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  1. #1
    Join Date
    Nov 2013
    Location
    Santa Clarita, CA // St. Petersburg, FL
    Posts
    24

    A Game for Writers!

    Hello, writer friends!

    My friend and I often play a little writing game that goes something like this:

    Step one: Person A finds a tiara (or similar accessory) on Etsy.
    Step two: Person B writes a short story, ficlet, or bio about the person/creature who might have owned the item. The key is to write a character that embodies the aesthetic or "vibe" of the item.
    Step three: Repeat, but this time Person B picks the tiara/accessory and Person A writes the story.

    It's a fun game and a helpful writing exercise! Plus, a round of this game once led me to write an entire novel, which ended up winning a national award!

    I was thinking that we could play a similar game here, but with names instead of objects!

    The Rules:

    1) Write a short story, ficlet, or bio about a character with the name suggested in the previous post.
    2) Some aspect of the character should be inspired by the name. This could just mean an embodiment of a personality the name evokes (for example, the name 'Lily' might evoke images of a sweet, innocent girl) or the name could factor into the character's backstory (maybe Lily's mother passed the time by sketching lily pads during her pregnancy). Obviously, there is no one right way to portray a name -- Lily might be kind and gentle to one person, but feisty and rebellious to another.
    3) After writing your story, suggest a name for the next person to write about. You can choose any name you like, but if you're stuck, consider randomly picking from the recently-searched names that scroll across the top of the screen.
    4) Only respond to the most recent post.
    5) No NSFW content.
    6) It's okay to repeat names as long as it's non-consecutive -- no one name should be repeated twice in a row. Also, if there are already 14 'Jacks,' maybe consider a different name.
    7) Original Characters only! If the suggested name is 'Rose,' don't write a fanfiction about Rose Tyler! Original Characters in pre-established fandoms are fine, but I'd recommend avoiding them.
    8) If an author asks for creative criticism, feel free to give it! However, don't be rude or mean. We're all just here to have fun!

    Have fun writing, guys! To start the thread off, I choose the name
    Isadora

  2. #2
    Join Date
    Aug 2015
    Location
    Australia
    Posts
    113
    Aha, sounds fun I guess haha?

    Isadora

    She looked up at me with those stormy grey eyes. I couldn't detect any emotion, but Isadora was like that. Isadora was the queen of all things pure. But she was more than that. Though she was only eighteen, she was cunning, smart, beautiful. And magnificent. Queen Isadora was magnificent, and everyone knew it. She ruled her kingdom fair and wise, and the townspeople worshipped her.
    She turns around suddenly, stalking up to one of the other bookcases in the castle library, and grazes her right palm and fingers against the surface of the books. Quickly, she picks a book, and immediately turns to a page.
    I run up to her, keeping up with her pace.
    She showed me a page of her book and pointed to a paragraph.
    "Jasper," she started. I perked up.
    "Yes?"
    "What does this mean?" She asked, intrigued, a quizzical expression upon her pale face, and I was caught off-guard. Why would a queen need help from the castle librarian's son? Especially one who had just turned eighteen but had not yet found a job?
    "I- I just-" I stuttered.
    "Please, just look." And so I did.
    I peered down at the paragraph she was pointing at, but it wasn't really a paragraph. It was a poem.
    I read through it. It was easy. It mentioned flowers- roses, carnations, violets- and trees- maple, willow, spruce. It flowed like melted gold, binding its way from metaphor to metaphor.
    "Well, Your Highness, it's a poem."
    "Mhm?" She expected more of an answer, I think. So I elaborated.
    "It's a poem with lots of metaphors and things like that. I think the original author had meant to express their feelings through this poem. It's evident- the metaphors are clever and it sounds so beautiful. I think that's what this poem means." I finished, all out of breath.
    Queen Isadora did something she never did, according to gossip- she smiled.
    She put the book back into its place, and then turned to face me.
    "Why... why-" I stuttered out, baffled, before she interrupted me, smiling wider.
    "None of the right people can elaborate this poem as well you've just done."

    Eh, I tried. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ It was fun, though!

    The next name:


    Adelle
    mel; 15; infp; teen writer; aesthetic trash
    Pretty much just a girl who likes names. A lot.

  3. #3
    Join Date
    Sep 2015
    Posts
    423
    I liked it, melodamn. Here goes with Estelle. Pardon if it's bad.

    Estelle slipped and tripped, laughing through the forest. Though, she felt not like the forest was laughing at her for slipping and tripping. By the time she got back to her grandmother's, she'd be covered in mud. Not that she minded, but Grandma and Mom would.
    Of course, Mom would only care because Grandma does and Mom cares about what Grandma thinks entirely too much, in Estelle's opinion. At only thirteen, Estelle was already more perceptive than any other kid that lived in Magnolia, Alabama.
    She was also apparently the only one who didn't care about her appearance, according to her mother. "What have you done to your nice dress, Stelly?" Her mom demanded when Estelle came quietly in the backdoor, her laughter gone now.
    She wrinkled her nose at the nickname, "It's from last year, anyway."
    Grandma snorted, "You care that it's out of style, but not about getting it dirty?"
    "No, I didn't try to get it dirty," Estelle rolled her eyes, "And I don't care about what's in style, either." She wouldn't admit it at that moment, but she did want to look cute.
    And, in her plain and honest opinion, she was cute (mostly). Her hair is as dark as the soil in the woods around Magnolia, but shines in the sun the color of a pine tree when the barks been picked off. Her eyes are a green blue, appearing green when she wears pink like she was at that moment.
    "I just wish you be more like Molly or Kathy, that's all," her mom continued, oblivious to the fact that Estelle was no longer listening.
    "Okay, Mom," Estelle clumped upstairs, brushing hair out of her face. "I'll just be like everyone else" she muttered sarcastically to herself, "Cuz they'll never understand anyway."

    There was my attempt. This is fun!
    Next name: Maddalena
    Kaitlin|INFP|Writer

    Ella Kathlyn
    Azalea Lynn "Aza" | Anneliese Evangeline "Nell" | Lorelei Kelsea
    Magnolia Lois "Maggie" | Rhiannon Elena "Rhia" | Lila Jane Laurel
    Aveline Eloise | Maddalena Kae "Lena" | Sophie Willa Josephine


    Oliver Thomas
    Isaiah Knight "Ike" | Luca Jacob | Jeremiah Wills | Eliot Owen
    Devereaux Lane | Flanagan McGarity "Flynn" | James Timothy


  4. #4
    Join Date
    Feb 2015
    Location
    Eastern United States
    Posts
    5,912
    Maddelena was different than the other kids her age. While they texted and posted on Facebook, she spent her time writing poetry. She was a naturally empathetic person, but she just couldn't understand why the rest of the world lived their lives on fast-forward. Maddelena (she hated Maddy) tried in vain to get her peers to stop and smell the roses. But her talents earned her a spot as a litterature teacher for at risk youth.

    Next name is Anahita

  5. #5
    Join Date
    Aug 2013
    Location
    LA ♡ KC ♡ NY
    Posts
    5,598
    "Maddalena?" A voice echoed in my head. Everything was dark and stuffy. The lights had been turned out except for a few rays poking through the black. I could hear shuffling nearby but the sounds seemed distant and muffled. There were a few whispers and snickers floating around but the hard surface by my right ear nearly blocked it all out. In fact I might have not even heard anything at all if it weren't for the voice repeating my name that shook me into consciousness.
    "Miss Van Buren?" I heard it again but still could not place where the sound was coming from. The world was beginning to appear more clearly now. I could make out faint lines in the darkness but something was still obstructing my view. It was soft and thick, almost stringy, and if it weren't for the smell I might have identified it as grass. It smelled faintly of lavender almost like a perfume. It was a pleasant aroma and reminded me of my favorite shampoo. Wait a second...
    "Maddalena, do you know the answer or not?" My eyes snapped open once and for all. The sounds of people whispering and laughing were less muffled. They were giggling at me.
    I spit hair out of my mouth and lifted my head off the desk. The room was much brighter now and even before everything properly registered, the weight of twenty-four gazes fell on me. The heaviest of all came from my teacher, Mrs. Griffiths.
    Mrs. Griffiths was intimidating enough without the Look of Death on her face. At nearly six feet tall she towered over everyone in the room, including most of the boys. She had a frizzy red mane and naturally narrowed eyes that were as grey and dull as her personality. If that wasn't enough Mrs. Griffiths also had those small, square glasses that rested on the tip of her nose which she peered through when you were in trouble. And boy was I.
    I swallowed, hard, and forced myself to look her in the eye. "C-Could you please repeat the question?"
    Mrs. Griffiths sighed for so long that I thought she was going to pass out from oxygen loss. "How would you describe Russia's economic situation in the 1860s?"
    I racked my brain for any piece of knowledge about Russia that was up there. After a few moments that began to prove useless as I reminded myself that I knew absolutely nothing about Russia or its economic situation at any point in history. I had only taken this class because I needed an extra history credit to graduate and was barely keeping up a C.
    "Um," I began. "It was... bad?"
    "'It was bad', you say?" Mrs. Griffiths asked. "Would you care to elaborate a bit?"
    I fidgeted with my tie, tugging it tighter and then loosening it again. "There was a... uh... civil war?"
    Mrs. Griffiths crossed her arms. "The Russian civil war occurred between 1918 and 1921, not the 1860s. That is the American civil war. This is Russian History, not American history. Do you know the answer to my question, Miss Van Buren?"
    I shook my head. "No, ma'am."
    Mrs. Griffiths gave a triumphant look. I turned my gaze down to the ridges in the desk.
    "Next time, make sure you know the material before falling asleep in my class."

    That was fun! I actually had to do some research about Russian history, lol.
    Next name: Dax (m)
    Abby | 20 | Psychology Student | Writer


    Scorpio ♏︎
    The passionate & independent scorpion

    Kaimana Orchid | Evening Sage | Arazoa Topaz
    Bruno Obsidian | Hallow Septimus | Thorell Burgundy

    💜

  6. #6
    Join Date
    Aug 2013
    Location
    LA ♡ KC ♡ NY
    Posts
    5,598
    Oops, posted at the same time as @misslis! I'll just write another story.

    There were very few things one could say about Anahita Ramalington that weren't true for compared to the rest of the students that walked the hallways of Miller High School she was pretty much perfect. It was almost cliche. Ana was pretty, she was smart, she was athletic, she was nice, basically if Jesus and pizza had a baby, that child would still worship Ana like a goddess.
    As soon as she walked into a room it was as if everything stopped because once Anahita was there, nothing else in the world mattered. Child hunger- gone. Human trafficking- a thing of the past. Until she walked away, the only thing that had any relevance on Earth was whatever she was doing.
    Her voice was strong but sweet like a summer breeze and a heavy metal rock concert all in one. If she opened her mouth, everyone listened because whatever she had to say was probably more important than what you have to. Her dialect was smooth and melodic to the ear. When she spoke, the birds stopped singing and the bugs stopped chirping for all of them knew they couldn't compete with her.
    She was also beautiful, as I mentioned earlier. Ana had long black hair that would shine even in the darkest rooms and always had an overwhelming scent of cherries. Her eyes were chocolate brown and her skin was always a perfect "I just got home from the beach" tan. We live in Arkansas, so you can imagine how uncommon that is. She had a huge smile with snow-white teeth. And while she was short, she wasn't underweight. Not that she was chubby, of course, just that she was a healthy weight and didn't try to be one of those Victoria's Secret models with neck-thin waists. However, either Ana didn't notice or she didn't care because it didn't tax her confidence at all and she never showed any desire to diet.
    Ana was a cheerleader, the captain of the squad despite being only a junior, and honestly she was the only reason anyone went to any of the games. While the football players would probably kill me for saying this but Miller High was no powerhouse in sports. Out of the fifteen years we have been open, we have three championship banners to show for it: two third place track finishes and one sixth place swimming title. It didn't have to do with strength, no, the athletes were plenty large. They were all just dumb as a rock. Well, all except for Anahita of course. I don't think she's ever seen a "C" in her life.
    "Honey," Ana said through a clenched smile. I looked up from my note card. Everyone around us was staring at me. "Are you almost done?"
    I smiled and added one more line, "Unless I want this speech to go on for eternity, I should probably stop listing all the reasons why Anahita Ramalington is perfect but before I go on to kiss her and before we can all go eat cake I have one more thing to say," I took a step closer to her. "I love you."

    Next name is still Dax
    Abby | 20 | Psychology Student | Writer


    Scorpio ♏︎
    The passionate & independent scorpion

    Kaimana Orchid | Evening Sage | Arazoa Topaz
    Bruno Obsidian | Hallow Septimus | Thorell Burgundy

    💜

  7. #7
    Join Date
    Dec 2014
    Posts
    2,039
    Fun game!

    "Dax...? Dax! It's getting dark, mom says it's time to come inside!"
    The sound of his sister's calls echoed up to the tree house, but Dax chose to ignore her. The tree house was ancient— according to Dax, at least. The tree house had been here for years, long before Dax, or even his older sister Vienna was born. It was on the property that Dax's grandmother left his family after she passed away. His dad said that he and Dax's uncles used to play in the tree house from sunup to sundown when they were boys, but that was a very long time ago. No child had played in this tree house for years, and it showed.
    It sat perched in the looming elm tree in the backyard. Long winding limbs poked through open holes in the rotting planks and through the square window on the wall opposite of the door. The nails that held the entire thing together were rusted practically into dust; they left a burnt orange residue on Dax's skin and clothes if he even so much as brushed up against one.
    Dad said to wait until he had pruned the tree and fixed up the tree house before playing in it. It was too dangerous, and the boards were likely to fall through if they weren't careful. Immediately following Grandmother's funeral, Dad had been called back to work, and there was no telling when he would be back or when the tree house would be cleaned up. Now it was just Dax, Vienna, and their mother, in a new house, in a new town with new people that Dax didn't care to know. The tree house was the perfect hiding place. So high up, Vienna couldn't boss him around. She thought she was so special now that she was thirteen. A teenager. She thought that made her an adult. Well, Dax was 8, and he didn't think she seemed all that grown up. She was still his picky, prissy older sister, and being a teenager hadn't changed a thing about that.
    The tree house was also good for making sure people aside from his sister left him alone. In spite of his mother's encouragement to go out and try to make friends with the other kids in the neighbourhood so that he would know a few people before school started in the fall, but there weren't any he could find. There was one boy down the street, Silas, but he was 4, and had a perpetual snotty nose. The snot Dax could maybe overlook, but the fact remained that he was way too old to be playing with a four year old. The rest of the houses on the street were either occupied by old people or empty, so Dax's choices were either to play with snot-nosed Silas or Vienna. Dax settled on the third option and decided he was just fine with being alone.
    "Mom, I can't find him!" He heard Vienna shout, her voice growing distant; the sound of the back door clicking shut soon followed. Finally, maybe they would leave him in peace for a while longer.
    Getting up to peer out the door to check to see if he was truly alone now, a sharp snap rang out and before Dax could react, the decayed wooden board broke beneath his weight. His stomach jumped into his chest, and his heart pounded against his chest like it was trying to get free, even after he realised he wasn't plummeting down to the earth below the tree, and only his foot from the ankle down had broken through the board. Dax let out a breathy, nervous chuckle, turning to pry his foot away from the splintered board.
    Finally free, Dax dusted the dry wooden splinters off of his sock and shoe. His ankle didn't feel like it was twisted, but the wood had left several scratches all around his ankle. That was the least of Dax's concern however; through the new, gaping hole in the wood, beneath the boards, something silver caught Dax's eye. It was too far back to see clearly, but whatever it was, it was glowing. Leaning down, Dax stuck his arm beneath the boards and reached for the silver.

    Vesper
    Moved Accounts

  8. #8
    Join Date
    May 2015
    Location
    Quebec, Canada
    Posts
    72
    Good job, vestigesofsummer!

    Steve hated her life. And her name—ugh! What kind of girl is named Steve? A girl who had a very tomboyish mother, of course. Her mother was more like a boy than a girl, and when she had a baby and found out that it wasn’t a boy, she still named the infant with a boy name.
    And the worse part was: she didn’t even have a nice last name! Vesper. It sounded too mysterious, too whispery, too dark.
    Steve didn’t get her mother’s logic. Didn’t mom think about how maybe her daughter wasn’t going to have the same personality? Apparently not. The problem was that Steve wasn’t a tomboy at all! She was a very feminine and girly 16 year old, and didn’t like anything that her mother used to like when she was 13. Running and sports? Nope. Climbing trees? No, Steve didn’t want to get scratches on her face and knees. Getting dirty and muddy? Definitely not! She preferred playing and designing clothes for her dolls when she was younger, playing dress-up with her friends, and now shopping and creating websites and blogs.

    Steve felt bad for her mother, because Steve was just another disappointment to mom, since dad left.
    Dad was always more sentimental than mother, and that’s why—thank goodness—Steve had a feminine middle name. Together, she was known as Steve Charlotta Vesper, probably the weirdest name of all time.

    Fate's final insult: Steve was leaving. Banned from earth to explore mars. It wasn’t that Steve did something bad, it was that she was drafted for mars exploration. There wasn't enough people who wanted to go and so the government had to chose random citizens to go. She was chosen, and so she was never coming back.
    She will always remember the feeling of her mother’s tears on her cheeks; one of the only times she cried since Dad left. She will always remember looking at the blue sky with the clouds looking like they were made from meringue, and telling goodbye to the picture of her father.
    She gave one last hug to her mother as she climbed up the ramp. She heard her mother’s anguished scream:
    “No! My baby, come back to me! Don’t leave me! I love you, I love you, I will always love you!”


    Next name: Sharess (name not on Nameberry)
    Last edited by wintersolstice17; October 6th, 2016 at 02:47 PM.

  9. #9
    Join Date
    Aug 2015
    Location
    Australia
    Posts
    113
    Sharess, ooh nice!

    Sharess

    "The love is- THERE!" Sharyn's best friend Fran vaguely gestures to the other end of the high school hallway, where Sharyn's friend and crush Tess kneeled by her locker, shoving her books into the compartment.
    "Gahh... No, Fraaaan!" Sharyn whined as she elbowed Fran, embarrassed. Yup. Sharyn liked Tess, and Fran knew it.
    "Aw, but Sharyn!" Fran coerced. "Why can't you talk to her, at least?"
    "Because Fran, you know my face swells up like a tomato! Whenever I talk to her at least."
    "Ugh, I guess so," Fran slumped against the lockers, in defeat.
    Sharyn pulled out her phone, where she read over texts from her best friend, who went to another school.
    Kennedy: OH MY GOSH RYN IF YOU DON'T TALK TO HER TODAY I SWEAR-
    Kennedy: JUST DO IT, RYN!! JUST DO IT!
    Sharyn laughed at Kennedy's texts, slumped over the locker counter.
    The next occurrence happened almost as if it were a scene in a teen sitcom.
    "Hey!" Tess brightly appeared beside Sharyn, and Sharyn jumped, fumbling with her phone before she dropped it onto the floor. Fran jumped as well, but her school uniform sweater pocket caught onto a locker lock, and she was pulled down to the ground, rolling over in an attempt to free her sweater.
    "Oh my gosh, yeah, uh, sorry!" Sharyn quickly picked up her phone, avoiding Tess's gaze. Tess's eyes were mesmerizing to Sharyn. Sharyn figured, that if maybe she didn't look at Tess's eyes, maybe Sharyn wouldn't blush. "Yeah, so- hi!" Sharyn collected herself.
    "How's life?" Tess asked her, smiling. Sharyn laughed.
    "Um, good? Aha?" Sharyn awkwardly bantered.
    They talked for a minute or so, both awkwardly replying to their very awkward questions and banter. But finally, Tess says, "ah well! I have art club now, so... See you around?" And she takes off, into the throng of teenagers heading down the hall.
    "... Bye...!" Sharyn stands there in awe, amazed at the fact that 1. she hadn't blushed the entire time, and 2. she didn't die.
    Fran creeps up behind Sharyn, whispering into her ear. "The ship name. It's Sharess."

    ... Yikes. Well, I tried, lmao.


    Winnie/Winifred
    mel; 15; infp; teen writer; aesthetic trash
    Pretty much just a girl who likes names. A lot.

  10. #10
    Join Date
    Sep 2015
    Posts
    423
    Winifred, when she was a little girl hated her name. She hated that kids, ever cruel, called her Winnie the Pooh, or Pooh Bear, or just plain Pooh (that one as the worst).
    "Freddie-Pooh!"
    Winnie turned around to face her adorable boyfriend, mock-frowning at him. "C'mon, Willie, really? We're 22, not seven."
    William slung his arm around Winnie's shoulder, "You just called me Willie, you know that, right?"
    Winnie rolled her eyes, "Amanda thinks it's cute, Willie and Winnie. As far as nicknames go, Willie isn't the worst, believe me."
    William smiled sadly, remembering all the crap Winnie had to go to in elementary and middle school.
    The worst day, in sixth grade, Winnie had come home crying because a group of boys formed a ring around her, making fun of her name and pulling on her braids. Her mom go found her that night, crying bitterly in her tree house and composing a list of new things to call herself, like Princess or Esmeralda. No one would tease Esmeralda.
    Winnie's mom had climbed the rickety old ladder and listened patiently as Winnie explained why she wanted to be named Esmeralda instead. She let put a gusty sigh as Winnie finished, "I'm sorry you do not think your name is as beautiful as I do, Winifred." Winnie's mom was the only one who called her by her full name.
    "Why did you name me such a bad name?" Winnie sniffed.
    "Do you know anything about my grandfather?" Winnie's mom asked, surprising her with the change in subject.
    "No."
    "He was a wonderful man. Raised me, you know. I wouldn't be who I am without him. Do you know what his name was?" Winnie's mom took her hand.
    "No."
    "His name was Fred."
    "Is that why . . ?"
    Winnie's mom smiled again, "I hope you come to like you name, in time."
    "Winnie?" William waved his hand in front her face, breaking her out of her memory. "Whatcha thinking 'bout?"
    "My grandfather. He made me who I am, you know," Winnie replied, pulling one of her braids back over her shoulder. "Albiet indirectly. Names make you who you are, Willie."

    Next name: Kaeli
    Kaitlin|INFP|Writer

    Ella Kathlyn
    Azalea Lynn "Aza" | Anneliese Evangeline "Nell" | Lorelei Kelsea
    Magnolia Lois "Maggie" | Rhiannon Elena "Rhia" | Lila Jane Laurel
    Aveline Eloise | Maddalena Kae "Lena" | Sophie Willa Josephine


    Oliver Thomas
    Isaiah Knight "Ike" | Luca Jacob | Jeremiah Wills | Eliot Owen
    Devereaux Lane | Flanagan McGarity "Flynn" | James Timothy


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