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Young Writers Society


Input would be appreciated.



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Points: 2990
Reviews: 24
Mon Jun 27, 2011 8:18 pm
phantom of the potter says...



Hopefully there are more Scarlet Pimpernel fans on here than I realize, and share my thoughts that the concept of the story would make a decent SB.

Anyway, for those of you who don't know, the story takes place in Reign of Terror-era France and England. A group of dapper English gentlemen decide that - sod it all - they are going across the English Channel to rescue to innocent victims from the guillotine. The group becomes quite infamous in both France and England, and begin to be known as the 'League of the Scarlet Pimpernel'. Of course, the identities of the men are kept secret. (For safety reasons, you'll understand.)

What I'd like to do is turn that basic concept into a storybook. None of the original characters would appear in the SB - everything would be up for grabs. We'd need a leader of the group, group members, members of the French police, possibly historical French figures (but whether we'd need them would be debatable).

If there's enough interest, I'd like to discuss how to make the concept into a really good SB. Do we want it to be relatively historical in context, want to take it out of France completely, want to set it in France but have no historical contraints?

So, please respond if you've read this, even if just to say "I hate this concept and it will never make it as a SB."
"The grasshopper!... Mind the grasshopper!... A grasshopper not only turns, it hops!... It hops!... And it hops jolly high!" ~Erik, The Phantom of the Opera
  





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Gender: None specified
Points: 19207
Reviews: 192
Sat Aug 20, 2011 2:16 am
EloquentDragon says...



AAAAHHHH!
What have you done to the Scarlet Pimpernel! AAAAAAHHHH!


(Which means: that's really cheesy.
Now if were a S.P.-ESQUE SBRPG, that might be okay...)

Although I must say, I am a loyal Zorro fan and the S.P. could never compare. MWah hah hah!
No more countin' dollars... we'll be countin' stars.

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"For a short space of time I remained at the window watching the pallid lightnings that played above Mont Blanc and listening to the rushing of the Arve, which pursued its noise way beneath. The same lulling sounds acted as a lullaby to my too keen sensations; when I placed my head upon my pillow, sleep crept over me; I felt it as it came and blessed the giver of oblivion."
— Mary Shelley, Frankenstein