tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36175128283000681432024-03-12T21:32:51.366-05:00Crafting RealitiesThe Diary, Stories, and Ideas of a world builder, William Syler.William Sylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11593300242077559639noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3617512828300068143.post-28013819429217709112013-06-05T10:47:00.000-05:002013-06-05T19:25:10.291-05:00Word Count Goals and Personal StuffBefore I get my day started, I wanted to quickly post my word count goals for this summer. Right now I feel comfortable writing a little over 500 words per day, and I would like to get to 2000 words per day before NaNoWriMo. As such, I decided that I'm going to be rather linear and set my goal on a month by month basis. By the end of this month, I want to be comfortable writing 1000 words per day, or at least averaging closer to that than I have been. July will end with me feeling comfortable around 1500 words per day, and August will have me practice at 2000 words per day. During the rest (September and October), my goal is to either stay at 2000, get to 2000, or improve from there depending on how successful my summer months were. I will do my best to scribble every day, and I will enjoy each victory and let go of each failure.<br />
<br />
Yesterday I kept 506 words that I wrote for The Distorted Man, today's word count will go towards more of my fanfic, and tomorrow's word count will go towards something new for you that I'll post here. I probably won't be keeping a daily word count log on my blog, but I will try to update for you and let you all know how it's going in general.<br />
<br />
(Side note: I originally wrote a much better version of this last night, but thanks to my foolishness it was erased before it could be posted. I apologize that I denied you all a look into my exhausted subconscious, but I'm sure you'll get enough of him soon).<br />
<br />
Oh, and I guess I've been understating some pretty big changes about my life. So let's go into even less detail! I've (technically) graduated from college just before starting the blog, I got married, went to the Wisconsin Dells for five days as a honeymoon, got back and went to an interview for a job I hope to get, and bought a cheap car. My life has just hit some pretty big revisions, and yet I don't feel different. I think that's what I like most about life: I still feel like me no matter what good or ill comes my way.<br />
<br />
Time for some more good! See you later, and Stay Awesome!William Sylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11593300242077559639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3617512828300068143.post-91186190169270853992013-06-03T13:49:00.003-05:002013-06-03T13:50:23.881-05:00The Distorted Man: PrologueYAY! The Prologue of <i>The Distorted Man</i> has been posted to FanFiction.net (<a href="http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9355113/1/The-Distorted-Man">http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9355113/1/The-Distorted-Man</a>)! I'll be posting it here too after the jump. And please, avoid spoilers on your comments if you can! But do critique and ask questions!<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Prologue: Of Deception</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mark’s favorite thing about the
local Ghastly was their sense of humor. Anyone moving into Jinne City learned
to memorize the amethyst welcome sign leading to the main street; there was
only supposed to be one painted purple vapor face on the board, in the lower
left corner, yet you could often find two or three on it, holding a steady
pose. It was not uncommon, when asking a citizen their favorite part of the
city, to hear about the screams of inquisitive visitors and trainers.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It was early enough in the morning
that the sun barely had its fingertips over the horizon. The Doudo-crow light
was not yet solid enough to scare the insubstantial wraiths back into their
hidey-holes. Mark, sitting on a bench just past the edge of town, was glancing
at the fleeing stars, unwilling and unable to sleep. It was his eighteenth
birthday; it was time to officially decide if he was going to become a Pokémon
trainer or not. His father, a researcher working on the next big HM at Rei’s
gym, had tried to awaken Mark’s curiosity towards technology and partially succeeded.
Learning about HM’s was a fascinating subject, but Mark also heard the calling
his mother’s side provided him. She was born and raised to become a Pokémon
trainer in Moxie City, and her adventure seeking nature had been passed on to
her oldest son.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Despite the dangers of being out so
early, Mark was not afraid of wild Pokémon for two reasons: one, because the indigenous
Ghastly had a tendency to protect humans from unwanted aggressors, for reasons
they kept to themselves and; two, not more than twenty feet away, the trainer Dalton
was guarding the main path towards home. His Butterfree Ulysses, a blue
butterfly half the size of a grown man with white wings as light as a breeze,
danced on the air near his trainer with the Flash HM mounted on his forehead.
It resembled a small searchlight resting against Ulysses’ skin, glowing like moonlight.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mark hadn’t meant to look over at Dalton,
but when he did he caught the trainer’s eye. A small smile crept over Dalton’s broad
face, and Mark looked away swiftly. Before he could react, the seat shook
quietly as the giant trainer sat down on the opposite side of the bench.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You’re still fiddling with your
balls, I see.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Realizing that the gifts had found their
way back into his hands, Mark quickly set them down and mumbled, “I don’t
appreciate your innuendo.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The rippling chuckle was barely
restrained enough to be respectable to the silent night. “Oh come on, lighten
up. You know I’m just joshing.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mark nodded, too pensive to say
more.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Still brooding over your decision?”
Dalton asked lightly.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No, I know what I want. I just…”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The pause was significant, but
eventually Mark continued.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“…My dad’s always had his
expectations of me, and I know I won’t be going the way he wants me to. I’m
just worried about how he’s going to respond.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Mark, I know your dad pretty well.
He’s always been proud of you because you do such a good job at anything you
try, and I know he won’t be disappointed if you become a trainer. He’s told me
the last time my patrols crossed his midnight wanderings.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Relief began seeping into the edges
of Mark’s worry. The silence that followed was a bit gentler than the one that
came before it. Mark was abruptly made aware of Ulysses gracefully landing in
his lap. The young man began scratching the Butterfree right above the back of
his neck, causing his wings to shiver with delight.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dalton just smirked. “Hey, no stealing
my Ulysses. He may like you more, but that’s only cause you’re too affectionate
for your own good.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh am I?” Mark responded as he
turned to look at Dalton. “Should I tone it down so you can save face with your
lover?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dalton choked on his response for a
moment before saying, “Oh no, y-you don’t have to do that. I’m just saying
you’re too good at making Pokémon love you. You’re gonna be a good trainer.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mark’s cheeks warmed at the
complement. “It’s just how my mom and dad raised me, even before Daisy did all
her pro-Pokémon stuff.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dalton nodded as Mark looked at the
sign, trying to hide from the unexpected praise. It was atypical again; Mark
counted a Ghastly in each corner and smirked at all the pretenders. However,
when he looked at the painted Pokémon, its mouth and eyes grew to terrifying
proportions. The startled teen threw himself backwards into Dalton’s lap,
sending Ulysses straight up and causing a spectral uproar as the four Pokémon
rapidly fled the humans’ sight, giving each other congratulatory chatter.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dalton gave an inquisitive look, and
Mark responded, “They had a Ghastly over the fake one, and when it moved I
freaked out.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Snickering, Dalton said, “That’s
new. They’re getting brighter. Better warn everyone about their new trick.” Mark
agreed as the two stood up.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When Mark turned to go back to the
City, Dalton stopped him and handed him the gifts his mother had given him.
“Don’t forget these. You’ll need them to start your journey properly,” he said
with a smirk.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Thanks. I would have completely
forgotten about them.” The two men waved goodbye and Mark began walking back
towards home, finally relaxed enough to contemplate sleep. As he walked away,
he could hear the murmurs of a low soliloquy from Dalton to Ulysses.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>You could never call Jinne City dead
even at its quietest; the various machines powering the street-lining homes and
businesses kept a pulse going in the town of the supernatural. But walking
through it at night seemed to bring that pulse to the edge of death; the human
element was quiet here, even as the Pokémon element was not. The pitter-patter
of Rattata held the street as Spearow owned the skies. None of the wild Pokémon
had an interest in the passing human, much to his relief. He was not in the
mood to deal with them.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ambling through his hometown, Mark
began to wonder what his starting Pokémon would be. It seemed logical that he
would be sponsored through Rei’s gym, because of his father’s job at her gym, but
he didn’t really want a ghost-type starter. You could choose a Ghastly or one
of two other foreign Pokémon that were pure Ghost type if you could be
sponsored through her, but that didn’t seem appealing. He did like the idea of
going through Beatrix’s gym and getting a Psychic type, though. He could get a Mr.
Mime or a Drowzee or –</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The sound of rending space, metal in
a blender, unexpectedly filled the night. The air in front of Mark became
distorted and bent and torn – a hole, the size of a man, opened up, and beyond
it he could see <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ĐΔřκΩΞ§ζ &ηδ Γ!ξĤŧ –</i></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The hole closed, and lying before
Mark was a yellow and tan foxlike, humanoid Pokémon wheezing exhaustedly. Every
limb seemed to be bleeding viciously, and he heard a quiet mew from its broken
jaw as its tailed twitched beneath it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A flurry of thoughts ran through
Mark’s mind. The arrival had scared him beyond belief, but eventually something
helped him focused on the problem: the Pokémon was seriously injured and there
was no way he could get it to the Pokémon Center in time without-</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He stopped for one last moment; it
was an injured Pokémon, and he had a Pokéball.</span></div>
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William Sylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11593300242077559639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3617512828300068143.post-33916616545708818542013-05-25T03:47:00.002-05:002013-05-25T04:10:01.789-05:00A Decaying SceneI'm getting married in 12 hours! Time for some stress relief. <br />
<br />
I decided to go ahead and actually try to write something for you all so you have something of mine that's actually recent to critique. I started it yesterday, so I can't really say my daily word count is decent yet. But this summer is all about improvement, so let's get it on!<br />
<br />
The idea started out as just a guy running through a forest, but then I decided to make it a decaying forest and I abruptly had descriptions that made me reel away in joy (it was a complicated feeling). I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think!<br />
<br />
688 words. (Gotta improve that word count!)<br />
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Gripping
his side in pain, Earl continued to run through the dying woods. He passed
trees with colorful infections and plants slowly ripping themselves apart
beneath his feet. He jumped over a fallen log that smelled of rotting bile and
sugar, wove between the liquefying corpses of dead fawn, and skirted the edge
of a shallow pond that was turning a putrid black and red. He sought relief
from the torment around him by turning his eyes upward, only to find that the
bright blue sky, barely hidden by trees shedding poisoned leaves, was mocking
him with its normalcy. He felt the urge to scream, but he didn’t for two
reasons; if he opened his mouth he would add tasting the foul air to his list
of sufferings, and he was rapidly running out of strength to keep running. It
took all he had to keep going.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The side
stich was stabbing hard enough now that it reached the top of Earl’s awareness;
it was now literally the worst part of his flight. For a brief moment, he
reveled in the fact that the worst part of running through this Damned forest
was that “his side hurt a lot.” It almost gave him hope to think that he could
escape if he only kept his eyes on the pain. But of course, as soon as that
distracted him, Earl misstepped and plunged headfirst into a decaying hole in
the ground. Slamming his head against the side of the cavity was only the
second worst part of his ordeal; some of toxic vegetation had seeped into his
mouth, much to his alarm.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Violently
spitting it out, Earl laid at the bottom of the pit trying to reorient his
throbbing, spinning head. Involuntarily, he retched, sending naught but a small
amount of gastric acid out from his empty stomach. He angrily noted that the
foliage had burned his mouth more than the spew had, and for a brief moment he
wondered if he’d ever taste again. When all of that was finally sorted out, he
rested in the tight hole awkwardly, with all his limbs bent above him so that
he could barely move.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After some
twisting and shifting, Earl finally gained control and was able to stand within
his tight confines. As he did, he noticed the flat edge of a buried rock
jutting out and was suddenly relieved that he hadn’t slammed into that wrong.
He was about to step closer to examine it when a dark shadow passed above.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Earl
ducked, silently cussing to himself, and waited for a full minute before
standing again. He realized that he had now escaped his pursuer due to luck so
poor that it looped back around to respectable once more. Grimacing, Earl
kicked the side of the hole. The dirt shifted, reminding him of why he had
entered the forest in the first place.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Looking
back up again, Earl considered the risk. He was well hidden and had already
evaded his hunter, but for how long? He had no choice though; <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">now is the time</i>, he thought as he fished
into the pouches at his waist for the Seed. He thankfully found it right where
he had left it, in the rightmost bag. Pulling it out, Earl considered its
robust heft and size; it was more pebble-like than seed, but it wasn’t meant to
grow a plant so much as it was to absorb the Damnation flowing through the
Earth around him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Another
rustle overhead gave him pause, but he decided it wasn’t a threat. Earl bent
down and dug a small indent in the dirt for the Seed. He held the Seed close to
his mouth and whispered the blessings it needed to trigger it. The small pebble
began to glow like a candle as its transporter placed it in its new home.
Before Earl could cover it, however, a large, bladed tentacle shot down and
impaled him through the chest. Blood began oozing down in the moment before the
appendage retracted with its prey. The Seed, unabated, began digging for
itself, falling as if it were in midair.</div>
William Sylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11593300242077559639noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3617512828300068143.post-85526840658268301422013-05-24T00:47:00.000-05:002013-06-05T00:15:56.401-05:00The Renewed Blog!<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hello, dear reader. My pen name is William Syler, and I'm reviving my blog and turning it into a place to post my stories.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">FYI, I'm getting married tomorrow and going on our honeymoon immediately after. Once I get back I'll begin posting my stories and links.<br /><br />My plans are as follows:</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">1. I will begin working on an AU fanfic entitled "The Distorted Man". It is a rewriting of the
Pokémon world that answers all the questions about how the world works. (Where does Squirtle get all that water? How do Pokémon fit into Pokéballs? Why can Pokémon only have four attacks? And more!) I will be posting it on FanFiction.net under my profile, William Syler (<a href="http://www.fanfiction.net/u/4633099/">http://www.fanfiction.net/u/4633099/</a>) (What a shock!) soon after I get back.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">2. I will be working on finishing a short story I've started titled "Gold Iris". As that one finishes I will reveal what it's about.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">3. I will be posting random scenes here to build up a tolerance towards actually writing and receiving critique.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">4. Finally, I will be working towards getting up to writing for NaNoWriMo this November. (<a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/en/participants/william-syler">http://www.nanowrimo.org/en/participants/william-syler</a>) That means getting my daily word count up to a minimum of 1,667 words per day. That's not a lot, right? ;)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For now, have a link to a story I wrote for a class at the college I just graduated from. Critique and enjoy!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.public.coe.edu/~theller/fant/fant11s/bell.html">http://www.public.coe.edu/~theller/fant/fant11s/bell.html</a></span></span><style>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>William Sylerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11593300242077559639noreply@blogger.com0