Author Pairs

Chatterbox: Inkwell

Author Pairs

Author Pairs

 

I'm not sure if any of you remember this or not, but I found a really cool thread from a while ago. It's too long to comment on again, but I thought I'd try to make another one just like it. Here's what it is (copied from the original thread):

 

The Author Pairs Movement.

 

Hello, welcome to 'The Author Pairs Movement.' (TAPM).

A. Q&A

B. Rules

C. Genre Options

D. Sign-up sheets

---------------------------------------------

A

Q: What exactly is 'The Author Pairs Movement'

A: 'The Author Pairs Movement' otherwise known as the TAPM is a place where authors to come and look for another similiar to them in level and genre and pair up with them to write a poem, song, short story, chapter story, etc.

Q: So...how are they paired up with their match?

A: Well first the TAPM managers view the forms that authors have filled out, and judging by the quality of the sample story (poem, song, etc) and the type of genre they like, the TAPM managers will pair them up with someone who is on the same level and likes the same genre.

Q: So, in the forms, do you have to give out any real information..like last name, address, email...you know, stuff you could track me down with?

A: Nope! You just have to give out your name (first name only) or your nickname, a sample story (song, poem, etc.), and likes and dislikes!

-------------------------------

B

Be nice!

Follow all Cricket rules!

You can have one partner per story! (Song, poem, etc)

If you and your partner don't get along, I can assign you to another one, if you have a good reason, and if their are two other partners avaliable...but even if you don't get along, please be nice!

--------------------------

C

Story Options

Fantasy

Romance

Horror

Mystery

Poem Options

Sad

Happy

Nature

Dramatic

Abstract

Song Options

Sad

Happy

Confusing

----------

D

(Please fill this out and copy and paste! Then post! ;)

Name (First name or nickname only.)

Song, Poem, or Story sample. (A short 200 words or less sample of a song, poem, or story that YOU wrote.)

Favorite genre of stories, songs, poems, etc.

------------------

submitted by GloWorm
(March 12, 2009 - 12:39 pm)
Anyone want to try it with me? Oh, and if you want to check out the first one yourself, go to Inkwell, click "replies" twice, and click the thread that says "Author Pairs Movement".
submitted by Princess P.
(May 12, 2011 - 10:13 am)

Well, if so: Christina M. will you accept me, Elizabeth M., as your loyal APM partner? 

submitted by Elizabeth M., age 12, Germany
(July 1, 2011 - 12:48 pm)

Why, Elizabeth M., I would love to! We are the"M"s. Teehee.
Mimi says onely. Lonely? Awww. Can Mimi be Spammy's author pair?

submitted by Christina M.
(July 2, 2011 - 12:26 pm)

Haha! Yeah, I noticed that, too!

submitted by Elizabeth M., age 12, Germany
(July 3, 2011 - 8:09 am)

Name: Afton

Song, Poem, or Story sample: This is a story I wrote a while back; It's over 200 words (302, to be precise) but I didn't want to cut it, sorry!

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I’m so
lonely; there’s no one here, and it’s so dark I can hardly see.  Time doesn’t pass here anymore.  It could be a week, a month, or an eternity.  I’m all alone in the dark, my body slowly
wearing down.  I raise my arm, wires and
plugs hanging at odd angles.  I never
needed to learn how to repair myself, and even if I knew, the ones like me left
with the tools before the dark and loneliness came, leaving me here with the
Others. If the thing that ripped the
Others comes back, will it rip me, too? 
I glance down, see the Others lying torn and broken, their weak, soft
flesh oozing a scarlet fluid.  How did
such a weak race create us, we who are nearly indestructible?

What thing
did this?  I cannot remember; all that
comes to me is whiteness, blinding me after the dark.  What happens when you stop working?  I look at the end of my arm, red liquid
dripping towards the ground.  Did I cause
this destruction, this wanton waste of life? 
Why can’t I remember?  Suddenly, I
sense motion.  It’s a small mammal,
similar to the Others in biology.  I
believe the Others commonly referred to it as a mouse.  I lift it up, feeling its tiny, fast heart
beat against my sensors.  

I feel a
strange sensation, a loss of energy.  My
battery is running down.  I check the
stores, knowing it is useless. The ones like me took the extra batteries with
them.  I would do anything to
continue existing, not to stop as the Others did.

Suddenly,
the blinding whiteness returns, but just as quickly disappears.  The mouse resting on my palm is still, its
frantically beating heart stopped.  My
battery has more power than before.

Favorite genre of stories, songs, poems, etc:SCI FI!!, fantasy,romance, macabre stuff (Addams family stuff; it's not horror, so I gave it it's own category) mystery, horror.

I also write songs for my band, so if you would like me to post some of them, I will.

Spammy says vhog. Vogons? Spammy, do you like THGTHG?(The Hitch-hiker's Guide To The Galaxy, if you don't know whatTHGTHG stands for.) 

submitted by Afton T., age 14, Austin TX
(July 3, 2011 - 6:53 am)

Name (First name or nickname only.): Olive

Song, Poem, or Story sample. (A short 200 words or less sample of a song, poem, or story that YOU wrote.)

This is 81 words over the quota. Sorry. I can't find anything shorter (that I think is acceptable).

Fingers pounded on the keys at rapid pace, notes churning
out of the instrument in two/four time. And in all her focus, Bonnie didn’t
notice the sunlight that was eating away at the shadows of her cozy little
nook, and that it had become much too warm to be wearing a 50% cotton, 50%
polyester sweater, even when beads of sweat had begun to trickle down her neck.
 

 

 

   No,
Bonheim “Bonnie” Suckrelvirsch was either drowning in the water or not in it at
all. Metaphorically. That was what her mother used to always say.

 

   Outside of
Bonnie’s little room, another girl, only a few years older than Bonnie, lay on
a couch, her eyes empty and her body, emaciated. Her hair was unkempt and limp
and an arm hung loosely off the side of the piece of furniture as she listened.
She listened to the sound of war outside the house, knowing that somewhere, he
was fighting. And possibly dying.

 

   This other
girl, her name Woolly, used to wonder why Bonnie always practiced so much, but
now she understood. Music was Bonnie’s purpose in life, and one needed a
purpose in order to live.

 

   Woolly lay
on the same couch the next day, unmoved, untouched. Unalive.

 

   That day,
no matter how hard she tried to dismiss it, the feeling of loss kept gnawing at
Bonnie. Like a bloodthirsty monster of sorts.

 

   Halfway
into the day, Bonnie gave up fighting and let the monster come and eat her
heart. That was when all reality came crashing down on her.

 

   Woolly was
gone.

 

   Bonnie was
all alone.

 

   And she
knew that she wouldn’t be too surprised if the Suckrelvirsch family went
extinct soon.

 

Favorite genre of stories, songs, poems, etc.

Stories: Angst, dystopic fiction, dark schtuff, and HP fanfiction...

submitted by Olive
(August 13, 2011 - 8:53 pm)