Prose? Fiction? - Shakespeare's Monkeys

Dotdotdotfrom mars 466 posts	on Apr. 10 2007 The way I understand it, they are really.. quite unrelated. Prose is a WAY of writing something. No use of fancy spacing for effect (that's poetry), just uh... regular type, writing. A textbook is prose. Probably most traditional short stories are prose. Lots of things really. I don't think the length actually matters much.
Derma Kaputfrom Possum Grape, Arkansas Associate, 2156 posts	on Apr. 10 2007 Fiction, in terms of a novel or short story, is a subset of prose. another subset would be essays. in terms of style of writing, the difference is between prose and poetry, not between prose and fiction.
Leanne Hansonfrom Just west of the lounge room Associate, 3708 posts	on Apr. 10 2007 Prose is prosaic, that is, the "ordinary" way of writing. That's why "nice prose" is a really bad thing to say to a poet -- all those who do -- grrr.
Laurie Blumfrom Cloud 9 Associate, 2074 posts	on Apr. 10 2007 Thanks! That sure makes it a bit clearer. I am sure alot of people are misinformed about this. But not on this site...of course
Nasium Jim 9 posts	on Aug. 9 2007 This is Prose that is both fact and fiction; it's all mixed up as to totally confuse both the writer, and the reader The Impossible Journey: Part I & II by Jim Nasium The time to leave this place had come what we wanted to do is left unfinished our business was not welcome the water front town was no longer safe for us time ran out sooner than we wanted it to so a new plan unfolds with no consideration arrangements have to be made right now a quick escape would be best at this point A cargo ship ready to leave the canal offered passage for desperate travelers the choice had to be made instantly we could leave with in the hour sacrificing only comfort for our safety perhaps we thought, it would be best to sail South through rough waters to the sea port town of Barranquilla The option was to leave at dawn crossing Southern Panama by foot cutting through over grown jungles following foot paths as old as time stopping to rest at ruins full of wonder the hot sun our only guide South walking slowly towards the safety waiting in another countries open arms Exactly how long the trail would take for desperate travelers on foot who had never been through this jungle was something that no one could be sure of the ship South seemed the better choice so we gladly paid our fare in Colombian Pesos made our way to our private quarters and thanked God we were safe at last Slowly sailing away from danger the dock and street lights fade a dark wee hours sky dissolves giving way to dawns red hues for an hour everything was perfect then a storm kicked up out of no where we felt the winds force growing stronger the closer the ship got to the storm As if it wasn't already bad enough we sailed through the center of the storm winds blew even stronger than before no one knew what would become of us perhaps we should have taken the trail that cuts through the uncharted jungle the sea is always rough this time of year but I for one fear the worst I said nothing to the crew about how I felt even though I knew in my heart we were in trouble sailing men have crossed these waters before us many smaller ships that were over burdened with holds packed full of illegal cargo even though this sea is unforgiving the time lost is important to us I wondered if luck was still on our side Tossed and thrown by the current the angry sea tortured the ship with no regard for the life on board or the cargo packed in the hold there was nothing left to do but pray as we slowly we made our way South twin diesel engines strained under the load fighting the waves that kept us from land All hands prayed that by dusk we would see land and finally dock to walk on dry land was all we wanted so the danger behind could be forgotten adventure waits in a new place for desperate travelers once forced to take the impossible journey to remain free for a little longer Barranquilla may smell like dead fish but the back street women are friendly the market place sells fresh sea food hotels are clean and rates are cheap it seems as if we found a home fruits of the land and maps given to us show that many wonders are waiting in a new place for eager adventurers who walk around higher than the Andes Part II. The best hotel in town was our choice we decided to go first class all the way we had pulled it off and were safe now they'd never look for us down here time to relax and enjoy ourselves we quickly made our connections names were dropped and secrets shared our business seemed wanted here Time went by quickly in Barranquilla even for very lucky and weary travelers the days were long the sun was hot nights were so very forgiving women were easy and the drugs pure hippies from all over the world gathered the exchange rate was thirty to one no one knew who were or why we were there Working our way East from Barranquilla we decided to stop in Santa Marta a small town that sits in a valley right on the beach with a snow capped mountain behind it Indians have found their way North up the Magdalana River from the Amazon to sell things that Hippies wanted the price was always right South through the center chain of The Andes many days were spent in old buses or hitching rides with cargo trucks between long walks through fields untouched since the beginning of time feeling safer with each miles walked South to a place we've got to see paradise on earth or so they say The impossible journey was almost over the bus slowed down for a curve in the road pulling slowly into the center of town near a fountain and a large church a bus station, bakery, cafe and hotel the market place full of people waiting for some hippies and a priest to pass by so the bus could come to a stop, and let us off Jim Nasium My Art: http://www.gymart.com/ My Poetry: http://www.gymart.com/poemindex.html My Books: http://www.lulu.com/jimnasium Art Sale: http://www.gymart.com/artsaledetails2.html
Nasium Jim 9 posts	on Aug. 9 2007 This is Prose that is NOT fiction at all... The Hunters by Jim Nasium Once while deep in The Amazon I watched the hunters dance with raised arms they spun in circles chanting hunting songs deep from their gut Dancing to build trust in their abilities there was no time to wallow in doubt a small gourd cup was passed around filled and refilled with a magical hunting potion The potions scientific name belongs in parentheses right behind the Indian name, chi chi doro somewhere on the sketch pad of my colorful past unplugged and left motionless for too long The fire burned through the night hunters dance and chant and wave their arms women sit and watch in anticipation of the feast to come no one seems to mind me being here Dawn lights the way for the hunters carefully making their way into the jungle poisoned arrow waiting in leather sheaths on the backs of the brave men who wear them Spears and blow guns held securely sights have been set and goals reached the men return slowly to the village burdened by the weight of the kill Women prepare the feast for the tribe while the men bathe down in the river I sit and write about what I saw the air is filled with the aroma of fresh meat cooking Jim Nasium http://www.gymart.com/ http://www.gymart.com/poemindex.html
Nasium Jim 9 posts	on Aug. 9 2007 And this is not Prose... Sometimes The Wind Will Blow by Jim Nasium In the haze of early morning out in the middle of no where the opium farmers offers dreams that can only be had there days spent chasing the dragon lost in another place you don't need to say a word it's written all over your face Out of the heat of mid day you rest inside the hut young girls fan and serve you don't care you're stuck in a rut they are more than willing to satisfy your every need you sit there with a needle in your arm watching your self bleed Safe in the darkness of night you lay quietly all alone don't need a computer a TV or telephone yet you are in touch with the forces of the universe tomorrow you'll do it all again things are getting worse In the haze of early morning out in the middle of no where the opium farmers sells dreams that can only be bought there you said you didn't want to stay now you don't want to go rain will fall now and then sometimes the wind will blow ©2004 Jim Nasium My Art: http://www.gymart.com/ My Poetry: http://www.gymart.com/poemindex.html My Books: http://www.lulu.com/jimnasium Art Sale: http://www.gymart.com/artsaledetails2.html