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 Now online (1)dariusgriffin ...and 289 guests Last 5 registered Oplandisks nothingstar N_loop yipe foxtrotromeo Browse members... |
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whos that guy who writes short stories? |
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optimus prime? |
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there are many guys who write short stories. |
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Edgar Allan Poe |
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j.d. salinger? |
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H.P. Lovecraft. |
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Jorge Luis Borges? |
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Roald Dahl? |
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John Kessel: "The Pure Product" (1986) My fav+ short story ever. |
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that!ne |
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Yes. |
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HEY i know who you mean!!! its that GIT who couldn't be arsed to write long stories ...ohhh whats his name!!?? its on the tip of my tounge... aaaah you know ...aargggg!!!1!! ! |
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Ari Behn |
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Leo Tolstoy? |
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noooo ....the other one! |
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jack handey |
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I was given some stories given to me as part of my spanish course that were like micro stories, dead short in 3 or 4 sentences and they were by a local writer and they were really quite good and I was very keen on the concept but I'll be fucked if I know their name. |
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every novel is a failed short story |
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bingob |
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Henry James as in The Turn Of The Screw as in Richard James' great great grandfather |
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fantastic book (the turn of the screw). i remember when i read it a while back, at work. suddendly the phone rang & i made a huge jump, like the fear of my life. portrait of a lady is awesome as well (even if totally different). i heard henry james got hurt in a fire when he was young, in a "awfull way" but he never said what it was... |
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I write the "Bitch don't scream or i'ma cut you" series. |
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go out |
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jack heandey |
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That's when he knew she'd been cheating on him. They had left the house thinking everything had been returned to its right place. The 'last calls' on the caller ID were a cold-water drip in the back of his mind, but he had managed to remain calm, this once, and chose not to bring them up. What reason was there? A handful of restricted calls doesn't point to anything. There was real evidence now. His socks were lying near the love seat! It had to be him. No one was both fashion-crippled enough to willingly buy the salmon-flavored argyle socks, and arrogant enough to wear then out of the house. "Why would a woman give him a second look, dressed like that?" remarked Jack at last weekend's poker table. It was true, Martin had always dressed like an asshole, but there was this intangible quality that drew women to him. None of the guys could explain it, and it always bothered them. It hadn't bothered William. He and Martin had always managed to keep the score relatively even as far as the fourth quarter in the pub was concerned, but there was an understanding. An unspoken accord which would've read something like "stay away from my girl" had it been written down. That motherfucker had been here, in this very room. How could Martin do this, being in a relationship himself? He had willingly entered his best friend's cave and plundered his woman. William decided he wasn't alright with Marty's reckless womanizing, anymore. He was going to find a way to get revenge, and he knew where to begin his retribution: in that very room, by wanking a load into each of the repugnantly hued socks. |
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SHAFT? |
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zero cool last post%)(/&%&/%&%$ |
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zero cool last post%)(/&%&/%&%$ x 2 |
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