Celebrating my New Title

For those who hadn’t noticed my title has been generously changed to “The Arch-Scribe” by @8BitCrab. As a celebration of sorts I have compiled some of my favorite stories/writings. Along with some annotations of my thoughts at the time.

With no further ado (this post will be long enough with out it) my first entry-the shortest story I have ever written.

The thud of an ax reverberating after a solid blow rung clearly into the valley. It was followed by many repeated sounds of the same nature. The tree shook and weakened with each blow. The branches scraped against each other. Their creaking seemed to cry and beg for the woodsmen ax to be stayed. Yet no sound of nature could stop the iron head of the determined woodsman. For an hour this struggle continued, wood verses man. Although the tree took years to develop, an hour of hard work felled it. The tree made one last cry as it fell to the earth leaving the valley in silence.
The woodsmen grunted in satisfaction. His wife and children would eat tonight.

The above paragraph was exactly 120 words. This was my second attempt at a 120 word story, the first had failed miserably. This one isn’t as bad. I obviously wanted to show the struggle of human versus nature, and the fact that it is not a black and white problem. In that aspect I feel that I did a good job, the entire first paragraph lays outs the pain of the tree, but the ending sentence turns the perspective around.

What I think I didn’t do as well at is the consistency of the writing. It goes from a sort of intellectual type of writing to more of a narrative. Most likely this is because I didn’t know exactly how I wanted the story to end as I was writing it. As I moved on through the paragraph it started to take shape. I really should re-write the first half.

Now for the second entry another very short one, this one is of a highly different nature. It is a traditional fable.

There was a beehive high in a prickly tree. Two bears, one brown, the other black, looked up and each wanted some of the honey. The black bear began to climb. The brown bear watched but made no move. The black bear was cut many times in the process of climbing the tree. When he reached into the beehive, bees came out and stung him. He shooed them off and finally got some of the honey. The brown bear had none.
MORAL: No pain, no gain.

In a traditional fable there is no embellishment. Every word should be necessary for the moral. The moral itself should be stated at the end. All of these I did rather well except for the color of the two bears. The reason I added it is simple, across from my school there used to be two huge hairy dogs. We used to joke they were bears, and incidentally ones fur was black and the other’s was brown.

My third entry is a rather humorous exposition that I wrote.

Are you attending classes regularly? If so, this guide is crucial to your success. The technique I’m about to share has been proven and tested by professionals. All you’re going to need for this method will be a ping pong ball, a marker, and a knife or scissors. Before going to school, cut the ping pong ball in half and draw a detailed pupil on each side. Now you’re ready for anything your teacher will throw at you. First, choose a seat in the back or the side of the classroom. You’re going to want to look prepared. Therefore bring the correct books, paper, pens, etc. After you sit down and make yourself comfortable, begin getting into the habit of nodding your head every few seconds. A subtle up and down motion is all that is necessary. Then, when you’re sure the teacher is completely distracted (when he/she is writing on the board is always a good time,) pop half of the ping pong ball into each eye. Finally, proceed to fall asleep in an upright and attentive position. There you have it. With this ingenious trick, all your educational worries are over. Until the test…

This entire thing was inspired by a Calvin & Hobbes where Calvin cuts a ping-pong ball so it would look like his eyes were open.

For now that is all, I likely will add other compositions to this topic.
-Yours truly-
Arch-scribe Turtlesquish


thanks you for gracing us with your lovely stories @TurtleSquish, it was quite a pleasant read. it also makes me want to get back into the habit of writing down my story ideas…

I am debating with myself if I should post any of my longer works. I don’t think I will. This post is long enough as it is.

go for it, fan media is far and few between.

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please do! if your worried that the OP is too long, just post them as a new reply,

[quote=“TurtleSquish, post:3, topic:17032”]
go for it, fan media is far and few between.
[/quote]hoo boy! none of my ideas are even remotely worth posting to the world, most of them are just quick scribbles that have yet to be fleshed out.

I meant to put this one in there as well. This is one of my favorite short stories I released to the discourse.

A Fight to the Death

The trees were turning green. The bushes were thick and berry-full. Winter had passed. The settlers had already celebrated the Spring Festival. The young settlers danced and frolicked in the fields. The elders shook their heads and went on with their work.

In one forgotten corner of the village stood a small cabin. Its yard was overgrown and untended. The roof was caving in. The inside of the cabin was not much better. A ragged carpet’s remnants lay by the door, the rest of the floor was mud. A table, two chairs and a stove were the only furnishings in the main room. The bedroom in the back consisted of a small trunk and one bed.

In the bed, an old weak man lay. The man was covered by a blanket as old as he was. Only his eyes showed any life. They were a pale blue like a clear sky. He wore a tunic that was once fancy and sleek. Now there were rips, mud, and even some dried blood scattered on the garment. Although the old man was still, he was not inactive; he was thinking.

“The festival has come and gone, like all the others before it. How many is it now? Ah I lose track. I wish I could remember the first festival. Could I really have been there? I guess I must have. I am as old as the village trees that stand tall and straight. If only I could stand straight again… If only I could do most things again…

“Why am I still holding on? I should just let go. Is it because of my family? No it cannot be, they think nothing of me. There isn’t any reason. Why should I fight it” The old man’s brain thought.

“Don’t give up! You have to see spring, you have to see your grandchildren grow.” Another voice said, but its voice seemed a mile away.

“I’m nothing anymore. I have done what I needed to do. Life is done with me.” With that thought the old man stopped breathing, a legacy ended.


beautiful work @TurtleSquish! its truly inspiring to me, i’ve actually started doing some more writing in the last while because of you.

so thank you for sharing these.