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Writers Block Contest


Banned - What an Asshat!
There is a contest that for two weeks. It starts today, Oct. 21st, and ends on Nov. 4th. There will be a prize. You will have three judges, myself, taylor blade and a public vote. The prize is yet to be determined, but it will be a good, happy prize. We have not decided what the prize will be, but it will be goo-ood. And, you get bragging rights.

The Rules:
No cursing without reason. Fuck fuck fuck will not get you to win.
No critiquing or replies allowed per poem. Post it in this thread, but any replies to any poem will be removed. Take your time before you post it here. You may post it in the general writers block first before you submit here. There is only one submission per person allowed. If you edit or change your submission, it will be removed from the contest. Taylor and myself may add/change rules as necessary.
You will be judged on language, grammar, flow, word usage and poetical content, rhyme scheme. You will also be judged on theme and content.

This is how you will be judged by taylor and I, excluding Public Vote:

Judges Page:
Maximum of 100 points available

Theme: 20 Points
Content: 20 Points
Originality: 20 Points
Word Flow: 10 Points
Grammar: 10 Points
Word Usage: 10 Points
Rhyme Scheme: 10 Points

The Contest:

Your theme: Halloween, or a variation of monstrous evils, hell, ect.

Poetry: Structured Rhyme (NOT PROSE)


WTF's Official Conspiracy Fanatic
I'm feeling suitable dark, so I'll just make one up.

My submission.....

Terror is simple and shared,
Deep in the dark fears come true,
Sometimes all alone and scared,
You're sure that it's coming for you.

Down the hall, under the bed,
Deep inside the closet of dread,
The fear of impending death,
Grab the blanket, hide your head.

Children know how to fear best,
They imagine the worst things of all,
Things that tear open your chest,
Monsters that come out of the wall.

In the dark, filled with fear,
Knowing it will soon be here,
Darkly whispering in your ear,
Prayers cannot save you dear.

Terror is simple and shared,
Deep in your heart fears are true,
Sometimes all alone and scared,
The thing you fear most should be You.

If my submission doesn't fit the criteria, like I read the rules wrong or something, just PM me.


Banned - What an Asshat!
deus_ex_machina said:
DG I just want to suggest something. I can dig the theme but not the set kind of structure for the poem. I think maybe induviduality should be expressed, and not just a straight rhyme scheme. It's ok if you keep it your way; I'm just suggesting.
Good Point.

However, I have another Prose contest coming up for christmass. That is why this is not prose. Get it?
Okay, in the interest of keeping this nice and organized, instead of posting that “I'm in”, just wait until you post your poem. Also, rather than posting suggestions here, just PM them to me or dg. This will help us keep shit straight. As DG stated before, any spam will be deleted as seen fit.

Thank you.

JXLC: I'm adding your second post to the first one.


Last Living Souls
The Valley of Lost Souls

Stand forth the gates
To the Valley of Lost Souls.
The cast iron grids open
A ceremonial bell tolls.

A dark purple sky
Quietly looms overhead.
Closer to the horizon
It slowly fades into red.

Clouds made of tears
Victims forever cry.
Playfully vanish and appear
Raining an eerie lullaby.

Skulls make the walls
Guiding the paths that they hold.
Each one with a tale
Baring secrets untold.

As the paths meet their end
Stone alters await.
Perched high a winged friend
Gargoyles of Fate.

Beyond each threshold
Flow rivers of blood.
Waterfalls in sight
Our body's wine they shall flood.

Caws of black crows
Soar with the breeze.
None alive shall seek haven
Nor have a feeling of ease.

Stroll along more
If you may dare.
There's plenty to adore
In this world of despair.

Tall wilting trees
Cast the shadows of fright.
Inside hollow trunks
Lurk creatures of the night.

White ghostly mists seep
Spanning the ground.
As the haunting fogs creep
Heed the winds sound.

To the east lies a garden
Which young Amy* now stays.
There flesh knows no pardon
And darkness forever plays.

Roses so bland
Tainted black and white.
Decorating this land
With a shadowy sight.

From their pedals they spill
The blood of the falling.
Soil below it shall fill
Quenching a souls thirsty calling.

The only light that will shine
Upon this eden of doom.
Comes from above so divine
From a dark-hearted moon.

It glows a mere orange
Floating full and ellipse.
Forever keeping its form
An eternal eclipse.

Dark cemeteries lie
Alone in the west.
Those left straying shall die
Putting their bodies to rest.

Those that are seen
Dare not speak a word.
Their cries and their screams
Can only be heard.

Black cloaks and dark robes
Cover faces of many.
Only to behold
White eyes of a plenty.

Stand forth the gates
To the valley of lost souls.
The cast iron grids close
A ceremonial bell tolls.

In this place we shall stay
Sitting upon its dark throne.
Here night conquers day
Welcome to your new home.


Last Living Souls
Whats the deal with the writers block? Who won? Or did we not have any entree's?


Banned - What an Asshat!
Invader said:
Whats the deal with the writers block? Who won? Or did we not have any entree's?

We will post winner on or before next Friday.

Thank you all for participating.

The current contest is closed pending announcemetn of winner.

Stay tuned for Decembers Contest, and be ready to think Christmass!!!!
Okay, thanks to those who participated, There will be another contest coming soon.

The winner was : JLXC

I’ll be Pming him about his prize.


Banned - What an Asshat!
Congrats JLXC!

Thank you so much for playing!

Everyone, keep an eye out for next Months featured contest!


Banned - What an Asshat!
Christmas Contest! From Dec. 1st to Dec. 25th.

Short story format, 750 words or less. The theme is Winter or Christmas, can be about a good or bad feeling about either, dark or light, death or life, whatever, as long as the imagery is based around Winter or Christmas....

Now, last time we only had two valid participants, so hopefully we will have more this time. If we do not have more than two, then there is no need for a public vote.

The Rules:
No cursing without reason. Fuck fuck fuck will not get you to win.
No critiquing or replies allowed per entry. Post it in this thread, but any replies to any entry will be removed. Take your time before you post it here. You may post it in the general writers block first for a critique before you submit here. There is only one submission per person allowed. If you edit or change your submission, it will be removed from the contest. Taylor and myself may add/change rules as necessary.
You will be judged on language, grammar, flow, word usage and narrative content, imagery. You will also be judged on theme and content.
The judgement will be exactly the same as previous, however Rhyme Scheme will be replaced by Imagery.

The Winter Prize will be awarded after January 1st. The contest will be decided between Christmas Day and New Years Day.

No, we don't know what the prize is yet.....stay tuned for that!
(It is NOT going to be an xbox 360, I know that much!)

Also; Taylor and I have decided that in the spirit of contests, we can not have consecutive winners. A participant can only win once out of three contests. This way, we will not have anyone monopolizing the contests. While a previous winner is welcome and encouraged to enter, he or she can not receive 1st place more than once in three contests.


Banned - What an Asshat!
On a second note, I think some of us are not sure what a short story is, so I stole this from Winkpedia or whatever that fucking online encyclopedia thing is called;

A short story is a form of short fictional narrative prose. Short stories tend to be more concise and to the point than longer works of fiction, such as novellas and novels. Because of their brevity, successful short stories rely on literary devices such as character, plot, theme, language, and insight to a greater extent than long form fiction. Famous modern English-language short stories include The Snows of Kilimanjaro by Ernest Hemingway, An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge by Ambrose Bierce, "The Dead" by James Joyce, To Build A Fire by Jack London, and A Rose for Emily by William Faulkner.

Short stories have their origins in the prose anecdote, a swiftly-sketched situation that comes rapidly to its point, with parallels in oral story-telling traditions. With the rise of the comparatively realistic novel, the short story evolved as a miniature, with some of its first perfectly independent examples in the tales of E.T.A. Hoffman and Edgar Allan Poe.

While personally I think Poe was a perverse drunk, in his stories it is always winter, always cold, always sad.....That doesnt mean I am looking for sad and cold and death in this contest, actually some happy shit would be pleasantly refreshing, but if you are looking for something to kind of guide you from poems to shorts, Poe crosses the line between both and I would recommend looking at some of his works if you need a little kick in the pants.


Last Living Souls
Santa's Big Night

Mrs. Claus watched as her husband flew from room to room, trying to do everything at once, yet accomplishing nothing at all. She just shook her head and decided that he needed her help to get anything done.

"Now Santa, slow down and think for a minute, getting worked up isn't going to get you done any faster if you don't plan out what you're going to do!", explained Mrs. Claus.

"But if I don't do it, who will? I have to get the reindeer all set in their harnesses, make sure all the presents are packed, check the naughty/nice list again, get my Christmas suit on, get everything loaded on the sleigh..."

"Enough, enough!", cut off Mrs. Claus, "what do you think all the elves are for? They'll get it done better than you could anyways!"

"I know, I know, but if I mess up Christmas..."

"You never have before, it's not going to happen this year either, now sit down and plan out what you have to do, then take your time doing it", explained Mrs. Claus.

So Santa sat down and made a list of all the "to do's". If there is one thing Santa is good at, it's lists. First he went and checked to see how the reindeer were doing, the elves were doing a fine job, and Rudolph's nose was as shiny as possible. Next he checked to see how the toy workshop was doing on it's last second jobs, and everything was going smoothly. Santa checked his bag of gifts, to see if everything was being packed right. He though to himself that he was very happy that the bag was magical, because boy, would it ever be heavy if it wasn't. The sleigh was all ready to go, nice and clean. His suit was cleaned and ready, so he slipped it on. Mrs. Claus said he looked jollier than ever this year, he had put on a few pounds to make his belly a bit better for jiggling when he laughed. Not that he didn't have room for a few cookie breaks...

"Now see how much more productive you were once you sat down and did things calmly, instead of running around like a chicken with it's head off?", teased Mrs. Claus.

"Yes, yes, you were usual.", conceeded Santa.

"That's why this place wouldn't run right if I wasn't around. Now, you be careful riding around on that sleigh of your's, and don't forget any gifts for the children!", reminded Mrs. Claus.

"I won't, I won't...speaking of which, I almost forgot to give one last look at the naughty/nice list...", Santa pulled out the list, "Well, looks like I'm going to be busy tonight, the kids have been extra good this year! Ho! Ho! Ho!"

"That's my run along, and have a good time.", wished Mrs. Claus.

"Merry Christmas too all of you, I'll be back tomorrow morning! Ho! Ho! Ho!" , exclaimed Santa as he flew off into the night on his sleigh, to give presents to all the children of the world.


Banned - What an Asshat!
What is to be?

It's way before sunrise, I don't even look at the clock and I know it's time to get up. I don't need the clock. Even after all these months away, all these miles, I can still almost hear the muezzin, my morning call to prayer. But it's not here, I'm not there. This fucking country, the United States! That is a joke. United? These people hate each other almost as much as I hate them, almost.
It's their Christmas, today they are all with the ones that love them. My family are at home, I miss them but they understand that I must be here. It is so ironic, at least to me anyway. Today is Sunday their holy day, I have grown to hate Sunday in the four months since I got here. But it is also my birthday. Allah give me strength, my birthday, my twenty third birthday on their holy day, on their Christmas day. It is almost more than I can stand. I hate everything today, everything except what is to be.
I dress, pray and eat a small breakfast, then reflect on everything in my head. I have nothing but contempt for the people here, nothing. The women? They are whores, whores in Babylon to me. And the whore's men? They are pig eating crusaders, lower than the pigs that they suckle on. They think they are right, that we are wrong, there are many, many more of us than they can even imagine yet we are wrong, our prophet is false? They stab me in the heart with their lies and arrogance. They think that we attacked them on that glorious day four years ago merely to kill their loved ones. We attack them to strike the snake in the head, from the North, the South, the West and the East we will strike at the snake's head and cripple it's economy, murder their confidence, bury their freedom. We strike to strike fear.
I am almost ready, they are finishing their precious Christian dinners, their precious Christmas meal, celebrating excess and avarice. I am strapping on my vest, my bomb. Yes, that is what is to be. Today on their holiest day, on my birthday, I will give myself to the cause. My instructions were simply to detonate the explosives in the designated movie theater lobby at 4pm, sending me to my God and the infidels to their hell. I am to understand there are many, across this America, this den of whores and pig sucklers, there are many and today we will strike at the snake. The snake will be reeling for months.
I leave the apartment I have been virtually hidden in for the past month, leave my laptop that they will pore over, the bits of my life that will mean so much quite soon. I step into my rental car, it starts, and with a deeply satisfied grin I am on my way.
Happy christmas.


EDIT: Goddamnit, I need to read the rules more closely... Here's a link to my original entry.

It's quarter past seven in the morning, and I haven't slept. My prose is not to perfection, but I think the point gets across pretty well. Here goes.

Yuletide Sexual Abuse (PROSE-IFIED!

I was six. Mom and Dad's annual Christmas party had just ended, and all was quiet in the house. Well, except for the sound of footsteps shuffling down the hall. Who could it be? Not mommy, surely. She was probably unconscious on the couch. Bryan? Yeah, probably Bryan. He most likely had another nightmare. Stupid kid. I didn't have that many nightmares when I was four.
As my bedroom door creaked open, I scooted over to my right, pulling away the covers for Bryan. But the figure in the doorway was tall. Tall, and half-crouched. It was Daddy. I heard his dragging footsteps as he slowly came into focus, his collar unbuttoned and his shirt untucked, a read Santa hat perched on his balding head. He'd been drinking. Well, obviously. He just finished throwing a party. When he finally succeeded to amble his way to the side of my bed, he leaned close and grabbed me by the shoulder.

“You know what?”, he said with a thick slur, “I've been waiting to do this for a long fucking time, you know that?”,

He stared into my eyes for a few moments, and started stroking my hair. He smiled. That wasn't his regular smile, though. His regular smile was quaint, not too toothy. This wasn't even a smile. It was a grin. A mischievous rictus that showed off his red gums. Chuckling, he raised his hand, and slapped me hard across the face. Without hesitation, he unbuttoned and unzipped his corduroy slacks. He grabbed me by the hair and tugged me onto the ground. The loud thump that my small body made when I hit the floor was probably not loud enough to wake my slumbering mother, as my father was able to go on uninterrupted.

Still clinging on to my mane, he brought my swimming head up level with his swelling member. His grin unfaltering, he cradled the back of my neck gently, and thrust his meat into my protesting mouth. His breath started speeding up, inhaling and exhaling in short, pleasure-filled bursts.
The back of my throat was burning, slowly bruising every time Father penetrated my virgin mouth, as his eyes rolled back in ecstasy. If my mouth were not full, he may have heard me trying to whimper, though he outright ignored the tears freely flowing out of my ducts.

After God knows how long, he yanked my paining head off his large phallus, his grin wider than ever. He instructed me to climb back onto my bed and lie still on my stomach. I tried to protest, but my mouth barely open, he struck me again, harder this time. He laughed and told me to stop being such a fucking pansy. I obliged.

He mounted the bed soon after I did, his considerable weight sinking into the soft mattress. Without missing a beat, he hastily pulled down my pajama bottoms, so only my pale buttocks was was visible. My face pressed into my pillow by his strong, meaty hand, I could only guess he was still grinning. The searing pain in my rectum told me he was back in business, his long penis digging deep into my anal cavity. The pain was so harsh, I may have fallen unconscious for a while. The whole experience was a blur, a mix of fear and suffering...

Then, unexpectedly, I felt a surge of warm liquid rush into my orifice, warmer than the blood that had been trickling down my thighs. Daddy let out a long groan, and pulled his pikestaff out of me, panting. He pulled my pajamas back up, kissed me on the head, and headed out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Ever since, it's become part of the routine. Sometimes I even look forward to it. It hurts less now, all these years later. It's actually starting to feel good.

I love you daddy.


Banned - What an Asshat!
this isnt really prose or anything, and the competition ended a while ago, but did that last one really happen? Very graphic, I have to say.


Banned - What an Asshat!
We will be announcing soon. We will be having another contest soon too. Taylor and I have both been very busy lately, and it is hard for us to get together, so you kids will have to hold on to your panties for a few more days.

BTW: The next contest will be a doozie and the prize will be announced before hand. Thank you.

Brain Spout

Wizard No More
dustinzgirl said:
We will be announcing soon. We will be having another contest soon too. Taylor and I have both been very busy lately, and it is hard for us to get together, so you kids will have to hold on to your panties for a few more days.

BTW: The next contest will be a doozie and the prize will be announced before hand. Thank you.
i'll hold onto mine and as many other people's panties as i can DG :)


Any idea what the prize'll be for this one, though?