View Full Version : The Loser Writer by Johnny (Flash-Fiction)

January 14th, 2011, 10:45 AM
The Loser Writer
By: Johnny

Flash Fiction

The sword dripped with blood, stained in a eternal suffering from the vortex of hells offspring. The screams of the young, dying, restless, faces emerging. Grey, red, black, colors of the souls of the damned, breaking through the rip of dimensions. Rivers of blood flowing, the angels descending, and

“What the hell.” Johnny sat back from his computer monitor re-reading his story. “What the hell does that mean. Bleh”

With a large sigh, he pressed hard on the backspace button of his keyboard.

The sword dripped with blood, stained in...

Johnny paused, his fingers ablaze at one point, now stiff as stone. The clock grew louder with every passing second: tick, tick, tick. He let out a large sigh, rising to his feet. His arms stretched high above his head. His hands rubbing furiously through his scalp.

There wasn't a natural flow with his writing, not like past stories. In times like these, he tried a alternative route—his bed. It was a small white spring mattress, resting on top of a hard wooden pad. No sheets, just a blue blanket that laid on top of it. He could hear the springs collapsing under his weight as he sat. The room was dimly lit, a basic computer sat on top of a small table. In a corner, rested a tube television sitting on a stand. Everything else was misplaced, papers scattered throughout the floors. In general, it matched his style, or so he told himself. Perhaps a excuse.

A important item rested above where Johnny’s head laid, sitting on top of a small white stand. It was a old Colt forty-five, left to him by his grandfather. Paint was chipped, and small amounts of rust had began corrosion, but the gun was still in fine working order. He had tested in a few months ago at a firing range to be sure. He enjoyed spinning the barrel. Tension somehow would magically disappear, and thoughts and imagination would reign supreme.

On his floor rested a small black laptop. A chord ran from it to the electrical socket. During times when he struggled to write, he would lay on top of the mattress and watch television or view articles on topics of writing. This was no exception. One of his favorite sites was Google books. How he enjoyed reading excerpts from famous authors who took alternative routes to writing. Usually he would simply enjoy the story, but during hard pressed times, he would read line-from-line on how each author would captivate their readers. Taking mental notes on everything that they did.

During other times, he would usually visit two writing sites that were based on creative writing. They weren't really sites, mainly forums for like minded people to gather and help each other in the pursuit of their writing careers.

He had just recently posted a writing excerpt piece in the fiction section. The main two categories that he visited on both sites: fiction sections for both novels and short stories. However, at times, he would view random threads on a whim. Most writers didn't understand how to properly review though, or so he told himself. They focused too much of the basic elements of writing like grammar and structure, and not enough on the actual elements on what creative writing was all about, or what this site was about. But perhaps this was his illusion of his, he did have his doubts on his theory.

There was a lot of new titles. It seemed a lot of writers were posting excerpts awaiting reviews in the fiction section. He scrolled downwards, until finding his own labeled, 'fantasy/steampunk excerpt pratice.' “Crap, I mis-spelled practice.” How he remembered posting the story and refreshing the page every five minutes to see if anyone had left a comment. Five views, ten views, twenty views, not one comment. Once, a feeling of anxiety and achievement, now a feeling of dread and doubt engulfed his being. Perhaps, he simply just didn't have any talent at writing. To him, he had always had the impression that if you had that many viewers and not one comment, the judgment was simple—it sucked.

He continued to click on each title, scanning each work from unknown authors. Some were quite good, others lacked in certain areas. But somehow, every one of them depressed him to no end. Some of the comments were mind-bending, this is really good, this flow was great! Perhaps a hint of jealously, how he yearned. But in reality, out of all of his postings, riddled with erases and red ink, rested –to him—nothing but a fraud.

The blanket, a escape from reality. Here, hidden underneath it's cloak, he wasn't Johnny, he was a being of unparalleled imagination, protected and safe from the world around. “One more time...” he said, as he started up a new blank notepad page on his laptop. “This time, this time, i'll do good,” stuttering while saying so. With a final click of the keys, he had finished.

Just like in the past, this case was no exception, he anxiously awaited for reviews after posting his flash fiction on the forums of the two sites. Nothing. The following morning he awoke only to realize he had passed out awaiting a critique. Upon refreshing the page, he had gotten his wish. However, just like in past cases—one site had nothing, the other only a few depressing remarks.

Real men don't cry, his words weren't convincing anyone. Somehow, he had managed to suppress any tears from falling. However, the lingering feeling of defeat only depressed him further. His colt forty-five gave him a bit of comfort as the barrel span furiously. His grandfathers image coming to mind as he thought about his past. Due to this though, the raging storm which he suppressed, broke through.

They say just before you die, time moves eternally slow, and your life flashes before you. Well in this case, it seemed to be true. With the flick of his wrist, and the pull of the trigger, he starred down the barrel of a flashing bullet heading straight towards him. With his life flashing before his eyes, his final thought however wasn't on why their was a bullet in his colts chamber, no it was on something else: “Wow, sure wish I could of written this.”

Blood drenched the walls, his brains spattered about. Everything was red, except dropplets of red seen on his laptop. On his screen the words read:

The Loser Writer
by Johnny

January 14th, 2011, 01:46 PM
TERRIBLE! WHAT A TERRIBLE READ! lol no. It was fantastic and I'm sure many of us can relate :D Going to bed with the laptop (pun not intended), when you can't bring yourself to write is something I do quite often. I'm not all too sure about the ending though if I'm honest. It's not that I don't like blood and gore, I just would rather it ended in a more emotional way. Perhaps a last second change of mind, 'There is so much that I haven't written! I can't leave now!'

But yes, it was a wonderful read. (You haven't actually killed yourself right??? :shock:)

January 14th, 2011, 04:09 PM
NO! Don't do it Johnny! It's not worth it! DON'T DO IT!

January 14th, 2011, 05:16 PM
I personally loved it, to a certain degree. i could relate to this for the most part, except the suicide... i love writing, but not that much :) . But that being put aside, The story itself was very moving. Emotional as such, but i hope to god your not planning on doing this man. or already have done it. If you need someone to talk to, im always here yo!

Your loving friend,
Christianncg :D

January 15th, 2011, 03:20 AM
This is really good, this flow was great!


Okay, really, this was very good and quite relatable on a writing forum (though I'm in no way talking about the suicide part, of course). I'm sure every newer member's imagination goes wild with a lack of critiques—second guessing their work, their talent, their peers, their chosen forum, their mother who said it was wonderful... As Shakespeare once said: "Nothing is so common as the wish to be remarkable."

Good job. Thank you for the read.

January 15th, 2011, 01:54 PM
Thank you, I know it's nothing special. Just glad a few people enjoyed it. I was hoping I would of gotten more comments. I figured some people would make assumptions that it had a suicide underlying theme. How my twisted mind works. =O

They saw through my plan! Curses!

January 15th, 2011, 02:01 PM
Thank you, I know it's nothing special. Just glad a few people enjoyed it. I was hoping I would of gotten more comments. I figured some people would make assumptions that it had a suicide underlying theme. How my twisted mind works. =O

They saw through my plan! Curses!

Psh, 'more comments'. Rub it in why don't you?! My last 4 works (possibly going to be 5) have gotten 0 comments :D

January 15th, 2011, 02:16 PM
I really like this!!
Alot I can relate to and i'm sure many more can too!

January 15th, 2011, 10:56 PM
When I started reading it I thought, "oh great another one of these", but actually laughed when Johnny said "what the hell". It was pretty amusing and i certainly wasn't expecting a suicide, much less an accidental one. My only complaint is towards the middle when you were explaining forums and habits. It was slightly dreary and I felt could have served the purpose with fewer words. But I liked it nonetheless.

Like a Fox
January 16th, 2011, 12:47 AM
A word of advice to you, and any other new creative posters here.
If you want to receive comments, you really have to give them. It's a great idea to go around the fiction section (And the Writer's Workshop) and leave thoughtful critiques on the work of others. Those others will (hopefully) be grateful and return the favour by coming to check out your work.
It also pays to make a few friends. Go into the lounge and shoot the breeze, you're bound to come across someone who you click with. Then bug them! That's how I make friends. Haha.

Now, as to the writing - I've written something like this before. A creative splurt of writerly frustration. It's good fun, and great fun for a writer to read.
Your main character mentions a dislike for spelling/grammatical nitpicking, but it definitely has its place. As a critiquer, I'm generally looking for anything that pulls me out of the story. I also operate under the assumption that you may one day like to submit this to some sort of publication, so it's possible you've missed things, and if fresh eyes don't pick them out for you before you submit, the readers of submissions certainly will and that's a sure fire way to end up on the 'No' pile.

Anyway, there weren't that many SPaG things I noticed, though there were quite a few instances in the first few paragraphs of you using 'a' instead of 'an':
a eternal suffering
a alternative route
a excuse

They should all be 'an'. (Whenever a is followed by a word that starts with a vowel (or vowel sound).

There was a lot of new titles - Should be there were a lot of new titles.

Story-wise, I think it flows nicely, the progression of 'plot', as it exists in the character's downward spiral, was well-paced and worked for me.
I really loved the ending, thought maybe it could tie back into the beginning, with some cheesey-over-written gore. I see that you did that, but maybe amp it up a bit?

My main suggestion to improve it would be to tighten it a bit, I don't think it needs to be this long. It's a pretty solid idea for flash and could be pulled back a bit to pack a little more punch. I would also recommend trying to insert a few more physical descriptions. Though we're in third, you've achieved a limited third, mostly in Johnny's head (my favourite POV to write), but it does make it difficult to give a physical grounding, which would really enhance this story.

Good work. And remember, if you want to receive, you have to give. Do you best to go around and comment on the work of others. I find it's a good learning process in itself.