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 Courtesy of the cartoonist, Clangnuts
Courtesy of the cartoonist, Clangnuts
Ah, the dreaded cliché! The worst feedback a writer can get is, "Well, it sounds sort of cliché, doesn't it?"

All authors want to be original. If someone even mentions that a writer's work reminds them of someone else's, the writer tenses up. "No, no, no, I'm nothing like him," he says swiftly. "I've never even read him."

"Yeah, but it's kinda like him," the reader persists, believing she is giving a compliment rather than an insult. "He's incredible, toi should read him!"

The thing is-- it should be a compliment when a reader compares your work to a published writer. We all have our influences. It is important to know that there is no new idea. If you've considered something, odds are there was someone before toi who considered that very same idea. It doesn't make toi unoriginal ou a copy-cat. It just makes toi human.

toi as an individual are very unique. Our experiences, family, friends, and personality combine to make a fingerprint that no other can replicate exactly. And even if toi came up with the idea of a scientist and his alter-ego without ever even hearing of Robert Louis Stevenson, toi can still write that story and add your own personal perspective on it. T.S. Eliot once a dit that "Mediocre Writers Borrow; Great Writers Steal."

And who do we consider to be great writers? Shakespeare. Steinbeck. Dante. Poe. Do toi really believe their ideas were completely their own? Shakespeare, for example, wrote numerous plays with creative plots that he borrowed either from history ou from stories much older than he was. Romeo and Juliet was a retelling of the old Roman Romance, Pyramus and Thisbe, with smatterings of history. He does not try to hide the roots of his plays. In fact, he often celebrates them. In A Midsummer Night's Dream for example, the Mechanicals parody this tale par putting on a poor performance of it. If toi think that it ends with that, Twelfth Night is based on an old Italian story, Gl’ Ingannati. Othello's tale comes from Cinthio's Desdemona.

If Shakespeare's écriture was not original, why is he celebrated? For the way he tells these classic tales and makes them his own. His language, his characters, and the way he strings together history and fiction into beautiful pieces of theater. To say nothing of Steinbeck and Dante who used the Bible plus often than once, ou Poe who used classic poetic patterns to make his prose plus interesting. Every good writer steals from one another.

This includes what we call the "cliché." All a cliché is, in the end, is an old idea. Now toi have two choices when it comes to clichés: embrace them ou reject them. Do not dilly-dally between the two. Because if toi write something and believe it's a cliché, and toi didn't want it to be a cliché but toi leave it as it is, it will come off as poorly executed. No one will be interested in it. They'll say, "It's been done before, and I don't care." This isn't to say that clichés don't have their uses! In fact, embracing a cliché and remodeling it can make a very interesting work. These can come off as a critical text, a parody, ou even a complete reevaluation of the original cliché.

Let us take for example the classic tale of The Stinky Cheese Man, which completely deconstructs the old fairy tale, The Gingerbread Man. Fairy tales are often remodeled because they are the oldest and most familiar cliché of them all. Gregory Maguire has created a career out of transforming old, two-dimensional fairy tales into political commentaries. The appeal of clichés is that they are so familiar to us, when we find them in unfamiliar territory, it startles us. Another example of remolding the cliché in télévision and film is the work of Joss Whedon's Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. Not only does he change the meaning of the word "vampire," but he changes our idea of a "slayer," not only par making her female, but making her a blonde cheerleader.

Certain schools of literature and theater have made a whole genre out of parodying clichés. Existentialism challenges things that the world takes for granted (Camus, Calvino) and Beckett and Ives drafted Theater of the Absurd out of cliché concepts.

So the cliché is not something that we necessarily need to avoid at all costs. Every cliché can be retold and remodeled into something new. If toi find that toi have (accidentally) written a cliché, don't just abandon it! Embrace it! Take for example, the following short, short story.

Once upon a time there was a princess. She had beautiful long blond hair and loved skipping out in the woods on the weekends looking for adorable woodland creatures to call her pets. Then one jour she stumbled upon a frog. She found it to be so cute that she kissed it and it turned into a prince!

Rather than ending this tale with a "Happily Ever After," try to think of a few plus interesting endings other than that.

Examples: The princess dragged the prince to the château to be married immediately. The prince, still dazed and confused par the fact that he was suddenly human, went back to his usual ways of lounging about and eating flies until the princess began to nag him incessantly. Furious, he decides he loathes the whiny beast and marches back accueil to his swamp, where he lives still, sitting on a rock and eating flies, doing as he pleases.

The princess screamed and began beating this stranger with her bourse, sac à main before pulling out her mace and threatening to call the police and running back to her castle.

It is not difficult to put a new spin on an old idea. Those examples were just off the haut, retour au début of my head, but if toi put plus thought in it, just imagine the ways toi can twist an old cliché for your own devices!

Just a recap: It is not a bad thing if something toi write reminds someone of something else. "Mediocre Writers Borrow; Great Writers Steal." And embrace ou reject a cliché. If toi waver in the middle of each, then it will come off poorly. It is a perfectly fine thing to embrace a cliché, and plenty of good works of literature have come out of such a practice.
added by axemnas
posted by ZekiYuro
Tobias Kellerman
Basics: Age 17, Born April 23, 1968. Lives in Berlin, Germany
Brown hair, blue gray eyes.

What is your happiest memory?
My happiest memory was when we moved to Friedrichshain. My dad got a promotion and we had to move. That is when I met Ivonne. We grew up together and we have really been best friends.

What don’t toi want anyone to find out about you?
I would do just about anything to get Daniela to be my girlfriend. We've been dating but I want a plus committed relationship with her. That is kind of scary since her father is head of the local Stasi.

What is the best part of your...
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posted by AshleyA-Brizzle
I sit alone,
alone in the dark.
no place to run,
no place to hide.

he is coming after me,
he is looking everywhere.
he wont stop until he finds me,
until he is here

he tells me that im ugly,
that im unwanted here.
he will try everything to hurt me
to see me cry

he loves to watch the tears run down my face
to me there is no greater pain....

he has found me.
what can i do?
were can i run?
were can i hide?
were can i escape this pain inside?

i am afraid,
not of him, but of his words
he cuss's and swears at me.
what can i do?
how did i anger him?

He swears at me still
and yet i still cry.
he sees the tears,
he wipes them...
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posted by rebaj2010
Preface
Three boys, one girl. None of them are fighting fare and they will do whatever it takes to get her. toi my be wondering why she is so special, but to answer that question toi have to venture into these boys heads...


Chapter 1
Mika

"Oh no, my new tanktop" Heather wined par my side. She was so annoying, but so hot.
"Shut up, Heather" I a dit getting up from the lunch table, tableau where hr had dropped pizza sause on her rose tank.
As I walked across the lunch room, ducking to avoid fling carrots, I glanced to my left. I caught Kate out of the corner of my eye. I paused and backed up a step. She...
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added by 89onuraslan
added by r-pattz
Source: free-your-mind.tumblr.com
posted by zanhar1
Really old thing I dug up. Because I was reminded of it.

Elise stood before two paths. Upland trail, read the sign, rickety and made of moss eaten and decaying wood. And Downback Thickets, indicated its sister sign.
What a lonely, bleak place, Elise pondered. She looked skyward. The surrounding trees were rather intrusive, blocking her view of the foggy-quartz sky.
She nudged at a rock with her big toe.
Her big toe?!
“Where are my shoes?” She muttered aloud. When had she Lost them? How hadn’t she noticed the mud squishing between her toes? She looked over the ground.
No sign of her Uggs anywhere....
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posted by dragonwriter
Bullets fly through the air at a man behind a car. He rolls from the car to an alley avoiding the gun feu and makes a run for a motorcycle on the other side. Once getting there he pulls a .44 out of a saddle bag on the side and takes off as fast as it can go. No sooner than he hit the throttle the force was on him once again with heavy feu whizzing past his head. With them picking up speed he starts avoiding the incoming traffic hoping they continue to miss. He pulls the .44 from the étui de revolver, étui and fires a few shots back. He turns back and holsters the gun and tries to stay ahead. After a few plus blocks a croiseur gets beside him and shoots his back tire. The bike loses control and as he tries to turn it flings him off into the side of a parked car. With some broken ribs and a banged up leg and tries to run but hits the ground as an officer tackles him.
posted by para-scence
Inspired par the song, "Circle" par Flyleaf. :)

"His cœur, coeur ripped out to montrer me he loved me, but I wouldn't believe him. He did all that he could, I still would not believe him!"




I sat on the school bench, my head in my hands. The whole world was spinning, and I couldn't keep my balance. My cœur, coeur was encased in a thick glass of guilt. Nothing I could ever do would change this...

He had told me he loved me.

But he was my best friend; he couldn't feel that way about me. It just wasn't meant to be...

So I'd pushed it off. I'd laughed, and joked around with him about it. He seemed to go along with...
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posted by edwardsca
    It was a cold winter morning. The wind was a cold, rapide, swift breeze. I was upstairs in my room turning page par page reading.I went down to eat my warm, golden biscuits on the old cracked wooden table. I went to go get the bucket and some water to wash up, the bucket was broken and the water was freezing cold like the rough winter nights. After my refreshing bath I went to go get dressed, I put on my chemise which was red as my own dear mother's cerise sweet lips. I zipped up my jupe it was black like the midnight sky, and buckled my black shoes. I was walking down the dirt...
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Well,he walked up to me and he asked me if I wanted to dance.
He looked kind of nice so I a dit I might take a chance.
When he danced he held me tight
And when he walked me accueil that night
All the stars were shining bright
And then he kissed me.

Each time I saw him I couldn't wait to see him again
I wanted to let him know that he was plus than a friend
I didn't know just what to do
So I whispered " I l’amour you"
And he a dit that he loved me too
And then he kissed me.
He kissed me in a way that I've never been kissed before,
he kissed me in a way that I wanna be kissed forever more.

I knew that he was mine so I gave him all the l’amour that I had
And one jour he took me accueil to meet his mum and his dad
Then he asked me to be his bride
And always be right par his side
I felt so happy I almost cried
And then he kissed me.
added by darcied23
added by segafan
 accueil of the freely and Justified
Home of the freely and Justified
On a cold, dreary evening
Sleep was improbable
Emerging from my bed
Like a delicate butterfly
Raindrops pouring on my smooth, darkened window.
Pondering miraculous thoughts
About being a teen in America

Freedom to express myself as an individual
I want to relinquish my profound story
Being a teenager with freedom is
Hopeful
Rewarding
Honorable
Desirable

The past is behind me, the future is just beyond my grasp

Learning to be flawless through life's experiences

Having the pleasure to persue my ambitious talent

Being a teen in America simply is my stepping
stone to future greatness.
The only sound that could be heard in the large hospital of Melbourne was the continuous beeps from the room in which Jamie's daughter lay.

The white walls and the bright yellow lights were too much for Jamie too take and the question which he dreaded to ask himself filled his head. First of all why is my precious Stephanie in here? Nothings wrong with her she stayed at Ashley's all weekend. What could have happened? and secondly why hasn't that receptionist stopped staring at me. She hasn't looked away since i sat down.
Jamie looked down at his watch, it was eight in the morning. He had been...
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added by henrik1964
posted by Cutebutcrazy--
My name is Gennive Mason.
I am 13 years old.
And oh yeah. I'm the last vampirehunter alive.
You pobally think it's so cool. " Oh yeah she's the last vampire hunter alve. toi must be everyones hero." Wrong. No one and I repeat no one can know about me ou vampires ou warer loups ou shape- shifters ou witches. toi see it goes against code. The sacred code of all night creatures even I have to fallow it ou I'm dead. par law it says if a vampire hunter tells anyone about the night creatuures they send some one then it's bye-bye hunter. Lovley isn't it. I find it kinda ironic. My job is to find and...
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posted by floraisbest1
Then the guard gives (flora, musa, aisha, nabu, riven, and helia food).

diana's guard: here is some nourriture (specifaclly leaves)

flora: dont toi think diana was way to specific, she told her friends.

(everyone starts eating except for flora)

helia: whats wrong flora arent toi going to eat something.

flora: dont toi guys think that guard was way to specific with our food.

nabu: your right but why would diana put something in the food? she obviously wants to talk to us and we need our strength ou we'll starve to death.

flora: im still not eating

aisha: flora please dont be stubborn

flora: im not being stubborn...
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posted by dragonwriter
I awoke a couple of hours later. I looked around for the old man but he was nowhere ti be found. I got out of the lit and starting walking to the front door to see if he went outside. When I opened the door there was nothing but black. When I turned back around he was standing there.
"Where were toi going? toi need your rest so go back and lay down." He went to grab my arm to lead me back to the lit but I pulled away. "My name is Shaun so stop calling me boy old man. I don't need to lay down, I need to go." As I turned back to the door he grabbed my arm. "Go where? toi have nowhere to go....
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