was the detail exactly or if it was the amount of detail in two looong paragraphs... but it was something. I would suggest cutting up the paragraphs a bit and maybe just removing a TAD of the detail and see what you have. often times if you want to show something like Elijah "paying undo amounts of attention to details since it was his first day" you can simple put in some details and tell the readers that he is paying undo amounts of attention...
If you want more specific ideas you can e-mail me and I would be glad to let you know what may help a bit and where to start new paragraphs.
no subject
no subject
no subject
and to be quite honest, i don't even know what a beta is......THANKS!no subject
I'm guessing you should just ask for one.. there must be some forum you can do that in... though I am not sure where the question would be appropriate... I know there is a couple communities out there for writers... see ifyou can find those and hunt up a beta :-)
no subject
very useful people they are...
no subject
*feels stupid*
Re: *feels stupid*
Re: *feels stupid*
no subject
no subject