[gus_massa]

> Did the explanation not make sense?

(Not the GP.) I still don't understand.

Is this like Reddit where everyone can post their work?

Is this like Wikipedia where everyone can modify a shared work?

Is this like a blog where only you can post?

---

One important recommendation for post in HN is that it must be at least a working prototype. It's not necessary that it is super polished, or fancy, but it must work minimally.

[n00bdude]

Hey, thanks for the response & thoughts - quite literally the most feedback I’ve ever had

It seems I need to make things more clear, but also, I just finally (yesterday) created the tags (build-a-block) categories, and haven’t yet started creating / organizing the blocks.

The idea is copyleft creation of literature / movies / plays, anything really.

I’ve been writing a short story series. While the short story is copyright, the characters themselves (which will be featured on blog) will be copyleft (CC BY-SA 4.0) which means you can create with/ reinvent them & sell them commercial

Say you want to be a writer & you want to do your own short story or make a film or reinvent a certain character from one of these short stories for a novel - you can legally do this & resell.

The overarching idea is Linux for storytelling / build your own distro

And demonstrated in a “microblog” format, where the “build-a-blocks” (reworkable writes) make for succinct posts that convey the basic elements.

Probably a best / good use case is in terms of “character-bank” - lotss (so far ~ 60+) of fiction story characters that can be reinvented / reimagined / evolved

Any thoughts on how I can maybe convey that in a more “accessible / succinct” manner?

In any case thanks again :)

[gus_massa]

I think you need to write at least two interlaced stories before submitting it here, because otherwise the idea is difficult to understand. (This is my recommendation, not an official hard rule.)

Somewhat related: The current popular version of the story of "King Arthur" is a mix of a bunch of books written by different unrelated authors https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/King_Arthur#Medieval_literary_... Are you imagining something like that?

Somewhat related: Before launching the "What if?" serie in https://what-if.xkcd.com/ he wrote the first five stories just to be sure that following his idea it was possible to write some interesting post. (I can't find the post where he describe this.) I recommend to try your method and write at least 2 stories.

[n00bdude]

> Somewhat related: The current popular version of the story of "King Arthur" is a mix of a bunch of books written by different unrelated authors https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/King_Arthur#Medieval_literary_... Are you imagining something like that?

Yes - pretty much exactly like that.

To make an analogy, kind of like “cryptopunks” in the world of crypto - except instead of “images” you buy & use as profile pictures, these characters have “behaviors, traits, persona, etc.” (revealed in the story) that a wannabe writer can reinvent & use to write an original short story, movie, novel etc. (but has to be copyleft licensed CC BY-SA)

> Somewhat related: Before launching the "What if?" serie in https://what-if.xkcd.com/ he wrote the first five stories just to be sure that following his idea it was possible to write some interesting post.

I have written 2 part short stories, but your idea of connecting “unrelated” short stories sounds a next step

The stories are pretty good .. maybe I should make more of them free? I have zero lit community to talk to about this so I do much appreciate you helping me “conceptualize” this & providing the resources by which to offer comparisons / explanation..

Maybe I’ll just give them all away for free. (Almost am at that point anyway) In any case, will share with you in comment a short story I wrote to give you an idea the kind of story. Thanks again - and if you’ve any more thoughts I’ll check by here

Enjoy your Sunday

[n00bdude]

London Thrift

“Let’s hit it.”

Bby grl said so to Bookie, her bodyguard accountant, who punched the big-speaker’d stereo.

Bad-ass funk bopped out the boom-box. The couple cut out the apartment, down the elevator, into the city.

The two shuf-step’d down the block — going shopping, tune-bumping on the walk.

Speakerboxxx was on Bookie’s right shoulder.

On his left was an armoire of drawers cuz some days that bby grl really bought clothes.

“With fashion, there’s only the Present.”

It was an outlook she played by ever since a wee orphan, growing up all on her own on New York City streets.

It all started @ age sixteen, when bby grl thought enough peeps looked her way to throw a hat down, pose kitty.

Most folks did pass by looking.

One tossed her two tokens, Knox Golden.

And then one noontime a limousine pulled up.

bby grl said she’d only take a ride to negotiate a Modeling Contract to her liking.

Next day she was showcasing new styles, live-modeling her Oliver Twist origins on the streets.

Cameras snapped, coins stacked.

Shows & shoots kept booking.

But on any day she had free, her most favorite thing to do was to go shopping & bby grl always got hers from London Thrift.

The warehouse was nondescript, black steel & rusty, tucked away in Chelsea.

On the door, Bookie knuckle-knocked specially. Door opened.

bby grl dash-stepped inside, aisle-strolling, not so pleased w/ the viewing.

“This wear’s neither here or there.”

Didn’t take bby grl but seconds to see what to her was worth wearing.

“Wasting my time ..” she sighed.

as bby grl didn’t sport just anything, but outfit & accessory so vivid, her own.

“This thrift reminds me of dish-soap.” she reflected, “Soapy watered-down colored fabrics, cut in odd ways.”

Her words cut to the bone of the LT mgmt but somedays @ a thrift shop, best in show just wasn’t in stock.

She ran her hand through a rack of blouses, pushed it over.

“Whoops.”

& that bby grl sure was dramatic but entertainment was her biz & she was bored, mostly.

“Kidding me.”

She stopped by a neon color’d raincoat, reached into the pocket, pulling out — “Yesterday’s Paper, literally.”

In her hand was the Times from yesterday; London Thrift, a local treasury.

At this point, she screamed as shopping with Excalibur taste, even for bby grl, became overwhelming.

“Bookie’ve you a cigarette?”

Bookie had two packs, & handed bby grl one of hers.

bby grl took a sec, lit up right there, aisle 9.

Bookie lit up, too.

He fucking hated shopping.

Would crush skulls to get out of going but somebody had to carry bby grl’s latest & bby boy sure wouldn’t do so.

She blew a cloud of smoke, long & slow. Felt nicotine.

Suddenly, was noticing —

“Y’see that?”

She was pointing her red hot cigarette-tip to a distant clothes-bin

w/ vision for one in a million.

“Hold this.”

Next thing, bby grl was reaching her arms up.

Bookie was breathing-in a long drag when she jumped — flew — up through London Thrift.

Arcing over, she dove in a clothes-bin of denim.

The LT mgmt ran up to watch as bby grl, enmeshed in an ocean of shades, electric-eeled her body, direction × rhythm towards which she envisioned.

And it’s worth mentioning that swimming through clothes just came to bby grl naturally.

Suddenly!

Blow-holing out the Denim Sea, crowned atop a fount of blue, bby girl, aerial flipping through the thrift store, landing right beside Bookie, raising up the Blue-Jean Baby Blue Jeans she’d found.

“What Stevie Nicks wore in Dreams ..”

Having fished out proper vintage, she stepped behind a calligraphy screen,

right-quick, slipped into the jeans.

Reaching in her blue-jean back-pocket, she pulled out a Walkie Talkie, pressed & held the button, which connected her to the intercom:

“Bring in the real, please.”

Along an aisle of ‘Lost Sock’ Collection Boxes, an Arabian Tent was opening.

A Merchant was unveiling barrels where like gems, exquisite garments were cached.

“Goods from the Silk Road ..” said the Merchant.

Some days Exotic Fashion happened bby grl’s way.

she didn’t take it for granted.

without delay she pinged like a lazr b/w the articles, discerning eye yay-nay imprompt-choosing.

She cast her choice fashion through the air.

Rainbowing-up from the bazaar, colorful fabrics yonder-flying across London Thrift.

@ it’s end was Bookie, dash-running around mad w/ armoire, catching outfits, teeth bit through both his cig & bby’s.

Somehow, he was managing to catch every last piece of fashion — until a red-white striped top-hat landed in the top-drawer.

Bookie slammed all four drawers shut fast.

“Miss,” he said, “No more fashion will fit.”

& bby grl didn’t never not once want to quit when shopped hot on a spree.

“But it’s like that.”

& she did, after-all, much appreciate all the trouble Bookie’d gone to to catch her fashion in the drawers so neat.

“So let’s book it.”

bby grl walked out London Thrift.

@ the counter, Bookie reached in his pocket, pulled out / dropped a sack of gold coins, jubilant to be done shopping.

“By the way,” bby grl was saying to Bookie, “When we get back to the apt we’ve got to go shopping @ bby gap w/ bby boy.”

as so hearing Bookie thought to smash down the armoire into a blaze of incredible fire, but bby’s style counted on him & so he self-controlled & tantrum-contained

//for every generation, there’s a bby