[HEADING=1]ATTENTION[/HEADING]
I (not so) recently posted up a template for a new format of RP here [http://www.escapistmagazine.com/forums/read/362.249217-An-idea-for-an-alternate-format-of-RP-Collabs#9199474], and have thought up a concept for a work to go with the format, and will hopefully give writers as much freedom as they need, while giving them a safe grounding to work from.
The concept is thus:
Your character is a ghost on modern Earth. They don't know why they are still around as a ghost, and there aren't any other ghosts. Your character has come to terms with their new world, and is getting by at the beginning of the story.
This may not seem like much, but that is the setting, and you can run wild with it from there. Your imagination is the only thing limiting this story.
A piece of writing to showcase your ability.
It must be over three hundred (300) words. It can be in first person, third person, or eighth person. This piece of writing should perform three actions:
Establish your character: Who are they? What's their name? Their gender? Their opinion on banana splits? These are the general things we look for when we read the first few pages of a book and want to know a little about our character.
Establish what they know about their death. Do they know they died down to a T? Were they asleep when it happened and only really know some details about it? Did they get shot, stabbed, strangled, and/or decapitated?
Establish the rules of the afterlife.
This can be done by implication, giving a list, or having them repeat them over and over to remain sane.
A Character Sheet:
This isn't strictly needed, and can be neglected if you wish but it's a nice comfort for some, so I've included it.
Your idea for the plot:
[HEADING=2]DO NOT INCLUDE THIS IN YOUR POST.
THOSE THAT DO WILL BE REJECTED OUT OF HAND.[/HEADING]Generally, where you want to go with the idea. What kind of story do you want this to be? A horror survival tale? A chronicle of one man (or woman)'s struggle to keep their sanity in a lonely world? An epic about the fight for survival against an unstoppable creature Blankty McNoname was held from death solely to fight, lest the world be plunged into darkness? Twilight but with ghosts?[footnote]Unless you write a really, really good proposal and can pitch it to the rest of the team, I will fashion your skull into a pair of boots, give them to an orphan, and then run him over with a tractor[/footnote]
PM this to me, and it will be brought into consideration along with your ability showcase. The character sheet is for comfort and so people can understand your character a little better.
It must be over three hundred (300) words. It can be in first person, third person, or eighth person. This piece of writing should perform three actions:
Establish your character: Who are they? What's their name? Their gender? Their opinion on banana splits? These are the general things we look for when we read the first few pages of a book and want to know a little about our character.
Establish what they know about their death. Do they know they died down to a T? Were they asleep when it happened and only really know some details about it? Did they get shot, stabbed, strangled, and/or decapitated?
Establish the rules of the afterlife.
1. Objects have certain states.
a) Permanently Immobile: The floor, the wall of a building, a ceiling. You can touch these and never pass through them, they are for all intents and purposes, impenetrable barriers. Large bodies of water count as this too.
b) Living: Living things have no way of interacting with the character, or your character them. Not even anyone saying anything like ?Dude, you ever get the feeling you?re being watched?? or get a shiver down their spine; nothing at all.
c) Mobile: Confusing, because some things that are naturally mobile like a chair aren?t, but a drawer is, just differently. Because when you open a drawer, pick up a pair of pants or grab a shirt from your wardrobe it, its contents become
d) ?Ghosted? It has entered their domain. They can touch it, feel it, and move it around. The body of the ghosted object remains in the same position though until one of the living does move it.
2. Living is optional. They can?t sweat or get dirty, so showering is unneeded, they can?t digest so eating is a habit, they don't age, sleep, or even need to breathe.
3. There are no other ghosts that they know of. They are unique to the best of their knowledge. Nobody else out there is a ghost.
4. If there is anything out there that knows what they are, it probably isn?t good.
a) Permanently Immobile: The floor, the wall of a building, a ceiling. You can touch these and never pass through them, they are for all intents and purposes, impenetrable barriers. Large bodies of water count as this too.
b) Living: Living things have no way of interacting with the character, or your character them. Not even anyone saying anything like ?Dude, you ever get the feeling you?re being watched?? or get a shiver down their spine; nothing at all.
c) Mobile: Confusing, because some things that are naturally mobile like a chair aren?t, but a drawer is, just differently. Because when you open a drawer, pick up a pair of pants or grab a shirt from your wardrobe it, its contents become
d) ?Ghosted? It has entered their domain. They can touch it, feel it, and move it around. The body of the ghosted object remains in the same position though until one of the living does move it.
2. Living is optional. They can?t sweat or get dirty, so showering is unneeded, they can?t digest so eating is a habit, they don't age, sleep, or even need to breathe.
3. There are no other ghosts that they know of. They are unique to the best of their knowledge. Nobody else out there is a ghost.
4. If there is anything out there that knows what they are, it probably isn?t good.
A Character Sheet:
This isn't strictly needed, and can be neglected if you wish but it's a nice comfort for some, so I've included it.
Name:
Age: (Late teens to mid-thirties will probably be easiest for most to write)
Gender:
Physical Description:
Cause of death: (If known)
Bio: (What's their story? Their personality should be clear in here too.)
Age: (Late teens to mid-thirties will probably be easiest for most to write)
Gender:
Physical Description:
Cause of death: (If known)
Bio: (What's their story? Their personality should be clear in here too.)
[HEADING=2]DO NOT INCLUDE THIS IN YOUR POST.
THOSE THAT DO WILL BE REJECTED OUT OF HAND.[/HEADING]Generally, where you want to go with the idea. What kind of story do you want this to be? A horror survival tale? A chronicle of one man (or woman)'s struggle to keep their sanity in a lonely world? An epic about the fight for survival against an unstoppable creature Blankty McNoname was held from death solely to fight, lest the world be plunged into darkness? Twilight but with ghosts?[footnote]Unless you write a really, really good proposal and can pitch it to the rest of the team, I will fashion your skull into a pair of boots, give them to an orphan, and then run him over with a tractor[/footnote]
PM this to me, and it will be brought into consideration along with your ability showcase. The character sheet is for comfort and so people can understand your character a little better.
If you've gotten this far, and have no clue what I mean by "Collab" then you didn't follow the link.
As you can imagine from the name, a Collab a piece of writing, formed via a collaboration of separate writers, similar to an RP. The difference is though, while in an RP, characters are controlled by one person individually, things are made up on the fly, and the only person who knows what is going to happen in the overarching plot is the GM.
In a Collab, everybody takes the (User submitted) characters and initiates dialogue between them, while the story -decided by all of the writers in a lengthy discussion- unfolds through their own and the others' writing.
How would it work?
Well, it would begin in a similar way to an RP: Someone has an idea, writes up a background for the setting, gets an idea for where they want to send the story and sends out a call for players. Potential players then reply, with a character they hope to be put into the story. Selected players are
chosen, and the next step commences.
-The GM has set out a world for a story to take place, and presumably have their own idea of where they want things to go, but that's unimportant. The selected players and GM talk about where they want to go with the story. Everyone should have an input, and no-one, not even the GM has precedence over the others. All are equal at this stage.
Either the GM's initial character will be the main character, or one (Or two or three) can be chosen from the sheets based on appropriateness to the story, ability to associate with the character, and various other factors. The other characters won't go unused, as (Depending on the story) they will form the motley crew the main character will join up with over their travels, some for the long-term, others for the short. Eventually, after the story has been hammered out in an area closed off to prying eyes, the players begin to write the story. As tradition dictates, the starting pistol will be fired by the OP, after which the players may begin to write.
Writing details can vary depending on how the GM wants to play it, as it can either be done in a rotational system where Player A writes, then Player B writes, until you get to the end, at which point the GM posts again. Each player has 72 hours to write and post their next piece.
This means that everyone gets their turn, with no-one dominating their influence, but can get held up, giving credence to the other way of doing it: A free-for-all.
This is closer to regular RP style, in that if someone reacts to something before you do, you just have to edit your own post to accommodate to those changes. The positives of this, are that if someone dies unexpectedly during the rotation, it doesn't get stuck forever, and can be much quicker, as time zones may not work in favour of some people and their posts.
In a Collab, everybody takes the (User submitted) characters and initiates dialogue between them, while the story -decided by all of the writers in a lengthy discussion- unfolds through their own and the others' writing.
How would it work?
Well, it would begin in a similar way to an RP: Someone has an idea, writes up a background for the setting, gets an idea for where they want to send the story and sends out a call for players. Potential players then reply, with a character they hope to be put into the story. Selected players are
chosen, and the next step commences.
-The GM has set out a world for a story to take place, and presumably have their own idea of where they want things to go, but that's unimportant. The selected players and GM talk about where they want to go with the story. Everyone should have an input, and no-one, not even the GM has precedence over the others. All are equal at this stage.
Either the GM's initial character will be the main character, or one (Or two or three) can be chosen from the sheets based on appropriateness to the story, ability to associate with the character, and various other factors. The other characters won't go unused, as (Depending on the story) they will form the motley crew the main character will join up with over their travels, some for the long-term, others for the short. Eventually, after the story has been hammered out in an area closed off to prying eyes, the players begin to write the story. As tradition dictates, the starting pistol will be fired by the OP, after which the players may begin to write.
Writing details can vary depending on how the GM wants to play it, as it can either be done in a rotational system where Player A writes, then Player B writes, until you get to the end, at which point the GM posts again. Each player has 72 hours to write and post their next piece.
This means that everyone gets their turn, with no-one dominating their influence, but can get held up, giving credence to the other way of doing it: A free-for-all.
This is closer to regular RP style, in that if someone reacts to something before you do, you just have to edit your own post to accommodate to those changes. The positives of this, are that if someone dies unexpectedly during the rotation, it doesn't get stuck forever, and can be much quicker, as time zones may not work in favour of some people and their posts.
If anyone needs a little clarification on what the writing shouldn't look like, see below:
I am a ghost.
There you have it; it?s out in the open now. I am a dead man; a deceased person, a spirit damned to walk the Earth forever, for eternity. It feels weird to have written it out; but there you have it. I suppose if you read this now, in the world of the living; you would think this the mad ravings of those who believe they're dead. I can't remember the exact term for it. I saw it on an episode of Scrubs once; they had an episode about death and coping with it. Essentially, there?s a guy who thinks he?s dead, and he has that condition with a funny name, or not, it might just be ?Walking Dead Syndrome? or something obvious. Not exactly exciting, but that?s just trying to explain what you might think, and the fact remains; I?m dead and I was there when it happened, not that I know much about it. It isn't easy to explain, I've gone through it so many times in my head, but every time I fail at describing it accurately.
You see, the thing is, as a ghost; no-one can see me, nor can they hear me, feel me, and; though this shouldn?t be an issue, taste or smell me, I think. But the matter at hand is my death, so let?s get onto that. I know it was with a knife, and I know it was in my chest. I was at home one night, sleeping, and when I woke up, I was surrounded by police and other police-ey people. One was doing blood spatter analysis on the sheets and my clothes, he smelled like garlic. I panicked and jumped up, surprised that there was a strange man on top of me poking my nightshirt and looking at my sheets, but as I sat there screaming bloody murder at the poor guy and all of the other police around, it hit me that he hadn?t moved, and no-one seemed to care that I was there. I jumped out of bed and hit the wall. There was still no movement. Realising my lack of undergarments, I made the awkward pose a man does when he realises that his todger is flying in the wind, and hurried to my drawers to grab some pants. In my panic I managed to refrain from opening the drawer, but instead rapped my knuckles hard against the wood and cried out in pain. It was gone nearly instantaneously, not because of my new status as a ghost, but because it was just that sort of pain. You know the kind you get that?s the worst pain ever for a moment, but then it?s gone and you look like an idiot who just shouted an unintelligible noise like ?FLARGH!? or ?OOOG!? That kind of pain. I tried again to open my drawer to gain access to my sweet, sweet boxers, but could get no movement from the drawer. I stood there awkwardly for a while, hoping that someone would want to look through my unmentionables for evidence of a stashed murder weapon or maybe even a magazine to enjoy at home. (No such luck, you can get everything online nowadays)
One kind man, being a delightfully helpful gentleman, decided it would be a good idea to check the house for illegal substances that might betray a motive. Mercifully, he started at the top, in the holiest of all places at that moment in time, my pants drawer, as he opened it, quick as a flash I grabbed a pair and slipped them on. I saw someone else looking through my wardrobe and ran over to grab a shirt before the door closed forever, and pulled out the first one I saw just in time; the hanger making a loud clack as it hit the mirror on the inside of the door and slid across to the larger, more open space of my bedroom. I pulled off my nightshirt and dropped it on the floor, then dashed back across and grabbed some jeans before my trouser drawer slammed shut too. I threw my arm up the shirt sleeve and reached behind my back for the other arm, not bothering to button it until my jeans were safely zipped and buttoned. I realised I hadn?t taken any socks while the opportunity was there, so I took the ones from the previous night off the floor and slipped them on as I sat on the edge of my bed. I walked downstairs and decided to skip breakfast and let the police do their thing, so I slid my feet into the first shoes I saw in my hall. Nothing fancy, just a pair of black, laceless shoes, and walked out of the door.
Figuring that the police would want to look at my car just in case, I began to walk to my office. I work, no, worked, at one of those faceless office worker companies. My work life was essentially that of the extras in the film Office Space. I didn?t do much interesting work; it was mainly just dealing with paperwork, using Excel, and browsing the internet between breaks. It was hardly a fistful of action and spies, but it paid well enough that I could afford most of what I wanted, and had a decent pension plan too, so I wasn?t complaining. I was working towards a promotion that would move me up a floor, which would in turn give me a shot at a promotion that would land me my own office, but that?s all rather irrelevant now. I got in to the lobby and walked to the front desk, aiming to catch the attention of the secretary at the desk. ?Hi, my name is Nathan Filmore, I?m afraid I can?t work today, my house is part of a crime-scene and I need to be there. Sorry I couldn?t phone ahead.? I said, thinking nothing was wrong with the two short sentences.
?Right madam, Can you just hold for a moment? she said, looking into my eyes for a moment before I realised she was on the phone. She glanced away to press the hold button on the phone and turned back to me. ?How can I help you, Sir?? she asked.
?Yes, can I ask which floor Mr Nairn works on?? came a voice from my nasal cavity without me ever opening my mouth. I was utterly perplexed by this before I realised that a man was standing where I was and speaking. I was suitably offended and stormed off towards the stairs to take me to my floor where I could complain to my colleagues about the nerve someone needs to talk through someone.
This may sound a little matter-of-fact, and like I was taking being dead very well, but in fact I just hadn?t realised yet. Or maybe I was in denial. Either way, I was dead, and had to live with it. It turns out that I was being burgled and when the burglar found me in bed with several stab wounds to the chest and blood on the walls, he panicked at finding me dead, and called an ambulance before fleeing. Since then, I?ve figured out some rules of the afterlife:
1. Objects have certain states.
a) Permanently Immobile: The floor, the wall of a building, a ceiling. You can touch these and never pass through them, they are for all intents and purposes, impenetrable barriers. Large bodies of water count as this too, so I guess if I want too, I can walk across the sea to an entirely different country.
b) Living: Living things have no way of interacting with me, or I them. I can shout as loud as I can for a whole day, but no-one will hear. I can punch someone in McDonalds, but my fist will pass right through them, ghost style. I can stand inside someone for a whole day, nothing. Not even anyone saying anything like ?Dude, you ever get the feeling you?re being watched?? or get a shiver down their spine; nothing at all. Cats don?t detect my presence; dogs don?t howl when I walk by, they just keep on with their business like everyone else does. It makes me wonder if I really exist, even as a ghost.
c) Mobile: Confusing, because some things that are naturally mobile like a chair aren?t, but a drawer is, just differently. Because when you open a drawer, pick up a pair of pants or grab a shirt from your wardrobe it, its contents become?
d) ?Ghosted? It has entered my domain. I can touch it, feel it, and move it around. The body of the ghosted object remains in the same position though until one of the living does move it.
2. Living is optional. I can?t sweat or get dirty, so showering is unneeded, I can?t digest so eating is a habit, but I don?t get full, I tried to stop breathing once and got to an hour before I lost concentration and slipped back into the habit, I don?t get tired, but I can sleep if I feel like it, I can run for hours without feeling any effects other than boredom. I don?t age either, which is nice.
3. There are no other ghosts. I am unique. Nobody else out there is a ghost, everyone interacts. I didn?t have much unfinished business except feeding the cat, I don?t need to profess my undying love to a co-worker, I don?t have much motivation to catch my killer, in fact, I think they got him, I?m just here. Maybe I?m an administrative error with the whole heaven/hell thing, but I?m here and nobody else is. I think. I hope.
4. What I hold as the most important rule for this world. If there is anything out there, it probably isn?t good. I don?t know why, but I?m absolutely certain of it.
There you have it; it?s out in the open now. I am a dead man; a deceased person, a spirit damned to walk the Earth forever, for eternity. It feels weird to have written it out; but there you have it. I suppose if you read this now, in the world of the living; you would think this the mad ravings of those who believe they're dead. I can't remember the exact term for it. I saw it on an episode of Scrubs once; they had an episode about death and coping with it. Essentially, there?s a guy who thinks he?s dead, and he has that condition with a funny name, or not, it might just be ?Walking Dead Syndrome? or something obvious. Not exactly exciting, but that?s just trying to explain what you might think, and the fact remains; I?m dead and I was there when it happened, not that I know much about it. It isn't easy to explain, I've gone through it so many times in my head, but every time I fail at describing it accurately.
You see, the thing is, as a ghost; no-one can see me, nor can they hear me, feel me, and; though this shouldn?t be an issue, taste or smell me, I think. But the matter at hand is my death, so let?s get onto that. I know it was with a knife, and I know it was in my chest. I was at home one night, sleeping, and when I woke up, I was surrounded by police and other police-ey people. One was doing blood spatter analysis on the sheets and my clothes, he smelled like garlic. I panicked and jumped up, surprised that there was a strange man on top of me poking my nightshirt and looking at my sheets, but as I sat there screaming bloody murder at the poor guy and all of the other police around, it hit me that he hadn?t moved, and no-one seemed to care that I was there. I jumped out of bed and hit the wall. There was still no movement. Realising my lack of undergarments, I made the awkward pose a man does when he realises that his todger is flying in the wind, and hurried to my drawers to grab some pants. In my panic I managed to refrain from opening the drawer, but instead rapped my knuckles hard against the wood and cried out in pain. It was gone nearly instantaneously, not because of my new status as a ghost, but because it was just that sort of pain. You know the kind you get that?s the worst pain ever for a moment, but then it?s gone and you look like an idiot who just shouted an unintelligible noise like ?FLARGH!? or ?OOOG!? That kind of pain. I tried again to open my drawer to gain access to my sweet, sweet boxers, but could get no movement from the drawer. I stood there awkwardly for a while, hoping that someone would want to look through my unmentionables for evidence of a stashed murder weapon or maybe even a magazine to enjoy at home. (No such luck, you can get everything online nowadays)
One kind man, being a delightfully helpful gentleman, decided it would be a good idea to check the house for illegal substances that might betray a motive. Mercifully, he started at the top, in the holiest of all places at that moment in time, my pants drawer, as he opened it, quick as a flash I grabbed a pair and slipped them on. I saw someone else looking through my wardrobe and ran over to grab a shirt before the door closed forever, and pulled out the first one I saw just in time; the hanger making a loud clack as it hit the mirror on the inside of the door and slid across to the larger, more open space of my bedroom. I pulled off my nightshirt and dropped it on the floor, then dashed back across and grabbed some jeans before my trouser drawer slammed shut too. I threw my arm up the shirt sleeve and reached behind my back for the other arm, not bothering to button it until my jeans were safely zipped and buttoned. I realised I hadn?t taken any socks while the opportunity was there, so I took the ones from the previous night off the floor and slipped them on as I sat on the edge of my bed. I walked downstairs and decided to skip breakfast and let the police do their thing, so I slid my feet into the first shoes I saw in my hall. Nothing fancy, just a pair of black, laceless shoes, and walked out of the door.
Figuring that the police would want to look at my car just in case, I began to walk to my office. I work, no, worked, at one of those faceless office worker companies. My work life was essentially that of the extras in the film Office Space. I didn?t do much interesting work; it was mainly just dealing with paperwork, using Excel, and browsing the internet between breaks. It was hardly a fistful of action and spies, but it paid well enough that I could afford most of what I wanted, and had a decent pension plan too, so I wasn?t complaining. I was working towards a promotion that would move me up a floor, which would in turn give me a shot at a promotion that would land me my own office, but that?s all rather irrelevant now. I got in to the lobby and walked to the front desk, aiming to catch the attention of the secretary at the desk. ?Hi, my name is Nathan Filmore, I?m afraid I can?t work today, my house is part of a crime-scene and I need to be there. Sorry I couldn?t phone ahead.? I said, thinking nothing was wrong with the two short sentences.
?Right madam, Can you just hold for a moment? she said, looking into my eyes for a moment before I realised she was on the phone. She glanced away to press the hold button on the phone and turned back to me. ?How can I help you, Sir?? she asked.
?Yes, can I ask which floor Mr Nairn works on?? came a voice from my nasal cavity without me ever opening my mouth. I was utterly perplexed by this before I realised that a man was standing where I was and speaking. I was suitably offended and stormed off towards the stairs to take me to my floor where I could complain to my colleagues about the nerve someone needs to talk through someone.
This may sound a little matter-of-fact, and like I was taking being dead very well, but in fact I just hadn?t realised yet. Or maybe I was in denial. Either way, I was dead, and had to live with it. It turns out that I was being burgled and when the burglar found me in bed with several stab wounds to the chest and blood on the walls, he panicked at finding me dead, and called an ambulance before fleeing. Since then, I?ve figured out some rules of the afterlife:
1. Objects have certain states.
a) Permanently Immobile: The floor, the wall of a building, a ceiling. You can touch these and never pass through them, they are for all intents and purposes, impenetrable barriers. Large bodies of water count as this too, so I guess if I want too, I can walk across the sea to an entirely different country.
b) Living: Living things have no way of interacting with me, or I them. I can shout as loud as I can for a whole day, but no-one will hear. I can punch someone in McDonalds, but my fist will pass right through them, ghost style. I can stand inside someone for a whole day, nothing. Not even anyone saying anything like ?Dude, you ever get the feeling you?re being watched?? or get a shiver down their spine; nothing at all. Cats don?t detect my presence; dogs don?t howl when I walk by, they just keep on with their business like everyone else does. It makes me wonder if I really exist, even as a ghost.
c) Mobile: Confusing, because some things that are naturally mobile like a chair aren?t, but a drawer is, just differently. Because when you open a drawer, pick up a pair of pants or grab a shirt from your wardrobe it, its contents become?
d) ?Ghosted? It has entered my domain. I can touch it, feel it, and move it around. The body of the ghosted object remains in the same position though until one of the living does move it.
2. Living is optional. I can?t sweat or get dirty, so showering is unneeded, I can?t digest so eating is a habit, but I don?t get full, I tried to stop breathing once and got to an hour before I lost concentration and slipped back into the habit, I don?t get tired, but I can sleep if I feel like it, I can run for hours without feeling any effects other than boredom. I don?t age either, which is nice.
3. There are no other ghosts. I am unique. Nobody else out there is a ghost, everyone interacts. I didn?t have much unfinished business except feeding the cat, I don?t need to profess my undying love to a co-worker, I don?t have much motivation to catch my killer, in fact, I think they got him, I?m just here. Maybe I?m an administrative error with the whole heaven/hell thing, but I?m here and nobody else is. I think. I hope.
4. What I hold as the most important rule for this world. If there is anything out there, it probably isn?t good. I don?t know why, but I?m absolutely certain of it.
I want to stress here and now, that in the early stages this will be a low-reward process. It will not move fast, but if you fail to keep up, we will not wait for you. Things shall be decided by the popular vote. From the moment we start, to the moment we finish, we are all just cogs in the machine. Sexy, sexy cogs in the machine.
This is not for the impatient, nor the faint of heart, you must be dedicated, committed to the idea, and ready to act when the need arises. Dropping out without good reason will be met with utter disregard, and failure to meet deadlines or standards will result in appropriate consequences.
If you aren't on board. Then you're overboard.
This is not for the impatient, nor the faint of heart, you must be dedicated, committed to the idea, and ready to act when the need arises. Dropping out without good reason will be met with utter disregard, and failure to meet deadlines or standards will result in appropriate consequences.
If you aren't on board. Then you're overboard.
