The One Goes Out To...Whoever In The **** You Are. by GreasyBoy - TribalWar Forums
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GreasyBoy
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Old
1 - 03-29-2019, 18:15
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Some time around 2001 or so, I had someone here at TW make am odd and unexpected reply/comment to me on a thread...
Quote:
GreasyBoy, if you aren't writing for a living, you are doing the world a disservice.
I can't recall who said that to me, and have no idea how I'd find the thread now, but that statement has haunted me for the better part of almost 20 years.

Were they being straightforward? Felt that way.
Were they being encouraging? Even after all this time, I have no idea.
Were they being sarcastic? Possibly, this is TW afterall.
Were they being all that? That's the most likely scenario. We are talking about writing afterall. You gotta abandon a lot of pretenses and notions about what you think writing is, and then just "sit down at the typewriter and bleed"...as Hemingway put it.

It's a lot to think about. I've always wanted to write, yet had never done so, I had never publicly expressed a desire to write, and certainly not here at TW, so what in the **** did this **** mean by what they said to me?

In 2015, I started writing stuff here and there in some random places, in late 2016/early 2017 I started blogging, and in November of 2017, I sat down and committed myself to start writing my first ever short story to submit for consideration in a book of short stories to be published in December of 2017.

I started concocting and writing this story just two days before the deadline for submissions. I hadn't a clue what I was doing, nor how to do it.

After two days of writing almost non-stop, I submitted what I had, the publisher gave me an additional two days to finish it, and I wound up writing an 18,000+ word "short" story in those four days. It was accepted, and published.

Just a few days ago, I had my 8th and 9th short stories published, so in a little over a year I've had 9 short stories and 5 poems published in 5 different books.

Just thought I'd drop by and say thanks to whoever that was for the encouragement. Doesn't matter what you meant by what you said. I mean, yeah, it does matter...but no, it doesn't. It has haunted me enough that I eventually gave it a whirl, some people have taken some interest in some of the tales I've come up with, and what you said to me all those years ago has played a part in that path and getting me to where I am. Hopefully, it'll keep me straight enough to keep going, but not so straight as to keep me from being twisted enough to spin some interesting yarns. ;-)

VVT/VGT/VGRT...or whatever in the **** it was...
...whoever in the **** you are...
...thanks.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vUzVCw8BEXA
 
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amRam
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Old
2 - 03-29-2019, 18:18
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This is cool. Good job. Motivation comes from the funniest places.
 
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Data
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Old
3 - 03-29-2019, 18:32
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Cool... Story bro?

Wait.
 
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Fool
Whiny BitchX
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4 - 03-29-2019, 18:37
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I don't know if it was me but I'll take credit for it anyway.
 
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havax
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Old
5 - 03-29-2019, 18:40
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awesome! good for you, brother.
 
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ArakAtak
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6 - 03-29-2019, 18:40
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tldr - wall of text/boring writer


CAITLIN NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO... .......
 
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Plasmatic
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Old
7 - 03-29-2019, 18:41
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Good on you man!

Also link to torrent of library?
 
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Denver
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Old
8 - 03-29-2019, 18:59
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I'll say it now,
if you don't start producing beats on vomiting samples, you are doing the world a disservice!
 
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HumDumpin
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Old
9 - 03-29-2019, 19:01
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gg on your success in writing short erotic stories
 
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naptown
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10 - 03-29-2019, 19:08
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You want to compare brainpans? I won the Westinghouse prize when I was 12, big deal. Published at 19, so what. I got a double doctorate from MIT at 22, Chemistry and Geology. I taught at Princton for two and a half years. Why do I do this? Because the money's good, the scenery changes and they let me use explosives, ok?
 
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Buk Naked
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Old
11 - 03-29-2019, 19:12
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Hook up with SuperGrover
 
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ArakAtak
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12 - 03-30-2019, 00:27
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Please write something on Vermont Logging Trucks in your next story.
 
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motoxbudd
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13 - 03-30-2019, 00:31
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story
 
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SeVeReD
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14 - 03-30-2019, 01:12
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Cool story
Would Read Again
I remember you from Tribes!
 
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Last edited by SeVeReD; 03-30-2019 at 01:19..
GreasyBoy
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15 - 03-30-2019, 08:14
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Quote:
Originally Posted by ArakAtak View Post
Please write something on Vermont Logging Trucks in your next story.
Challenge accepted.

Perhaps not in my very next story since I'm currently working on several, but I will see what I can do.
 
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ArakAtak
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16 - 03-30-2019, 08:16
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I always thought you were a smurf of Suicide Taxi so thanks at least for clearing that up
 
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Goshin
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17 - 03-30-2019, 08:30
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coolio bro
i forgot how to write stories and songs
 
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GreasyBoy
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18 - 03-30-2019, 08:36
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Quote:
Originally Posted by ArakAtak View Post
I always thought you were a smurf of Suicide Taxi so thanks at least for clearing that up
Negative. Not a smurf for Taxi nor anyone else, nor do I myself have any smurf accounts. (although I guess I can understand why you might make the association with Taxi since everyone always accused him of being...greasy)
 
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Brasstax
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19 - 03-30-2019, 08:40
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Cool story bro
 
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Esteban_Villa
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20 - 03-30-2019, 11:07
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Quote:
It Was a Beautiful Spring Day in Northern Vermont
By Brasstax

It was a beautiful spring day in Northern Vermont. The wind was just blowing perfectly for a little game I like to call "Jug Band *******". I walked to my favorite spot behind the old barn and made sure that grandma couldn't see me. She gets very mad when I play my little game.

I pulled down my pants and stood with my penis erect into the breeze. Then, I layed myself down upon the splendid ground. My balls were caught between my legs and squeezed a little. But, it wasn't unpleasant so I left them there.

I hoisted my ass into the air with my ankles back behind my ears. I grabbed my plush ass cheeks with my hands and spread my red ringed anus open wide. I felt the wind blowing across my bare ass. I adjusted my position until the wind blew across my gaping ******* just right. I listened - all of a sudden I heard it - the lovely WOOO WOOO WOOOO that is the sound of the Northern Vermont wind blowing across my bunghole like a man playing in a jug band.

I tuned the notes by squeezing and opening my ass entrance. The tune was going WOOO wooo WOOO wooo WOOO when all of a sudden my reverie was broken by grandma unceremoniously stopping my performance by shoving a dried up corn cob into my butthole. She chased me around with a cane until I ditched her in the hay barn.

I can't wait until tomorrow to try again.
Quote:
It was a beautiful spring day in Northern Vermont. In the past this lush paradise had been settled by both Mennonites and the Naturalist farmers, who had established rows of well-tended 80 acre farms along both sides of the winding country roads. It was a place where farmer John and his wife Sue might sit out on the porch at dusk and watch the fireflies come to play over dark flower beds.

The gravel roads, sweeping green fields, and stone walls were all considered hazards and potential places of ambush by Major Smith and the men of the 12th Black Water Homeland Defense Company. His line of gray Strikers and Ihummers slowed to look at the scenery, and took the turns too short, scraping and chewing up the road.

They were all on edge from potential ambush in the area. Even the hanging of several suspected terrorist liberals in Burlington and Barre had done little to supress sporadic sniper fire and occasional roadside explosions. Now the column slowed again, as the vehicles wound past a large white victorian farmhouse off to the right behind a long stone fence.

Major Smith looked out at the front yard of the farmhouse from the gunner's turret atop his Ihummer to see what was now causing his lead vehicles to slow down. He laughed to himself hollowly, as he saw what it was: the family that owned the farm was out playing in the front yard with a ball. He watched the mother throw a blue ball to her two darling blonde-haired children, not much older than six or seven, and now the men on the Strikers and Ihummers were all standing up in their hatches, shouting greetings to the family as they passed. It was a heartwarming scene to be sure, and made even Major Smith hope that this scene was what they were supposed to be fighting for.

Then he watched as the ball bounced too far, and one of the children turned to run after it, toward the road, darting behind the stone fence where no one could see. A second later he heard the shuddering screech of the brakes on one of the Striker AFVs as the driver locked them up, and the long crash as equipment and men were thrown forward on top of it and inside it.

There was a scream from the yard, and the whole column stopped. The men under Major Smith's command mostly crouched down tentatively, waiting for an explosive blast or for the sound of rifle fire. When it did not come after a few moments, they straightened up and looked forward to see what had happened near the front of the farm.

Major Smith dismounted from the Ihummer and put on his black beret as he moved forward down the line of halted vehicles toward the disturbance. He slid his Sig Sauer p226 out of the black holster at his side and cocked it as he pushed between the men from the affected vehicle, as they stood there on the roadway, to see what had happened for himself.

See, you just need to spice it up a little.
these pieces of writing inspired me to move to vermont and shoot weapons at notional enemies on a part time basis for governor scott walker

writing is powerful!

brass and secret squirrel still around too thanks for writing these stories over a decade ago
 
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