This weekend the staff and writers of progressive online games magazine The Escapist are coming to see us at the _blacklibrary while we help them launch their Second Life site. And you’re invited to come along for a chat.
Saturday March 4th 7:00 pm GMT, that’s 2:00 pm Eastern Time.
Instructions on how to get to the _blacklibrary are here.
– From there, down
I drove out, away under the streetlights, as drifts of brown leaves shucked in the wind by the side of the road. There were no other cars on the road, no people about either. Ten to eight on an autumn Thursday evening. The dark had been down for hours. From the car radio a tape that a girl had made for me years ago spooled out songs, and each song became a chapter of a story, companion to all the others.
I kept staring at that line for some time.
“You have 1 new emails in your MAILBOX.”
Only one? Strange thoughts crept through my senile mind. I’ve never written anything like a story before I joined the Stories.com family. It’s through Stories.com that I grew into a full-fledged writer. There were days when I received more than 50 mails in one single day. The very next day after uploading my favourite story, I received about 100 emails, all showering upon me appreciation and gift points.
The door was unmarked metal set into a brick wall. The two men sat scowling in front of it, hands thrust into thick jackets, cigarettes dripping from strongly set mouths, producing streams of fog and cancer which dilated into the hard crystalline air of the Reykjavik alley where they stood.
I’m sat in a room with no guitars or keyboards. No outboard gear at all, apart from a QWERTY keyboard and mouse. I have an average computer, monitor and a built-in speaker at the front of the tower case.
And I have Cubase SX 3 and Wavelab 5.
He pounded on the door with the handle of his sword… the walls shook. She crawled quickly to the door. He sensed her … “Unlock this door, girl.. or I will knock it down!” Her heart pounded, matching his pounding of the door. She quickly fumbled with the locks, opening the door…dropping back to her knees before him. With her eyes lowered she spoke. “Girl was ordered to not leave nor accept visitors.” He glared at her. You dare leave my protection..my home at a whim of some young and irrational Dom? You were once given a choice ..and a voice to use..those were privileges. Now you have neither.
Sheffield’s not particularly well known for having high rollers, but wherever you have a casino, you have one big punter. Ours was Mr “Simon” Ling, a local restauranteur, resident blackjack fiend, and reputed to be one of the richest men in Sheffield, at least within the Chinese community.
Prim Torture - The science of sidesteping the constraints placed on prim attributes. To make a shapes that are otherwise impossible though basic editing.
I woke first and the first thing that I did was to look again at the clock. Quarter to ten. My head split and the light hurt my eyes. I squinted as I got out of bed, found a blue dressing gown, put it on and went down the hall to the toilet. There were no other sounds yet. Nobody else was awake. I thought that I could dress and run, but I didn’t. In my head the scores got closer. It wasn’t something that I wanted to count, but I couldn’t forget, and if I had wanted to count, then I would have wanted the scores reversed.
The huge tusks of the wooly mammoths shone like swords, in the moonlight dimmed by the dark clouds in the polar sky. They were closing upon me . . . like mountains. I couldn’t run . . . the snow was deep and . . . Oh God!! . . . .soon I was going up in the air . . . . . one beast had caught me and hurled skyward. From high above, I could see the monster, with its eyes glowing like fire, pointing the two needle sharp tusks upward at me. . . waiting . .to impale.
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