Article 6800 of fa.future-culture: Path: ifi.uio.no!internet-mailinglist From: HEATH MICHAEL REZABEK <REZABEH1648@COBRA.UNI.EDU> Newsgroups: fa.future-culture Subject: scrytch.faq Date: 12 Mar 1994 08:31:04 +0100 Organization: Internet mailing list Lines: 71 Message-ID: <2lrr3o$hih@ifi.uio.no> Reply-To: Future Culture <FUTUREC@UAFSYSB.UARK.EDU> NNTP-Posting-Host: ifi.uio.no Return-Path: <<@UAFSYSB.UARK.EDU:owner-futurec@UAFSYSB.UARK.EDU>> Original-Message-Id: <19940312073056.17998.ifi@ifi.uio.no> Original-Date: Sat, 12 Mar 1994 01:31:10 -0600 Comments: To: FUTUREC@UAFSYSB.UARK.EDU, aleph@pyramid.COM Comments: cc: leri@pyramid.COM To: Multiple recipients of list FUTUREC <FUTUREC@UAFSYSB.UARK.EDU> scrytch.faq Q : What is "scrytch"? A : scrytch grew out of a need to write. more specifically, scrytch grew out of the need to try out collaborative prose in a networked forum. the idea was that multiple authors could combine various approaches and ideas, and that the finished work would be richer than the sum of its parts. the problem was that the e.list environment [in which scrytch is now being done] wasn't conducive to "finished" works, long works, or even necessarily collaborative works. the first two problems were /almost/ limitations of the medium, and the last had to do with a raging debate in lit circles about authorial property and appropriation. what we ended up doing to come up with scrytch was concede: "ok, let's say that we treat this prose as a sort of compost-pile, memetic silage, idea-humus? and more, what if we all agree that for the purposes of scrytch, words are fluid; it's a writing exercise, so let's say we can all appropriate freely bits and bytes from each others' scrytch? we can maybe publish 'anthologies' of scrytch some day, but can't sell 'em, and can't claim it all as any one of ours? what do we get out of this individually? well, we get to see if collaborative prose can even WORK in the network environment. we get to try out those cut-up and appropriation writing techniques that Burroughs warned us about. we get to develop 100% net-rooted prose if we want. we get to try ANYTHING topic or approach-wise, and we get to hone our respective styles in relation to the other scrytchers, so that when we DO go out and write a larger piece for sale or whatnot, we've had the hands-in-the-dirt practice with freedom of ideas and style to do it well!" so this is what we agreed on, and now a bunch of writers are scrytching. Q : is there any more info available? A : you should gnow already whether or not this is an approach which attracts you; if you want to dive in and start scrytching, send a SUBSCRIBE message to <fixion-list-request@netcom.com> ... if you want to get an e.copy of the next "PSYCHODEGRADABLE," the in-process scrytch "compilation," send a say-so to <rezabeh1648@cobra.uni.edu> ... if you just want to be left alone to write your work in peace, ignore this message and do NOT send it on to others who might be interested. the rest of you, FEEL FREE TO FORWARD! APPROPRIATE as APPROPRIATE < scrytch@miskatonic.edu > "etceterate at your own risk" the sign above the button read. five billion fingers reached out in a slow motion process, like dying, dying to push it, dying to find out.. like standing on top of a huge building in a huge city under huge ultraviolet skies and looking down at the rushing hour below, insekt movements of cars and people, the giddy urge to leap intoxicates.. I meet this scrytch girl downtown today, scrytching with the high street hubbub, ducking, weaving, sometimes crouching down listening, sometimes scrytching the air with her hands, sometimes standing crane-like, taking it all in. The bits of barbed wire and razor blades woven into her prismatic dreads cut the sunlight into colours that no-one knows the names of. We go for a walk down the motorway, six lanes of pure metal speed, hand in hand down the fast lane facing the oncoming traffic, horrific pile-ups unfolding in our wake: "You know," she murmurs huskily into my ear, "the world wants plastic trolls. It wants TV Dinners, it wants Poppin' Fresh Dough. It wants neon eyeliner, FuckMe-Red lipstick, Teen Spirit, Gerry Curl. The world wants people dressed as hot dogs." -- and then there are only words --