Prarilius Canix’s idea. His description:
GAPAs, will you make a thread for Musers who have written/are writing/want to write books? It would be a good place to bounce ideas off of other people who share that interest.
175 thoughts on “Books in Progress”
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Wow, GAPAs! You don’t waste any time! (First post?)
Yes, I was first post! However, I am making a huge effort not to be pointless. Um…
What’s your favorite genre of books to write? Mine’s fantasy, although I like fiction in general.
Can we post other types of writing for critiquing as well? Like, poems? (I write those sometimes as well.)
2nd post! thank you sooooo much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this is like, perfect timing!
My thanks to you, GAPAs.
Ok ,will someone teach me how to use quotation marks? My teacher says i’m doing it wrong and i don’t understand. May i have an example of right and wrong so i can fix my writing and post? Thanks bunches.
i like 2 write extremely epic fantasy/sci-fi/adventure stories in my spare time.
6 – quo marks:
correct = “shut up,” he muttered.
incorrect = shut up, “he muttered.”
basically, put the marks around whatever someone’s saying.
I like writing realistic fiction and fantasy.
6-It’s a bit like this:
“Thanks bunches,” said grnqwueen2011. (RIGHT)
Thanks bunches,” said” grnqwueen2011. (WRONG)
As AH! said in 8, you put the marks around the quote itself.
I am writing a novel in first person. *is proud*
(3) Cat’s Meow, there’s plenty of room for poetry on the most recent edition of the Poems & Songs thread.
cool. i’m more a cartoonist than a novel writer. if i scanned some of my work onto the computer and sent it to the GAPAS could it be posted?
6- how old are you? i learned about that stuff in gr.3. but i’ll do my best.
quotation marks are use in speeech and in quotes.
speech:
“Hello my name is KAGcomix!” the musebloger said, “do you want to lear about quotation marks?”
“Why yes i do,” said grnqween2011, “If you would be so kind as to explain!”
quote:
“Quotatio marks are placed at the beggining of someones speech and at the end. but before the end quotation you must place another punctuation such as a comma or a period or an exclamation mark! if you want to continue the persons speech after you wrieHE SAID or whatnot you ahave to add a comma BEFORE the begging quotation mark. such as HE SAID, ‘COME WITH ME.’ that is what i know about quotation markes” (the KAG book of cool puctuation pg.65)
i hope that helped
I was trying to write a book.
What about skipping lines when you have quotations? Don’t you go to the next line when you use quotations? Or is that just creative expression and you can do what you want?
I’m STILL working on my nano. I’ll probably be working on it come next November. But I have fun writing it.
11-Oh, right. I’m not new here, but I take long breaks every once in a while. Thanks! =D
15-What’s a nano?
I wrote my NaNoWriMo novel, but I don’t like it very much. I didn’t take time to fully understand my characters since I was trying to write really fast. I actually don’t really like the idea of NaNoWriMo. Well, I like it in the sense that it gets people to write, but the books, when written in only 30 days, can never be really good. Because in order to write a really good story you need to really, really, really understand your character. You have to understand everything about them and give them some peculiar flaws and quirks that will make them memorable and realistic. And this cannot be done in 30 days.
18-They’re not supposed to be really good. It’s about proving something–to yourself and to the world.
Wow. That was deep. The main character of my novel flew his spaceship through a black hole. He’s a lightning calculator.
Question: Do you think that it would be risky to include the Philosopher’s Stone in a book because J K Rowling did it? It wasn’t her idea (alchemists were trying to find it in the Middle Ages), but I really don’t want to get sued. Opinions welcome.
20-You’d better not be able to get sued. I’ve seen a lot of other books that have the famous stone, so I don’t think anybody would really mind.
21- Thanks. I’m working on three books at the moment. Here they are, in order of most committed to least:
A fantasy
Another fantasy (surprise, surprise), the one with the Stone
A humorous sci-fi
I don’t want to be very specific, since somebody might steal my ideas. Yeah, I know I’m paranoid. If anyone feels comfortable posting their ideas here, though, I’d be happy to give feedback.
I am obsessed with inventing bizarre creatures in my stories.
23-Me too! Then again, I am writing a sci-fi story that takes place in outer space, but still…what sorts of creatures do you make up?
I like to write mostly fantasy, sci-fi, and historical fiction or a combination of all of them.
The story I’m working on right now goes something like this:
A spy trio goes arund the universe and makes lots and lots and lots of Really Random trouble, like falling cameras, invading Hot pink bunnies (sorry, I just couldn’t resist), Bikinis on ice planets, broken million dollar lawn ornaments. Dtuff like that.
It’s hard to sum it up like that Any ideas for mishaps?
19 – yeah, I know. As I said, I participated in it…I just don’t think the results are that,good.
25-They could team up with a stick figure. And then they could get teleported to the moon. When they fly back to earth in a flaming double decker bus with rocket boosters they could accidently unleash a plauge of moon creatures on the planet. B)
20 – no way. the PS has been around 4 way longer than Rowling has. think back around the Middle Ages. BTW, i’m thinking about starting a story where the main character is Perry Haughter. (switch the first letters around.) hehehe.
i’m writing a book
24- My creatures are usually slightly less or slightly more advanced than human beings, but not too far in either direction. A lot of them are rather rodentlike. Case in point- the Bukevri. There are many different kinds, they look somewhat like chubby bipedal woodchucks about three feet tall, and they have advanced to about the Renaissance level of technology. Of course, this is all subjective. It depends on the type of story I’m writing.
29-What’s it about?
30-Seems cool! Right now the main characters in my story are: a girl to whom I haven’t given a name (and probably won’t ever), a florescent purple, talking dog named Butler who writes dictionaries and encyclopedias, and a talking cat named Jasmine who looks somewhat like Sheeba from Sagwa (that wasn’t a connection I thought when I was making her, though) and she comes from a species called Lishidans #2 (as opposed to Lishidans #1, who are big green, snot-like blob things) who talk with British accents. Sounds like we both write pretty much the same style!
25- I like it, except for the double decker bus.
32-Really? The double decker bus mostly came out of my story. It’s one of the spaceships they fly in at the very start.
25- Mishap idea:
They go on an interplanetary cruise ship. Aboard it, they see a mysterious girl in a puce overcoat. The ship crashes on a flat planet that is flat because of a miniature black hole orbiting it. One of them gets kidnapped by a cult that devoutly believes the world is round and worships the Grand Orzan Vakkh Rutabaga. The cult will sacrifice the good guy in exactly π days. If that doesn’t work, it’s 3.14… days. The two good guys remaining have to rescue their missing member from the cult and find out exactly who the “girl in the puce overcoat” is.
34-Hmm, and then they could go to the moon/meet a stickfigure/bring a deadly moon creature to earth. Great idea!
I am inventing an entirely new world, where I am an incredibly advanced semi-human person. Everybody else is some sort of other animal. Must get off now! I know I said somewhere else on the blog that I don’t post past 8:00 or so, but I was out with my parents looking for glasses (not for me). “See” you all tomorrow!
The HAWK
Hi! Do you mind if I say something about the ” “” ” confusion???
I think that another thing confusing poor grnqween2011 might be that some people when they are speeking say “qoute un qoute” before something somebody else said/believes that they find crazy/ wrong. That usage is not really the same as putting qoutation marks around something a character says in a story.
Was that even (qoute un qoute) VIRTUALY sort of kind of maybe slightly helpful or just totaly confusing?
The HAWK
WOA! The GAPAs are so cool and powerful! Thanks!
I am currently working on several projects: I am “creating” the different creatures, drawing maps, and designing spaceships. Oh, and this has nothing to do with the book, but I make little newspapers for my planet (i. e. about every month I make one in my “spare” time! heeheehee!
) I think I will get off now to get ready for school. I’ll check the recent posts thing just to be sure…
The HAWK
I am pure fantasy fiction. Swords are great. Non-fiction always causes brain stalls.
Right now my brain is on a fanfic track. My latest has been a 6th-7th Harry Potter book. Harry meets a Necromancer (surprise, surprise). She is the cousin of Fleur Delacour and comes to the wedding. Over the summer, she teaches him more Dumbledore-style things (I personally believe that there needs to be someone to do this, as Harry is too stupid to carry on without Dumbledore).
Necromancers are really dark wizards, but not quite – they explore all fields of magic, whether good or bad, but always hang on to that shred of goodness in them. So my Necromancer is not good, but she knows the Dark magic. They are called by some to be Grey Wizards, as they know both white and black magic.
I should mention, though, that when it comes to writing this all down in story format, I stall. Biggest writers block ever. No, it mostly just goes on in my mind.
Books in Progress:
Dr. Nathan and Ceres
Riadim
The Trees
Voices (Logged In)
I once wrote an entire book called “the Organical Band”, which consists of a drum player who beats on pumpkins with celery sticks, a flute player on a carved carrot, a maraca shaker with bell peppers filled with beans, and a guitarist who has a guitar made with many different things. They tour the US, almost capture an escaped convict, tangle with Inspector John the detective, throw each other out the window, and run from crazed audiences. The word count was about 6,000 in the end. It was madness!!!
I like science fiction. Science fiction is awesome!!! I also like nonfiction.
Current books I’m reading:
2041
Fast Food Nation
41- reminds me of that one muse article on vegetable instruments.
I like writing (and reading!) urban fantasy (fantasy set in modern times, basically stories about the current day involving magic) and poetry. I also like writing (and reading!) fantasy. I don’t do as much writing as I do reading though I do write some. I mainly write poetry.
I tend to think about ideas more and I think a book involving catacombs would be cool. (please don’t steal the idea!) I’ve liked the idea of them ever since the catacomb issue, though I’ve now read Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman which is sort of catacomb-y although it’s set in the unused underground terminals of london.
ive bin writin a cuple a storys touch and go for the past few monts.
ones a romance (shouldn’t have said that, boys arent supposed to like/write/read romances) and another one is a horror that i got the idea for in 3rd grade. its called the great pumpkin and its about a pumpkin that comes to life, recruits pumpkin minions, and marauds the town killing to its hearts content while me and my friends use Airsoft guns, paintball guns, bows and arrows, weed killer, and a spaztic Shi Tzu named Shamrock to defeat them. all of my friends end up dying, along with all of the minions, and mee and the Great Pumpkin (1st mutant pumpkin)face off. it ends during the final charge of the battle *headbangs* sry im listening to Rock music. the book has a sequel. hopefully
8&10- lawl. i dont think thats waht she was doing wrong.
i dont write. outside of school, that is. *feels sad*
42-That article was sweet. I listened to the music online right before it came out, I think. Did anyone else?
RTH- I’ve often tried to create entire worlds. Most of the time I fail miserably. The farthest I ever got was with this continent called Ikraethonu, which took up nine sheets of paper and was inhabited by Bokhla, Bukevri and Kvydro. Maybe I should keep developing it.
ok, here i have a basic summery of my story. bear with me.
so, the main guy (his name is Najav so far, but that could change…) stumbles across and picks a bit of volcanic glass which apparently caused the HUGE crator that burned down the entire forest while he was on sentry duty for his village. Najav(let us call him N cuz his name is funky for typing) drags this weredog (lesser werewolf) he was on duty with back to the village through the river, and almost immediately faints after arriving in safety.
he wakes up a few days later in the resident healer’s attic, with the weredog, who is muttering about a stone and having to FIND it. then the healer (cathrine) comes in and gives him breakfast. the weredog escapes, and N tells cathrine bout the whole “i must find the stone” deal.
she pretends that she isn’t worried, but, upon leaving N to his meal, she goes directly to the basement, where she recieves a message via bowl of silvery half liquid (like silver jello). the message is apparently from the long dead elemental human (more later). however, before she can do anything else, cathrine is kidnapped by a werewolf, which is signifigant because werewolves are extinct. (note: the disapearance of the weredog is directly related to the reappearance of werewolves, but im not that far yet)
anyway, N hears cathrine scream and stumbles in the general direction of the sound. he eventually finds the basement room w/ the bowl of half liquid, and much to his surprise, a purple cat with flame markings leaps out of it and says, via his mind, that he is called Pyro. (this is an elemental cat. more later)
pyro tells N not to tell anyone about the volcanic glass he found in the center of the crater. then he tells him that cathrine was captured by a werewolf, and to wait until they “pick him up”. w/out any further explaination, he leaves.
N heads for home. although he has just eaten, the ten min walk causes him, in his weakened condition, to become famished again, which is good cuz its like lunch time for normal people who aren’t unconcious till noon.
after eating, N and his brother zamron(i will call him Z) do the farm work until sundown, when they eat again and go to bed. N has a bad dream, in which he is kidnapped by some sort of shimmery being and is prevented from saving the town from somebody w/ an icy voice and his army of bat-people (called Gamï, but we dont learn that till later) and creepy soldiers. he wakes up in a cold sweat, and gets up and does all his chores (feeding the animals, collecting the eggs, milking, that sort of thing). when he comes back in his father and Z have breakfast ready. its just another day on the farm. that night at dinner, however, their father announces that the three-day fair celebrating the end of winter is to be held the day after tomorrow, so they have a day of packing ahead of them.
N has basically the same dream as the night before, only this time, at the beginning, he sees two werewolves crawling over the wreckage of his home and the dead body of his father or Z(not sure yet). he gets up and starts packing. it is another fairly average day.
N has the same dream AGAIN. its very early in the morning, still frosty despite the revival of summer. he goes into the barn to warm up the leather harness for the horse cart to bring supplies into town. he hears a large boom in the distance and jumps on the horse to go investegate. they’ve gone maybe 10 yards when the horse FREAKS. it rears up and throws N, then bolts. there’s another explosion, behind him this time. he whips around, and there’s the werewolves, the wreckage, the body.
he sprints to town. there, the army is ransacking the town. and the guy w/ the icy voice looks just like… him.
just then, a tremor races through the ground and N is flung up in the air, then caught by the shimmery being, just like in his dream. (it’s a light dragon, just so you know. another elemental. almost to the explaination)
the scene changes.
now we’re introduced to the message sender from a few chapters back. her name is fantyné(F), and she’s a molder (imagine being able to touch ANYTHING and then “slide” into it, become it, i dont really know how to describe it. more later). she’s with an elemental horse called lightning and a cat called comet. they’re going to meet up w/ nighthawke, who happens to be the dragon who kidnapped N.
they finally arrive, very dramatically, with much whipping wind and flying dust. we begin to be introduced to the basics of F’s power. now we finally learn just what elementals are.
ok. so, there was this war, centuries (millenia?) ago, between the primitive humans, the dragons, the (elemental) horses, and the (elemental) cats. then F (who can slip between worlds/time, to some extent [but not infinitely]) comes along, causes peace, unitesthe dragons and horses and cats into the “elementals” who watch over the humans, who become sophisticated under strict guidence from the elementals. F, somewhere along the way, is given elemental status. then, (of course) the evil emperor’s ancestor convinces the humans to submit to his command and hems in the elementals to there world, with the dead world between theirs and his, and F in the dead world. (its complicated). now, F and the elementals have a wild sceme to use N, who apparently has rudimentary skill in magic, to conquer the current dictator and reestablish order and justice. however, he has to be initiated first.
they fly to the elemental land, where they meet more elementals. (maybe i can send some maps in later)
then N gets chucked into this cavern w/ poisonous lake in the middle, and finds note telling him to be quiet, hungry, and thirsty for three days. however, he slips on a rock and his leg goes into the Very Poisonous Lake (whose name means “place of horror”). it burns him, and he yelps (who wouldn’t?). then some gremlins (i think…) grab him and….*end of actual story, the rest is just vague outlines in my mind* i dont know. kidnap him i guess, and then, hes found and rescued by a fire dragon called ShÅ“rtivij (pronounce “short-of-ish”, name supplied by Ashlee) and then he continues training…
and that’s where i stand with this. suggestions? improvements? (choklit to those who have good, unexpected, or just plain wierd additions)
so much for my possible career in writing the summeries on the back of books… THAT was just the first three chapters!
47- It seems good, but overly complicated. Maybe cut some of the superfluous plot parts out. Like the cavern part. Of course, some writing styles can make complex plots drag, while others make them interesting. If you post a bit of the story verbatim, maybe I can add more conclusive advice.
Weird, unexpected, good addition:
How about there are two types of elemental animals for each group of animals. Mammals- cats and horses. Reptiles- dragons and ? Birds- ??? Fish- ??? Insects- ??? Expand as needed/desired/justfortheheckofit.
47- I don’t know why but your story kinda reminded me of Charlie Bone (you know, the elemental cats), Harry Potter, and a bunch of other fantasy stuff wrapped up into one AWESOME story. if you ever publish it I would definitely read it.
About subbestions— you could have the gremlins kidnap N and take him to ANOTHER underground lake where the dragon teaches him how to use his magic and how to swordfight and make peanut butter sandwiches. He gets initiated there too. then they go up to the elemental land and back to the village where they defeat the werewolves and find pyro who leads them to cathrine and they all live happily ever after. with the elemental creatures of course. and they defeat the ancient dictator person. how does that sound? I think its kinda boring. but i’m not feeling hyper tonite. last night i watched american idol and started talking in a british accent like simon. I was really hyper. really.
I have this nagggggging urge to write a book.Something I can come home to every day and be able to write down ideas.
If anyone has an idea for a character but is not going to write a book, and feel the character should be used, please tell me if you would like to let me use it! This would be of absolutely fantastic help to me.
I reeeeaaaaallllly need to. I already have some ideas, but…
51- Open character suggestions? I warn you, I will probably do too many for you to fit into your story.
52- Acually, the more the better. Becuase if I don’t feel one fits my story, I won’t use it. It’s great to have variety.
If you want to know the theme, it is masks. The masqurade kind. If you don’t thing your character would look good in one, well, whatever. Go ahead and post away! (Not like a party theme, like an alternate universe thing. Think the phantom tollbooth)
53- !! Phantom Tollbooth=school play. As you may have noticed from my current name. It sounds fun to make up a character for you, but I can’t think of one now. I was going to ask to be in the story, but the description of myself said too much.
Once I saw yet another book titled Circle of Magic, so I started to write a parody/humor/fantasy story full of references to stuff that happened in school. I originally called it Square of Magic, but I prefer Rhombus of Magic, I think. I wrote about four pages of looseleaf, back and front, in my worst handwriting.
So far, Marvin the mage’s apprentice (previous to the start of the story) messes up a spell and sets the king’s robes on fire while they’re visiting court at a neighboring kingdom as part of a contest or something. As the story begins, Marvin escapes jail, goes to his master formerly known as Smith (he changed his name to Dakozates because “Smith was too common”, and if you know my last name you’ll get it), they argue, various people enter and exit the room. Eventually (at the end of the fourth page), Smith (who is revealed to be a werewolf), Marvin(who I named after the paranoid android- he was originally supposed to be the main character but now all four are), Christine (a lady in the Court who happens to be a mage) and Pingus (her assistant who thinks she’s a penguin) are going on a quest for the holy grail, suggested by handsome Prince of the Realm Dweezil, because if they come back with a trinket, the populace will forgive them. Special cameo appearance by the Spanish Inquisition.
I should type that someday. Maybe when I know how it ends?
49- interesting idea, the whole 2mammals 2reptiles thingy. only, the 2nd reptile would be unknown and discovered later on in the story, and become key in the overthrowing of the tyrant.
also, if by cavern u mean the underground lake, i could definetly shorten it up/minorize it/delete it entirly. this is, remember, my first draft. so far though, im only writing like two paragraphs on the lake, then he gets captured by gremlins, which is an important part of the plot.
50- why thankyou. my sister- get this- read ONE PARAGRAPH and went “eragon clone!” AAAAAH!!!!!!!! nice with the other underground lake thing- i was thinking more of a wakes-up-in-musty-old-cave/room sort of thing. LOL.
so, what if the emperor-tyrant was really a gremlin in disguise, and the gremlins who capture N are really his secret police, and they want to brainwash him and drain his powers (via HUGE crystal that the gremlin-emperor’s great-great-great grandfather invented), but something goes wrong and the crystal instead gives N a vision of cathrine’s cell in the human capital. then, an hour after the gremlins leave to get a funcrtioning crystal, ShÅ“rtivij stumbles across the cave and gets him out of there. the two become great friends, and ShÅ“rtivij gets him back to F and the other elementals… then his real training begins.
49- here’s a writing sample from when he first meets F and Lightning and Comet and Nighthawke.
Suddenly, the dragon looked up. Gradually Najav became aware of a sort of crackling noise, accompanied by a soft swishing. The hair on the back of his neck tingled. After of minute of this, a sound like a windstorm started up, growing louder at a much faster rate than the crackling and swishing. Soon the wind in the clearing began to whip around in frenzied circles, scattering leaves and dust. The wind circled faster, until it was a horrifying, howling force that threatened to throw the dragon into the air. And then, right in the middle of the tempest, a girl appeared. She looked about as old as Najav, her green eyes glowing in her pale, sharp-featured face, and her black hair whipping around her shoulders. And a little tornado around the air where her feet should have been.
As she stepped delicately out of the spinning disk of air, her feet appeared, and the roaring wind in the clearing dissipated, along with the tornado. Najav blinked, wishing his hands were free to brush the dirt away from his eyes. The girl looked at him with one eyebrow raised for a moment, then turned to the dragon. A short time passed, and then the dragon released him. Najav turned and sprinted away. “Won’t get far!†the girl shouted after him, and the roots of the trees he was passing reared out of the ground and wrapped around his ankles. They hauled back and flung him over to where the girl was standing. “Not so easy as it looks, running from a molder, is it?†Her voice had a strangely staccato quality to it, like a drum, only musical.
54- yes, type it. its hilarious.
I always like doing this: Can we share our favorite character names for each gender? Or our favorite names in general? It’s fun to see what names people like.
54- You may certainly be in my story. Description please?
(You might look different in the story though)
I like writing fantasy, both with and without magic. I’m currently writing three-ish books. The first two aren’t really top priority, the last three I desperately want to finish.
-Itholianam: My first real book, in which people invade, most of them die, and I conlang myself into oblivion. Some stuff vaguely resembling magic.
–The RRR.1: A Museblog project, in which various Musers take turns writing a novel. About five teenagers who VERY UNPREDICTABLY discover that they have magical powers and are kidnapped away to another world. There’s a prophecy of sorts, too. And it still manages to be less cliche than quite a bit of fantasy I’ve read. -coughEragoncough- Click that link. Read.
-The Golden People: some sort of dystopian desert fantasy thing. Involves magic, guns, half-finished railroads, and quite a lot of sand. I personally refer to it as “the Iraqi steampunk story.”
-Dreamlandscape: my pathetic attempt at Nano, another dystopia about terrorist occupation and Museblog. Sort of. No magic, more sci-fi than fantasy and more realistic than sci-fi.
-Tales from the Butterfly Court: Political intrigue, Penty-style. Vaguely Asian, but I tried very hard to come up with a totally new culture so not really. When I’m done with it, it will span about fifteen years of the main character’s life, in which she falls in love with a subversive poet, poisons her sister, becomes queen, wears a whole lot of face makeup, and describes the sleeves of anyone within a five-foot radius. Not necessarily in that order, though. No real magic.
Story idea- Girl, about 14, lives in ny. is amazing flautist, goes to juliard. walking down street, sees a buisness card falling from the sky. next day she gets a phone call from the number on the card. the man on the phone sounds creepy and tells her to meet him at the restaurant down here street. thinksz, well im not that stupid, and doesn’t go. the next day she sees this normal looking guy following her home, but, hey, its NY so she doesn’t think anything of it. That’s the idea so far. i was thinking Gwen for a name.
59 – Penty (sp?)! Where have you been lurking?! I haven’t seen/read-your-posts for ages!
Oh sorry, off topic…
57 – So you want names? I’ll give you names… no gender specifications, though. I put stars by the ones I already using for my stories and dashes by my favorites.
Maga
Thesau
Aur
Ordeses
Melin
Ritod
Labiry
Skaylin***
Lisent
Jackéé—
Zemez
Zethra***
Iska***
Pareté
Fem-lé—
Comin
Arra***
Raen
Nirelko
Killion
Emahs
Durmed
Ramus***
Jik***
Raten***
Smitah***
Viz***
Mairead—
I have fun just making up names. I’ll get a word, then cut it up and use the pieces. Some names are just random things that came to mind – others are things friends have told me. And some are how people accidentally pronounce some words.
53- wow, reminds me a lot of mirrormask (a movie) If I think up any characters I’d love to share them.
51-What sort of book would you write? Sci-fi? Fantasy?
62- That would be fantastic! Thanks!
63- I guess a little of both, but think of it as “surreal fantasy” That sounds redundant, but surreal doesn’t necessarily mean “fiction.”
46-I know. I have an entire room full of drawings, maps, and half-written stories. And that room is sadly my room. My full room. ugh… And there are several versions: A medieval castley one, an outerspaceish one, one in the valley below a mountain, one on top of a mountain, one in sort of a flat area, one with curtain walls around it, one with a round area around it, one where there is one big continent and the rest are islands, one where not all of the land belongs to my country, one where there are planets in the same solar system fraught with enemies, oh, there are so many versions I can’t recall them all. Well, I guess that’s why I’m keeping all of those maps, to try to remember all of them… *sigh*
The HAWK
okee. open character i deas. you know how a lot of times witches eat little kids? what if the which was vegtairian and didn’t want anyone to know but felt her beliefs should be respected. okay no. that sounds stupid. nevermind.
am i the only one who doesn’t write novels? i do short stories and short comics and right noe i’m doing a full length comic. i already have the storyline writen out and the maincharacters character sketches. next i have to do the storyboard. then i will plan it out and do the script. sooo much work.
i like horror and grim gory thrillers. magic is good too. but i love tragedies.
58- I don’t believe what someone looks like is that important, and you said I might look different anyway, so I won’t go into detail, but I have yellow-brown wavy hair, blue eyes, and glasses. Over five feet tall, but only a few inches. I’m an avid museblogger and muser, obviously. You can go to any of the last three or four music threads and I’ve probably posted songs/artists I ♥ there. I play the trombone (also on the music threads, but you might not bother to look). I like Monty Python and Douglas Adams, among other things. I believe in penguin gods. I’m often confused, and when that happens I ask people what’s going on, what am I doing, if I follow you will I get where I need to be, other questions like that. People enjoy annoying me, and they say it’s because it’s easy and/or that I respond well. I try not to get too annoyed. Most of the time, I love being the center of attention. I’m a math geek. I alternate between happy insanity and sane depression most of the time, usually I’m insane among friends and sane at night. I stay up all hours of the night on the weekends, but school starts early. Is that enough information?
I like to read sci-fi books, escpecially Orson Scott card.
I write a lot, but mostly during recess at school so it’s some times slow going (:
The thing is, most of my stories are rather plotless. They are mostly like really long poetry (they don’t rhyme fyi).
I try to make words sing. I have whole notepads full of metaphors and things that I hear that I think are beautiful.
There is nothing I like more than to get totally lost in a good book.
69-What sorts of metaphors do you write? You know, you might feel at home on the Poetry thread.
69- YOU GET RECESS! grrr. i don’t
for Capry’s book;
A boy who’s brilliant at the violin. One day he buys an old, unusual fiddle that affects things around him when he plays it.
69-you new? and w00t for orson scoot card!
72- THAT IS LIKE THE COOLEST THING EVER!!!!!!!!
I will totally use it!!!!!!!!!!!!!
66- Actually, comics are extremely simple. True, you have to do those things, but really, it is absolutely no work at all! If you believe it is work, maybe you where born to be a blackjack dealer. (jk)
Hey guys, I wish I could wirte a book if I had time I have awesome Ideas but not enough time. Does anyone Write Fanfiction here?
54- your last name is smith and you don’t like it because it’s too common.
But don’t worry. It’s common enough to not have anyone stalk you over it.
76- Yes.
72 – that’s a really cool idea!
76 – I don’t write fanfiction, but I know Michelle W. (Luna the lovely) writes Harry Potter fanfiction.
My favorite names (other than my own) are Sophie, Ella, and Peter.
74- Glad you liked it. You can change the description of the character if you like, Capry, but this is how I see him.
He looks rather average, with wild brown hair and brown eyes. The only distinctive thing about him is a small conglomerate of freckles on one cheek that forms the shape of a musical note. He has a bit of Finnish ancestry (not as random as it seems. Just look at Finnish mythology in the Kalevala, and then think about his talent.)
74- The fiddle he gets is sort of blond wood, with lapis lazuli inlay on the bridge and the ends of the bow. Again, this is how I see it, but it’s up to Capry.
Here’s my whole list of books!:
The Black Lion. A really awful girl called Winifred moves to the peaceful, quiet town of Middletown (hmm, redundant?) and scoffs at the local legend, the Black Lion. Then, later that same night, she sees it. But because she’s a really awful girl, she won’t admit it, because that would be admitting she was wrong. Then a couple months later, her almost equally awful cousin, Henry, comes to visit, and proposes that they camp in the forest. Since Winifred won’t admit she saw the Black Lion, she has to go, or be revealed as a coward. So she goes. It’s really cold, and both kids think, for some reason, that if they fall asleep they’ll freeze to death. They fall asleep anyway, and wake up in the lair of the Black Lion. (Didn’t see that coming, did you? That was sarcasm, by the way.) They are saved by Henry’s little sister,Ella, and go home. Winifred says she’ll tell her cousins about her previous adventure with the Black Lion, but they go down to lunch, and in the questions and food, her cousins forget all about it. “And Winifred wore a smug little smile for days afterward.”
Three years later, a girl named Patricia is visiting her aunt,
and she meets Winifred and her friend Sam. For the record, Sam is very nice, and he knows Winifred’s secret. Patricia finds out about the Black Lion by reading Winifred’s very private notebook. The Black Lion is only supposed to be seen once a century, and since the last time, Winifred’s seen it again. So Patricia takes matters into her own hands and decides to figure out why. Sam helps willingly, and Winifred grumbles a lot but doesn’t make any move to leave. They look through legends, listen to stories, and in the end they summon a sorcerer from a thousand years ago, the very sorcerer who put a spell on the Black Lion in the first place. But before they can do anything, Patricia has to leave Middletown, because her visit is over. Before the Black Lion incident, she had been going to go camping with her best friend Amy, but Amy got the flu, Patricia was sent off to Middletown, and the week-long delay meant that the campgrounds were going to be way too crowded. So, while looking through brochures, they discover an archeological dig in a town near Middletown, a town that Patricia knew had been destroyed by the Black Lion. Patricia has never been interested in archeology, but she gets really enthusiastic about it, and since Amy loves archeology, they go there.
Meanwhile, guess who’s back? Henry and Ella. Winifred and Sam have to help Gideon (the sorcerer) fix a spell gone wrong, and prevent Henry and Ella from finding out.
And that’s about where my ideas end.
Next book:
Sara. For lack of a better title.
I have gone through a lot of plots for this book, because it was built around this sentence: “I’ve never ridden a horse in my life!” and then I added a few more sentences and finally maybe a page and then I tried to think of a good plot and failed. Originally, I had a vague idea of a revolutionary war spy character who was thirteen years old. Or if not a spy she was carrying some important documents to some important people. But I’m not really a historical fiction writer, so I ditched that. At present it’s sort of a fairy tale, like East of the Sun, West of the Moon. Only not like that, because she’s looking for her annoying cousin, not her true love, and there aren’t any trolls or anything. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, how about this:
Sara’s annoying cousin is missing. Everyone thinks he’s dead. I can’t remember his name; I’ll call him C for cousin. Sara, tired of everyone sobbing and weeping, wanders off into the woods, which is stupid of her. She gets lost. (Surprise, surprise.) She meets an old woman and her talking crow. She helps her spin yarn. The old woman gives her a golden nut. She leaves, slightly annoyed that the crow thinks she’s looking for her true love. She hates C, but she wants everyone to stop crying. She meets another old woman with a talking cat. She helps her dye yarn. The woman gives her a golden nut. She leaves, annoyed at the cat. She meets another old woman. She helps her knit yarn. The woman gives her a golden nut. She leaves, annoyed at the woman’s talking goat. She comes out of the woods. She meets a girl named Thomasina. Thomasina comes with her. They go to the city. Eventually they find C.
They go home, and live happily ever after. Sara never speaks to C again.
It’ll change, but you get the picture.
I’ll write about my other books later.
2- Fantasy and Adventure.
13- Past tense?
20- No.
39- “Harry is too stupid to carry on without Dumbledore.” Hear,
hear.
41- Cool!
47- PUBLISH THAT. I will read it. Summary, not summery. Sorry, Sorry. I can’t help it.
77- No, other end of the spectrum. That’s all I’m going to say.
Rhombus of Magic, Draft 1, Pages 1-3
Marvin knew he had a problem. He was currently chained to a dungeon wall.
“Okay,†he said, alone and talking to himself. “The first step is admitting you have a problem. What’s the second step? No, that’s quitting an addiction. That’s not it. What were the steps to freeing yourself from chains? Step 1: Find the key. Step 2: Insert key into chain lock. Step 3: Turn key. Step 4: Lift chain off arm or other affected area of body. Step 1 is a bit vague. What else can I do, that doesn’t involve motion from a dungeon wall to other areas, to find a way out?â€
A guard came in, thick skulled and with large muscles, shouted “Food!†and put the plate on the floor with the rats, who swarmed on it. He turned and started to leave.
“Wait!†Marvin hurriedly shouted. “Won’t you please unlock these chains? I can’t reach the food. It’ll only be for a little while.â€
The guard, who was exceedingly stupid, complied. Marvin decided not to push his luck, and once the chains were undone, simply used magic to knock him unconscious instead of trying to use brute force or risking logical reasoning. The door was unlocked. Marvin walked slowly and casually to the door, with the diplomatic immunity he was supposed to have as assistant to the mage formerly known as Smith, now known as Dakozates, because Smith was too common. Of course, when he’d accidentally set the king on fire, diplomatic immunity had been thrown out the door, but surely they would listen now. Still, he disguised himself as the guard, magically again, and was nervous until he got to Smith’s room (because nobody could pronounce his new name, Daku- I mean Deco- no, that’s still not right. See the point?) in Palace of Jade. Anyway, in Smith’s room he took off his glamour (call it what you will, the thing that made him look like the guard) and listened to the old mage’s rant on all he’d done for Marvin, and how was he repaid by all this, and after he’d stolen that phrase he should have known Marvin was a bad person, and the Royal Robes of Celebration would never be the same again, and third-degree burns were no joke either, especially on an eighty-five year old man, and he’d had no assistant to help him manage it. Marvin insisted it was an accident, as he had every time the phrase was brought up, and said that it was his subconscious thought and he hadn’t noticed. They fell to arguing over how much exactly the subconscious was to blame for it, and didn’t notice the knocking at the door until the person lost patience and came in. It was one of the Court, a mage herself, and her assistant, a slightly insane child who currently believed she was a penguin, and was magicked to reflect that.
Marvin quickly tried to disguise himself as anything, and succeeded in turning a shade of lime that was quite astonishing, but did nothing for keeping them from realizing he was out of jail, the opposite really, and clashed frightfully with his burgundy robes. The lady began speaking. Her assistant squawked at certain points for emphasis.
“I wished to speak with Smith about getting his assistant out of jail, but it appears that ship has sailed. How shall I alert the Court? Frightened gentlewoman, outraged representative, sending Pingus and being unreachable, hysterics? Or did you prefer to slip away into the night?
Really Pingus had no reason to squawk, but she did anyway.
Smith regained his composure first, and took a breath to begin shouting at the intruder, or chanting, or both, then looked at who it was, realized what she said, and said “Oh, it’s only you. Who knows you’re here?â€
I’m not that naïve; I disguised myself to unfriendly eyes. I’m a simple maid, with her simple cart of supplies. You didn’t answer my question.â€
“What question?â€
“You know what question.â€
“Oh, that. I don’t know. I suppose we’ll have to go into hiding. Again.†This last with a glare at Marvin, now returned to the proper shade of beige, and looking very sheepish.
The door opened.
Marvin succeeded in turning invisible this time, but there were now a set of burgundy robes suspended in midair.
Christine of the Court hurriedly began chanting, and Pingus turned into a box with wheels. She rolled back her sleeves, tied up her hair, and said, “Good enough.â€
Smith began shouting at the intruder.
“What right have you to intrude into my private quarters? Are you coming to take me away now, as you did to my innocent assistant? Taken away, to be starved to death, or poisoned!†He continued in this vein for several minutes, worked himself into a frenzy, and had to sit down and take deep, calming breaths.
The page from the delegate from Piland at Palace of Jade quaked.
“M-my master would like to offer any assistance necessary to ensure the safety of one of their most powerful public figures. He wished to send me to convey this information and discuss possible strategies. May I enter?â€
Christine said, “You may enter, and come join our council with Pingus.â€
Pingus turned back into a girl from a cart and sat in a chair. The page sat beside her. Smith continued to take deep, calming breaths. Marvin reappeared.
The page raised his hand. “If I may? Piland wishes to return you safe at any cost, and is willing to employ unorthodox means to do so. We have disguises, much like milady used here, to facilitate this.â€
Murmurs of agreement filled the room. The door opened.
Marvin, ever improving, disappeared and turned his robes sky blue. Pingus reverted to her boxlike state. Smith took in breath to resume his rant. The page took a message scroll from his sleeve, and pretended he was interrupted from reading it aloud.
Princess Kelly, disguised as another maid, entered and closed the door behind her. She appraised the hanging set of sky blue robes, the page, the other maid, who she obviously was surprised to recognize, and Smith’s invasion-of-privacy rant.
She said, “This never happened,†and left, closing the door behind her.
Everything regained some semblance of normalcy.
Smith asked, “Are you aware of my special needs? I have this timed rather precisely.â€
The page looked confused. “What special needs?â€
Marvin knew what was coming next, and rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Smith could act as he pleased regarding his condition, as long as it didn’t hurt anyone.
Smith took out a series of pictures of himself and began showing the assemblage them. “This is me at the new moon. This is me at the first quarter. This is me at the full moon.†A wolf stared at them. “This is the Spanish Inquisition hiding behind the shed.â€
Christine murmured, “I didn’t expect the Spanish Inquisition,†then winced as she realized her words.
The door opened.
“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition! Our chief weapon is surprise…surprise and fear…fear and surprise…. our two weapons are fear and surprise…and ruthless efficiency…. Our three weapons are fear, surprise, and ruthless efficiency…and an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope…. Our four…no… amongst our weapons…. amongst our weaponry…are such elements as fear, surprise…. I’ll come in again.â€
The door closed.
The door opened. To completely spoil the surprise, it was not the Spanish Inquisition.
His Esteemed Presence the Prince walked in. He was between thirty and forty years old, and was tall with a fair clean-shaven face and sandy brown hair. He was very photogenic and slightly vain, but he was clever. He said,â€No bowing, please, no groveling, no begging for mercy, please. I came here to speak with Dakozates and whoever he pleases to join him about the incident last night.†He, as it was previously said, was vain, but he had been taught by a professional linguist. And he had some basic magic training, as was the current fashion. For those of you who need a name, he was called Dweezil.
The prince continued. “We wish that this incident is forgotten as soon as possible, but the country is crying out for retribution. There’s only one thing to do. Send you on a quest!â€
Marvin was confused and stared as blankly as a cow would at an oncoming steamroller. Smith slowly nodded. Christine waited and watched.
“You get out of the country for a few years, and when you come back you give you give us the trinket you picked up and everyone’s happy. There’s one we’ve been waiting for about a thousand years. It’s called ‘The Quest for the Holy Grail.’ Sir Arthur last tried it. Accounts vary, but either the people who found it disappeared into the grace of God, or the French guys kept it. You will be pardoned when you return with it. You will be provisioned and sent off tomorrow. You may take whoever wishes to come with you. That is all.â€
Dweezil left, closing the door behind him.
Christine said, “Pingus and I are in.†She left to pack.
The page from Piland left quietly. He didn’t much care for quests.
Smith, completely withdrawn from the world, began to pack. Marvin often had to correct him.
After a time, Marvin overcame his shock and spoke. “What are we doing? Where are we going? What about Naomi? Why did I just ask that?â€
Smith favored him with a reply. “We’re going on a quest for the Holy Grail, because of your mistakes. No, don’t start, I’m tired of arguing. I don’t know where we’re going as long as it’s not here. We might as well choose now.†He took out a die with infinitely changing quantity and markings of sides, rolled it. “Three. We go left. You asked about Naomi because of an alternate world a couple hundred years in the future. She’s the producer. Is that all?â€
Marvin was silent for the rest of the packing, contemplating all this.
I have a problem. I want to put some magical peoples into a story, but I ran up against the fact that magical peoples would completely dominate non-magical peoples. Non-magical ones would also not be a threat to magical peoples. Any suggestions as to how to tip the power balance? This is probably a problem that a lot of people have with their fantasy stories.
You know, one would think that Smith is a common name, but apart from books, I’ve never met anyone named Smith. I haven’t met very many people, but still.
My list resumed:
Jillie’s Amazing Talking Journal and something to do with perfume.
Jillie Miller is indignant when she receives ‘My Diary,” (pink with rhinestones), as a birthday present from her penpal, Gretchen. But because the diary has a lock and her little brother has a habit of nosing around her room, she keeps it to write her deepest, darkest secrets in. (Partly ’cause of the lock, and partly ’cause Max wouldn’t look there for her deepest, darkest secrets.) But Max is more stubborn than one would think*, and he attempts to pick the lock. It works, but he drops the diary and when it falls to the ground, it opens and starts to talk. At first it only tells what Jillie has written, but after a while it tells other things, I’m not sure what.
Jillie finds out, and is angry at Max (naturally), but then they discover that it has dark intentions, and they destroy it, which causes Green Hollow, the town, to flood. In the floating debris the next day, Jillie finds a little bottle half full of perfume the color of ink, with the label worn off… And because she is unlucky, she picks it up and brings it in, and wears it. And it’s evil. Thats about as far I’ve got, so suggestions would be great.
*More stubborn than I would think. I don’t have a little brother. If anyone would care to tell me about them so I can write this thoroughly, I would appreciate it. I think.
A book without a title, or, An Adventure. I’m really bad at titles.
Martha is bored of grown-up parties, and when her sisters aggravate her one time too many, she runs away. Her sisters, Sophie and Claire, are forced to go after her and bring her back so they don’t get in trouble. Only it’s too late to bring her back, because she met a cooperative cabin boy and is in the proccess of stowing away on his ship. They follow her, but the ship sets sail before they can leave, and they’re stuck. Also, it turns out that it’s a pirate ship. And that’s all so far. It started as a play written by a friend and I while she was visiting, so there was limited time and we wanted to get to the performance, and it was cut rather short. It was also a musical, and I left that bit out.
Jenny. No, this is no relation to Sara, but like I said, I’m bad at titles, and Jenny came first. It was not my idea, but one of my friends and I were each writing our own version, so I cut out the ghost, and as much of the Secret Garden and A Series Of Unfortunate Events influences as I could. It’s about a girl named Jenny, whose parents die and she goes to live with her last living relatives. Her 4th cousin twice removed and his grand-daughter. It has somethng to do with mirrors. That’s all I know.
84- There might be something about that in the AD&D Dungeons Masters Guide. If they weren’t fighting and they lived in different countries, then it wouldn’t really matter. Also, like in Anatopsis, you could play up the domination, and make the magical people far more powerful.
Well, if you have a small group of magical people with only a limited amount of magic they can use each day (sort of) or you have the non-magical people be the only ones to be able to kill the magical ones? I have absolutely no idea. I always run into that problem when i want to write w/magic.
80 and 81- mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm……………..
I reeeeeeaaaallly don’t want to make you feel bad or anything.
When I read your description the first picture that popped into my head was the one of how I would suppose he should look.
I am extensively sorry to say that in my imagination he looked almost opposite to how you described him, although the description you wrote sounds fantastic!
I pictured him as a tall, lean 14 or 15 year old, but not tall like you might imagine, like… Tall for a 13-year-old, but his lean-ness makes him seem taller.
He has nice even skin, not very pale. Like… Asian skin, because he is Asian. He has very, very dark brown hair that is very normally styled.
He is very easy on the eyes. He has very deep brown eyes.
He has strong, leathered hands that fit his body well.
He has a strong chin and neck, from turning his head so much.
His violin is very classic, like an orchestra violin. Nothing special, (but of course).
Sosorry about that.
Meant you no harm.
-Capry
ummm, I’m guessing no one liked my list of names (post 61) *sobs*
81 – sorry, but I do think lapis lazuli is too heavy to put on a bow, especially a violin bow at that. I play the cello and have been searching for a new bow for months, so I know this stuff. Usually it’s mother of pearl.
A lapis lazuli bow would be very nice, and I would love to get my hands on it, but it simply wouldn’t work. No balance.
and inlay on the bridge? This would probably start vibrating and making a buzzing sound when played. It’s very difficult to put inlay on anything besides the actual body of the cello (and that’s hard, too), and I nor my musical friends have heard of this.
I’m sorry, but I just had to make this post. I really hope I haven’t offended anyone. And I may be wrong. But does it really matter? (Gosh, I should have asked myself this when I started this post)
I’m on the verge of deleting this entire post, so I’ll just click Submit.
88- No problemo at all. It’s your story.
91-That makes me feel better. Thanks!
90- I know zip about violins, so your opinion is probably better than mine.
Here’s the first chapter of The Black Lion:
The town was called Middletown, probably because it once had been situated in the middle of a forest. But the forest had long since been cut down, all but one relatively small patch several miles wide, right on the north edge of the little town. The townspeople had left this bit, not by any environmental sentiments, but for fear that by cutting down the entire forest, they would rouse a monster. The Black Lion.
The Black Lion was the local legend. Though it had not been seen for ninety-nine years, the townspeople still believed it to be lurking or asleep in the forest to the north of the village. No one went in the forest, not even in broad daylight, and certainly not after dark, or after the chickens had gone to sleep.
For the chickens had an inner clock and it was said that when they were asleep, the Black Lion prowled through the forest and the fields, and even, occasionally, the town. In all the country there was nowhere with as many chickens as Middletown. Every household had at least one, and the chicken coops were sometimes better cared for and cleaner that the houses themselves. And the chickens were not the only superstitions surrounding the Black Lion. There were other precautions as well, for example, sitting under a blossoming fruit tree would protect one from the Black Lion for one year to the day. Another was less specific, that by having a goldfish in a bowl on every windowsill, good fortune would be bestowed on the house.
So all went well in Middletown until one day, when the Lion had not been seen for one hundred years there came Winifred.
Winifred was eleven years old and came from a very strict and no-nonsense family. She did not believe in magic or adventure, and she had virtually no imagination.
Most adults did not know, or care particularly, about one more kid running around the town, imagination or no, but the children knew, and cared, and were shocked and frightened by her.
On Winifred’s very first day at school, Lisa, the one girl whom almost everybody liked, and who liked almost everybody, asked her, “Have you got your chickens yet?” It was merely an attempt at conversation, and Lisa hardly expected such a disastrous result. Winifred answered,
“Oh, we’re not getting chickens.”
Another girl looked up from her sketchbook and asked “Then how will you know when the Black Lion comes out?” This girl’s name was Mary, and she, it may be said, did not have intentions quite so peaceful as Lisa’s.
“Oh, that. That’s just a silly story, and all that other stuff is superstitious nonsense,” said Winifred. Mary had at last met her match in rudeness, and this made Winifred a bit of a hero, though not, of course, anyone’s friend.
All the spectators gasped as one, and there was a long pause, during which everyone stared at Winifred fearfully. Winifred stared defiantly back. The silence was deafening, but at last it was broken by the school bell.
Everyone but Winifred sighed with relief and ran into the building, leaving Winifred standing by the jungle gym, thinking about things she would rather ignore.
A boy stuck his head out the window and hollered “Winifre-e-d!” Winifred jumped, startled. A cold wind flipped her braids and tugged at her dress.
She looked up to see the sky darkening. Black clouds scuttled over the horizon. A storm was brewing. At one-thirty the storm broke but by three o’ clock the rain had slowed to a fine drizzle.
Everyone had left except for one boy, whose name was Sam. He wasn’t supposed to go out in the rain without an umbrella, but he had forgot to bring one that morning. He was making up his mind just to run home as fast as possible, when he saw a red umbrella hanging on the back of Winifred’s chair, abandoned and unused. He was momentarily torn between a promise to his mother not to go out in the rain and the unspoken rule not to use other people’s things without asking. He could ask her though. Maybe. Not very hopefully, he leaned out the door and yelled, “Hey! Winifred! You forgot your umbrella!” but Winifred was long gone. Sam was getting desperate. According to his watch, it was now three-twenty-five, and if he didn’t go now, he would be late for his trombone lesson. He went.
“Whose umbrella is that?” asked his big sister Sylvia when he got home.
“The new girl’s,” muttered Sam, not looking up. Sylvia was instantly suspicious.
“Did she lend it to you, or something?” she asked casually.
“Something,” said Sam under his breath, trying to duck into his bedroom. Sylvia was too quick for him. She seized his arm and held it in a grip of iron, or so it seemed to her unfortunate brother.
“You take it back to her right now,” she hissed at him, “Or I’ll tell Mom.”
“I can’t!” Sam wailed. “I’ll be late for my trombone lesson.”
“As soon as you get back then. As soon as. I mean it.”
Winifred, meanwhile, stayed only long enough to grab her homework. She ran through the rain with her mind whirling. Why don’t they like me? she asked herself. The Black Lion is just a story, isn’t it? Though she would die before admit it, Winifred was beginning to believe the “story”.
Winifred and her mother and father were staying with her grandma while Winifred’s parents re-carpeted, re-painted, re-wallpapered, and generally redid the house they had bought.
Winifred’s parents were still working on the house when Winifred got back to her grandma’s, but that didn’t stop Winifred getting asked the inevitable question.
“How was school, Winnie?” asked her grandma as soon as Winifred crashed through the door and stomped through into the room.
“Horrible. They all believe in some stupid story. It’s so dumb.” Winifred didn’t even notice the dreaded nickname.
Her grandma looked sharply at her. “What stupid story?”
“Something about a black lion. I’m going to go do my homework,” said Winifred, and ran up the stairs as fast as her heavy backpack would let her, not pausing long enough to see her grandma’s disapproving frown. Even if she did see it, she attributed it to the superstition of the children of Middletown, not to herself.
An hour or so later, the doorbell rang. Winifred’s grandmother opened it, and was very surprised to see Sam, with his raincoat dripping all over the welcome mat, and clutching a red umbrella, tightly furled and perfectly dry. “Could you give this to Winifred, please?” he asked. “She left it at school. I’d have brought it sooner, only I had trombone lessons.”
“I’ll call her now, and you can give it to her yourself.” Winifred’s grandma meant kindly, but Sam preferred not to meet Winifred, if he could help it.
“Don’t bother!” he gasped. “I’ll just leave it in the umbrella stand here…” But he was too late. Winifred’s grandma was already hollering to Winifred to “come down here! There’s someone to see you” and Sam was too polite to flee, as he would have liked to do. So he stood there uncomfortably as Winifred, wearing a furious scowl, came down the stairs.
“What do you want?” she asked surlily.
“I, um, I borr- brought you your umbrella.” He had been about to say “borrowed” and had stopped himself just in time. “You left it at school.”
“No, I didn’t.” Winifred turned around to look at the umbrella stand. “It’s right…” Sam had gone, the moment she turned her back, and abandoned the red umbrella on the doorstep. She picked it up and stuck it in the stand, next to her own blue one, and went back to her bedroom, and her homework.
At dinner Winifred’s mother asked her, “How was school?”
Winifred didn’t answer. Instead she changed the subject as fast as possible. “Please pass the pepper.” Her dad passed it. Winifred’s grandma said, “Winifred had a visitor today.”
“Oh,” said Winifred’s mother, pleased. “Have you made a new friend already?”
Winifred took a much too big bite of lasagna, and couldn’t talk. Her mother picked up the subtle hint, and dropped the subject. Winifred heaved a private sigh of relief.
During dessert, Winifred’s dad asked, “How was school, Winifred?”
“Oh,” said Winifred evasively. “I guess so.”
Her father shrugged and started talking about jobs. Winifred grinned to think how easily that non-answer had been accepted.
When dinner was over and the dishes were washed, Winifred, her homework done, sat at the table and watched the adults play cards. They asked her if she’d like to join, but she shook her head. Then an idea came to her. “can I go explore the attic?” she asked. She had always wanted to, and always been told she was too young, it was dangerous, etc., etc.
Her grandmother looked at her. “Certainly not, Winifred!”
Winifred was too surprised to argue, so she went up to her room and amused herself till bedtime.
But as soon as the house was quiet she tiptoed out of her room and up the stairs to the attic. Halfway up she stopped and considered bringing a flashlight, but the clouds of the afternoon had disappeared, allowing the the half moon to shine through the windows and brighten the house, so she decided against it and continued up the stairs. At the top she paused to get her breath back and then pushed open the attic door.
It creaked. Winifred jumped.
Heart thumping twice as loud as it normally did, she peered down the stairs. After what seemed like an eternity, but was really only a minute or so, she decided no one had been woken up and stepped inside the attic.
It was empty. Winifred was disappointed. She had expected a dragon at least. Automatically she chided herself for believing that such a thing as a dragon could really exist. She really was getting gullible.
Disappointed and angry at herself though she was, she clung to the hope that something might lurk in the dark corners. She started towards the nearest one – and tripped.
Winifred lay there, stunned, for a few moments, then picked herself up and looked around for what she had tripped over. She didn’t have to look far. It was a pile of paper. Newspaper, to be exact.
Being the sort of girl who liked to read newspapers, Winifred dragged the pile of newspaper over to a window so that the moonlight shone on them. She gasped.
The front page had a drawing of a huge lion. The headline simply said “BLACK LION SEEN, LOCAL SAYS.”
Winifred read: “Ernest Green, aged 39, claims to have seen a black lion.” The article went on to tell how the Black Lion is seen every one hundred years, and give lots of “scientific” excuses as to why a Black Lion was living in the forest. Winifred didn’t even see them. Her eyes strayed upwards, to the date…
“Oh, my word,” she murmured, “one hundred years, to the very-” A low growl cut her off. She rose, as if in a dream. But what she saw out the window was more like a nightmare.
A huge black shape was right below her. It raised its head so that it was looking right at her. Its eyes looked like two glowing embers.
Winifred was paralyzed with fear. The scream stuck in her throat. She couldn’t move. The Black Lion tensed, and sprang.
Winifred was jerked into a deeper fear. Past paralyzation. A sort of panic. She screamed, and the Black Lion seemed to vanish.
Winifred sighed with relief. But not for long. She heard footsteps on the stairs. Winifred knew she would have to have an excuse for screaming. She took the first that came to mind. Her mother hurried in.
“Winifred, whatever were you-”
Winifred said the first thing she could think of. “Oh Mother,” she said, ” I thought I saw a- a bat.” Of all the dumb excuses. I’m not even scared of bats.
Her mother looked at her oddly. “Winifred, I never knew you were frightened of bats.”
“I- I’m not. It just surprised me, that’s all.” Was it a dream? A nightmare? It didn’t seem real, anyhow.
“Your grandma told you not to come up here. Go back to bed, and be glad you didn’t wake anyone else up.”
“Yes, Mother,” said Winifred meekly. As she left, she glanced at the pile of newspapers. The top one now said, “AUTOMOBILE CRASHES, MAN KILLED”. The one about the Black Lion had vanished.
Tell me which parts are good and which aren’t, and I will edit it.
So, now I need more characters only a few, to be the other main characters. I’ve got all the others planned out pretty much.
Hmm… 95- Maybe a girl who is a martial arts expert and is connected somehow to whoever made the violin
Tell me if its any good. I don’t like it much, seems to much like Eragon for me. There’s more if you want it.
Mairad stared out at the empty field which had once been so beautiful and prosperous with blank, hopeful eyes. Her home had once stood in the field, and she longed for the comforting hovel, even when she knew she would never see it again. It had been burned down by the fire, and she even now resented her actions that day.
The Zarin had come to her house the day before the fire and asked where her mother was. She hadn’t told them. Her mother, Taritha, told her never to talk to strangers, yet these Zarin had a commanding air that forced her to look at them. They were persistent, and Mairad couldn’t look away.
“Where is your mother little one?†the Zarin asked with a glare. Their huge bodies, covered in a black cloak, were sinister, and there could be anything under the cloak.
“She’s, she’s not here.†Mairad’s voice had faltered a little, and she was quite obviously terrified of the creatures no matter how she tried to hide it.
The Zarin stared at her. “Where IS she? We must know.â€
“I, I don’t know she left two or three days ago without telling me and hasn’t been back since.†Mairad lied,
“We know you’re lying young one. Tell us or there will be unspeakable damage done here.†The Zarin’s rotting flesh smelled of decaying things and mud.
“I really don’t know where she went! She may have gone to market early…†Her wavering voice gave away her concern.
“We shall check there. If she is not there then dark magic shall be cast on this village. You may never see you mother again Mairad, and for that we pity you.†When Mairad looked into the Zarin’s eyes she saw nothing but content and malice in them, and certainly nothing like pity. The monstrous beasts left on their great horses, if you could call them that. The horse’s flesh was coated with a slimy fluid, as if they had been born of an egg and had not been washed. Their red eyes cast only an evil glance a Mairad as she looked away toward the open, clear sky.
85- Make sure you understand how family trees work. The way I think it goes, my mother’s first cousin would be my first cousin once removed. She’s my mother’s age. Her children, my age, are my second cousins. So how would one’s fourth cousin twice removed be related to one?
From Wikipedia’s page on “cousin”:
A system of degrees and removes is used to describe the relationship between the two cousins and the pair of ancestors they have in common. The degree (first, second, third cousin, etc.) specifies the minimum number of generations separating either of the cousins and the common ancestral pair; the remove (once removed, twice removed, etc.) specifies the number of generations, if any, separating the two cousins from each other.
98-Informative.
My current novel has hit a train wreck.
99-What kind of a train wreck?
98- I know how family trees work, at least the “removed” bit, but yes, I need to know more before I start blathering on about second, third, fouth, etc, cousins. That’s a good point, though… Darn it. I heard something very like that in The Wolves of Willoughby Chase, but I’m sure it made more sense than what I said about Jenny. How about this: Her father’s cousin once removed, which would mean he’s two generation’s older than her. Which would make Emma Marie, his granddaughter, Jenny’s generation. That worked out nicely. Thank you, Dodecahedron.
97- ‘Fraid so. But then, Eragon itself is awfully similar to a lot of things.
Today I thought up a whole short story about a ballroom full of marble statues. Maybe I’ll post it some time.
Does anybody else out there write science-fictiony stuff about crazy dudes burning down villages and this perfectly normal kid is related to him and starts dreaming about what the crazy dude is doin? That’s the basic plotline for my story!!!!
Yes… I do…..
95- I had a very good idea for a character today, but I don’t need her/him right now, so if you want you can have her (or him). If you don’t, I’ll use her for something eventually.
Whenever she says something, it wreaks total havoc, even if it’s a very simple sentence. So she has to pretend to be mute.
That was a really, really bad description, but you get the point.
104- I would adore a new character. Thank you!
im writing a book called space kids its not very long so far and maybe when i stop being lazy i will post some of it
I’m writing three or four stories right now, but they’re turning out really cliched. *sigh* They seemed good at the start, but I need to find some more original ideas for plots. I start out with a great character or setting, and then put them into totally unoriginal ordeals. Everyone says that my writing style is really good, but I think that the plots in my stories have already been done so many times they’re completely boring. Basically mashed-up bits and pieces from every fantasy/sci-fi book I’ve ever read. Help?!?!?!?!
97 – Hmm…… It does sound a bit like Eragon, except starting at a different point. Maybe you can change the Zarin, and the setting to a small village, town or city. The characters seem pretty good, but the plot is a bit like Eragon…. at least so far. What happens afterwards?
107-Yes, that happens to me a lot too. I start off good, but then I start going back to the elves in Eragon, and how they are, or something like that, and it ends up way too much like Eragon.
Christopher Paolini had the same problem with the books that inspired him.
What I always do when I seem to be copying every book I’ve ever read is read a book I normally wouldn’t. That adds totally new ideas to the mix, and if it’s not original, nobody can tell.
105- You’re welcome! I’m glad you can use her, because I sure can’t.
im writing a book called space kids its not very long so far and maybe when i stop being lazy i will post some of it
I’m, ., It’s, I, I, .,
(My corrections. I can’t stand incorrect English. Yes, I am a GRAMMAR MONK )
112- Will you tell me about her please?
107- Exact same scenario for me. EXACT SAME.
113- Didn’t I? Oh well, I did, but I can describe her better now.
Whenever she says something, even a simple sentence, it becomes a terrible spell of power and destruction, and after destroying three cities, she decides to become mute. (Unfotunately, that doesn’t go for talking in her sleep.)
She could also be a boy.
That sounds like me when I was a teenager.
on mondayish i will have my book completed (a little kid book!) and i will try to have the gapas put it on this thread
116 cool! i want to read it!!
114- Mm, well, that’s not really the type of story I’m writing, but I’m sure I can use her.
115- Haha!
Today I organized The Black Lion into chapters, and did some serious editing. I also worked on creating a world into which all my books will fit neatly, and changed the plot of Sara again.
118- Oh well, I couldn’t be sure.
I’m writing a novel.
I’ve tried to write books but am young and stupid.
My attempts have included:
A story sort of medival era set (not European or Earthly realistic though) where a girl is trying to save her village from demonic god thing, and there’s this boy-creature- that turns her to steel… he’s called the Steeler… it was a very stupid concept from 4th grade. Given up on it.
And another about a futuristic sort of Holocaust not targeting the Jews but a certain skin and hair color…
^^ ANYWAYS, besides that stupid-nessity I wish you all a ton of luck! (And I really really like the character that Alice came up with!! Oh, and know what people are talking about when they say things they’ve read in the past end up in their writing… what little I can scrawl out is cliche.
)
I’ve been thinking about a sci-fi scenario where there are “interspatial passages” between solar systems. The IPs were invented on Earth, and people then could go to other planets. About a dozen were explored and colonized(the number of inhabited ones depends on how many really bizarre life-forms I can come up with) before the Big Burst, where an experimental long-range IP collapsed, sending out a massive gravity wave which reduced our solar system to a bunch of rubble. The secret of constructing IPs was lost with the destruction of Earth, so only the old ones could be used. This allowed for trade and travel between discovered solar systems, but not for exploration. My question is… any suggestions for extraterrestrial species?
115 – Yeah. Everything I say seems to always be turned against me one way or another.
123 – Humanoids, things resembling earth species, or something totally different. “So You Want To Be A Wizard” series by Diane Duane had some very good species, such as an animate christmas treeish figure. Try to use some variety from other things, and it’s nice when you’re actually introduced to their culture and habits.
Ideas:
None at the moment, but I’m sure I ‘ll be able to think of some during exams next week. *shudder*
The new plot of Sara brings into play a nonexistant war between the North and South halves of the country.
(History: supposedly they’re at war with one another, but in all recorded and unrecorded history there’s been no hint of them not getting along wonderfully.) There’s a guy who doesn’t like the South, and he comes into a position of great power, so he decides to start a war. The rest of the country still like one another as a rule; maybe this guy is just bloodthirsty. He decides to stir up the people (and the Southern government) by using spies. Sara’s one of those spies, and she has to stop a war somehow.
The problem is, I need to put something precious of hers into the hands of the powerful guy, so he has a tool to blackmail her; if she wasn’t blackmailed she wouldn’t spy.
Any ideas?
125- Her younger sibling, maybe.
126- Yeah, she does have a little sister who disappears a lot, but my favorite sibling of hers (and therefore her favorite) is her brother.
It’s a good idea, and I might use it. Thanks.
125 – I love your plot! I’ve got a lot of comments on it, so I hope I don’t offend you in any way. This could really be turned into a good story.
I would strongly recommend that you do not use North and South. This could be connected to the Civil War, and, no matter which side you choose to have the bad guy, some people might make connections and have a huge problem with it.
What about East and West? I’ve never heard of something like that…
Don’t call them spies. Spies spy on people, not stir them up. Try making up a name for them. Um, how about the Speakers? They, perhaps, spread lies throught the people.
Okay, so Sara is a “spy”, but she doesn’t want to be. The bad guy is blackmailing her into the job. But why her? Surely there are others who would love to do this job. Special qualities, perhaps? *hint hint nudge nudge*
Um, more later.
128- Good ideas. You’re right about the North and South, but see, a river runs through the country, east to west, or maybe west to east, so it’s a natural dividing line. Maybe I should think about naming them something else.
The spies are to make people mad, but you’re right about that too.
I’m not sure what special qualities Sara has… Do you have any ideas about that?
I like my plot too. : ) It’s works well since it’s similar to the vague idea I had when I made it up.
You haven’t offened me in the least. It’s helpful. I don’t like to talk to my family about my stories ’cause I get a bit embarrassed, but I don’t mind talking to other people about it.
Oops. Offended, not offened.
I severed all ties to the various problems involved in writing The Black Lion, stuck most of the story into a file entitled “BL Extras”, and started almost from the beginning. Then I discovered I had no knew ideas. But it’s a great relief all the same.
I wrote the first chapter of Sara, in which she attends the Council of Piper, practically falls asleep, holds a conversation with her little sisters and brother, gets chosen as a Representative of Piper to go to the Council in the capitol, and gets mad at the officials.
In the second chapter which I haven’t written yet, she goes to the capitol, and things happen.
Triple post!
No new ideas.
Quadruple post. (I think.)
welllll…..
here is my poetically plotless story.
It was a cold December night. Cold enough, at least, that a lacy veil of snow had descended over the forest. Cold enough that every sound seemed bright and crystalline, as if it had just broken through an icy shroud. But there was one sound, that, if you have a mind open enough and a heart pure enough to hear, which did not seem to brake through the icy stillness but skate along it with breathtaking grace. It was a song, but it was without a tune; it alternated between the fanciful tinklings pf bells, like sunlight rain, and grand arias for viola and cello, like a bloodred rose blossoming into the moonlight. Its music was as varied as the animals in a menagerie, the brilliant gems of the earth, the passions of the human heart. Every so often she could grasp a sense of tune among the music, like a ruby hidden among folds of scarlet silk, but then the music careened of again in a whirl of star-spangled sky. For this music was not deciphered by the mind; it was magic of the truest kind, and only the heart understood it.
It lured her, it led her along a path unmarred by footprints, and if she chanced to look behind her, she would see that her feet left no marks either.
She could feel it, too. She could feel it as the cold that weighed so heavily on her frail shoulders took wing out into the endless sky. And as the song spun through her, it lifted the burdens of her heart, flinging them out over the ice, and she began to dance: flinging her arms out and toes spinning wildly over ice that was bearing less and less of her weight has her heart took wing. And she began to laugh, and her laughter became part of the song that reverberated around her and she closed her eyes so that her heart could capture the memory forever in a drop of starlight.
But when she opened them again, she knew that she would need something much greater than a droplet to capture her memory.
The mighty evergreens that had ruled over the forest were cleared away, forming a long, bare rectangle. The stars that had glimmered and twirled among the heavens seemed suddenly so bright that they might have been lanterns strung from the treetops. And the snow that had fallen in crystalline drifts around the evergreen’s roots gave way to a dance floor that might have been fire or ice. And what had been a forest at peace with the night became a forest fighting for the light.
They danced. They twirled like tops and arched like rainbows. They leapt into the sky like graceful swans, like sparks spitting from a struggling fire, and hit the shimmering dance floor like fallen comets, like cherry blossoms, like the splashing of summer rain. A thousand skirts twirled as twice as many stockinged feet kicked high into the air. They rose high into the sky on wings seeming fragile as gentle snowflakes and as might as the storm itself. For these were no mortal dancers- these were the people of the fey.
please tell me what sounds cliche, what sounds weird, what doesnt fit…….
And tell me the parts you like, because those are the parts I won’t throw out while going on my editing rampage.
oh and FYI- the story isnt finished
134- You go on editing rampages too?
133- That’s poetically plotless alright. The bit about the skirts is slightly odd. Oh, I get it. Okay, I’m not sure.
Here’s the first chapter of Sara, open to comments, criticism, and grammar corrections.
Chapter 1
Sara yawned and tried to sit up a bit straighter. It was the first time she had been allowed to attend the Council of Piper, and now she was here, she simply wondered why they were wasting the valuable lamp oil. It must have been two hours to midnight in the dead of winter, and still the mayor droned on. Sara, accustomed to going to bed a little after dark, felt her eyelids start to droop.
Her best friend, Margery, jabbed her hard in the arm and she woke up sufficiently to hear the mayor say something about representatives and tomorrow, and the meeting was over.
Her brother Nathaniel was sagging over the table at home, and the kettle was all but melted. “I wanted some tea,” he explained groggily when they woke him.
Sara’s mother scolded him in between yawns, but he was asleep on his feet and didn’t hear.
The next morning at breakfast, Sara was questioned eagerly by her two little sisters.
“What was it like, Sara?” asked Anne, who was seven.
“Boring.” Sara was still too tired for lengthy explanations, and worrying about the mayor’s last words.
“When can I go?” This was Rosie, the baby of the family.
“In eight and a half years.”
Rosie stared in awe, her mind unable to comprehend such a long time.
“When can I go?” asked Anne.
“Six and a half years,” said Nathaniel.
“What about you, Nathaniel? When can you go?”
“Three years. What’s the matter, Sara?”
“Ma, is there another meeting today?” Sara answered Nathaniel’s question only indirectly, preoccupied with her own worries.
“Yes. It’s in a few hours, actually. They need to choose representatives of Piper for the Council in the capitol.”
Sara groaned.
“They won’t choose you, don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried. But I still have to attend.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Three days later Sara sat in the back of a wagon driven by Margery’s mother. Dazed by the events of the past few days, she ran over them again in her mind, trying to see the sense in the actions of the mayor and the Council of Piper.
The meeting was a blur. Somehow, Sara was not sure how, she had been chosen as a Representative of Piper. They had said it like that, with a capital R. Sara hadn’t understood why, but both Nathaniel and Margery had, and they explained it to her while she packed.
“You love Piper,” Nathaniel had said.
Sara nodded and sniffed. “But I don’t like the meetings. Margery does. And I’m so junior.”
“But if you’re chosen to speak, which is unlikely but possible, you’ll only say good things about Piper,” Margery said, “because Piper is only good things in your mind.”
“If Margery was speaking,” Nathaniel took up, “she’d say the bad things as well as the good, because that’s what councils are for.”
But the plan had a catch. After learning that, Sara was quite prepared to say the bad things about Piper as well as the good, and had asked Margery and Nathaniel to tell her what they were, which they did readily. Sara still loved Piper, but she now truly hated the officials.
do any of you guys ever have an idea, the really good kind that sticks for years, and then write about it like three years later?
138- Not so far, but I only really started writing actual books when I was eleven, so it could still happen.
Before that I tried my hand at plays, and before that I couldn’t come up with anything past the first chapter, and spent all my time on the illustrations.
I’m writing a story with my little sister, in leiu of playing a game I made up, then found was really super boring.
So we each made up a character, and we were alternating telling the story (our characters, that is, in first person,) but she wanted it modern and I wanted it a very long time ago, so now we’re each writing our own version of the story, and we’ll merge them when they’re done.
No one is here but me… Should we have a part 2?
I’m here. I’m kinda paranoid about posting my writing on the Internet, because I aspire to get some of it published and I don’t want my ideas plagiarized. But I can offer ideas, praise and constructive criticism. Alice, your story seems good so far. My only suggestion is that you should do a short scene where Sara is actually chosen as a representative. That would give it more dramatic effect, in my opinion.
143- I intend to publish too, but I guess I’m just very trusting.
That’s a good idea, but I don’t really think I want to write that. It’d be very hard.
I’ve changed the story since I posted that.
136- I do, I open the file on my computer for my story, scroll halfway down and see something that sounds “bad” so I edit it, then I just don’t stop seeing parts that I don’t like and spend all the time I was going to use to write editing.
I’m in the process of writing a semi-short story. I started a novel in seventh grade and it’s pretty good but I haven’t worked on it in a year, I have a permanebt writer’s block, I really like my idea but I haven’t completed it in my head so I don’t even know what’s going to happen…oh well
144- I read my story over and decide that I still don’t like the way I write, so I edit it until I do, write a little bit, leave it alone for two weeks, and come back and do the same thing again.
This is a short story, well, more like a one-shot, that I wrote. This is a very rough version and I know it needs your critisism. Also, do you guys think that “X”, “The X”, or something else is the best title?
X
“You don’t understand!†I screamed, my voice rising in my throat until it was almost hysteria. “You’re clueless! Clueless!â€
I slammed the door behind me and ran. One, two, one, two, my footsteps sand, pounding rhythmically on the hard-packed dirt road until the ground under my feet changed to gently sloping sand. This was my beach, my hidden beach. Nobody had been here for as long as I remember, and probably much longer.
I crawled under the rocky outcrop where I had spent many long hours in the past year. Everything with meaning to me was here because I can’t trust my brothers and daddy to be around them anymore. A drawing of a crab that I’d drawn the summer before brightened the smooth gray walls of my little den. Next to it hung my favorite piece: a sketch of my family in happier times. My mom, with her angelic brown hair, stands with her arm around daddy, who has a smile as wide as the pacific ocean. My brothers, Jack and Carl, stand together like they always used to in photographs. And then, in the middle is me. I’ve worked on this sketch for ages, trying to picture everybody as they were a year or two ago.
Now I brought out my paint box and carefully brushed the first color onto the drawings, beginning to fill in the outlines and change the drawing from black and white to beautiful colors. This is how I always thought of my family. Even though mom’s not here anymore. Even though daddy would never smile at all, much less the size of an ocean. Even though Jack and Carl would rather die then act like they could stand each other.
For a moment my paint bush froze, right over daddy’s face. Slowly I touched my face, and my hands came back wet. Tears ran down my face, even though I tried to slow their flow. One by one they spilled off my face and spread over my precious painting. Colors dry and wet blended together to form a murky brown lake. Carefully placed lines of ink turned into wide black puddles.
I stared at all my hard work dripping off the paper and forming a tiny river towards the waves. Then I felt the blind rage rising in my chest again. I opened my mouth and out flew a scream that in one, single note expressed every ounce of pure, terrible anger that life had ever experienced. In one movement I dabbed my paintbrush into the black paint. With a trembling hand I draw the brush over the paper, painting an X on my soggy picture. Then, in a flurry I tore the ruined painting into a thousand tiny pieces and heaved them into the sea.
“An X,†I said bitterly as the white paper fluttered away on the wind. “How fitting.†It was just the latest X in a terrible life of disappointment. Why couldn’t I have a normal life, like the girls at school who have normal parents who have enough money to buy perfect clothes that are always in style, and who always can find something to smile about? Meanwhile, I’m just the girl who never talks to anybody, who just sits by a tree with pencil and paper in hand. I’m just the girl who never smiles.
Gee, I wonder why.
146- It’s good, but way dramatic and way-er short. It’s really emotional, and not something that I’m likely to read, but it’s still good. What about a plot?
Sorry if that seemed rude at all.
147-Yeah, it doesn’t have much of a plot, I know. I didn’t think that was rude at all, though. It’s intended to be a one-shot, which is only about a page long and focuses on emotions. Which is pretty much what you just said, so I guess it fits the genre if nothing else.
Is nobody using this thread anymore?
149- I don’t know. It would seem not.
I really can’t do much on here since I’m paranoid. But there is a piece of writing on the Muse Fanfiction thread that I’d like people to look at.
150-Is there anything similar that’s more active?
152- Nope.
GAPAs, can you make a part 2? Please? We need a new one. This hasn’t really been flowing since march or reeeeally early april.
move this back on the home page if you make a new one. a lot of ppl used to come but now they dont
Even a link on the “Don’t Forget these Threads” page would help a bit…
Yeah.
I am slightly stuck. I can’t get the words to sound right, even though I know what I want to say. Maybe I’ll work on another book for a while.
Right now I am reading “Qwerty Stevens: Stuck in Time” by Dan Gutman.
159- That goes on the Books and Reading thread.
Qwerty is the first five letters of the keyboard. Consequently, it’s rather awkward to type.
I am writing a book called Jillie’s Amazing Talking Journal. In it, a girl gets a journal that talks. Her little brother promptly learns her deepest darkest secrets. Much mayhem follows. Anyways, all I have so far is the idea, but I was wondering if it would be better to write in:
a ) third person w/ journal entries
b ) third person w/o journal entries
c ) first person, alternately Max and Jillie, w/ journal entries
d ) ” ” w/o journal entries
e ) first person, just Jillie, with or without journal entries
That’s more options than I intended, sorry.
I can’t swing from writing style to writing style, so maybe I shouldn’t do multiple people, but I was wondering what all you MBers think.
You know, we still need a part 2. How annoying.
Somehow, when I created an alternate universe in which to place all my books, I managed to make it so that to write a book, I need to do math! Aahhh!
161-I think c would be cool, but it’s also probably the hardest.
Great…now the Don’t Forget These Threads thread is off the main page.
164- I like that one best too, but I’m not sure I could do that… Maybe I could get my little sister to write Max’s first person. We want to write a book together, but she can be so obnoxious sometimes. And I can be really bossy, like I want her to write what I want, which is really rude of me.
GAPAs, we NEED another writing thread!
I can’t believe it! My little sister said she would write the first person for Max! Wow!
This is for jammin j, who wanted to read my book.
This is just the prologue, though. I’ve renamed my book, The Makepeace War because that sounds good and it’s ironic. Also, Sara is a bad title, and I was only waiting for something good to turn up.
If you were to walk into the little town of Piper, and into the library, and ask to see books on the history of Piper, it would be a small selection, mainly talking about sheep, as Piper has always been a quiet town, and the main source of wool in Capitol. If you asked to see books on the history of Rora, (which was what the country north of the River Rorin called itself before the 2,196th year, when it joined with the southern country, Esmer, into what is now called Rorin) the selection would be much larger and more diverse, but a good third would be devoted to something called, “the Makepeace War.” In the 1,973rd year, a man named Charles Makepeace came into a position of great influence in the ranks of the government. For reasons unknown by the authors of these books, but not un-speculated on, he desired to start a war with Esmer. He sent out “messengers” to spy, steal, and generally stir things up. Apparently, war was averted by one of these messengers, but there the books cease to agree. All in all, though the Makepeace war was one of the more exciting events to take place in Rorin, there are few known facts, and in the books there are many inconsistencies and rather more guesses than there should be. For example, none of the authors can decide how the war was ended. Some say it merely fizzled out, others say a treaty was signed, still others say someone stopped it. The last would be correct, if anyone knew exactly who had stopped it.
But here is the whole story, beginning a little before the beginning, and ending somewhat after the end.
GAPAs, please?
I am starting a book, but I am not sure what it is called. It is a play on Goldilocks.
Garrett sighed. He fixed his posture, and turned his head towards Agent Papa Bear.
“Keep looking straight ahead. This is training. You want to be a G.U.A.R.D. member? Then you can’t look to the side. Good job on fixing your posture though,” Papa Bear said without even turning his head.
Garrett sighed again. He knew this would be a bad day, even worse than usual. Being in the G.U.A.R.D training program was no box of chocolates, more like a bottle of horseradish. G.U.A.R.D stood for something, but Garrett could not remember what.
A bell rang, and Garrett smiled. “Time to go,” he said. “Training is over for the day. See ya, P.B!”
“Garrett-wait!” he heard Papa Bear yell.
The G.U.A.R.D trainee turned around as he heard his mentor’s voice. “Yes sir?” Garrett asked timidly.
“I, er, need to, well, I am, umm, I have a disturbance in my pants, and need to relieve myself.”
“Ohh,” Garrett realized, snickering. “Well then, go relieve yourself then.”
Garrett watched as Agent Papa Bear walked down the hall. He looked the other way and saw Agent Mama Bear heading down the corridor. “Look straight ahead,” she said strictly. Garrett sighed. “And no sighing!” she shrieked, as a computer on the door across from him scanned her fingerprints.
Tell me if it is any good or not. I like to incorporate humor into my stories, and I will definitely put more fairy tale style stuff in it. The main plot is that Garrett has to become Agent Little Bear when Goldi Locks, a master jewel thief steals the Jewel of Poradg, a jewel that can alter time and space or something like that, and yes, I did post this idea on the fractured fairy tale/frog prince RRR, so no one can steal it.
Also, for people who want to be authors, a really good book is “Novelist’s Boot Camp.” I love it!
Sounds good to me.
GAPAs, can we please have another thread for this? I’m not going to stop asking.
172-I’ll second the motion, I guess.
Waiting for it to load on a dial-up connection convinced me. Request granted.
This is still open?
[Not anymore.]