(Please pass this message on to anyone whose writing talents should be showcased in the Anthology.)

To the talented users of Newgrounds;

If you are a writer with passion, skill and a desire to take your work to the next level, here is your chance to be part of Newgrounds history.

Newgrounds is collecting the greatest creative writing by its best authors.
The final selections will be assembled into a print edition to be sold internationally via the Newgrounds Store, with links back to the user profiles of all authors involved.

THIS IS YOUR CHANCE TO TEST YOUR TALENTS, TELL YOUR STORY AND POTENTIALLY GET YOUR WORK PUBLISHED!

The Anthology is supported by TomFulp, was initiated by gumOnShoe, and is currently being run by EKublai and myself, AdamCook. You are in great company!

To find out more, including how to submit your writing, plus rules and regulations for submissions, just click on the links below.

If a button comes around, you must click it.
If some writing's going down, you must click it.

VISIT THE OFFICIAL NEWGROUNDS WRITING ANTHOLOGY THREAD ON THE BBS!

When all is said and done, this is your free invitation to work on something that you're passionate about. It's worth taking on this challenge simply to learn more about writing, to improve your abilities and have great fun doing it.
Anything else that comes your way will be a great bonus.

Any general questions you may post in the official thread or in our respective blog posts.

Show us what you can do.

(If you've come here for a cute puppy photo, you'll observe one in my profile image that fits the standard definition. Please return the favour by sending the Anthology link on to someone whose writing should be in our book.)


The Gliese Club - epic sci-fi comedy!

2010-06-30 19:42:48 by AdamCook
Updated

First off, I want to give a massive "THANK YOU!!!!" to everyone who has sought out, enjoyed, favourited, reviewed, promoted, said nice things about and otherwise positively absorbed "A Bid For Freedom". It was a huge pleasure to produce, I couldn't have hoped for a more talented crew to help create it, and it fills me with pride to see that it's retained a respectable score while acquiring new fans on a weekly basis! There's always an audience for original entertainment!

If things have seemed a bit quiet on my side of things, it's because I've been working on a variety of different projects. One of them is coming close to completion.

I'm putting the finishing touches to a new piece of (hopefully creative) writing.
A sci-fi comedy journey called "The Gliese Club" (Gliese being a "catalogue" of nearby stars and Glee Clubs being those performing choir groups everyone's raving about stateside).

I submitted the story to the NG Writing Anthology back when gumOnShoe was running it, and it met with his approval! Since then, I've taken over the reins and am mad keen to get the Anthology stocked up with high-calibre authors so we can get all our great stories published!

As the story is now part of the Anthology, I will not be making it available on-line.
However, I will provide a few excerpts to give you an idea of what to expect.

----
THE GLIESE CLUB (excerpt 1)

A panoply of Pleiades parodies sat roasting on the panoramic tarmac of outer space.
Warm coils of starlight twined from their iridescent centers towards the outskirts of their universe, illuminating the way for the newcomers.
They lay in wait - they'd had eons of practice in awaiting great change.
As the hope in their hearths began to dim,
a single wish fulfilled itself on the cusp of the horizon.
...
A miniscule vomit-hued speck with a V8 engine parted the galactic curtain...
...and promptly joined polite society.

(excerpt 2)

Bracing themselves against the chilled whip of an orphaned rainstorm milling through the depths of space, they ran banshee-bleating with baggage aloft towards the inviting doors of the motel.
Puddles be damned!
Socks soaking up celestial spittle, the breeze's bitter bite billowing through their briefs and thawing out old thoughts of thermal underwear unwisely left behind...
----

Hope that's a good teaser for you!

Cheers for stopping by! :)


A Bid For Freedom - a Storybook Project Entry

2009-02-12 17:04:19 by AdamCook
Updated

I decided to contribute to the intriguing Storybook Project with a tale I wrote off-the-cuff.
It's a brief story with some adventure and my version of humour.
If it seems short and economically phrased, I've made allowances for the narration and illustrations that will accompany the words (and briefly described one picture required to follow the story).
If you know anyone who may like this story, please pass the link onto them;
it would be great to raise awareness of the story and the Storybook Project before submission day!
Hope it entertains, and perhaps inspires some interesting images in your head! Enjoy.

A BID FOR FREEDOM
(or)
(SHE LEFT ME BREATHLESS!)

I find myself in my sharpest attire.
My feet are planted in a lavish parlour in the grandest hall of the city:
there are checkerboard floors as far as the eye can bother;
open buffets for the loose-belted;
a beautiful chandelier hanging elegantly in the strata,
its stately shards musing on the many facets of the crowd below.

Wine swills around the innards of my glass like an astronaut in training.
It's supposed to be healthy for you. So's blood. I'd rather not drink either.

Why I was invited... escapes me.
If someone desired my presence, they were being oblique about it.
Maybe I'm just a post for the more dishevelled guests to lean upon;
someone to prop up the roof should they bring it down on themselves.
I aim myself aimlessly at all angles of the room, soaking in the atmosphere.
It stinks.

For a black-tie affair, the alcohol supply is sufficiently stocked to supplement a medieval siege.
The whole room reeks of sour tipple, stomach juices and celebrity-endorsed odours.
Did you know there's a cologne out there that smells of cheeseburgers?
One envies the rich.

As a result of this ample beverage selection, a considerable number of the guests have become fairly tipsy. I found amusement in watching them monkey about, pirouetting on tables and swinging from the banisters, but after a while it all became an embarrassing affair better recounted at a later date on Youtube, where one's distance from the happenings would vamp up their humour value.

My subsequent evasion of eye contact with the attendees had been going wonderfully, as I observed the lovely furnished wallpaper; a creamy yellow, with an intricate vine pattern running the length of the hall.

Such engagements were presently thwarted by the ambience of the room.
The air swam in front of my face like thick sweaty treacle,
alcohol vapours peeling the papers from the wall.
It prompted me to roam deeper into the centre of the room as lolling patrons fell back onto the unfurling paper and became stuck like flies to its glue.

These perils were easily eluded. The wallpaper's patterns no longer visible, I stared into the assembled patrons and tried to decipher the pattern of their male baldness.

My gaze zigzagged and criss-crossed over the ivory domes of the crowd, like a caffeinated chess-piece playing an entire board independently.

And then my eyes met on the lovely lady, and they welled with the anticipation of her superficial promise. She shone like the centre of an Oreo, and was similarly squeezed into a dress as blue as dolphin tears. Her eyes seemed occupied with potent thoughts, and her presence clearly outclassed the vapid understudies surrounding her podium.
I could not put a price on a beauty like this.
Fortunate, then, that someone with a more critical eye could.
£100.
Opening bid.

It was a bachelorette auction, a charity gala for the starving children of Africa.
Well, more for the starving charity organizers, entertainers, supply drivers and warlords...
but the sentiment was pure.
Nonetheless, I thought the practice degrading and mentally declined to participate.

"£125"
"£200"
"£250!"
The first flurry of bids flew across the room and gargled around the mouth of the auctioneer, who spat them out again like a Gatling gun as his eyes rattled in their bunkers.
"Two-fiftay, two-fiftay, two-five-zero, I-have-that-amount, two-sixtay-over-there, two-seventay from the gentlemen in the punch bowl, two-ninetay... going once..."

Buzz.
Buzzzzz.

"Going twice..."

Buzzzzbuzzbuzzzzzzbuzzz and buzz.
A fly was challenging me.
I was consumed with murderous rage,
doubtless a side-effect of the alcohol I'd inhaled.
As the beast streaked across my fringe, I smacked the bugger with my palm.
It bore witness to a concentrated burst of five years training in Karate;
the fly was fried.

"£300 from the young lad in the sharp attire."

Hm? Steep price for a date isn't it? Who'd pay that much for...
...
As I quickly lowered my hand, it dawned on me a mistake had been made on my part.
"Going once... going twice..."
Oh well... a good act of charity now might redeem myself for that fly I quashed.
"Sold; to the last sober man in the building."

A spotlight shone down, highlighting the pinstripes of my suit.
Suddenly, like moths, everyone in the building became attracted to the light
and descended upon me, wishing anaemic congratulations, babbling anecdotes and asking for money.
They nuzzled me with their bright red noses, guiding me as I backpedalled up onto the podium where the young bachelorette and I linked arms.
Strangely speechless, perhaps sapped of energy by the high-voltage bulb of the spotlight, I blurted a few pleasantries into the lowest sector of the microphone.
"Oh... well... good cause... Africa... um... 9/11... never forget and all that...
Yes We Can!"
A short round of surprisingly well-coordinated applause followed my oration,
then we were left well alone.

Instead of being cripplingly awkward,
conversation flowed rather easily between us, sort of like a blood transfusion.

"Nice speech!"
"Well, I kind of winged it, but..."
"It's so cool that you showed up. That money's going to help a lot of starving kids."
(Eventually.)
"I'd have gone a lot higher if the bidding was a bit more ferocious.
These inebriates clearly don't realise what a lovely young lady they've overlooked."
"That's sweet of you to say. Frankly though, I'm not surprised.
I'm, uh... I've got kind of used to being... rejected."
"Don't you have a boyfriend?"
"Er, well... not really. I haven't had much success in relationships."
"Bad experiences?"
"Bad breath."
And she belched melodiously into my melting countenance.
A pungent cocktail of aged fruits, cake and armpit.
It didn't entirely mix well with the wine,
so I nonchalantly turned my head away to gasp some fresh air.
"Really? I haven't noticed!", I choked. But my mind was already elsewhere.
There was a new development taking place on the grand staircase.

A hirsute gentleman descended, cloaked in a fabulous suit and the gasps of the guests.
I couldn't quite distinguish his features through the ambient fog, but as he came ever closer, fear gripped me like a Thighmaster.

Of course, how foolish I'd been! The clues had been there all along; the banana peel covering his abode, the apery japery of the guests, and his Lady Jane now at my side.
As his prehensile foot-thumb grappled with the bottom step,
I realised that "Kong" was not the common Asian name I had assumed it to be.

There he stood. Number 8 of both the Fortune 500 and the Wonders of the World.

"Whatchoo doin with my gaal?"

My greatest surprise was not that he could speak, but that he was a chav.
You can only guise so much with a dapper suit.

"Well Sir, I, I, this fine girl was just showing me the lovely wallpaper you've installed-"
As if I needed assistance in this matter, the girl stepped in:
"Get away from him, Kong! He won the auction so he gets me for the evening! Stop suffocating my lifestyle! I'm not your property! I make my own choices!"
"DA GAAL'S NOT FA SALE!"

His arm-fur bristling like a giant's toothbrush,
he seized Lot #28 and whisked her back up the steps.
I briefly pondered whether I should get involved.
Not to be done out of a bargain, I necked my drink and raced after them.

Coasting through the doors, up another flight of stairs, into...
...
It had all completely changed; the scenery of the shindig downstairs had melted away; the previously vogue sounds of speech, music and breaking glass now barely audible as a muffled wheedle through the floorboards... or more accurately, the foliage.

It was a jungle in there.

There was a magical cornucopia of horticulture, so saturated in bright colours that they practically dripped paint rather than juice. I observed connections for phone lines and Internet nestled away in the bushes, which gave Kong contact with his business partners. He must have had green fingers to cultivate such a remarkable hideaway.

As I search for a clearing, an astonishing plant called Babs whispers warmly,
"Mmm, you smell lovely!"
"Thank you," I reply, not used to being complemented back by things I admire.
"It's Flame-Grilled Whopper, and the gas of my One True Love."
"Of course; I recognise Madam's unrelenting scent. After all, I invented it."
Babs plucks at himself with a tendril and hands me a pungent-smelling fruit.
"Whenever she suffered troubling relationships, she came to me, and I concocted this fruit to keep her suitors at bay. Since she got involved with Mr Kong, however, she's stopped taking them. Judging by the way he had her slung over his shoulder, I think she could go for one right now..."
"Ok, enough, you rambling weed! So in essence, she just needs this to top up on her 5-a-day and regain that knockout whiff?"
"Indeed. If you hurry, you may still be able to save her."

Reaching into the bushes, Babs parts the way with his tendrils and I rush through.

As I race along a perilous rope bridge, Kong comes into sight, standing at the base of a steep column with many rocky outcrops along the side.
He held his prize in one paw, and a coconut in the other.

A short moment later, the lesser of those two items whistled by my ear,
breaking through a plank in the bridge. Suddenly, the air turned brown and hairy as it filled with a barrage of these gigantic deadly nuts. Ducking and weaving, I managed to survive to the end of the bridge just as it collapsed under the assault.

Kong began leaping from bluff to bluff away from me.
Something of a mountain goat in my soft-soled shoes, I managed to call his bluff, swiftly gaining ground until I was within reach of the beast.

Utilizing my previous paperboy experience,
I slung Babs' smelly offspring in their direction with all my might.
The fruit sailed across to my girl and she bit down on it with the viciousness of a very pretty pitbull. It relinquished a powerful stink that sapped the fresh from the air...

Within mere seconds, the entire jungle smelt like a Spanish airport. In summer.

Kong's eyelids fluttered like cicadas, and his eyes rolled listlessly. Ah yes, it worked.

Wobbling slightly to the right, slouching narcoleptically over the ledge, the fantastic ape finally keeled over the side, dropping the young damsel to fall into the abyss below...
Downstairs, people are probably discussing the weather with genuine enthusiasm.
I'm just saying, it could be worse.

I legged it to the edge and observed some vines hanging loosely from the canopy above. Having enjoyed "George of the Jungle" more than "Tarzan", I was worried about my prospective
vine-swinging skills, but nonetheless I went for broke and grabbed on.

With surprising ease, I flew through the air and grabbed hold of my lady in a rescuing fashion. Like many heroes, I didn't have much of an exit strategy, so we continued to plummet for what seemed like minutes, wafting on a fruity gust of halitosis.

Then the ground rudely appeared.

We splashed into a body of water and took a moment to gather ourselves.

We had touched down in a lovely crystalline pond. If monkeys are as smart as some scientists are leading us to believe, then this is certainly where they'd come to think.
As we stood contemplating the scenery,
the pond's bottom suddenly loosened (pardon the expression) and descended under our feet.

A shimmering yellow light surrounded us, dazzling in our eyes.
Then the band began to play...

We were slowly lowering towards the ground.
The pond had emptied out at the top of the great hall's chandelier, and we stood astride it, like the admirals of a faux-diamond-draped UFO.
Water dripped from the stern, sobering the guests and alerting them to our arrival.

As we touched down, arm in arm, I felt an immense pride well up within me.
Or maybe it was alcohol poisoning.
No! That's verified pride! What a glorious feeling!
I almost felt like beating my chest, but then what would I have become?
Still, as people cheered, cooed and shook the water out of their boots,
I felt positive about the future.
I glance over at my bachelorette, who beamed at me.
It was one of those nights you felt could last your whole life.
We strode through the thick smog of cheers, towards tomorrow and eternity.

"Excuse me, sir. Truly resplendent display. Incidentally, here is the check."
I turn to my beautiful date and say:
"Oh dear, I don't seem to have brought enough money with me.
Do you mind if we go Dutch?"
...

~(An illustration of myself on the streets as her luxury car speeds away.)~

There is no such thing as a perfect match.

==END==

A Bid For Freedom - a Storybook Project Entry