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Foaly schreef:

Ik ook

Alhoewel ik gister wel de meest geniale slotzin ever bedacht voor mijn cat shapeshifter verhaal, maar toch. Met alleen een begin, een halve seksscene (ja, halve ja. Zo erg is het ) en een slotzin kom je er niet

Isabel_k schreef:

Foaly schreef:

Ik ook

Alhoewel ik gister wel de meest geniale slotzin ever bedacht voor mijn cat shapeshifter verhaal, maar toch. Met alleen een begin, een halve seksscene (ja, halve ja. Zo erg is het ) en een slotzin kom je er niet

Dat is niet genoeg, nee

Ik heb ook nog niets geschreven. Ik kijk tegenwoordig liever Netflix, maar als ik dan uit een soort Netflix-trans kom, baal ik dat ik niets heb geschreven.

Foaly schreef:

Hoe doen jullie dat btw met covers? Voor fanfics niet helemaal nodig, maar nu ik steeds meer neig naar original fiction leek het me wel leuk om daar ook een mooie cover bij te hebben. Ontwerpen jullie die zelf? Laten jullie dat doen? En zo ja, waar, wie, hoe, hoeveel?

Resistance schreef:

Yesyesyes! Ik heb net één van de verhalen aan de oprichter van advertising agency/publisher Kesselskramer gegeven, en hij gaat me mailen wat hij ervan vond!


Ben na de lecture echt naar beneden gerend op school om het te printen en weer teruggerend en heb het met een trillend handje aan hem gegeven.

Citaat:

Mads

Imagine an Italian mobster. A man whose balding head containing small, dark eyes emerges above a suit that fits a little bit too loose around his plump, short body. That man who is always a little bit too funny at social gatherings. You can’t shake the feeling that he might stab you in the back when you do not laugh at one of his many bad jokes, but at the same time it is impossible to dislike him.

Mads loved jazz and cats. On bar evenings we would organize for the village he would let out a jovial yell close to insanity whenever our two cats would walk in, and cuddle with them in silence for minutes at the time. For some reason nobody understood, the cats liked him too. They would curl around his legs when he ordered another beer by shoving 50 crowns in his empty glass you were just about to clean up, or sit next to him on the bar whenever he was making my father uncomfortable by standing just a little bit too close, during their conversation about the jazz playing in the background.

Until the day came that he couldn’t talk anymore. When Mads grew skinnier and skinnier, which didn’t ad up with the amount of beer he consumed, the doctors discovered that Mads had a tumor. Luckily it could easily be removed by surgery, never to worry about it again. However, when they woke him up from the surgery he discovered that the many stories he wanted to tell wouldn’t leave his mouth anymore. Due to a mistake during the operation, Mads now had aphasia.

The few times he came to the bar evenings after the incident, Mads would try and start a conversation about something or other, but after stuttering his way trough a sentence he gave up. Silently, in the corner of the bar, he would sip away his beers until his wife came to collect him to go home. His cheerful goodbyes and ecstatic gratefulness for delivering him another amazing night were history; now he would just give a little nod at us when opening the front door, before he disappeared into the darkness of the night.

Mad’s sister in law, Inger, also lives in our village. After she had been retired from being the local vicar she decided it was time for her to start a kitchen garden, resulting in more vegetables than she could eat in two years. It was neither possible to store all of those zucchini’s, broccoli’s, cabbages, radishes and so on, so when the time came that another huge pile of harvest was laying sadly on her porch, Inger organized a dinner party for the entire village. We were promised that everything she would serve us, consisted only out of vegetables from her yard.

The food was awful. The huge zucchini’s, stuffed with a mixture of more zucchini and beetroot, tasted exactly the way it sounds, and around me I saw people harshly chewing on the skins of eggplants. When they realized it was a lost cause they would reach into the corner of their mouth to pick the skins out of their molars. The tables had been decorated with leftover broccoli’s.

Mads was not there. His wife, Kerstin (Inger’s sister), was seated next to my mother, which my mother took as the perfect opportunity to ask how Mads was doing, as he was never able to tell us that himself. Kerstin revealed that he was doing better, however talking still tired him because of the effort it took, which didn’t do anything to improve his mood. At some point in the conversation my mother asked about his job. It got noticeably quieter on our end of the table. In all these years, nobody had ever questioned whether Mads was indeed a mobster, like everyone assumed. Our friend Thomas once stated that the man had “evil eyes”, followed by agreeing noises from the other villagers. Whatever Mads did for a living, it couldn’t be good.

“Oh, he hates being stuck at home,” Kerstin said desperately, pouring herself some more wine. “But it’s just not possible to work when a job involves that much interaction…” At this moment, everyone had dropped their conversations, and were listening in. My mother asked the burning question that everyone had been dying to know the answer of. “Has he never told you?” Kerstin asked surprised. “Mads has always worked as a teacher at Kindergarten.”

Myrsky schreef:

Foaly schreef:

Hoe doen jullie dat btw met covers? Voor fanfics niet helemaal nodig, maar nu ik steeds meer neig naar original fiction leek het me wel leuk om daar ook een mooie cover bij te hebben. Ontwerpen jullie die zelf? Laten jullie dat doen? En zo ja, waar, wie, hoe, hoeveel?

De covers voor verhalen die ik online zet, ontwerp ik zelf ja. Er zijn genoeg sites met rechtenvrije foto's die daarvoor gebruikt kunnen worden