The Journal {NSFW}

[Dozer]

Well, My work doesn't even compare to most of your guys' but I have been bored lately so I figure I would post a new thing I am workin on. First time working in first person journal format :P. If it sucks, tell me and I will start something else, or maybe same story, but not in first person. There is ALOT of swearing, and almost as much violence :D. I wanted to catch the gritty personality of the Sgt. If there are corrections I need to make with the rank or whatever, lemme know, I have little to no experience with ranking.

This is by no means the finished product. Figured if I get good feedback that maybe I would update entry by entry (or more then one in this case)

Sgt. Smith
January 01, 2092\ Location: Unexplored territory, Galaxy Alpha 12; Planet 8\ Status: Stable\
The boys and I brought in the new year with a shower of gunfire. I know that in this “hostile” territory we are supposed to keep a low profile, but we haven’t seen any action in almost 3 months since the natives on planet 10 wanted us out. In fact, if this display brings in some baddies, we would probably enjoy blasting em down. Boredom is frightening when living, sleeping, eating with men and women who are trained to kill with anything in a five foot radius of their hands. Had to break up a fight between Prvt. Higgens and Corp. Black the other day… Black almost killed Higgy with a spoon… A ****ing SPOON.… Goddamn argument started over who made better gunk, a mix of proteins and nutrients that tastes like regurgitated dogshit. Kinda redundant as it tastes like ass no matter what, but you get the point, boredom is dangerous with this crew.
So, after the fireworks we opened up a case of morphine… The fleet gives us cases of the shit, and seeing the sadomasocistic ways of the crew, I figure the only thing its good for is getting a high. Of course, watching everyone kick the shit outta each other without backing down because of pain is fun. Probably be safer if the damn fleet sent cases of beer instead of morph. After a couple syringes of morph and a few boxing matches I go back to the barracks and here I am, sitting down, high off morph, writing this shit down because my pshyc says its good therapy. **** this.

January 02, 2092\ Location: Hostile Territory, Galaxy Alpha 12; Planet 8\ Status: Under heavy attack
****, this is the first time I have had to rest since the alarm went off. We been fighting off these ****ing bug things for a day now. Goddamn it, should have followed protocol. The fireworks from the new years party brought in some nasty little ****ers. After I fell asleep the goddamn alarm went off. I woke up to everyone screaming, not outta fear, they looked excited as all hell, kinda crazed too. They saw something to shoot, something that was hostile, something we were allowed to blow away. I grinned all the way to the armory. A shotgun would do well against these little ****ers. Running back outside, all suited up, I saw what we were up against. Creepy little bastards. Four legs, each ending in a blade-like foot. They looked like Sparky, my little dog back home, but hairless, fast as shit and mean as hell. I brought up my shotgun and blasted a few of the asses down, but they kept comin in. I looked over to the left and saw one of em bite through Black’s helmet. He went down quick. First casualty. Not the last, not by a long shot. I was pissed. Pumping lead into every little ****er that jumped near me, I ran over to Black and nailed the thing on his head. Oh I was pissed. Black was down, his brains spewed out all over the ground. I screamed out orders while blasting the things all around. We weren’t gonna last out here in the open. Even as I yelled that out Lister went down, a little bastard attached to his leg. ‘Get it off’ He screamed. I almost laughed at the guy when he shook his leg. Ran over to him and pulled out my knife. Told him to stop wriggling and stabbed into the dog thing’s head. Little ****er. We all ran into the barracks, the damn things on our heels. Into the Armory I told em all. Plenty of ammo and meds in there. Maybe even some morph. We been in here for nearly 4 hours now, none of the little bastards have come through yet. We didn’t leave anyone behind, its against our rules. That’s one rule that we don’t break.


Will update as I finish each entry.

EDIT: By the way, to anyone that has play Natural Selection (Half life 1 mod) This is based off that. Website here (Should be able to find screenshots of the "Skulks" which is what I am describing here) http://www.unknownworlds.com/ns/

Constructive Crits are more then welcome...

[Dozer]

Next Entry

January 04, 2092\ Location: Hostile Territory; Galaxy Alpha 12; Planet 8\ Status: Under Heavy Attack
Been quiet a few minutes, figured I would start this up again. We are still in the armory, not near as bored as a few nights ago. To tell the truth though, I would rather be around a bunch of bored killers with spoons then with these damn alien things. After a few more hours of sitting and waiting yesterday, I decided it might be smart to put a man at each of the vent shafts. As soon as we got people at the vents though, Lister (pumped on morph and andrenaline booster) who was standing (leaning is a better word I guess) at one of the vents yelled out and fell over, a huge gash on his shoulder. Didn’t even see the litte bastard in the vent. He was practically invisible. Best guess is Lister scared the shit outta the ****er and the dog thing bit his shoulder. Poor guy, gonna need a shitload more morph. I pumped the vent full of shotgun pellets and I know I hit the sneaky little bastard cause he left a trail of green goo, guessing that’s his blood, behind him. After I pumped the little ****er full of pellets this gas shit started coming out of another vent. Green and makes you cough like a mother ****er. Hurts bad too. Right after that stuff started coming out, Yogi (call him Yogi cause he eats too much) who was watching the vent starts hackin up a lung and then yelps. Some weird spike thing stickin outta his shoulder. Next thing we know this bat thing comes flyin out of the vent, snappin at everyone, shooting the spikes and gas out of these open tentacles on its shoulders. Looks kind of like the dog, but normal feet (only two of em) and wings. Its like a goddamn zoo in here, dogs over there, bats over here… what next? So after Lister (had the best view of the damn flying thing, lying down lookin at the ceiling like he was) puts a few shots from his pistol into the flying thing it falls dead. The gas shit is spreading like hell so I am yelling at everyone to get the hell out between coughs. The armory door flies open and Mac (Short for Macdonald) grabs as much ammo as he can and Lister is grabbin the morph (puttin a few shots into himself while hes at it). I’m out last and I turn to see the dog things and another bat flyin outta the vents. Blastin a few of em with my shotgun I fumble for the damn door controls. CLOSE I am thinking, CLOSE. A bat thing gets a little too close for comfort and the damn door, FINALLY, closes. I come out right behind my crew, all our guns are blazing, these damn things can climb walls. Lister is scanning and shootin at the damn things on the ceilings (hes good at that) and everyone else is watchin the walls and the floor. Dayle is right in front of me when one of the dogs jumps outta nowhere (they are harder then hell to see when they aren’t moving). I almost put a few pellets into his arm when I took out the damn thing. I turn around to keep our flank clear and out comes a bat thing. Blow him outta the ****in air with a nice blast from the shotgun. Another of the dog things comes runnin along the wall at me and I shoot at him. He is quick, jumped outta the way before the pellets hit. I try again but im outta ammo. ****. Pull out my knife with my free hand right when he jumps at me and I ram it into the ****er’s throat. Now I got this green shit on me and it ****in stinks. I throw the shotgun over my shoulder and pull out my pistol. The crew is runnin and gunnin and I am shootin like a damn fiend. After a few more minutes of reloadin and shootin some more we make it to the kitchen. Just one vent here and only two doors. Problem is the doors are open, and they wont close. Looks like something bit into the damn controls… Figures. We pass ammo, some meds, and a hellofa lot of morph around. Only one more casualty, either that or he’s just missing (doubt it). Lister is losing a shitload of blood. We need to make it to the goddamn radio room. Mac decided to name the little ****ers that we been shooting down. Skulks for the dog things and Lerks for the bats. Works for me, this shit’ll be easier to write with a name for everything. Figures though… Now that we are in the kitchen, guarding the damn doors and vents continually, I am stuck in the middle of a compound around a bunch of killers, spoons, and aliens… My week can’t get any worse.

[Korkskrew]

Paragraphing please. As a rule of thumb I don't read anything that isn't properly paragraphed. I'm not trying to be condescending, I'm just saying if you didn't take the effort to paragraph it, what does that tell us about your story?

[Dozer]

That I just dont like to paragraph :P Sorry bout that, I will get to it either right now or tommorrow (which ironically is in about a half an hour :D)

EDIT: The reason there are no paragraphs is that I just start righting and dont wanna stop. I don't like to interrupt my thoughts with pressing the enter button. But I will run through and refine everything. Just remember man, many of the greatest musicians can't even read music... Just because I dun like paragraph form doesn't mean I can't write (by no means am I saying that I am a great author or anything, just that I like to write :D)

[Korkskrew]

By all means, write non stop, but once you're done righting, paragraph. And about the greatest musicians not being able to read music, name one.

[Raya]

You said you invited constructive criticism, so I will take you at your word. First of all, if you want to write to sell, you have to have paragraphing. No editor will read through that, no matter how good the writing is. Of course, you are right - you don't want to stop for technicalities when you are on a roll. That is the way to write, but you do need to go back and make it pleasing to the reader's eye, or s/he won't be bothered reading it. Effective revision is the sign of a good writer.

Having said that, it is a testament to your writing ability that I managed to keep on reading, even without the paragraphing (but don't count on that happening with any editor too often). You write compactly, and with one exception you make every word count. I got the feeling, the smell, the sight...it was good writing.

The exception is this: your excessive use of the word "****" and its variations tended to slow your story down. I am not advocating that you stop doing it. By all means, add the f-word and the other lesser cussing words for color, characterization, and verisimilitude. However, a rule of writing that needs to be observed, even when adding spice to your story, is that you should not repeat the same word in the same sentence...and you should be judicious about using the same word in successive sentences. (The exception to this is in direct dialogue. But definitely not in descriptive text or in indirect narration.)

Looking at this story from the reader's point of view, I kept wondering why Sergeant Smith would bother to keep on repeating the word as often as he did in WRITTEN form. While he might have talked that way, and probably did, he surely would not have written it so repetitively. Was he trying to prove something? This was an instance where the writing dispelled, rather than enhanced, the willing suspension of disbelief.

On the whole, you are an aggressive writer with a good way of keeping the action going. Journals are not the easiest vehicles in the world for a story - it takes some good writing to sustain interest. I think you could achieve this with the two changes I mentioned. Keep going - I would like to find out what happens to the sergeant and his crew (and that also is the mark of a good writer - if you make your reader care).