Continued from 2007.2, the original idea came from Prarilius Canix, who described it as “a thread for Musers who have written/are writing/want to write books… a place to bounce ideas off of other people who share that interest.”
Patience, Please
This site is under reconstruction and will look strange for a while. We regret the inconvenience.
Aw thanks, GAPAs.
I’m tired of my writing style. Has this ever happened to anyone else? It feels like I had too much of it, and now the thought of reading my own work is very unappetizing.
1 – You get tired of your writing style because you’re constantly exposed to it!
.
2- Exactly. I think the solution is just to not read what I have written. But maybe I’m just tired of what’s in my mind. Or maybe I’m tired of my particular story, in which case I should work on a different one. *panics at the very thought* That would just bring me right back to where I was before, multiple projects. Not again.
4 – That is a puzzling predicament.
Hm, yeah, oh well. *shrugs* It’s not a big deal. Maybe I’ll work on The Black Lion.
Hm. I did Power of the Pen for a year, then a writing club for two years, and as a result I have an insane amount of short stories in a file somewhere. I should, like, type them up and post them. Because I just have so much time on my hands.
I have shocking lack of short stories. The only one i ever wrote was expanded to be a novel.
7- What’s Power of the Pen? Maybe I should google it.
They make us do Creative writing at my skool so I have books full of short stories. Bleh.
I don’t care for short stories. Too short. ;D
Here’s a snippit of “the Changeling and The Moon”
About second chapter. (this part is a repost from last thread)
All you need to know is that Miyrah is odd and the school counselors are concerned…
“Your grades haven’t been very good, Miyrah,” the first counselor said, looking at his paper in order to check the name.
“Grades? It’s all a big joke, isn’t it?” the girl sneered. her blond hair fell into her face and she jerked it away with a horse-like thrust of her head.
“That’s the attitudes that makes you fail! Have a more positive one! look at this glass, it’s half full!” the other counselour said. She was pretty, and the wit of a puff-adder.
“Your grades aren’t why you are here,” the first counselour said. His black hair was greying. “You attacked a boy-”
“I nearly bit his ear off!” Miyrah said, calmly and proudly.
“You admit it, then?” the puff-adder woman said, leaning on to the victorian style chair Miyrah was sitting in. “Your step-parents will have to pay the hospital bill. A pretty penny.”
“We have someone for you to meet,” the male counselour said. “Dr. Bentley.” The puff-adder woman let the tall man in. He wore a long black coat, falling past his knees. His presence filled the room with an eerie glow, Miyrah’s keen eyesight saw that one of the plants wilted.
“We’ll leave you two to it,” the puuf-adder counselor said and the two departed quickly, but hesitating at the door to gloat. The door shut and the two were alone.
Miyrah spoke first, in a cruel voice that would not normally come from the throat of a fifteen year old. “You are no doctor.”
He smiled, softly. His face was tired and malicous. “What am I? Or better yet, what are you?”
Miyrah thrust back into the back of the chair, snarling vicously. “I am what I am!” she said, her voice overlayed by an unearthly tone, beautiful, and dark.
“No human, I see.”
Miyrah’s eyes opened with fear. This man knew too much. He plopped himself down in the counselor’s chair and leaned forward. “Changeling,” he whispered.
Miyrah stood up. “I am the not the remnants of a forgotten meal. I am the power that shines from the moon. I am not human, nor do I want to be. But I am not a changeling. ”
“what are you?” he said, sitting back.
Miyrah hesitated, then fell forward and caught her fall with her hands.Her fall was graceful like that of a panther falling from the brightly lit tree branch into the shadows. The wolf stood proudly in the center of the room, the victorian chair knocked back. “I am neyrgari,” she said.
“Elf,” the man whispered, awed and smiling. “I have waited long for you. Too long.”
“Welshabri! Night Beast! Stay away from me!”
The man wailed an unearthly sound and the beast within emerged. Fourteen feet tall, the ram horns tore holes in the cieling. It snarled and plunged at the wolf, its torn clothes forgotten. Feathered wings burst from the back of the wolf and it crashed through the glass of the window. The Night Beast howled and plunged throug the wall. The door burst open and the horrified puff-adder and male counselours gaped at the wrecked scene. The wolf flapped wings and fled for her life. The Night Beast followed in hot pursuit.
I decided to have that part as the first scene in the story. It continues…..
Miyrah’s wingspan made her a swift flier in wolf form, but also a huge target. She could have turned into a bee, but that would have seemed cowardly. Instead she changed into a bluebird in mid-flight, and sped off through the clouds. Miyrah slowed down because the Welshabri couldn’t fly. She relaxed and did some trick flying. She hadn’t done this in years, having tried to fit in with the humans. She dove, zigzagged, did backflips, and-
Sharp stabbing pains surrounded her frail body. She would have fallen, but the talons of the hawk held her close. It flew for a short while and then fell into a dive. The bluebird screamed as one of the talons slid in deeper. It closed its eyes and played dead as the hawk delivered her to its master, the Welshabri. Miyrah was propped into an empty jar, tha lid was screwed on, and the Welshabri clutched the jar as it walked across the mountain side.
Miyrah slowed opened her eyes. The jar had no airholes as she could then escape. To make the most of the remaining oxygen, she changed into an ant and curled up in the bottom of the jar. She wondered quietly why she felt tired, and then realised that the jar was laced with a sleeping draught, but by then it was too late.
When she awoke, she panicked. she was lying on a pillow in a huge fourposter bed, in a large room with comfortable furniture and books in all directions. The window was open, the door probably unlocked, and she could easily have escaped. She, still an ant, glanced over at the window and saw that it was sunrise. She had stayed an animal for over twelve hours. She was doomed. She faintly wondered who her captor was and what the captor wanted.
The last scene goes to fast, but apart from that it’s good.
10 – Not a bad story.
Here’s a Choose-Your-Own-Ending story I wrote a year ago. It was part of a series I wrote about Inspector John. I illustrated it very thoroughly, so there were several pictures on each page. I can’t put the pictures on Museblog, unfortunantly.
but I thought you’d still like to see it! When going to pages, just find the page number and read downward. Any comments/thoughts would be helpful.
THE ADVENTURE OF INSPECTOR JOHN #3
INSPECTOR JOHN
=in=
THE BIG BAFFLING BROKEN BANK
Hiya there! I’m Inspector John.
I’m just about to go to my next case—it’s a bank robbery (funny why when people rob, they do it on banks most of the time). Mr. O’Riley owns the bank.
I was very shocked when Mr. O’Riley called me up about it. I’ve never known a bank to be robbed as much as Mr. O’Riley’s. And Mr. O’Riley has not yet made much from this bank. He says if someone doesn’t find the robber and get the money back, he’s going to have to be proclaimed bankrupt in court. And being bankrupt, well, he wouldn’t be able to make loans anymore (which is the basic income for most banks).
So this is a very urgent case. And this is where you come in. This case is so important I can’t afford to make a bad choice. So I need your help. Every little while or so, I’ll ask you to make a decision for me, and if all goes well, we’ll catch the crook. Otherwise the story might have a different ending.
Now that you know the stuff, let’s go over to Mr. O’Riley’s bank to find some clues about the robbery.
*pause*
Here’s the bank of Mr. O’Riley. It’s very new. That accounts for part of why I was so devastated when I found out about this bank robbery.
Hey, there’s Mr. O’Riley over there. He’s getting out of his car. I’ll go talk to him. Come along too, you can help me.
If I’m going to solve this case I’m going to need to ask questions of all sorts.
“Hey Mr. O’Riley,†I ask, “at what time did the robbery take place?â€
“At about mid-morning.†Said Mr. O’Riley.
I should have known! Almost all bank robberies happen in the morning because robbers tend to think that there is more money in the banks in the morning. I guess it’s because loans are made through out the day, and loans mean money drains out of the bank.
That question didn’t get me anywhere. Why don’t you choose which question I ask next? Maybe your decision will get me somewhere.
If you think I should ask him about where I can look for clues, go to page 9. If you think I should ask him about how much money was stolen, go to page 5. If you think I should ask about what he thinks I should do first, go to page 7.
PAGE 4
“What is El Niño?†I ask.
“It’s a long story,†says O’Riley, “but I’ll explain.â€
“El Niño,†O’Riley says, “is a common world for the El Niño Southern Oscillation Cycle, or ENSO. Normally, the west side of South America is where the current drags all the cold water. The water smashes against South America, goes up towards the surface, and becomes warm where the warm currents are smashing against South America and going down. The warm and cold water meeting is where the currents tow it back across the Pacific going away from South America. But in the years where the Pacific weather condition El Niño is present, when the warm water smashes against South America, the water goes up instead of down, therefore there is more warm water at the surface. And most of the Pacific Ocean is warmer. This is going to be a very warm year, and that can lead to natural disasters.â€
Suddenly I hear a terrible rumble coming from the ground. I have a feeling this is the work of El Niño.
Go to page 10 to continue the story.
PAGE 5
I ask Mr. O’Riley how much money was stolen.
“About 2 million dollars.†Says Mr. O’Riley.
Good grief! Two million dollars! Mr. O’Riley doesn’t even earn that much money in 20 years! Gee, this case is very serious. I’m sweating like mad already.
I really need time to think things over. I spend a few minutes thinking, but I think of nothing.
Suddenly, a horrible rumble crashes from the ground! I have a feeling I shouldn’t have thought for so long. I may have needed the time.
Go to page 10 to continue the story.
PAGE 6
I go in. There is a small safe. The lock is melted. I see some white shavings on the floor. I get out my black bag and pull out a magnifying glass. I examine the shavings. It looks like candle wax.
I look around some more. Hey! There’s a wallet on the floor. I look inside. It looks like the criminal’s.
Later it turns out to be the criminal’s. The robber is caught in the new mansion that he just bought with money he claimed to “inherit†from someone at the bank. We know he’s lying. The trial is tomorrow. What will happen?
And by the way, thanks for helping me catch someone.
THE END
PAGE 7
“What do you think I should do first?†I ask.
“I think you should look for clues first,†O’Riley says, “and then, second, I think you should come back to me and get away. The scientists have very peculiar weather reports for today. This year is the year of El Niño weather, as you know.â€
What should I do next? If you think I should ask what the heck El Niño is, go to page 4. If you think I should ask him where clues might be, go to page 9.
PAGE 8
I run for my life!
I dash like mad to the car. I jump in through an open window. I zoom around corners. Even the police were breaking the speed limits and road rules. Getting away was a matter of life and death.
Everyone was pouring out of the city. People were driving in parking areas and on the sidewalk to avoid traffic jams. But somehow, I managed to make it.
I met O’Riley back at the bank, shook by a terrifying earthquake that topped a 7.4 on the Richter scale. The bank was in ruins. But Mr. O’Riley was still persistent on finding the thief. “Go in there, find some clues PLEEEASE!â€
If you think I should go in like O’Riley says, go to page 12. If you think I should stay out of the ruins, go to page 11.
PAGE 9
“Where do you think I can find clues?†I ask.
“There’s only 2 places the money is,†says Mr. O’Riley, “So he must’ve stolen the money from one of them. One of them is the vault. The other one is our locker that we keep some money in to loan out to customers who want to draw out some savings or make a loan. There’s more money in the vault, but the locker is easier to access.â€
Hmm…which one should I go in first? If you think I should go to the vault, go to page 12. If you think I should explore the locker, go to page 6.
PAGE 10
The ground rumbles and trembles.
“It’s an earthquake!†cries O’Riley. “Run for your life!â€
The earthquake will destroy the bank no doubt, and then I won’t be able to find any clues. Going in the bank during an earthquake will be notoriously dangerous. If you think I should run like Mr. O’Riley is, go to page 8. If you think I should go in, go to page 12.
PAGE 11
I stay. O’Riley keeps pleading, but I stay.
So he says he’ll go get another inspector. That’s fine with me. There are plenty of cases around to do.
So stick with me and help in my future cases!
THE END
PAGE 12
I go into the bank and after a while, I find some decent stairs. I decide to go down them.
I come to a big heavy door. It must be the bank’s vault. I don’t know how to get in, so I knock on the big strong door.
All of a sudden the door falls down, smashing against the floor with an ear-splitting bang. Well, that was easy.
Then the ground starts to tremble. The walls start to shake. A concrete slab falls on my head. I fall down. The door must’ve started off a chain reaction to keep out robbers.
The wall falls down. The ceiling crashes to the floor. I am slowly crushed…
THE END
Oh nice ending. “I am slowly being crushed…” Real cheerful.
14 – Other people thought so too. :guilty grin: But that’s not the only ending, you know!
Alice- About you being sick of your writing style… Maybe you should read books with a different writing style than yours for a while. Then you may be able to go back to your writing style without being sick of it. Sometimes, change is good for writing. My writing style has changed a lot over the years. You can tell, too. As you read more books, then I think you start to take on some characteristics of that writer’s writing style. As I said, you may just want to take a break from reading/writing in your regular writing style.
16- Yeah. I’m awaiting tomorrow, when the library will be open . . . I’ve been without something to read since I finished Mistress Masham’s Repose.
I’m going to post some of my story. *Note* these are not all from the first chapter.
Silently, the old man stepped into the circle, and, lowering his eyes to the ground, started to mutter incantations. The trees suddenly sparkled with an unearthly light. The old man took no notice. The trees began swaying so much that they looked like they were dancing. In fact, they were dancing Faster and faster they spun around the old man yet still he took no notice. Suddenly a loud crack interrupted his mutterings. He looked up just as raindrops the size of your fist came pouring down onto his astonished face. He knew what was happening. Horrified, he instinctively took a step back.
“No,†he uttered. “NO!â€
Then he quickly turned and ran as fast as he could out of the circle. After a few steps, he looked behind him and was horrified to see a lighting bolt the size of Consket racing after him. He ran faster yet he knew there was no escape. Just before the bolt reached him he yelled, “Awaken Lady of the Woods, awaken!!!!†Then the bolt struck him dead.
* * *
Miles away in a forest almost identical to the one the old man died in, the trees sparkled. A weeping willow standing dead center in the middle of the forest swayed gently. Then it began to change. Branches melded into arms and legs while flowers and leaves molded into hair. What was once a weeping willow was now a beautiful lady with long brown hair and forest green eyes. She looked around and disappeared with a soft twang like the sound you hear when you shoot an arrow.
The Lady of the Woods was back.
Another excert (sp?)
Lana looked around. “What… Stella! I’m here, I’m okay!†she cried out. But Stella didn’t respond, she just wiped her eyes and set up a cot next to Lana’s bed. “Stella?â€
Lana looked down. “Ah!†she shrieked. Her body was beneath her, lying peacefully on the bed. She was floating a few inches above her body. “What… what’s going on? Stella? Stella! Hello? Anyone?†she cried out mournfully. “Am I dead?â€
“No, child. You’re not dead. Your spirit is simply wandering,†said a voice. Lana whipped around. A young lady was standing next to her. Her voice sounded like the wind, and she swayed in place like a willow tree’s branches in the wind.
“Who are you?†Lana asked, wondrously. The Lady smiled.
“Come with me, child,†the Lady said. “Take my hand.†Lana hesitated. The Lady smiled reassuringly. Lana made a spur of the moment decision and grabbed the Lady’s hand.
They floated through the roof and out of the house. The Lady led Lana down many twisting roads and through many a building until they reached a field. The Lady sat down and patted the ground beside her. Lana sat down slowly. Her translucent fingers fingered a blade of grass carefully for a moment. Then she looked at the Lady.
“Who are you? Why…†she started. The Lady interrupted.
“Patience, child. My name is…†the Lady paused thoughtfully. “Why, I can’t quite remember.†Lana looked at her disbelievingly. “Sorry, child, it’s been so long since I was alive…†Seeing Lana’s startled expression, the Lady added, “Okay, I confess, I remember it. I’m just not going to tell you my former title. My name is… Kimika.â€
“Wait, wasn’t that…†Lana struggled to remember where she had heard that name before. “Never mind. I thought I recognized that name. Just… never mind.â€
Kimika smiled. A leaf fluttered through her. She watched it for a few moments. “You’re thinking about something. Tell me; what is it?â€
Lana sighed. “I don’t really know. I don’t know what happened; I don’t seem to know anything anymore.†She sighed again. “I just wish, that for once in my life, I could know where my story will end. Will I mean anything to the world, or will I be unnoticed for the whole of my life? What’s going to happen tomorrow, the next day, five years from now? Sometimes, I just wish I knew.â€
Kimika nodded sympathetically. “It’s okay, Lana. Everyone wonders that sometimes. However, I don’t think that’s really what you’re thinking about. Tell me what you’re really thinking.â€
A tear formed in Lana’s eye. She pushed it away. “I’m… I’m worried. I don’t know where my family is. They weren’t there when we went to look. Stella, Hazel, and Zelda said that some students’ families disappeared earlier that week. What if my family disappeared? I’m just worried, I guess. It’s pretty scary to be subject to losing your family.â€
Kimika nodded slowly. “Lana, I think… Well, I know that… I know that… I know that your family… Never mind. You should find out yourself. Just forget I said anything.†Lana nodded tearfully.
“Thanks, Kimika,†Lana said. Kimika got up and sat back down besides Lana. Lana leaned her head on Kimika’s shoulder and closed her eyes. Together, they sat watching the sunset. Lana’s eyes felt heavy like lead; finally, she fell into a peaceful sleep.
* * * * *
That last one was from Chapter 7. Here’s one last one.
Loud laughter greeted him as he stepped into the room. Young men and boys were crowded into the room, hanging around, and talking. He slipped quietly through the throng of people to a ground in the corner of the room. The boys were laughing at a recently told joke, and it was a minute or two before they noticed that the Apprentice was standing there.
“Hey, how’s the most important Apprentice in the Castle doing? Were you sent to come report how badly we’re behaving?†a boy with tousled blonde hair and bright green eyes said, his eyes laughing along with him.
The Apprentice smiled. “Oh yes, Mike, I have been sent to spy on you. Just wait until I tell my Master that you’re dating a piece of cardboard!†The group cracked up laughing.
“Don’t you dare insult my lady, Ryan,†Mike said with mock anger. “At least I can get a lady.â€
“Aw, don’t make fun of him, Mike. Just because it’s true, doesn’t mean you have to say it aloud!†scolded a boy with gelled black hair and a pale complexion.
“Thanks, Jake. You’re great help,†said Ryan as the group laughed again.
Okay, that’s it. What do you think? Any way I could improve my writing style?
11- that last scene is what I call a bell pepper, It will later be stuffed with rice and sasonings.
Now, if we will continue (more slowly…)
Miyrah slowly breathed in and out. In. Out. In. Out. She opened her eyes angain and stared out the window. Yes. There were really two suns rising in the East. To make sure she couldn’t change into something, she tried with all of her power, but after a couple of minutes of atttempted magic, she was still an ant.
The door to the room opened, and a- well, quite frankly, Miyrah didn’t know what it was. It was short, about three feet talll, had a greenish brown skin, had long black hair curled in a bun, and wore an apron over some victorian style clothing. She, for it was female, picked up the pillow, and Miyrah with it, and left the room. They walked down several spiral staircase, slid down in a dumbwaiter, wove their way through many hallways until at last they reached their destination. It was a large room, and a throne sat at the far end of it.
In the throne sat an elf. He was much older than Miyrah, and grey hair had long since filtered into his mane. Wrinkles dug canyons in his fading skin.
He sat very still.
It took Miyrah quite a while before she realized that he was dead.
“Not all that handsome, is he, Miss Diyonia?”
The ant on the pillow looked at the much younger elf standing to the right of the throne.
“It was obviosly a rhetorical question, as you are an ant, and ants can’t talk. Now, as I am the only one here able to talk, I’ll do the talking.”
The ant was seriosly getting annoyed.
“I,” the annoyance continued, “am Prince Nergard. Until quite recently, it was impossible to perform achange after having stayed in an animal form for over twelve hours. It is unheard of a change after 36 hours.” The prince reached inside his fine robes and pulled out a small bottle full of a thick red liquid. “This bottle contains the blood of a dragon, which I recently discovered can let you change after 36 hours.”
36 hours,,, had she really slept for that long?
“This bottle is what you want. Now, I want something, too. If I give you this bottle, will you do what I tell you to? If you agree, walk off your pillow.”
It was a risk, it really was. Miyrah had no idea what this prince wanted. But she had a strong suspician. The elf lords had a long history of assassination and murder. She had a feeling that she would soon be pulled into this.
If she accepted…
If she didn’t, the prince would obviosly find another elf and repeat the offer. A braver elf might have taken that chance and died, there and then. Miyrah wasn’t brave and stepped off the pillow.
The bratty prince smiled mallicously.
Alice- bored of your writing style- watch an epic movie. I do the Lord of the Rings trilogy for when I don’t have enough interesting stuff in my stuff, Harry Potter when i get writer’s block, Pirates of the Carribean when it’s boring, the Last Unicorn when my writing is not pretty anymore and I don’t have enough description in it-
observe- same basic plot-
Lord Of The Rings mindset-
the gazelle slowly walked down to the water and began to drink his fill. The crocodile slammed out of the water and locked its powerful jaws onto the beasts neck as the blood began to flow.
alright-
The last unicorn- The gazelle walked apprehensively down to the edge of the bay. The grass rustled quietly as his hooves trod upon the tendor sprouts. All was still. A lazy cloud moved across the sky. The gazelle lowered its majestic head and drank the muddy water. Away from the shore, a ripple began. The gazelle jerked its head up uneasily but lowered it to the water again. The ripple grew steadily larger as the prehistoric monster neared itself to the gazelle. A moment of silence and then the crash as the crocodile plunged into the air and bit the gazelle. It’s neck broke and the gazelle was dragged swiftly into the water to become he reptiles meal as the blood of the gazelle mixed with the muddy water.
Do you get my point?
18- Hmm. I like it. But the names, Stella, Hazel, and Zelda, not to mention Lana, they seem awfully familiar… but that’s alright. It’s a very good story, and I like your writing style, too.
19- Hmm. So if Sara refused to spy, that would make her brave? Wait, I already know the answer to that, which is why she spied in the first place. Anyhow, about your story, it’s definitely good. On Bell Peppers: I have a scene that’s more like one grain of rice, minus the seasonings and the bell pepper. The chapter is three paragraphs long, because I was uninspired.
20- I get your point. But The Last Unicorn was a terrible movie! The book was much better. Read it, if you haven’t already.
Okay, so I was thinking, and I came up with this:
“Get your sarcasm here! Pure and undiluted!” “Second-hand happiness, cheap!” “Hatred! You’ll never feel anything like it!” The market vendors hollered and yelled, crying their wares.
“They’ve got to be joking,” muttered Frank as he moved among the throng. A woman held a bottle out in front of his nose. “Love,” she said in a half-whisper. “True love. Only 10 gold pieces.”
Frank jerked back and fell into a canvas stall that had been erected behind him. After picking himself up, he continued on his way. “This is just bizarre. They can’t be serious,” he muttered again to himself.
“They are.”
The voice so close to his ear made Frank jump. When he turned, he saw a woman standing next to him. She was beautiful, with olive skin and long, straight, dark hair, but even as he admired her beauty, she changed, becoming a small gnarled man with grey hair, no more than four feet tall.
“Who are you?” asked Frank, enthralled.
“I am your guide,” said the dwarf, as he shifted to become a coal-black cat. “Come with me.”
20- Hey, you like The Last Unicorn movie too? Wow, small world. Anyways, great ideas. I’ll do that next time I have writer’s block or something.
21- I used those names in the RRR
23- I know. But if you’re not careful, you’ll do the same thing as T.A. Barron, with his two different Kates.
The Last Unicorn is a splendid book. Its humor reminds me of The Princess Bride.
25- I don’t remember much of it, but I do remember the cages with animals that looked mythical. Vividly.
25- I love the book. And I like the movie. The annimation is gorgous.
19- If Miyrah refused to become an assansin working for a royal brat and chose death instead, which is what she morally believes, she would be brave. As it happens, she’s now an assassin working for a brat.
continued from 19-
Aegle glanced around her yet again. something wasn’t right. She sniffed the air gently again, her whiskers flickering. she placed a paw in the water, her white fur sagging in the cold pool.
Miyrah Dionia, assassin of Fildur Castle, drew back her bowstring. The moon shone down on the large white wolf ahead of her. Her assignment was simple, kill the Lunart as it began its nightly transformation. Bring its head to the royal brat. Get the usual bag of gold.
Aegle raised her head to the moon and Sirius, the dog star, and felt her fur begin to melt. She let her woeful song slip between her lips as a butterfly slips from a coccoon or smoke slips from a flame. Her white fur changed to a sleeky silver as her form changed to ice before it would change to liquid. A graceful, unmeltable warm ice.
Miyrah released her arrow with a sharp twang, striking the Lunart in the hip. she cursed at her own incompetence and rreached for another arrow-
Aegle screamed in agony. The arrow began to spread the poison in its tip, meant to paralize the creature if the arrow missed its mark. Her head jerked down as her body involutarily thrust from side to side as the poison reached her heart.
this is an old story of mine and sort of weird
Middle Class Cats
Chapter 1: Sebastian
The clouds loomed over Sebastian as he made his way to the local congregation at the Cat Club. The local place was a snazzy place with bars and tables with red tablecloths. Sebastian checked in and stepped into the elevator. The boy in the elevator said, “Goin’ up!†Sebastian waited patiently for everyone else to get off as he waited for his floor at the top of the Club. “Ping,†and there was his number, 36, on the door. He pulled out his purse and dropped a dime in the waiting boy’s hand. He unlocked his door with the passkey and dropped it on the table next to the door. He leaned back on the nearest red lounge chair and picked up his book, “The Mouse Thief,†by W.M. Bickley. He started to purr as he got to the lovey-dovey part and he swung his tail back and forth as if it were a pendulum.
His doorbell rang. He put down his book and he opened the door. There stood Missy drenched form the rain.
“Sebastian,†she said, “I’ve been searching for you!†Her white fur hung damp and her ears in perfect pointed curves had moisture in them.
“Oh, ah, hello Missy.â€
“So,†she said as she stepped in, “What’s new around? I see you’ve got new furnishings. Why’d ya move from the Swish Tail Café?â€
“Umm, well, I, um, just got bored of the surroundings, that’s all.â€
“Oh.â€
“Umm, would you like a towel to dry off? Or a hairdryer?â€
“Yeah, thanks! That would be great.â€
Sebastian rushed into the bathroom and came out with a hair dryer and towel. He went into the kitchen to prepare a little snack as she dried herself off. Cooking was his specialty, after artwork, of course! His work as a painter corresponded well with the art of cooking. After all, they were both forms of art and to the person looking at it they both needed to look pretty and just right. She walked back out of the bathroom with her clothes dried and her hair fresh and clean. She looked dazzling in the late afternoon light.
“Oh, look! It’s stopped raining!†Missy said with joyful surprise.
“Really? Oh, ah, great, I guess,†Sebastian said with a little hesitancy. He knew Missy liked going for long walks down city streets from experience, so he quickly changed the subject.
“I prepared us a little light snack!†he said drawing her attention away from the sunset at the window.
“Mmmmmm! Looks delicious! Let’s bring it into the livingroom!â€
As they chowed down on the food she eyed him carefully. The light banter between the two had all but disappeared.
Suddenly he spouted, “Don’t keep staring at me! It’s getting annoying!â€
“Sorry.â€
“Yeah, umm, O.K.â€
Silence prevailed for a while and Sebastian broke it by saying, “Would you like to stay to dinner?â€
“That would be great.â€
“Could you help me in the kitchen then?â€
“Sure! I must warn you though, I stink at cooking!â€
“That’s O.K. I’ll teach you!â€
They walked together into the kitchen. It was a dazzling display of silver and white. His pans and oven shone in the late evening light. They chopped and diced, mixed and steamed, roasted and mashed until they could do no more.
Finally Sebastian said, “Go wait in the livingroom while I arrange it!â€
Missy slipped out of the room and sat down in the old puffy couch and waited. Soon Sebastian came out in his chef hat and tail flicking he said, “Walah! The Great Chef Sebastian is serving our appetizer. King Crab crab cakes just for you Madame!â€
Missy smiled and thanked him. They sat together and talked pleasantly.
“What great new artwork have you been doing lately, Sebastian?â€
“Right now I’m working on a portrait of a cat reading a book. All I need to do is find a cat to pose!â€
They chuckled at that and Sebastian realized it was time for the main course. He disappeared into the kitchen. When he returned he had a steaming plate of pan seared tuna.
“Ooh! I love tuna! How did you know?â€
“Really, oh, well it’s the chef’s job to know what his customers like!â€
They dug into the tuna, Missy wolfing it down in gigantic bites. Sebastian looked at her eating and had to hold back a laugh. Her normally dignified figure was bent over and her beautiful eyes were bulging out in the glory of the tuna. Eventually he had to chuckle.
“What you laughin’ at? Huh? Do I look funny or somethin’?â€
Her usual graceful manner had disappeared and her rough back street voice had suddenly spouted from her like it did when she was overly excited. Sebastian had never seen her this way and must have had a surprised look on his face, because Missy immediately changed back to her feminine voice and said, “Oh, ah, Sebastian, isn’t it time for dessert?â€
“Oh, ah, I guess so…â€
Sebastian stepped into the kitchen and came out with mango flavored ice cream which he set on the table in front of them. She daintily took a spoon and took a little bit.
“Oh! Sebastian! This is delightful.â€
After they had finished dinner Sebastian cleaned up and washed the dishes. Missy excused herself and went home. Sebastian thought about her as he got into bed. Why did she have sudden outbursts of bad vocabulary? How had she ever become so pretty? Why was he even thinking about her? These and a dozen other questions raced through Sebastian’s mind and he fell asleep thinking about Missy.
1- Yes! I try to change it and fail miserably each time. I think my influences are also horribly obvious.
OMG The Last Unicorn O_O. Never read it, saw the movie when I was a little kid, got really disturbed…!
I try to write. I write overly verbose first chapters, change them into horrible short stories, then give up. *depressed*
Chapter 2: Missy
When Missy awoke she remembered her dream from last night. It had been the same for several days now. She and Sebastian were sitting in a garden having fun and enjoying each other’s company. Her thing for Sebastian had grown immensely, until now, in her dreams, her passion was evident.
She was thinking about her dream when her phone rang.
“Hello?â€
“Hey, Missy! How are you this morning? I enjoyed having you visit last night! Would you like to come to breakfast downstairs?â€
“Sebastian? Um… well, sure, I guess. Why are you up so early?â€
“Early? What do you mean early? It’s eight o’clock!â€
“Umm… Sebastian? Did you remember to change your clock at the autumnal equinox?â€
“What? What’s an equinox? Huh? Oh! Oops… I guess I forgot…â€
“That’s alright! I was up anyway!â€
“Great! Can you come?â€
“Give me a sec and I’ll be right down!â€
When Sebastian hung up she shivered. What a thrill! He had called her! If that alone wasn’t enough he had invited her to breakfast! Maybe he was thinking about her…
Her trail of thought traveled along those lines as she got dressed. She walked down the stairs to the lobby where she met Sebastian.
“Glad you could come!†He said a little embarrassed.
“Great to see you again…â€
They entered the dining room and sat at one of the little booths made for two. When the waiter arrived they were both looking bashfully at the floor. Even though they were both adults, they were still the quiet types that were sort of afraid of each other.
“Ahem, what would you like mademoiselle? Monsieur?â€
“Oh! Um, I’ll have a bagel with fish paste please!†Sebastian told the waiter.
“Could I have a plain bagel?â€
“Certainly,†replied the waiter.
They sat waiting for their food. Finally Missy said, “Have you found the mouse for your painting yet?â€
“Um, well, no, not really. Why?â€
“Well, I was kind of thinking I could model for you…â€
Sebastian drew in a breath of surprise. “That would be great!â€
Their food arrived then and they both bit in.
Simultaneously they said, “Yuck!†The bagels had been over cooked and they were all crusty! They gulped and stood up.
“Why don’t we go over to my studio and start that painting and get some food, too?â€
“Great idea!â€
As they walked they chatted.
“So, what book do I read for the painting?â€
“Um… Not sure yet. You got a favorite in mind?â€
“Well… Sort of… It’s called Cat Burglars.â€
“What’s the plot?â€
When they arrived at Sebastian’s studio Sebastian had been filled in on the plot of Cat Burglars and Missy had spent a lot of time with Sebastian. Both were happy cats when they sat down to hash out the painting.
Missy had watched other paintings come to life and knew exactly how to do it. The only thing she couldn’t do was the brush strokes! She helped Sebastian figure out the correct lighting and everything else associated with painting. When she finally sat down in the chair for the pose everything was set.
She sat like that for hours, occasionally making comments to Sebastian. Finally Sebastian said it was time for lunch. He prepared a magnificent lunch of fried salmon.
After lunch Missy said, “Sebastian! I have to go. Why don’t you come to my place for dinner?â€
“O.K! Sure! I’ll be there!†he called from the next room.
Missy had plans for the afternoon. She wanted to go over to George’s house and talk to him about Sebastian again.
Chapter 3:George
George was sitting at home, wishing he knew what Missy and Sebastian were up to. He lived in house 339 on Point Lane. He had known Missy since they were kids next door. In middle school he had even had a crush on her, though she never knew it. His days with George went back to their senior high school days in the school at the end of Point Lane. They had gotten into a lot of mischief together. So when he heard that Missy liked Sebastian he was overjoyed. His two best friends getting married… what an idea! He also had a new hope, too. The house next door was up for sale. Maybe they could move in there if they were fast enough and they didn’t wait three years to get engaged and three more to get married. That seemed like too long to George.
So, when Missy knocked at his door he was surprised, disappointed, and elated all at the same time.
“Hi, George. Guess what…â€
She told him of all that had happened to her and George that morning. He was as happy about the painting as she was. That would mean they would spend more time together. He had not yet told her about the house next door and its possibilities. He felt it wouldn’t be right yet. He would wait until they were engaged. He asked her to sit down and have a cup of tea and some trout pastries. She agreed and George ran into the kitchen to prepare it. She plopped herself down into a comfy chair and waited when George came back she said, “How long do you think it will take Sebastian to like me?â€
“I think he already does. He just needs to figure it out though.â€
“Really? Could you help him along?â€
“Um… well I guess so… Sure! I’ll see if I can get him over today.â€
“Great!â€
George and Missy chatted a little longer and Missy excused herself and said she had to go home to get ready for Sebastian.
George rang up Sebastian and he promised he would come over as soon as he had finished reading the chapter he was in the middle of. George sat down and waited patiently. Finally, the doorbell rang.
George opened the door to find Sebastian on his doorstep looking at him. George asked him in and told him to sit down. They chatted for a while, and then George brought up the topic of Missy.
“So, you like anybody anymore as, you know, a girlfriend?â€
Sebastian looked at him funny.
“Why do you bring that up George?â€
“Well… Umm… I thought you and Missy should, like, umm, go out together? Please! Just once!â€
“What the heck George! I thought you were my friend!â€
“I am! Honest! That’s why I’m recommending Missy! Even I had a crush on her in middle school! Give me a break I’m just trying to help you.â€
“Yeah right! You’re probably just doing this for Missy.â€
“No! Just go over tonight!â€
“Fine!â€
Sebastian stormed out in a fury and slammed the door behind him loudly. George smiled lightly and mischievously, happy with his success.
Chapter 4: Tumbles
Bringgg, bringg! The school bell made a loud metallic clanging sound as school began. In Ms. Schubert’s class, in the second row, the third chair over, was Tumbles. It was his second year of school and he was in 1st grade. He was a bright lad and Briar, who sat in row two four chairs over, was his best friend. Together they got into a lot of trouble. They teased the girls and punched the boys. Together they were a rowdy couple of kittens.
But, now in school, they became quiet and studious, occasionally shooting paper footballs at one another. It was math, Briar’s favorite subject. They were doing multiplication tables. The game Around the World was their favorite game and both were really good at it. There were flash cards and you had to answer the multiplication problem before your opponent did.
“All right children! Enough worksheets on math for today. Let’s play Around the World!”
“Hooray!†The cheer rose from the children who were tired of sitting still. Before they knew it it was almost time to go.
“All right children! Pack up! Don’t forget to stack your chairs!â€
Tumbles put his math homework into his backpack and put his chair on the top of the quickly growing mountain of chairs. As he waited for his adopted mother to come and pick him up, he thought about what it would be like not to be an orphan. Tumbles had never known his parents. His father had died before he was born and his mother died when she gave birth to him. He had no brothers or sisters. A beautiful white cat walked up to him and said, “come on Tumbles!â€
“O.K., Missyâ€
Missy tried to get Tumbles to hurry up.
“Do you have any homework to do?â€
“Math.â€
“What did you do in school today?â€
“Math.â€
“Oh.â€
They arrived at her apartment and she let him in. Tumbles brought up the subject of food and she gave him a few treats. She went into the kitchen and began to prepare dinner. Suddenly the doorbell rang.
“Could you get that Tumbles?â€
When Tumbles opened the door he saw a light brown, male cat with a white line going down his nose standing on the doorstep with a bouquet of beautiful roses.
“Who the… What the… Umm… O.K. umm… Is this the right apartment?â€
“That depends who you’re looking for,†said Tumbles cautiously.
“Umm… Ah… Missy?â€
“I know nobody by that name!†Tumbles almost fell over backwards when he saw how Sebastian’s jaw dropped and his eyes popped out. Just then Missy appeared from the kitchen and called, “Tumbles dinner is ready! Close that door!â€
“Missy!†cried out Sebastian.
“Sebastian?â€
“Oh… yeah it’s me.â€
“Really! I had almost given up on you!â€
“What do you mean?â€
“George called and told me you told him to tell you that you’d be coming over tonight for dinner!â€
“Oh.â€
“What beautiful roses! Are they for me?â€
“Yes.â€
“Oh.â€
“I was going to ask you out to dinner.â€
Tumbles coughed at this point.
“Oh. What will we do about Tumbles here though?â€
“Um… He could come with us!â€
“Great!â€
Together all three walked out together. Tumbles stood between them as they eyed each other carefully over his head. Sebastian’s choice of restaurant turned out to be just next door to his studio, so he invited them to go there first. As soon as they got into the room Tumbles started complaining.
“I’m thirsty!â€
Sebastian ran out to the connecting kitchen and got him some tap water.
“It’s too warm!â€
Sebastian got him an ice cube.
“I don’t like water!â€
Sebastian got him cream.
Tumbles complaints went on like this for quite a while. Finally when Tumbles complained of hunger Sebastian decided that it was time to go to the restaurant.
Sebastian had codfish, Missy had swordfish, and Tumbles had fish sticks. Everything went fine until their main course was finished. The adults were about to order coffee when Tumbles asked for some, too. They said no and got him some sherbet instead. He was O.K. with that until he found the center of it was too icy. They had it melted a little for him and then he said it was too runny. So instead they told him that he didn’t have to eat any more of it and he sat silently, listening to the grown up conversation. Eventually he got bored and started banging his fork on the table. They told him to stop and he started tapping his claws. He made every annoying sound possible until they left and went back to Missy’s place.
At her room Tumbles was sent to bed while the grown ups chatted. Missy and Sebastian sat shyly while Tumbles listened at the door. Eventually, because of the silence he fell asleep at the door. When Missy and Sebastian heard the thunk of Tumbles slumping to the floor they became afraid. They opened the door to Tumbles room and saw him conked out on the floor.
Chapter 5: Sebastian
Sebastian liked Missy. He was, in fact, quite fond of her. He kind-of knew this but could not quite come to tell her this. He thought maybe that night he could tell her. Similarly Missy was hoping he would tell her. Finally Sebastian said, “Um… Missy. I really like you! Could you um… consider… marrying…â€
“YES!†Missy cried out in delight, “I’d love to marry you! When can we do it?â€
Sebastian stared at her blankly because he had been more prepared for a decline than an acception. He shook his head to clear his thoughts.
“Why don’t we discuss it over breakfast tomorrow at my studio? How would that sound? Oh, and by the way, ah… here’s your ring…â€
Sebastian handed her a beautiful ring of 14kt diamonds.
Missy’s jaw dropped to the floor. “Sebastian! This is beautiful!â€
“Aww… It was nothing…â€
“When can we get married?â€
“How about tomorrow?â€
“Great!â€
“Do you have a dress and stuff?â€
“Yup!â€
“Then it’s all set!â€
“Who’ll tell George?â€
“You.â€
“Okay.â€
“Goodbye dear! Don’t be late tomorrow!â€
“I won’t!â€
“Oh… Umm… Sebastian. I don’t think I ever told you about Tumbles. I adopted him a while ago. He’s mine, so we’d have to take him into our home.â€
Sebastian thought about how much of a pain Tumbles was, but he was cute…
“Sure, he’s so cute. Why, I’d love to have a kid right away!â€
As Sebastian walked out the door he was thinking, “Wow! She said yes!†and Missy was thinking, “Wow! He asked me!†Both of them went to bed extremely happy.
The next morning Sebastian woke up to sunlight streaming through the window in his room. He was happy and nobody could kill his high hopes for the future. He knew he loved Missy and there was nothing to it. His life seemed great as he dressed to be groom for the first time. He had always hoped she liked him. He never expected her to say yes though. Everyone congratulated him on his big day.
Missy was experiencing the same thing in her room. As they both made their way to the church they wondered what it would be like, being married.
Finally they were both at the church. The aisle seemed to stretch for a mile. Then the vows took forever. Finally they were pronounced man and wife. Sebastian kissed Missy and they knew that they had chosen correctly. As they drove home they remembered about Tumbles. He was still at Missy’s room.
As they drove over to Missy’s they saw the house next door to George and stopped the car. After a quick conference they went in and bought it. It was like their house of dreams. They got Tumbles and moved all their things into the house. Tumbles had urned out to be fine and had slept the whole time they were gone! Sebastian had one room as the studio, another as a reading room, and another one as a kitchen. Missy had a sewing room, a bathroom, and two bedrooms. George was very happy they moved in next door. Everyone lived forever together and Missy and Sebastian and Tumbles became a true family.
30- Watch it again. I had the same problem when I was little, but it is a really complicated and beautiful movie. Do not be fooled by the little kid shine that’s put on to it, for example the tree that comes to life is taken from the shakesperian plays: a side character with no obvious purpose, but has a moving role. Or the scene where that lady keeps screaming “where have you been?”.
Aegle’s heart stopped. She glanced at the moon, hoping that it would somehow save her. miyrah walked over, knife in hand. Aegle closed her eyes, awaiting the fatal knife.
Miyrah took a deep breath and crouched over the Lunart. you don’t have to do this. it said inside her head. An annoying part about Lunarts.
“You’d be surprised,” Miyrah whispered.
Aegle, with her last ounce of strength, reached out with heressence, but found the only creature around was the one trying to kill her, She took the risk and added her essence to Miyrah’s as the knife decapitated her old body.
(34) That was Molly Grue, cursing the unicorn for coming to her too late. I haven’t seen the movie, but the author of the book, Peter Beagle, wrote the screenplay, so I’m sure all the best parts stayed in.
36- It’s the best part, perhaps. It’s all good.
Miyrah cursed and ran wildly around, attempting to expell the imvasive creature. She panicked and dropped head and knife and ran into the forest. Stop or I will kill you! the Lunart said/thought. Miyrah screamed. You would deserve it.
Miyrah sat on a rock and started to sob. After a while the elf calmed and began to think clearly. She would go get the head, bring it to the royal brat, explain to him the problem, and hope that he had some other kind of blood or something.
The Lunart laughed silently. It won’t work.
Aegle found an ant underneith a stick and poured her essence into it. Then she swiftly and with fatal precision killed the creature. She changed and with the dying body, became a whte wolf again. then she pounced on the shocked elf. The battle between the creatures began.
anyone, tell me if you want me to continue?
Someone, anyone, shall I continue or not?
*cries*
Sure, continue.
Thanks Alice. *snarls at everyone else*
. No, I meant the snarling.
Miyrah changed to a gryphon, but the Lunart quickly changed into a ferocious dragon. The battle of the two titans forced a clearing in the previously close trees.
Lunarts are different from Elves in that they draw their power from the moon and stars, and can recieve quick bursts of strength from the heavenky bodies. Elves can change at will, but have the normal strength for that species.
Aegle opened her essence for the third time that night as Miyrah was busy attempting to sever her tail. Aegle dug a talon into the Gryphons wing. The light of the stars dimmed and the moon lost its light as the Lunart sucked up there power. Aegle poured part of her essence into Miyrah and found her source for her magic. She reached in and severed the bonds that let the magic run to her veins. The Gryphon flickered and changed into the elf’s true form.
The girl lying before her was a silverish creature with blond hair and the trademark pointed ears. To Aegle’s shock, she was only fourteen or fifteen.
Aegle changed back into her white wolf and put aside her pity and put her paws onto the elf lying spread eagle on the ground.
I’m thinking of continuing the stuff I’m posting on the writing challenge thread… No worries there, though, I’m using completely different characters each time, I think.
Also, yay, continuation. I enjoy lurking on these threads more than posting.
42- More, more!
I like the Lunart. It’s really original, which is a trait often lacking in Fantasy. (No, guys, everyone here is original, just a lot of published fantasy isn’t.)
44- On the rare occasions I’ve dabbled in high fantasy*, I’ve tried to keep from falling into the elf/dwarf/human/orc-or-urgal trap and come up with more original creatures, like Bukevri and Kvydro.
*Actually, I’ve never written a word of high fantasy, just invented a world where it could take place.
45- Indeed. I have never dabbled in High Fantasy. Not once. Not a word. Or a world, for that matter. But if I did, I would FORCE myself to be original, as much fun as it is to be clichè.
44- really?
“Who are you working for?” Aegle screamed. A bit of slobber slapped across Miyrah’s face.
“The Royal Brat!” she sobbed. The Lunart pressed harder with her forepaws and Miyrah screamed out of fear. “Prince Nergard!”
“That name is not welcome in these parts!” the Lunart whispered menacingly. “And neither are his assassins.”
Miyrah sobbed harder. Aegle was honestly getting impatient.
“I should kill you now and be over it. Now just because my head might give some wacko prince immortality, doesn’t give you the right to come here and try to rip it from my shoulders. Am I understood?”
Miyrah nodded and controlled her sobbing. She felt lightheaded and dizzy. immortality?,she thought, so that’s what he’s after.
“You are going to take me to this Nergard, and I’m going to have a pleasant chat with him. Alright?”
Miyrah nodded again. The Lunart released her for paws and sat on the ground, then screamed in pain and fell to her side.
Oh, right. The arrow.
She slowly stood up and walked over to the wounded Lunart. As she did, she touched her side where the hawk had grabbed her. A thick scar was there, but someone at the castle must have healed it while she was asleep. She’d forgotten it all until now.
Miyrah had hit the Lunart in the hindquarter with the poisoned tip. The arrow itself hadn’t done any harm because the Lunart had switched over to a new body. However, the poison was having a strange side effect on the Lunart’s essence.
Aegle’s essence was attempting to purge itself of the poison, and it looked like Aegle was going to vomit in order to do so. Her sides heaved, and with a silent retching movement, a slim wave of smoke came sifting out of the Lunart’s mouth. The smoke lazily formed a viper, hissing at the two of them, and then drifted off into the night.
“Are you all right?” Miyrah asked slowly.
The Lunart looked at her oddly. “Well, I’ll have to be, or you won’t get your magic back!”
Miyrah realed back in shock and looked at her essesnce. Sure enough, the Lunart had somehow destroyed her bonds that connected her body to her magic. Which meant that the Lunart would also be able to fix it, but it was a great reason for Miyrah not to run off, which is exactly what she’d been planning on doing.
47- Wow! That is really original. I have trouble following a bit, but I always have some trouble with fantasy… But I still love it. I can tell it’s gonna b great
um… I started this today… what do u think?
A silent tear hit the floor and passed without notice. Except for her two brothers, Julianna felt alone. Michael and Stephen were at boy scouts and she was the only one watching her parents screaming at each other. This time. Normally it was over dinner or at bed time that this happened, when everybody was home and “normal families” would be laughing and having fun. Julianna was fed up and screamed at the top of her lungs, “Stop it! This happens every night! Can’t you give it a rest?”
Her parents were quiet for a moment then her mother said, “This is you fault! Now you’re upsetting the children!” The bickering started all over agin and Julianna ran from the room to her bedroom down the hall. She took deep breaths and stared at her poster of Wayne Gretsky on the ceiling.
“Why do they always do this, Wayne? You could dodge around the and still score a goal but I’m not strong like you! Nobody else’s parents yell at each other like maniacs, why do mine?”
Through red eyes she looked in the mirror and tried to fix her appearance so her brothers wouldn’t notice her so upset. She brushed her redish-brown hair and lashed at the knots and wiped her green eyes. Her mouth trembled under her slightly pointed nose with the sorrow she felt envelope her. Another deep breath and she heard the door close and little feet come pounding up the stairs. She opened her pale blue door and hugged her little brothers tightly, glad of the company.
“What’s wrong Juli?” Stephen asked.
“Just Mum and Dad again,” she wispered.
“I wish we could make ’em stop. I bet if we ran away they would!” Stephen said.
Julianna laughed. Her brothers were always coming up with silly ideas to cheer her up.
“Juli, it makes sense,” Michael said. At age eight he was always agreeing with his ten year-old brother. Julianna, at thirteen, had enough sense to stop them on most things.
“No, it doesn’t. Where would we go?”
“I read this book…” Stephen began but Julianna cut him off…
Chapter two of the Changeling and the Moon
The Moon’s Vengeance
Deep within the castle of Rnari, where Prince Nurgard made his living, a foul creature awaited commands inside a steel cage. Thick black fur and white teeth had earned it the name Sargaro, elvish for Moon. The elves had always feared the Moon, after a war with the Lunarts had given it a bad reputation. Sagaro monstrous size was twice that of a regular wolf, larger than a Lunart, and this creature was the only one of its kind. It had been released into the human world a few times, but it lived on in Earthling’s legends as the Loup Garou, the Beast of Gévaudan, the varulf, werewolf.
It did not change like most of the magical creatures. It remained its monstroud forms, and was feared for its brutality and seemingly invincability. It was said that it was a puppet, not a living creature, but a fake beast that the House of Rnari only could control. Seemingly feelingless and imortal, it was a true assassin.
Most of the legend s and myths were untrue, exculding the Beast of Gévaudan. Sargarowas to terrorize France in order to make an Elvish noble pay a protection fee. Then Jean Chastel was hied by the King of France to kill Sargaro, however, Jean Chastel had no real intention to attempt an attack on such a beast, found a lone wolf, shot it, stuffed it, sent it to Varsailles, and pocketed the promised titles and money.
Rnari House recalled the beast and stuffed it back in its cage, then sent a picture (by a famous artist of the time) of one of the dead girls that Sargoro had killed to the Elvish noble, with the message that it would be his eleven year old daughter next unless he paid up, which he naturally did.
Sargoro was a large wolf, black as night, who had been captured, and by a many complex spelled, morphed and controlled by the head of Rnari house, which in this case was Prince Nurgard the eighth.
Above the ground, in the castles noble rooms, the Prince was meeting a poor surf, who had been summoned by the Prince.
“My Lord, I saw the Lunart and an elf following the trail in the direction of your lands, that is all!” the surf whimpered. he was kneeling on the hard floor in front of the throne of the dead king, wear Nurgard was standing.
“You did not give them directions, or here them speak, or point them in the way of my home?” the Prince snarled. This was fun… “How do I know that you aren’t lieing, or that you won’t go tell them that you told me!”
“I won’t!” he cried.
“I actually don’t believe you. Why should I? You could stab me in the back as easily as you did your fellow country men,” Prince Nurgard said calmly. he turned to speek to a gard, “Take him to the dungeons. We can’t afford to take the chance of a squeeler.”
The Prince examined his right hand fingernails. “Send me the Beast of Gévaudan.”
The guard gulped. “Sargoro?”
The Prince snarled, “It is an ancient beast of no name. Do not call it by such!”
“Yes, my Lord,” the guard replied as he bowed and went through the ash double doors. “Call Runarga!” he snapped at a messenger boy leaning outside the door. The boy ran off to fetch the Lady of the Night.
49- Slight correction: Serf, not surf. And the paragraph about the Beast of Geveduan is fairly incomprehensible. But other than that, it’s as good as ever!
and continueing…
the Lady of the Night was sitting at her vanity, brushing her long silky black hair while a group of Ladies in Waiting fussed over preparing a corset for her. A nock at the door was answered with one of the Ladies in Waiting yelling at the boy that her Majesty was not dressed yet, and would come as soon as she was.
Runarga was dressed in her finest, makeup was added, her hair was fixed, and she was declared ready to leave after thirty minutes. She walked gracefully to the guard, who expplained that the king wanted the Beast of Gévaudan.
Three male servants and two female escorted the Lady of the Night down into the cage rooms, which were next to the dungeons. Runarga took a key from the bundle at her hip and unlocked the large cage. The wolf inside raised its head and snarled dangerously. The servants were released and the Lady of the Night brought the creature that she alone could tame to the Prince who would abuse it.
48- very good. I would make them hear a crash and smash downstairs to mean that things were really getting ridiculous and someone threw a china toy dog. That’s just me. You really like the story? It’s not the one that I’ve put the most time into…
52- I totally love the story… You should keep working on it… I have like 5 stories going… I don’t know what to do but I think I’ll continue on that last one… O, btw the reason I didn’t have them throwing anything was that I didn’t want it to get violent, just really upsetting cuz it’s almost constant. Idk, I know what’s gonna happen but I’ll surprise u
…but Julianna cut him off, “You and your books! They’re fiction. You should learn what to believe and what not to! Honestly! Now, go on, wash up. We’ll play a round of Sorry when you finish your homework. Come in here to do it though,” Julianna said out loud but thought, “I need the company. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”
Stephen and Michael ran into the bathroom, washed their hands, grabbed their homework, and were back in her bedroom in a moment. She smiled at their speed and picked up her book. Getting home an hour before her brothers was a blessing to Julianna because she could do her homework in peace and still help them with theirs. She sighed, “Why can’t life always be like this?” to herself.
“Juli? Can you help me find all the verbs?” Michael asked, breaking into her thoughts. She groaned as she put down her book and flopped off her bed and onto the floor where her brother lay, textbook open, worksheet infront of him.
“Mike, how many times do I have to tell you? Verbs are what you do, like run, walk, throw, you know!”
“Oh… oh! So challenge would be one right?”
” ‘xactly! You’ll get it.”
In her eighth grade world, Julianna hardly had to think about parts of speech. It was all about writing well. As the end of the year approached, so did final exams. While the boys watched movies and went over everything they learned, she was taking her third and fourth finals the next day. She knew she should be studying, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Her grades were average and she made honor roll, if not principal’s every semester. Tomorrow was reading and math so she couldn’t study much anyway.
In many ways her family was average. Three children, decent grades all around, middle class Americans, not a thing about them, unless you counted the nightly household fights, was special.
Julianna frowned as she thought of them. Many of them were stupid and pointless. Perhaps her mother had bought a new dress without telling her father, or her father had gone out for a few drinks with a friend and stayed out too long, nothing normal families would fight about, in Julianna’s opinion. They had been going on as long as she could remember and it was almost a ritual, but one she would never get used to.
Both boys finished their homework quickly, barely allowing Julianna to read five pages. As she had promised, they got out Sorry and began to play. Julianna was green, Michael blue, and Stephen red. Michael won the first game and they decided to play again. Stephen won that time and they called it quits. Julianna picked up her bouncy ball and played catch. She found it too quiet and put a Fergie CD in the CD player. Ther first song was Big Girls Don’t Cry and she thought to herself, “Oh, yes they do, believe me.”
49- Whay’s it incomprehensable?
54- I think whe means that the wording made it not a complete sentence and it was a little weird to read, but I got the general picture
55-Whhops. I was writing to fast again. All the stories are on paper, so I have to type them in when I post.
Continueing…
The Prince stared into the eyes of the beast and sent it pictures of its victims. Go with haste. Leave none alive. The Prince leaned back, only to start as his back touched the corpse. he cursed and hoped that the Falkah could get here quickly and give him the crown so he could get rid of the corpse.
56- geez, what corpse!!!! wow, it looks soooo cool!!! Please, keep adding more!
continueing-
Miyrah and Aegle had been on the trail for several days now. The Lunart transformed every night into the liquid, but solid, creature of pure essence and magic. It never slept, because during this transformation the body could rest while the essence recieved power from the stars. Miyrah had no chance of running away, and the Lunart could tell if she lied. Miyrah rolled onto her side and ignored the hoot of a screech owl.
Aegle in her essence form smelled the electricity in the air.
Something was chasing them, she could feel, but no evidence showed that they should be alarmed. That didn’t stop Aegle from being nervous.
The beast pursued its prey night and day, driven on by magic and pure rage.
57- It started in post 10.
continuing-
Aegle’s essence snapped awake and stared at a spot in the woods. Smething blacker than night was hiding….
Aegle’s essence returned to the Lunart form while she screamed, “Run, Elf!” The Elf woke with a start and they scrambled to run. The beast jumped in to the small clearing and-
the beast. Larger than any normal wolf, thick fur blacker than night and glistening white teeth leered from a malicious face. Its growl started deep within its stomach and grew until it became a snarl. It’s face quivered with bloodlust and its lip was pulled back to show blackish-red gums. Its claws were several inches long, and curled, thinning to sharp points. Its ears stood up jackal-like, and its tail stuck straight up in the air like a warning signal. It stood, its back legs staright and front legs slightly bent, making a perfect position from which to spring. Its eyes had no pupils, but were glowing red orbs.
-it sprung gracefully and forcefully into the air and landed directly ontop of Miyrah. Its massive jaws found her neck and it prepared to crush any bones that its teeth could wrap around. Aegle spun around and slammed into the side of the huge wolf. She knocked it aside , but it quickly regained its balance and prepared an attack on her as Miyrah crawled into safety.
Beast! Aegle screamed, inside and outside the monster’s head. It shook its canine head, attempting to shake out the thunder of her voice. Set aside your wrath! The beast prepared to leap and sprung once again, but the Lunart jumped aside and the monster crashed to her ground. However, the Lunart was not strong enough to conquer the true loup-garou and her only chance was through magic, attempting to over-ride the Prince’s commands.
BEAST! LAY DOWN YOUR FURY! The Lunart dodged from the jaws behind a tree, but the beast knocked it over with a slam of its hip. It leapt upon the astounded Lunart, and she yelled for help. Miyrah!
Miyrah wracked her head for a spell, and conjured the only thing she could- a white fire. She threw it at the beast, but it shattered. The shattering fire distracted the beast from the Lunart, and charged toward the elf. The elf transformed into her gryphon form, but was too weak from fear to do much more than scream.
The Lunart jumped onto the beasts back and clamped on with her teeth and claws. She flapped her wings in attempt to confuse the beast. MONSTER! she projected again, Leave us in peace!
The Gryphon slashed out with its claws and scrathched the beast’s face. It roared in pain as blood fell into its eyes and tried to shake the Lunart from its back.
Have you know feeling? Did no mother ever hold you? Aegle grasped at straws, attempting to evoke a feeling of guilt from the beast. Have you no conscience? Have you no essence? Have you not a name to- The beast screamed and shook more violently, a wall being built around its essence.- You have no name! No name your parent gave you! No name to call your own! I name you! I am your savior! I release you! I NAME YOU! I NAME YOU CONALL MNEME EIR FARVARDIN! I RELEASE YOU! I release you! I name you. I name you… At first her words seemed to have no effect. The beast shook violently and sent Aegle flying. Then- it stood still growling suspicously, in the prespring position, its rump in the air. It stared at the two of them, a Lunart gasping for breath and an elf who had crumpled into her old self and’s wetness on her leg prooved that she had just peed on herself, and the beast’s eyes grew less and less red, and pupils spread from the center, and its eyes stopped the glowing, and its lips began to cover its gums, and the teeth and claws remained just as sharp. It still stared suspicously at the two of them, but it stopped the growling. “I name you,” moaned Aegle, her strength giving out completely. Conall Mneme Eir Farvardin sat on the ground and stared at them. It cocked its head to one side, twisted it to the other, and began to pant. Miyrah fainted, and Aegle began to laugh in a hysterical manic way. “Just like a puppy!” she exclaimed and slumped into a dead faint.
60- Now that was a good scene.
This is from a different story I’ve been writing:
The peachy rays of the rising sun spilled through the aging gazebo, illuminating the wedding party beneath it. The bride, a buxom woman with a taffeta gown of aquamarine was walking up the aisle dabbing her eyes with a silken kerchief. The glint of her many stranded diamond necklace was admired by all onlookers.
No one hardly noticed the girl trailing behind, in an equally aquamarine dress throwing petals miserably out of a wicker basket.
Finally they arrived at the groom, her handsome Uncle. The pastor smiled through his thick ebony moustache and droned on about love and trust until finally they were husband and wife.
The reception was an extravagant affair, with pink champagne fountains, chocolate covered strawberries,and five dove ice sculptures. The flower girl, twelve years of age was named Eliza, and the bride was now legally her Aunt and caretaker. She silently pondered her grim future. As soon as the festivities were over she would be sent on a train to boarding school.
It had started several months previous, when her Uncle had decided to court woman again. He wasn’t interested in becoming a lonely old man, which Eliza understood completely. What she didn’t understand was why the first woman he decided to see regularly was the obnoxious, red-headed Desiree Deller.
At first Eliza remained open-minded. Perhaps Desiree had another intellectual, caring side that was buried deep within her. Yet it quickly became clear that Desiree’s only pursuits in life were shopping for ridiculously expensive clothes and Eliza’s Uncle.
Eliza wrote it off as a faze. Her Uncle was just visiting with people until he found “the one.†She figured he was attracted by her uniqueness, but would eventually realize he preferred someone who cared about something other than silk dresses. Yet he remained completely smitten.
It was on one of their dates on the terrace, as they sipped wine, and she reported on her latest shopping trip, that Eliza saw it. While her Uncle admired the sunset, Desiree removed and uncorked a small bottle from her reticule. She Poured it wordlessly in his drink, and hid it away once more. “And then, Edward, I found this gorgeous of gloves,†she babbled on. Turning back he drank the wine contendly, leaving Eliza to stare out the window in shock.
This situation repeated itself every time they met. The same little glass bottle. Uncle Edward remained both clueless and in love, the first possibly triggered by the first if Eliza’s theory was correct.
The day of their engagement was a muggy sort, with a steady rain since dawn and a gloomy gray sky. Desiree waltzed in at about noon as Uncle Edward had asked her too. She had recently gone shopping as her armful of shopping bags betrayed, and as a result was in a particularly chipper mood.
“Oh Desiree my sweet,†Edward said softly as he poured a glass of wine. He got down on his knee and said the words Eliza so frantically wished she would never hear. “Will you marry me Dessy my love?â€
Eliza sat dumbstruck, eyeing the diamond and sapphire ring now squeezed on to Desirees fleshy finger. The rest spiraled from the there. Endless nights of scoping shops for dresses and obsessing over whether “sun- kissed peach†or “wildflower goddess†would be a more suitable perfume. Countless evenings Eliza spent mulling over possible ways to stop the marriage, to betray the secret.
Desiree had never liked Eliza that much was quite certain. But upon Edwards urging she allowed Eliza to accompany her in sampling wedding cakes, at a small shop called “Icing on the cakeâ€.
It was a well kept little shop, filled with antique lace. The cakes were absolutely delicious yet the flavors were slightly numbed by the thought of the occasion they would next be served at.
62- “No one hardly noticed” is a double negative. Just letting you know. Other than that, it’s a really good story so far.
Whoa. I didn’t realize there was a new one. I have had, like, 4 story ideas in the last, say, week and a half. I AM SO HAPPY!
Donaldo, I know this is off topic, but please, please, come to the Kokonvention Kountdown thread! I’m trying to organize a Washington state one, and you said you might be able to get to Washington.
63- Okay. Thank You.
61- *Bows*
continuing…
Aegle opened her eyes slowly. Her essence ached and fizzed. she glanced at Miyrah, who was sleepeng peacefully. She rolled over to her side and came face to face with a monstrous wolf, Conall Mneme Eir Farvardin. he wasn’t sleeping, simply staring at her. “Good morning!” she said nervously. “Is it all right if we call you Farvar for short?” The wolf cocked its head, which Aegle took as a positive answer. She stood and stretched, chatting with the wolf, “You aren’t much of a talker, are you? That’s alright. Now, we obviously can’t send you back to the royal brat, so you’ll have to stay with us, but since you didn’t run away while we were unconcous, I take it that you agree.” she eyed the wolf, attempting to see if he understood her words. “We haven’t been introduced. I am Aegle, the daughter of the Star, but don’t tell anyone, okay?” she smiled at her own joke. A rumble in Farvar’s throught ended with a coughing, hacking sound, which Aegle took to mean that he was attempting to speak.
*All right, a couple of notes about names. Aegle means “light, radience, glory” and stems from “Aigle” which is a greek diety. “Conall” means “strong wolf”, “Mneme” means “memory,” “Eir” means “”mercy'”, and “farvardin means “guardian spirit.” Miyrah and the others have no meaning.
We really need a writing thread, I think.
68- How’s that different from this?
68- thats good, because I suggested one on the suggestion box thread.
69- It doesn’t have to be a book.
71- Most of these are hardly short stories!
72- I’d always thought they were fragments of books we were working on or little bits of ideas.
Not all of them. trhe one with Missy and sebastian can’t even be called a novella. It’s still good. I’m just arguing because the GAPAs are trying to cut down on tread prolific-something.
69- I used to wonder that too, but a writing thread is where we post pieces of our stories, and this is for posting ideas and searching for constructive criticism and the like.
ok.
You know there already is a writing thread, too. If you search writing, you’ll get it.
Miyrah poked a stick into the crackling bonfire. Aegle was in essence, and Farvard was chewing on a stick too big for Miyrah to pick up. “So, what’s the plan?” Miyrah asked Aegle or the night. Aegle beat the silent night to an answer.
“We travel to Du Vrant Gronah, stack up on supplies, turn east, travel to the Sarak Marya, pick up an old friend, go north and have a pleasant chat with his highness.”
miyrah’s anger doubled. She stared at the essence goo. “What are you hiding from me?” she burst.
“The essence didn’t seem disturbed. “Hmm?”
“Why can’t you trust me? Why don’t you tell me what’s happening?”
The essence surveyed her. “You tried to assassinate me. Why do you think you did that?”
Miyrah stiffened. “I suppose the royal brat wnated immortality.”
The wolf stopped chewing his stick and made a hacking sound that sounded strangely like laughing.
The essence giggled but whether at Miyrah or at the wolf, Miyrah was left in the dark.
77- Please come on it then!
They traveled for over week on foot before. Aegle abruptly stopped them.
“In about fifteen minutes, we’ll be at Du Vrant Gronah. Farvar, you’ll have to stay hidden in the forest. I may need your help, so stay alert. The wolf moved away and sat loyally underneith a tree. Miyrah, you must tell no one of your name, or who you worked for. I need you to be polite and not offend anyone. And it would be best if you don’t mention our furry friend, all right?” With out further ado, the Lunart continued down the trail. At a turn, the frest suddenly stopped, and a large white city greeted them. It was tall, with several layers to it, and surrounded by a thick wall. A gate was guarded by two musceled guards. they followed a road up to the guards, and Aegle stared at the each of them. “I am Aegle Lunasteras. the time has come.” Th e guards opened the large gate, and the Lunart and Elf made their way into a bustling city. Merchants tried to sell Miyrah wares, but she held her tongue and kept up with the annoying Aegle. They walked for several miles until they came to a patch of grass. the coomons of the town was littered with chickens and small domestic animals, but the Lunart ignored them and walked across the commons to a statue of a horse, on a large white pedastal. They climbed up a starecase to the top of the Pedastal and stood there, waiting expectantly.
The sun krept higher in the sky. At noon, the lunart suddenly raised her head and howled a low, mornful, and joyous sound, a mix of emotions that words can’t describe. It was a long series of notes, and when she finished. An eerie hush gathered around the city, the calm before a storm.
79- I go there. Who do you think I.A.A.M.D.T is? I even said who I was.
I just don’t post a lot of my writing. I mostly post fragmentary first paragraphs, and ask for suggestions and help.
creatures lowly sifted into the commons. When over a hundred people were there, Aegle spoke. “The tyrants of Rnari house have opressed our people for centuries. We can stand now, we can fight now, the time is now, and now is the time.”
An old elf from within the croud cried, “we are happy! The Rnari house does not massacre us as it used to, we are at peace! Why cause unnecessary bloodshed?”
“The massecres have begun again, in the west, the south. His assassins roam the land at large,” the Lunart replied. Miyrah’s ears burned. “Sargaro was indeed sent to kill myself, he is no longer. the Rnari house is growing stronger every day, we must fight now, or suffer for ever more. You the Princes wishes. We must dethrone him before he is crowned king. It would mean the death of us all, the destruction of our lands, the burning of our homes. We can stop it.”
A dwarf from within the crowd yelled, “Our rightful ruler has come! Let us fight for her and happiness!”
Miyrah’s confusion began to disolve as she surveyed the Lunart.
“Join me! Fight with me! Let us throw off the bounds of the Rnari house and be rid of them forever. I am your leader. Rally around me, for I am truly the daughter of the Star!” the Lunart finished. As she spoke, the crowd grewrestless, until at last they broke away to pack their belongings, tend to their businesses, and depart.
“We ride at dawn!” the Lunart bellowed. The crowd rushed away, a decision on their minds.
Miyrah stared accusingly at Aegle. “You could have told me.”
The Lunart growled at her. “Trust is a difficult thing to grow, assasin.” Aegle turned away from her and whispered something to the breeze. It seemed to nod, and rushed away with a new found speed. They stood and waited, although Miyrah didn’t know what for, until a sorel stalion rushed through the streets.
“My lady, the Prince knows of your actions. They prepare to march to Furnavi tonight,” the stallion said. Aegle eyed him closely and replied, “the night shall help us. They may find us, but they will not reach us until after we are at Sarak Marya. i have friends there. We can hold them off.”
“That may be, but are we sure that we can trust you? Are you placing the crown on your own head when we take it from the Rnari house?” the stallion bristled.
The Lunart sighed. “I do not want the crown. It is mine rightfully, but I would rather throw in the river before I wear it.”
The stallion smiled. “We will ride with you. we trust you. I hope our trust is well placed.” he turned to run away. “I might warn you, Lunart,” he said, “we shall kill you if you betray us.” With his words hanging in the air, he rushed away into the sunset.
Just wondoring- How many people lurk here? Raise your hands!
Raise your hands if you lurk here!!!!!!
The sun rose slowly. Aegle stood ready at a crest of hill right outside the city. Over a hundred females, males, and young were gathered, some on horseback, some on their own four legs, some elves that had changed to bird forms. Miyrah pursed her lips nervously. “Aegle,” she started, “what exactly are you going to do with these people? They can’t fight…”
Aegle looked at her slyly. “They are escaping. They know that the Prince has had his eye on Du Vrant Gronah for weks now. And they want to help the uprising.”
A group of a hundred or more horses joined the pack. The time had come.
83- I’m lurking currently.
85- Thanks. Is Alice the only one?
BOO! I’m lurking.
Someone besdies me contribute… Does anyone actually read what I write?
88- Of course I read it.
As for contribution; I only use this thread for suggestions, criticism on plotlines, etc. I hardly ever post what I’ve written, because . . . well, I just don’t do that. I’ve posted th prologue through the second chapter of The Makepeace War on the previous thread, though.
Also, The Makepeace War has ground to a halt. At first I thought it was Script Frenzy that killed it, but now I think it’s just my lack of exciting things planned out.
74- txs I agree I have a lot of short stories
88- oooh! oooh! me me!! I’m here *waves hands frantically in air* and I ♥ what u write!!!!! I’ve read every bit of it and have loved it!!!!
continued from story-
“Juli! Turn that junk off! It’s gross ‘The smell of your skin lingers on me now’ ew!” Stephen and Michael complained.
“You two have no sense of musical taste!” Julianna said, annoyed, but she turned it off and took out her ipod instead.
“Uh-oh, bye-bye Julianna,” the brothers said simeltaneously, making her laugh. The two boys, though two years apart were like peas in a pod. They both thought and acted alike and agreed on almost everything.
Julianna listened to a few songs and read her book. The story was about a young slave girl in the Civil War. Civil War stories were Julianna’s favorites. She found multi-tasking easy and loved to sing along to music as she read, which Michael and Stephen found annoying.
“Julianna! When I askied you to stop playing the music I didn’t ask you to start singing it!” Stephen complained, again.
“Yeah,” Michael agreed, again.
“God, you two! Constantly complaining! Fine, whatever,” Julianna said disgustedly, but she stopped singing. In a short while a call came from down the hall, “Dinner’s ready! Get it while it’s hot!” their mother called.
A road, even on horses, is long and bleak. The trust of evey trotted pace, the flap of every wing, the thud of every paw on ground moved the group a fraction closer to their destination. On the tenth noon, one of the scouting hawks came back and declared that they were an hour from the city walls of Sarak Marya. Aegle called the group to a halt. She gathered a small party of ten, and went forth on foot. Miyrah followed defiantly, all though she had not been among the ten chosen. Farvar ran in front of her and growled, bringing her to a screeching halt. Miyrah sat in a huff, but followed the mute wolf’s advice.
Aegle came to the city gates. She passed, and wove her way through through the bleak and gray city. Not one creature was seen until yhey nocked on the door of a small dark house. A Kunart opened slowly.
“Come in, before someone sees!” he rushed them. The standard white fur and wings, he it seemed that he had a grayish shade to his glory.
Aegle walked gracefully in. “You owe me a favor, Emer…”
91- are you writing this anywhere besides muse blog?
Early each morning, before seven thirty, Vanessa got softly out of bed and tiptoes to the window, where she pulled back the curtains, to peep out at the neighborhood. She didn’t know why she was so quiet, it was instinctive, despite the fact that no one could have heard her, not even her parents. Vanessa dwelt at the top of the house, among the dust and cobwebs that she stubbornly refused to sweep away. She lived there with her cat, Adventure, and the two kittens, Fable and Mystery. Vanessa sometimes felt like a witch, alone in the attic, with her cats. But instead of dreading those moments, she relished them. It was then that she pulled her heavy journal from the shelf, and it was then that she wrote. She did not write of her own life: school, meals, sports that she had tried and failed; but of the life of another girl, another Vanessa, who lived deep in the green tangle of a forest, in a dusty and magical old house, and cast spells. Not cheesy spells, like a witch in a cartoon, but Real Magic, the like of which no one thought existed. And there was one more thing about the other-Vanessa, one thing that not even reality-Vanessa had written, or spoken of. And that was this: the woods, and the house, and the witch-Vanessa–all of them were real. They really existed. But in a place that no one–not the most famous of explorers–could reach. And that was the roots of the Earth.
~~~~~~
Eh, so-so. But what do you guys think?
Why did the roots preserve a witch? What? I didn’t get what you meant at the end. Oh well, It’ll make sense next section. Hmm…I was going to write…but now I have no topic…*sigh*
95- *shrug* Dunno. It doesn’t make any sense to me either. It was actually supposed to be about someone walking a dog, but it didn’t end up that way. And then I tried to stick in an idea I had earlier, and it just got more tangled.
I’ve started work on The Makepeace War again. It lacks something, but that’ll be fixed in the edit. Right now, I’m just struggling through the story, and trying to write about a horse-crazed character when I’m anything but horse-crazed. Ah well, I used some of by experience with ships. It’s the feeling of awe and wonder that I really need.
I need to write some fantasy. I’ve been working on this adventure story for months and months, and my heart yearns for magic. Not The Black Lion, either. Much as I love it, it’s not what I want right now. Maybe it’s time to try my hand at what Canix calls High Fantasy.
High Fantasy- is that where you make everything? If so, I love it…
91- I started it on paper, but I’m changing and adding stuff all the time.
Emer stood stiffly still. “I am sorry, but I do not owe anyone anything.”
Aegle eyed him confidently and cocked one eyebrow. “It apears your memory has gone with your swiftness and youth!”
He puffed his fur proudly. “I am as fast as ever, and my memory is fine, thank you for inquiring!”
“Excelent,” Aegle played, toying him into a corner, “then you’ll remember on what terms I helped you out of a rough spot so many centuries ago?”
“You do not look your age…”
“Time is our advantage, and you have plenty of it.”
“It was so long ago. We were young, our lives frolicking in the apple orcherds of the Star…”
“It is as though it was yesterday. Our agreement is also fresh.”
“Do you remeber the way fresh apples smell?” They silenced, and sniffed the air tenderly as though hoping an apple would appear.
“The apples are long gone, Emer…”
“The memory is still quite fresh,” he muttered.
“why taste the intangible memory when apples are within your reach?”
“i remeber our agreement,” Emer admitted.
” ‘Nightime falls-‘”
” ‘Morning devoured!'”
” ‘Time is now, time is in the blood.’ ”
” ‘the tail is caught, the fox has surrendered'”
” ‘The tales of ancient lore…'”
“You do remember,” Aegle whispered.
“I remember too much.”
“We only need alittle bit of Time.”
“Six hours’ worth?”
“It would be treasured…” Aegle smiled.
Emer whined and mumbled darkly, but disapeared into his back rooms. The ten in the party looked mystified at each other. Emer came back, clutching a small bottle on a silver chain in his teeth. Aegle beamed and swung the chain around her neck, the bottle settling deep into her fur. “Thank you. and now, wemust leave.” Aegle and her party left, leaving emer standing in the doorway and a small bag of apples as a gift.
97- High Fantasy is sword and sorcery type stuff. Not quite what I’m looking for after all.
Oh, that’s a really good scene too.
Miyrah stabbed a fork into a chunk of potato and stuffed it into her mouth. Aegle gnawed at a carrot delicatly. miyrah swallowed wholepieces. Aeglechewed gloriously. Miyrah snarled as she threw her remaining dinner into the fire. Aegle placed hers in the coals. They stared face to face, beauty in the heat of the beast. Miyrah sighed. “I hate you. You are disgusting.”
Aegle nodded. “Some have said that.”
Miyrah sat back, annoyed at Aegle’s effective defenses.
100th post!
Aegle sniffed the air quickly. Every mucsle in her body tensed. A low horn had just sounded, and quickly, an army of Rnari soldiers swarmed the crest of a hill. The Lunart changed intoa dragon, as did many other of the Changers. Miyrah swiftly changed into a Gryphon, and roared into the battle erupting around them. Arrows whipped through the wind slicing into flesh. Miyrah followed in the wake of Aegle as she fought. The Rnari soldiers could not all change, and the enormous gryphon picked a humonoid up and crushed him in her beak. She slashed out with a talon when a small dull pain hit her in the back of her neck. She continued to fight until the paralizing poison worked into her mucsles, spread by the blow dart. She fell backwards, changing into her natural form just before she was unable to move. She watched the battle as though in slow motion. Aegle faught heroically, though for life or for honor Miyrah wasn’t sure. A knight on horseback with a long spear rode toward her. She raised an arm to hit him with when the spear hit her right in the chest. Her mouth gasped, and her eyes grew wide with shock. She slowly and gloriously changed back toher winged wolf shape, the spear still protruding from her chest. The blood spilled onto her snowy fur, and her eyes dulled and a film grew over the once bright irises. She fell back in such a way that she fell on top of Miyrah, knocking the elf unconcous.
*sniff, snuffle* Yes. I killed Aegle. She’s dead.
That battle scene needs work. Sorry.
I’m thinking of keeping a journal-type thing, putting in what happens to me, and seeing how the story turns out.
102- It does need work. Let me do something about it-
Aegle sniffed the air quickly. Every muscle in her body tensed. A low horn had just sounded, and quickly, an army of Rnari soldiers swarmed the crest of a hill. The army was small,but larger than the group nestled into the hills. The Lunart changed into a dragon, as did many other of the Changers. Miyrah swiftly changed into a Gryphon, and roared into the battle erupting around them. Arrows whipped through the wind. The clash of the sides was deafoning. Miyrah followed in the wake of Aegle as she fought. The Rnari soldiers could not all change, and the enormous gryphon picked a humonoid up and crushed him in her beak. She slashed out with a talon when a small dull pain hit her in the back of her neck. She cursed, but was unable to remove the poisoned blow dart. She continued to fight until the paralizing poison worked into her mucsles, spread by the blow dart. She fell backwards, changing into her natural form just before she was unable to move. She watched the battle as though in slow motion. Aegle fought skillfully, though for life or for honor Miyrah wasn’t sure. A knight on horseback with a long spear rode toward her. She raised an arm to hit him when the spear hit her right in the chest. Her mouth gasped, and her eyes grew wide with shock. She slowly and gloriously changed back to her winged wolf shape, the spear still protruding from her chest. The blood spilled onto her snowy fur, and her eyes dulled and a film grew over the once bright irises. She fell back on top of Miyrah, knocking the elf unconcous.
Slightly better, still horrid.
Grumbles. Someone, anyone, could you help me edit that last scene?
103- I’d love to help, but I can’t for the life of me think of how to make it any better. I’m horrid at battle scenes.
I realized that I want two things. One is magic, and the other is a human antagonist. I have both, but not in the same story.
103-which one is the elf?
103- try answering these questions in it:
Are there other people there? If so, who?
What does the dragon look like? The Gryphon?
Describe the Rnari soldiers
How long is the battle going on?
What does it look like from Aegle’s position?
DESCRIPTION DESCRIPTION DESCRIPTION:
Landscape, characters, time, etc.
Oh, I was wondering isn’t there a way Aegle can idk reincarnate or something? She looked like she would be a main character and then she’s dead! Plus she was cool and if you could explain more about Emer I think that would be good too
103-i think the battle needs more detail andnoot exactly gruesome detail but just more
first for my last comment i ment and not, not andnoot
I wnant to post the prologe for my book, A Falling Shadow so i can find out what people think about it
The General stood on the cliff looking over the battle that raged below him. His Scale warriors were slowly being forced back, the army reduced to a mere 150 troops barley a fourth of the oncoming army. His human warriors elemental magicians had already been wiped out within the first day of the invasion. He knew the reign of shadow had ended. His thougts were ended as a horn sounded they were retreating.
The General watched as his army fled… well what was left of it. The enemy’s archers let out a final volley of arrows which wiped out at least half of his troops. He cursed under his breath. Now he had nothing no home no help no leader. But, he had been ready for this the whole time ever since he had joined the Shadow. He had known the Shadow would eventualy fall. After 15 years it just happened.
He had bought a small farm house and good amount of land. It was in the southern part of the country near the small town of Pheon. He had a plan ready it was time to go.
He hoisted his pack and set off to a new life. The mountains of the shadow disapeared behind him and after weeks of hard travel Pheon appeared in the distance.
3 monthes later…
The General walked through Pheon to the blacksmiths shop. On the the way there he overheard some towns people talking “Have you heard about the baby that was found the other day?” the first one said
“yeah I did, and how no one will adopt him,” said a second man
“poor kid” added another
The General walked up to them ” Where is the kid?” he asked
“Why he’s over at the medicin ladies’ place, Why?”
But The General was already gone.
When the General returned home he was not alone. He set his new son on the bed “goodnight my son goodnight Milik,” He blew out the lamp and plunged the room into darkness.
109- You need to put the proper punctuation marks: , ; – () in it, but it sounds good. Also, it needs to be slowed down some.
i know i’m just trying to get the basic idea down
107- I have the story all figured out in my head, Emer is a huge character, as is the bottle that is around Aegle’s neck, Aegle is also a main character, a couple of times she’s biugger than Miyrah, and she will not reincarnate. She may come back, in one form or another.
Alright-let’s try it again, shall we?
Aegle sniffed the air quickly. Every muscle in her body tensed. A low horn had just sounded, and quickly, an army of Rnari soldiers swarmed the crest of a hill. The army was small, but larger than the group nestled into the hills. The Lunart changed into a dragon, as did many other of the Changers. Miyrah swiftly changed into a Gryphon, and roared into the battle erupting around them. The large black dragon that was Aegle reared on its hind legs, a razor sharp arrow tip tail flickering softly in the growing darkness. The black dragon’s ram horns raked against the skales of a Rnari soldier’s green armor. As the essence within died, the medieval-like armor disolved into a fine green ash that blew away in the summer breeze. Arrows whipped through the wind. The clash of the sides was deafoning. Miyrah followed in the wake of Aegle as she fought. The golden gryphon, half golden eagle, half panther, screamed its unearthly shriek as it felled the bodiless soldiers. The Rnari soldiers could not all change, and the enormous gryphon picked a humonoid up and crushed him in her beak. She slashed out with a talon when a small dull pain hit her in the back of her neck. She cursed, but was unable to remove the poisoned blow dart. She continued to fight until the paralizing poison worked into her mucsles, spread by the blow dart. She fell backwards, changing into her natural form just before she was unable to move. She watched the battle as though in slow motion. Aegle fought skillfully, though for life or for honor Miyrah wasn’t sure. A knight on horseback with a long lance rode toward her. Aegle raised an arm to hit him when the spear hit her right in the chest. Her mouth gasped, and her eyes grew wide with shock. She slowly and gloriously changed back to her winged wolf shape, the spear still protruding from her chest. The blood spilled onto her snowy fur, and her eyes dulled and a film grew over the once bright irises. She fell back on top of Miyrah, knocking the elf unconcous.
Miyrah slowly opened an eye. Her other one was swelled beyond opening. She touched it lightly with a bloodied finger, realising slowly that the eye within was punctured. She pushed with her arms, trying to relieve the dead weight on top of her. She groaned and gasped until the large form flopped off of her and stiffly landed in a heap next to her. Miyrah crawled over to it and examined it. It was Aegle. Miyrah had completely forgotten. She looked upon the frailfigure, and noticed a silver glisten around its neck. She slowly parted the fur to reveal a small crystal bottle, labeled with an engraved word on it. She squinted in the light of the moon, and read, “thyme”. She smelled the bottle, shook it, but could see no sign of the herb that tastes fantastic with salmon.
112- Much better. But the bit about thyme tasting fantastic with salmon is awkward and unnecessary.
113- Sorry- It’s what we had for dinner!
fourth time’s a charm…
Aegle sniffed the air quickly. Every muscle in her body tensed. A low horn had just sounded, and quickly, an army of Rnari soldiers swarmed the crest of a hill. The army was small, but larger than the group nestled into the hills. The Lunart changed into a dragon, as did many other of the Changers. Miyrah swiftly changed into a Gryphon, and roared into the battle erupting around them. The large black dragon that was Aegle reared on its hind legs, a razor sharp arrow tip tail flickering softly in the growing darkness. The black dragon’s ram horns raked against the skales of a Rnari soldier’s green armor. As the essence within died, the medieval-like armor disolved into a fine green ash that blew away in the summer breeze. Arrows whipped through the wind. The clash of the sides was deafoning. Miyrah followed in the wake of Aegle as she fought. The golden gryphon, half golden eagle, half panther, screamed its unearthly shriek as it felled the bodiless soldiers. The Rnari soldiers could not all change, and the enormous gryphon picked a humonoid up and crushed him in her beak. She slashed out with a large gold talon when a small dull pain hit her in the back of her neck. She cursed, but was unable to remove the poisoned blow dart. She continued to fight until the paralizing poison worked into her mucsles, spread by the blow dart. She fell backwards, changing into her natural form just before she was unable to move. She watched the battle as though in slow motion. Aegle fought skillfully, though for life or for honor Miyrah wasn’t sure. A knight on horseback with a long lance rode toward her. He was tall and his horse was a beautiful sorel, burning in the setting sun. Aegle raised an arm to hit him when the lance hit her right in the chest. Her mouth gasped, and her eyes grew wide with shock. She slowly and gloriously changed back to her winged wolf shape, the spear still protruding from her chest. The blood spilled onto her snowy fur, and her eyes dulled and a film grew over the once bright irises. She fell back on top of Miyrah, knocking the elf unconcous.
Miyrah slowly opened an eye. Her other one was swelled beyond opening. She touched it lightly with a bloodied finger, realising slowly that the eye within was punctured. She pushed with her arms, trying to relieve the dead weight on top of her. She groaned and gasped until the large form flopped off of her and stiffly landed in a heap next to her. Miyrah crawled over to it and examined it. It was Aegle, complete with a lance sticking in her chest and coming out the back of her neck. Miyrah had completely forgotten. She looked upon the frail figure, and noticed a silver glisten around its neck. She slowly parted the fur to reveal a small crystal bottle, labeled with an engraved word on it. She squinted in the light of the moon, and read, “thyme”. She smelled the bottle, shook it, but could see no sign of the herb. A silverish liquid inside seemed to swirl around. Miyrah yanked on the necklace, and the chain unclasped itself from Aegle’s neck. Miyrah hung the bottle necklace around her neck and stood. Bodies lay on the battleground, and the green ash covered the bodies. A figure, lupine in form, crouched over one of the bodies, sucking a silverish liquid from its open mouth.
Miyrah, as if in a trance, walked over to the white creature. As she walked closer, she could see it was a lunart, sickly grey. The creature tucked something underneith a black cloak, and bowed to her.
“Good evening, elven miss. A sad night, a sad night…” The lunart smiled sadly, and it continued, “allow me to introduce myself. I am Emer. May I ask for your name?”
Miyrah stared at him. Her punctured eye throbbed. “I am Miyrah.”
The lunart looked at her with one eye. “You were sent to kill Aegle, weren’t you?”
Miyrah startled. “No! Absolutly not- did she tell you?”
The lunart smiled slyly. “I wouldn’t question the ways a thyme picker gathers his information, were I in your skin.”
Miyrah shivered. Then, the lunart’s wording clicked, and she grasped the shoulder of the white cloaked wolf. “What was the bottle hanging from Aegle’s neck? Tell me, mongrel!” The lunart smiled. Miyrah shoved him, yelling, “Tell me, dog of filth and death! Tell me!”
The lunart laughed. “You can save her. You can save them all.” The lunart laughed again, softly, musically. His shape became like smoke, and he disapeared.
Miyrah sat, panting on the ground. She tore a strip of cloth from her shirt and spat on it. She wiped of her face and tied it around her eye. As she tied it in the back, the clasp of teh necklace came undone and fell into her lap. Miyrah picked the small bottle hanging from the necklace up. It was cool, and the liquid inside swirled. She broke the wax seal around the cork, and opened the bottle. The liquid slowly floated out. It spread out like a spider’s web and the starlight glimmered on it. miyrah reached out a shaking finger totouch the web. As her finger stroked the fabric of thyme, a thrust of energy pushed her from behind. Then all was black.
114- Very nice. Write more!
114-That was great much better than the last onekeep posting
Miyrah opened her eye quickly. She sat up in the middle of the camp, and noticed that she herself was following Aegle and ten others towards the city. Farvardin rushed across the camp and stopped her. Miyarh glanced at thesun, and saw that it was about one or two oclock. She stared at the bottle in her hand. “Thyme. Time. The old dog was dealing time.” She laughed manically, and stood. She changed into a cat, and the silky black cat walked through the camp, weaving around creaturess legs. She came upon the crest of a hill, a little bit away from the camp, and looked over into the cool summer day. The sky was a clear blue, and the breeze slowly floated over the fields of flowers. She sat, and remebered the battle. She surveyed her memory, of Aegle and the knight, of herself, of everyone elseon the field. Her eye opened quickly. Farvardin had not been at the battle. Or, he was not going to be at the battle. Miyrah realised what Farvardin was doing at the time of the battle, and realised what she herself must do. She changed into a pheonix,and flew, faster than the wind could carry a normal bird, north, to the land of mist and rains, Frenda, and to Sirius, the dog star.
Here is the beginning of a humorous story I just began about a knight who wants to change his knighthood name.
“Having saved our kingdom from the giant trolls of Leischand, and from the army of the poisonous Froggles, and from the evil witch, Finnia Maltabu, and finding the cure to the common cold, and recovering the golden map of the kingdom, and for all that other stuff you’ve done that I can’t remember, I now pronounce you, Sir Carl the Silly. Now rise and-“
“What?†Carl Nitingale, now Sir Carl, asked. “Sir Carl the Silly? What kind of name is that?â€
“Well, we Used so many adjectives with all the other knights, silly was the only one left. You should be glad. You’re a knight!â€
“Yeah,†Carl sneered. “A silly one. Can’t I trade?â€
“Well, no…†the king said quickly, and trailed off murmuring.
“But I don’t want to be Sir Carl the Silly!†Sir Carl spat out the word like it was a salamander. He looked at the king, who was focusing on shining his crown with his scarlet robe. “Do not keep something from me, your Highness.â€
“Is that a threat?†The king was suddenly alert. He regained his composure, and said sharply, “You ARE Sir Carl the Silly, and will always be Sir Carl the Silly! Now get out! OUT!â€
The surrounding knights were shocked. No one had ever treated the king in such a way, and Carl knew it. But silly? Carl was not silly in the least! He stormed out of the castle, and back into town towards his home.
When he finally reached his family’s run-down shack, his mother and father were waiting there, smiling. “Well? How was it?†his mother asked, the grin on her face growing larger by the minute.
“Horrid!†Carl was on the verge of tears, but knights didn’t cry,-only silly ones did, and he refused to be silly, so he fought back the tears, but they came out anyway. “My knighthood name is Sir Carl the Silly!â€
His mother and father were confused. “What is the matter with that, son?†his father asked.
“Knights are NOT silly in the least! I have done so much brave things that have saved this cursed kingdom, and I’m supposed to be silly? I could have dealt with Sir Carl the Funny, or Sir Carl the Goofy, even, but silly?â€
“Oh, Carl,†his mother said softly. “That isn’t all that bad! What if you were Sir Carl the Weird, or Sir Carl the Dumb, or Sir Carl the Chicken? Silly isn’t that bad!â€
“Yes it is. You don’t understand!†By now the tears were coming down, much to Carl’s displeasure.
The pheonix rushed against the wind, the wings flapping slowly and surely. The mist gathered and the pheonix continued to fly. The speed of the pheonix was unmatched, and in twenty three minutes, it was in the far north. It landed in snow, and walked forward. Before it, a large throne of stone and ice stood in the wasteland of ice and snow. In the throne, where usually there sat a splendid figure, sat only the shadows of the mist. The pheonix screamed in frustration. A voice behind her said, calmly, “If you would be so kind as to be silent, I’m trying to watch that penguin.”
Miyrah spun around, her long red tail covered with snowflakes. “Penguins live in the south,” she said automatically.
Well what do you guys think?
119-You are a great writer! I have been reading your last few posts, and you are very talented!
118- It’s okay. Bu I want to hear about the adventures he had before he become Sir Carl the Silly. And right now I’m a bad judge.
121-Thanks for the advice. I might write a prologue telling that stuff.
122- But the thing is, a prologue is hardly adequate. That’s a whole BOOK of stuff! What happens AFTER he becomes Sir Carl the Silly?
123-No. I might write a prologue explaining a few of his adventures before he becomes Sir Carl the Silly, but after, I think I am going to have him go on a quest to change his knight name, and during that time, he uncovers a plot to overthrow the king. But it will all be very silly!
Sorry for the double post, but I NEED HELP! I need a story idea for a screenplay for a class I am taking! And I can’t think of one! Argh!! I hate writer’s block!
125- If you can’t think of a plot, you probably shouldn’t try to write.
Sorry to be harsh.
Quick suggestion: Think of an appealing character, then give him or her a problem. By working out how the character solves the problem, you’ll develop your plot.
For example, your character could be a teen or pre-teen boy taking a summer class in screenplay writing. The problem: he can’t think of a plot. So he asks his friends… (Hmm. Sounds familiar…)
125-o.k. can It be anthing,or do you have a type of story?
what about one of those sports drama type things? or like a girl power/abusive relationship thing?
126-It’s OK. I don’t think you were that harsh! I need to write though because it is an assignment due tomorrow for a class I am taking!
My mom said maybe I could use a story I have already written and adapt it into a screenplay. What do you guys think? I was thinking about one story I wrote about getting revenge called the Great Lemonade Stand Contest, where these two kids are in a contest and they and their friends keep on trying to make the others lose by pulling pranks on their stand. In the end, they both get in trouble, and neither win. The other I was thinking of was the story about Sir Carl the Silly. It could be a story about finding yourself(theme is very important in screenplay writing) and it would be fantasy comedy. What do you guys think?
130- I like the first idea.
130-the first idea.
130-I agree with them thwe first idea sounds good
Yay! I got someone to play the Letter Game with! But I have to write the first letter, so I need to think of some characters and a setting.
Continued from 119-
Miyrah seemed to shrink in front of the creature. He was tall, a jackal head on his neck, his skin taught and copper, scarlet robes embroidered with gold and navy threads. Miyrah changed from her pheonix to a red fox, and asked, “May I be as bold as to ask for your name?”
the man/jackal looked at her eyes. His eyes’ pupils were not black, but had swirling galaxies in them. He spoke with a slow low voice. “I am Anubis, I am Romulus, and I am Remus. I am the hound that cries alone in New York’s alleys. I am the wolf skin stretched taught on the tanning board, I am the dingo in the hills.”
“You are Sirius?”
“Sirius is but a name. It is one of my names, but one that many have forgotten.”
“I haven’t forgotten it. I need your-”
“I don’t usually help mortals.”
Miyrah almost snarled in her frustration. “Your daughter is dead.”
“Actually, she’s alive. She’ll die in,” he paused, calculating, ” three hours, twenty five minutews, and twelve seconds.”
“You will do nothing?”
“My daughter and I have not spoken in several years.”
“That’s stupid. Why?”
“That is a personal matter, and i know not even your name.”
“I am Miyrah, that is not important. What is important is that Aegle will die.”
“Everyone must die.”
Miyrah snarled at him. “You are disgusting.” She changed to a Pheonix and spent thirty-eight minutes flying to the castle of the Royal Brat.
Wow. Very nice, Vixen. You’re a good writer.
I’ve been writing, but mostly random RRR related things. And a letter for the Letter Game, which I now need to copy onto paper and send. (Yeah, I wrote it on the computer. I make too many mistakes in my own writing, and writing my first draft on the computer helps.) And I brought in a whole other branch of The Makepeace War, in the form of a ten-year-old girl named Maria, who is everything that I wanted Sara to be. (Not that Sara isn’t a good character, but Maria has the scene that I wrote for Sara at the very beginning, where she’s sent off into the dark night on a horse to go do some important mission.) (And Sara kind of isn’t a good character, when you think about it. She lacks character. But that’s probably because I’m inside her skin, part of her. I think that I lack character too.)
Darn it! When I statred to write this, I didn’t realise that it would require math. I had to create a timeline for this….
‘The battle had begun at six oclock. Aegle died at six-fortynine. Miyrah had used the bottle at eight oclock. She had been swung back in time to two oclock. Aegle had come to my house at two-thirtythree. Miyrah left for her who-knows-where at two-eighteen, and now its three- twentyone,’ Emer thought. He stopped calculating and lay down, his head on his paw. ‘There’s nothing I can do but wait. I won’t need to act until the battle….’ It was an uncomfortable thing, relaxing, when Emer usually took time and used the time frantically running in all directions. He, however, could do nothing yet. His eyes drooped, and sleep took him.
Aegle had changed herself into a young elf. her gold hair shone in the sun as she ran around, her faithful hound, Trofast, barking while running at her heels. She had picked the flowers he carefully planted each spring, and a lone rose fell to the ground as she and Trofast collapsed in a giggling heap. The hound, a larg chested, tall dog, licked her face. She laughd and pushed him over, then scratched his stomach.
The young Lunart, in an elf boy form, had long since dropped the clippers that he had been clipping the hedge of the palace with. He had parted the leaves carefully, and, standing on three buckets, had a perfect veiw into the garden where the princess spent so much time. The boy could have cared a lot less about his spoiled roses. He stuck his face in further to get a better veiw of the girl when one of the stacked buckets shot out from beneath him and he fell backwards, hitting his head on a rock.
When he came to, he was laying beneath an apple tree. A soft hand was swabbing his face with a sponge, and, in a voice that sounded of bells, cried, “You’re alive! Trofast! He’s alive!”
The hound barked.
He opened his eyes and stared into the face of Princess Aegle. “Apples,” he said stuppidly, haveing noticed the fruit hanging above their heads. Aegle stood and picked one. She bit into it, and picked another. She handed him the latter. He reached it with his hands, and bit into the red fruit.
“It’s sweet, isn’t it?” Aegle smiled.
He nodded. he was in the garden, a bit away from where he had watched Aegle.
“I heard you fall. It isn’t nioce to spy on people, you know. My father says-”
“Does your father know?” he interupted.
She laughed, a sparkling tinkling laugh. “No, and I shan’t tell him, either. No one knows you’re here.”
the hound barked.
“Don’t worry about Trofast,” she said. “He’s an actual dog, not a changer.”
The boy smiled.
“What’s your name?” Aegle asked. She leaned against the tree and sat beside him.
“Emer. Emer Canes Venatici.”
“I’m Aegle.”
“I know,” he said bluntly. She laughed. Trofast lay his head in her lap and she stroked him lazily. “I’m not allowed to play with other children.”
“Oh. Why?”
“My father,” she said simply. “He doesn’t have to know.”
Emer smiled. Aegle smiled back. The aroma of sweet apples tingled as it entered their senses.
Emer awoke. A tear ran down into his fur.
That’s sweet.
139- Thanks.
Miyrah slowed her flight into a dive at two minutes past four. She flew above the outer wall, past the guards, and flew up. She landed on the sill of the first open window.
A beautiful, dark, and mysterious woman sat within. She was combing a veilof long black hair that hid her face. A pack of Ladies-in-waiting stood behind her, spreading the castle gossip. Miyrah stared at the Lady at the vanity. An invisable hand seemed to grab her, and she was pulled of the sill and toward the Lady of the Night.
The phoenix struggled, unable to throw off her invisible bonds. The Lady motioned with her finger, and her capture lifted her up and placed her on top of the vanity, among the jars of powder and rouge. The Lady smiled and took her in her hands. One of the ladies-in-waiting took a gold bird cage from above the bed, and the phoenix was placed in it. A bit of the air beside the vanity shimmered, as though with powdered silver and a boy of around ten threw off a silver cloak and smiled mischievously at the Lady. He was dressed in fine robes of red and gold, and his brown curls reached his shoulder blades.
The Lady smiled at him softly. “You know I despise you walking around under that cloak of yours. Especially in my rooms.â€
“Yes, Lady Runarga. It won’t happen again, Lady Runarga,†the boy said angelically.
The lady scowled. “Now, I know you mean no such thing. Why are you up here?â€
The boy burst into tears. “He’s horrid! I hate him!â€
The Lady’s expression softened. “What did he do this time?†she asked over the boy’s wails. The boy calmed slightly, at least long enough to answer.
“He- he- he-,†the boy sobbed. “He said that- that he was going to throw my- my- Roggy in the moat, if I didn’t.â€
The Lady frowned. “If you didn’t do what?â€
“If I didn’t give him my pocket money!†the boy wailed.
“Did you?†she pressed.
The boy howled and nodded.
“Now, now, no one’s going to throw your dog in the moat. I wouldn’t put it past Him to give it the best shot he had, though,†she added darkly. The boy hugged her and crawled into her bed and lay down, his sobs diminishing. “Third time today that poor boy’s been scared senseless by his brother,†the Lady confided in her ladies-in-waiting. “Absolutely ridiculous!â€
She turned her attention back to the phoenix on the vanity. The bars of the cage had been reinforced with magic, making it impossible to change in the cage. “Now, my little song bird, why are you here?â€
The phoenix spoke quickly in one breath. “We have to stop the troops being sent to attack the camp at Sarak Marya!â€
The Lady blinked. “Why my dear, don’t you tell me everything from the beginning?â€
The phoenix stopped and took a deep breath, before telling the Lady everything, starting with the puff adder counselor.
The night had fallen hours ago. Emer, in elf form, climbed up the climbing ivy that he had planted a few years ago into the Princess’s rooms. She sat at her desk, writing a letter to someone or other. He walked up behind her.
“My father’s away on business of somekind. We can talk freely, all the sevants have been allowed to go into town for the harvest festival. Even when they return, they’ll all be filthy drunk. We have nothing to fear. She signed the letter and folded it and placed it in an envelope.
Emer smiled and spoke. “How’s Trofast?â€
“Not very well, I’m afraid. The dog’s old, more than fourteen years old. Hounds don’t live as long as terriers.†She poured melted wax onto the envelope and pressed her ring onto the wax. A tree with the letter “A†on it sealed the envelope.
“Who’s the love letter to?†he teased. She kicked him, not softly, with her black shoes. She gave no other answer. Aegle opened a drawer and came out with a small vial filled with a red powder that glistened in the candle light. She took a pinch of the powder and sprinkled it on the letter. “That’s secrecy powder, isn’t it?â€
She nodded. Only the person to whom the letter was being sent to would be able to open it.
“I want to run away with you,†he whispered.
She closed her eyes and paused for a moment. “Let’s try my plan, first.â€
Oops. The part that starts with “The night had fallen hours ago” to the end of the section was supposed to be in italics.
[Italics added. –Robert]
Oh dear. That kid promises to ruin my deeper enjoyment of the story. But that’s just my petty free-older-siblings-from-stereotypes attitude, so I probably shouldn’t say a word. Sorry.
I’m using this as a writing thread, if you couldn’t tell.
I need to step up my work on The Makepeace War. Maybe I’ll make a chapter sketch…
143- I have a little brother, and ten cousins, and I’m the oldest of them all. I know all about that steriotype…. But it’s necessary to make Prince Nurgard actually seem bad.
142- Awww- thanks Robert! (Can I call you Robby? Bob? Rob? Roberto-dude?) (The last one wasn’t all serious, but the others were!)
The Lady opened the cage door quickly. The phoenix hopped out and hopped onto the vanity.
“The troops are already on their way, and we can’tstop them. The only thin I can think of doing is trying to cast a Beffuddlement Charm on them, and hope they won’t be able to do much damage.”
Miyrah sighed. “It’s our only chance.”
On the other side f the castle, Prince Nurgard called for one of his guards. “I want to see Roja.” The guard nodded and sent the messenger boy to fetch the knight, the murdere of Aegle.
I have 20050 words, a number that will be more than doubled by the time I am done with the book. In a few moments, I will throw Thomasina and Sara into a deep dark dungeon with a crazy old man, or maybe a man that appears crazy but is perfectly sane. They will then escape and begin a journey to Esmer to alert the leader of that country. On the way, they will meet Maria, and will have to figure out what she’s doing. Somewhere in that tangle, Thomasina will be given a chance to ride Makepeace’s horse.
Somehow or other, I’m not happy with my story. I despise it. I really do.
149- But it’s nice. Really, it’s good. But I know what you mean. Take a break. Write something else.
150- I don’t feel very well. Not, stomach sick or anything, not like the fever that’s creeping up behind your back. More like, a soul sick. Like something’s missing from my life. I can’t find joy in much anymore. I used to love to write, now, I feel like it’s someone else is moving my fingers. I used to find magic in my words, now, the magic’s gone like the joy of a game you’ve out-grown. it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
151- Ah. I don’t *quite* know what you’re talking about, but I can imagine. And I still think you should take a break. That’s the kind of thing that happens when you’re sick of your writing. Or at least for me it is. Yeah. Whatever.
In the back of her mind, a line is running through her head, “N is Neville, who died of ennui.” Speaking of which, I wonder how much of that I can recite?
Sorry.
About half, more if I use the wrong names.
151- i sort of know what you mean because when i origanily wrote the first few chapters of my book i thought it was great, but when i reread it i didn’t like it that much so i’m rewriting iti dontu8nderstand the old video game thing
154- I don’t think she meant video games.
Here’s a story I have been working on for a while (since the beginning of summer). Sorry, slow writer. Only 2.8 chapters, but still.
In Search Of Boon
1~ FLY
The sun was setting on the plains of Oregon. The wind blew its last breaths across the flat land, making the long, yellow grass wave back and forth, in an almost hypnotic motion. The buttercup swarms bobbed and dipped with the grass, and the birds cried out their last, lonely calls before the black of night engulfed them. A lone howl sounded across the crickets chirp, signaling the wake of a Red Fox, ready for his nightly prowl. But another sound was in the air, the soft pitter patter of feet, dashing through the long, yellow grass.
Alexander was running, running to the patch of trees by the little stream, winding towards the river far away. At the end of each day, he would always run to this spot, his spot; where the willows drooped their leafy boughs into the flowing water of the stream; where the birds chirped and twittered, looking for a mate; where the fish splashed their song of water. As the pines and birch towered over him, Alex felt safe and relaxed. He dashed to the stream and washed off all [of] the dirt and grime from a hard days work in the field[,] harvesting potatoes. Then he kicked off his shoes, and with his hands behind his head, he leaned his back against a tall, peeling birch to think. Closing his eyes, he thought of the past day, how the spinach and tobacco was ripening, how the days were getting longer, and the nights warmer, and before he knew it, he had fallen asleep.
He awoke to an owl call. The sun had already set, and the stars were just beginning to show their twinkling light. Alexander wondered how long he had been sleeping, and hoped his mom wasn’t worried. He stood up and was just about to leave, when he heard a faint flap of wings above. Being the curious boy he was, he looked up, but there was nothing there. Telling himself it was just an owl, he started to trudge out of the trees, the half moon light filtering through the leafy boughs above. He exited the grove and began to jog back across the prairie, the crickets singing to him, when he heard that same faint flapping above again. He told himself it was just a flying creature of some sort, probably the same owl that had awakened him before. He silently thanked the owl for waking him, and without looking up, continued back to his house in the distance.
* * *
Alex awoke the next day to a Sunday sun streaming through the open window. He hurriedly dressed, grabbed some paints and paper from his bookshelf, and rushed downstairs, almost tripping on his shoes. He was eager to return to the spot by the stream, and paint. He ran through the house, only stopping in the kitchen to hurry a good morning to his mother and grab an apple from the counter. Then he tumbled through the screen door, its wooden framing banging against the doorway. Dashing through the grass, he imagined what he would see when he arrived: maybe a bird, flittering about in the trees, maybe a fish, swimming through the water; or maybe, if he was lucky, he would see the fox and her cubs out for a morning walk. He decided that if he saw them, with their tails swishing in the breeze, he would definitely paint them, for he had never seen them before. But he knew of their existence, for every night, as the sun set, he would here their howls and yips ringing across the plains.
When he arrived at his spot, he carefully set down his painting materials on a rock, and proceeded to wash his face with the cool water, expelling all the heat from the plains. It had been an exceptionally hot spring, which meant the summer would be even hotter, and even though it was only 9:00 in the morning, the sun was roasting the earth already. Alex was glad he knew of this little spot, his spot, the forest, as he called it, although it was hardly a forest, with only a couple trees guarding the stream from the roasted fields. Alex dried his hands and face on his blue T-shirt, and sat down with his bare feet dangling in the water, the paper lying on his lap. The paintbrush flew across the paper, painting one picture after another, some discernable, some not, their colors blending with the surroundings. After he had completed 5 quick sketches of paint, he lied back, tilted his baseball cap over his head so it blocked the hot sun, placed the drying pictures on his chest, and munched on the apple, trying to look through the little holes in his hat. He tried to spot the birds nest in the tree overhead through the holes. At one point, when he was sure he had spotted the nest for the 7th time, he thought he saw a cat, up in the sky. Strange, he thought. Though most 14 year olds would have said it was just their imagination, Alex was curious, and decided to look.
When he removed his hat from over his face, and looked up into the bright blue sky, there was nothing there. No sign of a flying cat. Alex searched the sky, wondering why he was looking for a flying kitty, when he glanced at the pine directly above him. He gasped in amazement, for there, sitting on a branch, was a cat with wings. The light coffee stripes on its darkish brown body blended almost perfectly with the tree it was sitting on. Alex jumped up, his paints forgotten. He stared at the cat as it gazed down at him; it’s wise, yellow eyes looking at him as if it knew more than he ever could. And it certainly seemed so, as it took flight and soared off into the sky. Alex ran home so quickly, his cap and paintings fluttering behind him, that he failed to notice a mother fox and her cubs wander out of the woods and stop to sip from the flowing water.
That night, Alex dreamed of cats riding the wind to the sky and beyond.
2~ MOUSE
The next morning Alex woke to an alarm clock ringing, it’s incessant buzzing filling the sunlight room. He rolled over; glanced at the clock; saw that the time was 7:30am; and rolled back over, whacking the snooze button as he turned.
Just as he was about to fall back asleep, Alex thought he heard a squeak coming from somewhere in the room. Still half asleep, he muttered “be quite, Fuzz.â€, only to remember that Fuzz, his pet hamster, had died almost 5 years ago.
Another squeak. Or two. Maybe a mouse in the walls? No, it sounded closer than that. And besides, Tom would catch all the mice (and deposit the chewed up scraggly things on the front stoop for careless visitors – like to mailman – to step on) before they even had a chance to inhabit the walls.
Still more squeaks. This was getting weird. It almost sounded like they was coming from the top of his head. Alex hurriedly sifted through his hair to see if anything unusual was there. His hair felt a little lumpier than usual, but maybe that was because he hadn’t washed his hair yet.
Alex rubbed his eyes and stumbled over to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and glanced into the mirror. What he saw totally astonished him. There were mice in his hair! Without thinking he quickly dunked his head into the pool of water forming in the sink and scrubbed hard. Then it dawned on him that he was drowning the mice. Always the animal protector, he jumped back, quickly withdrawing his head from the bowl, and looked in the mirror again. The mice were gone. That was really weird, Alex thought to himself.
Now fully awake, he quickly washed up and walked downstairs for breakfast, trying to figure out how those mice got in his hair. “Must have just been my imagination†Alex scolded himself. But as he shuffled into the kitchen, a little mouse stuck its head up over the edge of the sink, sneezed, jumped down off of the counter, and scurried into a small hole under the toilet bowl.
3~ A ROLLING OF WHEELS
Alex sat down at table still wondering about what he had seen in the mirror upstairs. As his mother placed a bowl and some cereal on the table in front of him, Alex absentmindedly sifted his hand through his hair and stared up at the dark brown beams running across the faded orange ceiling. After a few moments he looked back down and stared at his cereal bowl with an almost tired stare.
“Are you going to eat?â€
Alex glanced up from his cereal to find his mother seated across the table looking at him.
“I asked if you are going to eat that.†She pointed at the cereal floating in the bowl.
“Yeah I guess so,†Alex muttered as he absently stirred his cereal with a spoon.
“Are you feeling alright honey?†From across the table Alex’s mother stared at him with a worried expression on her face.
Alex shrugged.
“Well anyway,†Alex’s mother said as she fiddled with the golden chain strung around her neck. “I have a question I’d like to ask you.†She got up from her seat and crossed over to the sink under the only window in the kitchen, ruffling Alex’s hair as she passed.
Alex looked up from his now soggy bowl of cereal. “What?â€
His mother turned on the faucet and began washing dishes from the night before. The water rushing out of the tap made it difficult for Alex to hear. “How would you like to go on a hike later today? Explore those hills over in Yardon. Y’know, the one we drive by on the way to the supermarket?â€
“Really?†Alex’s face lit up in a flash. “That would be great! But first I need to go over to the stream. I think I left my paints there from yesterday.â€
His mother turned here head to look over her shoulder at Alex. “That’s fine,†she said. Turning back to the running water, she inquired “How’s ‘bout we leave at 11:00. Then we can have lunch up there.â€
Alex stared at the mahogany clock sitting above the stove. It said the time was almost 9:00. “Ok, I’ll be back at around 10:30.†Turning to the doorway, a thought suddenly occurred to him. He swung back around. “Can I invite Harold?†he asked. His mother nodded.
As Alex walked over to the door, he suddenly stepped on a very slippery spot on the linoleum floor. He started to fall, but caught himself on the old, brown desk placed near the door. As he picked himself up, he accidentally swiped the glass jar filled with pencils off the desk and onto the linoleum. A loud ‘Kshhh’ sounded as the pencils spilled out haphazardly all over the faded linoleum. His mother, still washing the dishes, asked over her shoulder “Are you alright?â€
“I’m Fine. Just slipped, that’s all.†He bent over to scoop the pencils into the jar. While he was picking the multicolored pencils off the ground, Alex thought he saw a worm crawling across the floor. Knowing that the worm shouldn’t be in the house, Alex got down on his stomach and reached under the desk for the worm.
After groping around under the desk for a couple of minutes, passing through dust clumps and stray objects, Alex’s hand fell upon something slimy.
That’s all I have at the moment. Hasn’t really gone anywhere yet. Will turn into some sort of love story, I think.
Well anyway, Cheers and hedgehogs!
There should be a hedgehog emote.
1 suggestion: dont call him alexander in the begining just call him alex because thats waht you called hime the rest of the time
Augwich, I’m not sure what you mean by the plains of Oregon, but I have often been to Oregon, and and it’s nothing like that. Of course, I live on the west side, so I shouldn’t talk. Forget I said anything.
Chapter 2 is really short, but other than that it’s quite good.
Here’s the latest bit, as yet unedited. All you need to know to understand it is that Sara and Thomasina have been arrested by the Council for Treason. It’s mostly just description of the dungeons, but tell me what you think.
After that they proceeded with even more caution. Sara began to wonder how deep even the deepest dungeons could be. The stairs seemed to go on forever. And then the lamp went out.
Sara caught her breath with surprise, took another step, and tumbled five steps before coming to a halt on some damp and smelly surface. “Sara!†cried Thomasina’s voice from the darkness above her, and the apologetic jailer made a spluttering noise.
“I’m fine,†said Sara from the floor, if it could be called that. “I think we reached the bottom.â€
The light flared up, and Sara saw that indeed they had. She noted with some distaste that her dress was now covered in slime, but she was too shocked really to care.
Even with the light, there was nothing to see. No sinister doorways or implements of torture lurked in the shadows; there was only a long, damp, hallway, stretching further than the ring of light cast by the lantern. They walked down this for a long while, until they came suddenly out into a large chamber, illuminated ever so slightly by flickering torches that ringed the walls. It was silent, but it was a listening silence, that said quite plainly that there were people in this chamber, hidden though they may be.
They were hidden, yes, but not for long. Neither were they silent for long. There was a call from the dark, and the guard emerged from the shadows. Sara and Thomasina stared. This was not what they had been expecting.
I’m not sure how it’s not what they were expecting, but I’m considering making the guard an old crone.
158 – I don”t know anything about Oregon at ALL, considering I live in Massachusetts. The only reason I said that was because, well, I dunno, it sounded cool, I guess… *Stares off into space, pondering and unanswerable question*.
160- Well, I advise that you switch to Massachusetts or somewhere that you know, or else research Oregon, because every good west-coaster is going to see that and laugh at your ignorance. (Not me, because it isn’t nice, but anyone who doesn’t know you.)
My characters are painfully flat and stale. Not all of them; although I couldn’t describe them in mere words, I know some of them inside-out and their personalities have permeated the story; but Makepeace is BORING, as are many other side characters. And even Sara isn’t really strong enough. She’s all flaws and no great talent.
makepeace…is that a boy or girl?
162- Sir Charles Makepeace. A boy. The antagonist of the story, longing for an even more powerful position and willing to wage war to get it.
161- Take the time you used to describe her earlier and incorporate that into the story. Or don’t. It depends on the type of story you are trying to tell. I will for example use two books as an example: In the first book the MC is describe in length as are her feelings. There is an adventurous plot, but a great deal is the characters exploration of herself. The adventure is to help her change as a person. In the second book the character thought s and feelings and descrpition are somewhat vague, but the adventure is always on and VERy exciting. At the end you couldn’;t rightfully describe the character as a person as much as you could what she was doing (this is partailly because she was always being told what to do specifically).
I’;ve noticed Sara doesn’t refer much to her past in thoughts are have specific feelings except for basic reactions to things. This is more like the second book. Both were INCREDIBLE books though, and perhaps that is the sort of book you want to write.
164- She does change. I have the ending in my head and Sara is a much more confident girl in the end. But maybe you’re right. She doesn’t refer to her past because there’s nothing in her past to refer to.
165- There are stars where she lived. there are trees, experiences, people she felt love for. I’m not critiquing your work (which is awesome!) I’m just pointing out something I’ven noticed. It could make her more personal. I like to go inside my characters head beyond “Im scared” I’m happy”. That my style though. We have different styles and thats great. I have no right to tell you how to write (haha!).
166- True, true. It might help, and might even be useful if I want to bring Maria in.
I had a good idea for an afterlife in a book. Where you take the manuscript that is your life and you edit it. FUN!
*sighs dramatically* I need to write, but I don’t want to face The Makepeace War right now. It has become really boring. That is a bad thing.
I think what I need to do is finish the book, so that I can step back and take a good, long, look at the story, then sit down and edit it until it’s nothing like it is now. (i.e., not enough description, scenes that need filling out, loose ends galore, and a really painfully boring middle.)
Which I can’t do until I’ve finished. And at the same time, I can’t go on until I’ve done that. What a horrible paradox, and one that I’ll just have to forget all about, and go on with my writing.
I have an idea for a book! I got it from micheal chriton’s(is that how you spell his name?) books “prey” and “the andromeda strain”. I’ll write the first chapter in a little bit; when I debug the beginning.
I don’t have books in progress. I have stories in progress. they are short stories mainly. One about Melanie (done pretty much) one on Maise (only a sentance in) one on Edmund (he’s looking for something) and one on Kate/Katherine (which is she really? Both. Sort of.)
yes.
-Activate Sequence-
…
“Dad,” Thomas moaned, removing his headphones, “turn off the radio! It’s hard enough listening to my mp3 with Mom snoring like that!”
“I think the whole family should be able to enjoy music after that long hike!” He leaned over to the seat next to him. “Right honey?”
His voice was able to stir the groggy woman in the seat next to him.
“Hm, what, Rob?” She asked sleepily.
“Oh, Jennifer, I just need you to agree with me now, I don’t want to have to deal with Tom right now, by myself.” He stated anxiously.
“Fine.” Jenifer mumbled. “Thomas, agree with your father,” she said more loudly, “I’m going back to sleep.” She turned away from her husband on the car seat, and in a short amount of time, she began snoring again.
“It’s cramped in here, too.” grumbled Thomas.
“Tom, most families don’t even get to go backpacking like we do; it’s a privilage! So please stop complaining, and let me drive. We’re all ready to go home, now.”
By now, the conversation had woken the 6 year old girl next to Thomas.
“Dad, what’s going on?” She asked, opening one eye.
“Sarah, go back to sleep, I’m trying to listen.” Thomas said angrily to his sister.
“Thomas, you’re twelve years old, act your age!”
“Come on, Dad, I’m tired, sore, and trying to relax, just cut me slack!”
Thomas’s father said nothing.
The car progressed in silence for an hour, passing through towns and woods. Thomas stared glomily out the window at the scenery. Tree after tree after tree… it seemed to go on and on. Even his mp3 player had lost it’s battery power. The boredom he felt had covered up the anger for his father, but he thought nothing of talking to him. Thomas sighed, as he leaned towards his father.
“Dad.” He said. His father made no motion to react to the noise. “Dad, the satellite, the one sent for samples from mars, uh…it comes back in two weeks, right? And, I’ll get to see some pictures of the dirt when you take them at work, right?”
“Tom, I’m trying to drive, talk to me tomorrow, after we’ve slept in our beds at home. I’m tired and It’s late, okay?”
This time, it was Thomas’ turn to be quiet.
The car drove closer to the Dishiky residence.
-End Sequence-
Phew!
*sigh* I have only a basic idea of what to put for chpter 2 and I’m not quite ready to write a whole chapter…
I just started writing a new book, probably called “Keys on the crosswalk.” I… put a bit of swearing in it but I’ll edit it out. It’s more like a journal, but it’s interesting.
Here’s the first part:
It all started with a pair of car keys. They where lying close to the road and where a little beaten up, probably because they where close to a bike trail and bicyclers, well, tend to not pay attention to where they are going. The keys where a little out of shape, but someone might have been looking for them, but picked them up anyway, shoved them into the pocket of my khakis and continued on my way.
After a few blocks I pulled out the keys and turned them around to inspect them. They looked pretty normal; the key chain was a dirty lanyard bracelet or something. There was an unlock button, a lock button, a horn button and a button to turn on the lights. I shrugged and put it back into my pocket.
Boom! Zing! Wham! Flash!
Things can happen in an instant; Lives, deaths, centuries, and school photos. “Now, tilt your head a little to the left, that’s right, and turn your head up a bit.†In my mind I was thinking, what the heck? This guy was the most unprofessional photographer I’d ever been photographed by! But I smiled, and tilted and lifted and then FLASH! It was over. He turned the screen around to show me my picture. Oh my god. It was awful. The worst school photo I’d ever had, probably. I looked, gross, frankly. I quickly checked myself. I didn’t look dirty. Darn cameras I thought.
I look much better when I’m not sleepy. When I’m awake, my skin is tighter, my eyes are brighter, and I look clean. That was probably the problem.
Have you ever experienced that moment of pure terror when you know that you’re going to die in a matter of seconds? Of course not, you wouldn’t be reading this otherwise; you’d be pushing up daisies. But have you ever imagined it? I have, a lot of times. Every time it’s as freaky as the last, so I put on my headphones and listen to an upbeat song. Problem solved, right? Wrong. It’s scary to think about death! And you can’t avoid it! It’s all over T.V. and in books and movies and the newspaper… It’s just unavoidable! Most people don’t like to think about it that much. Death makes almost everyone depressed or upset. You’d think the more you thought about it, the more you’d accept the fact that you’re going to die. But it doesn’t work that way. The reason being we don’t know what’s on the ‘other side.’ Heaven? Maybe! We just don’t know. And that’s the scary part. That’s the upsetting part. That’s what makes death so depressing. Because you don’t really know whether Fluffy is okay or not. She could be frolicking in a meadow of daisies with your other deceased relatives. Or she could be gone along with everyone else who died. Forever. I don’t know whether there’s life after death, but I guess there must be. If it’s possible that there could be life at all, that there could even be an anything, it must be possible for a soul who lives, has opinions, volunteers, works hard, loves, laughs and cries to live on. I mean, can you imagine not being here?
Christmas is my favorite holiday. As much as I like Halloween, there are too many really, really disturbing costumes and decorations that could come with it. Did you know they make fake dismembered arms and legs? And heads and stuff? That creeps me out so much. And some of the costumes? I shudder to think about it. But there are ways to get the fun, chilly feeling of Halloween without actually having Halloween. There is no substitute for Christmas.
I like upbeat music. Nothing else really, because the rest of it makes me depressed and sad even if it’s not a sad song. Does that make sense? I suppose not.
I spelled “were” wrong! Whoops! Ignore that, pleaz-ah!
I think we should have a therd called “works in progress.” it would be like this therd only we would talk more about another things we are working on.
18-You could do a little bit better with dialogue, but the setting and the action are both good. The beginning is really nice–very intriguing.
62-The time isn’t quite settled. And who’s called Desiree?
156-Lots of great setting, but what about some great action?
172-You should establish exactly how dysfunctional they are.
174-Probably the best thing that you’re written that I’ve read. Really sharp.
177- Thanks!
That’s great to hear.
the problem with my work is it’s always to short.
174-I like the story, but one of the paragraphs is really long, kinda like a run on sentence. You should probably split that up.
I have been working since I was ten years old, on an epic novel, called MOTA. That stands for Magic. Of. The. Ancients.
I stopped working on it for a while, and started working instead on the movie version of it.
I only just recently began working on the novel again.
I was thinking that once I finish it, I’d put the kid appropriate version on the blog.
Please note: It probably won’t be ready for a while. Maybe not until next year.
Oh and just iin case you’re wondering, MOTA is an action/adventure/romance, set in an imagined land called The Ugelteth. It includes talking animals, and epic battles.
That is all I will reveal for now.
My once-favorite thread is dead. How sad.
No! It must be kept alive. Even though I never go on this thread I love it.
Yay! That’s the spirit! If only Vixen were back, she was a big poster.
I started a new story a few days ago! I am very excited about it. It is about this HUGE nerd, who is completely unpopular, and this EXTREMELY popular kid who is the biggest idiot you have ever seen. I know this sounds stereotypical, but just listen. So, anyway, the popular kid and the nerd, named Douglas McPherson, are paired up in a science experiment for school. This is the biggest part of their science grade. So, both kids are really upset. Anyway, the popular kid(I haven’t thought of a name for him yet) and Douglas are at Douglas’s house, and somehow(I haven’t devised this yet) Douglas finds out this popular kid can read minds and is telekinetic. I think you guys can tell what kind of havoc will ensue from there!
Here is the beginning of the story. It happens in a way where everything that can go wrong does:
Biddly-iddly! Biddly-iddly! Biddly-iddly! A hand smacked down on the alarm, and in an instant, Douglas McPherson was out of bed and getting out of his red flannel pajamas. He tossed them aside-he’d fold them later-and then ran over to his closet, even though it was only a yard and a half away. Shirt…check. Sweater…check. Tie…tie?
“Mom! Dad! Where’s my red tie? I was gonna wear it today!†He sprinted into his parent’s room, and ran over to where his mom was sleeping.
“Mom!†he whispered, shaking her. No movement. “Mom!†He said, shaking her harder.
Mrs. McPherson halfway opened her eyes, looked at the clock, and groaned. “Doug, honey, it’s only 5:00. Can’t you let me sleep a little longer?â€
Douglas snickered a little bit. Mrs. McPherson was never an early-riser. “Not today, mom. Today is one of the most important days of my middle school academic life!â€
“Honey, no offense, but academics is your only life. You need to make some friends, or join a sports team, or something.â€
“Yeah, yeah,†Douglas said, shrugging her off. “I’ll just make do with the blue tie.â€
“Yes, honey,†his mom said, dozing off again. Douglas kissed her on the cheek and ran back off to his closet, grabbing the blue tie, and then realizing he forgot his shoes. Oh well, just multi-task! Douglas ran into the kitchen, put some waffles in the toaster, and then ran back to his room to put on his shoes. He pulled on his black dress shoes, the ones he usually wore. Better to look casual than get all dressed up, he remembered hearing from his teacher. Shows that you aren’t nervous.
Douglas looked down at his shoes, feeling that something was wrong. Socks! Douglas slapped himself on the forehead. He took off his shoes, grabbed some socks, and then quickly put his shoes on again. He ran out to the living room, this time remembering to be quiet when going down the hallway so as not to wake his little sister, Maggie.
After a quick backpack check, he checked his watch and compared it with the other clocks in the house, making mental notes of each time: Living room clock- 5:15. Bathroom clock-5:16. Kitchen clock-5:15. Quick mental addition and division told him that the average of all these clocks was 5:15 and 20 seconds. He adjusted his clock quickly, adding in the time that had past doing his mental calculations.
Douglas suddenly got the same feeling that he had when he put on his shoes without socks: something was wrong. He took a deep whiff of the air, and then listened. What was that irritating beeping noise? The smoke alarm! He ran into his parents’ room. “Mom! Dad! The fire alarm is going off! The house is on fire!†His parents, however, were already up. His dad grabbed him by the arm and the three ran into Maggie’s room. Maggie was up, screaming and crying in the middle of her room. Douglas’s mom grabbed Maggie and they ran into Mr. McPherson’s study across the hall, which had a phone in it. They had to duck while entering. Smoke was already floating into the hallway, and everyone knew not to breathe it. Mr. McPherson shut the door behind and leaned down against it, as if he could hold the fire out. Mrs. McPherson quickly picked up the phone, and dialed 9-1-1.
“Hello? Our house is on fire. Please come immediately,†Mrs. McPherson said, trying to remain as calm as possible.
“We are on our way immediately, ma’am. We have your house on the map right now,†the operator replied.
“Thank you!†Mrs. McPherson sobbed. She hung up the phone, and the family ran into the garage from the study, and then outside from the garage.
The family ran all the way across the street before they stopped, lying down on their neighbor’s front yard.
“Is everyone OK?†Douglas’s father asked.
“I am,†replied Douglas.
“Me too,†replied Douglas’s mother. “Sweetie, are you OK?â€
The still-sobbing Maggie nodded. Then, all four of them looked across the street to their house, where they saw a very strange sight.
“It doesn’t look like its on fire,†Douglas’s mother commented, confused.
“You’re right. It doesn’t,†Douglas’s father agreed. But the sirens drew closer and closer, and still the family sat on the grass, still wet with morning dew, staring at the fire that was not there.
Douglas slapped his forehead. “Aaargh! Of course!†He got up and sprinted back towards the house before anyone in his family could say anything. Unfortunately, he did not see the ambulance coming down the street.
* * *
Douglas’s family slowly came back into focus for Douglas, as did his pain. Douglas winced, not at the searing torture in his legs, or the throbbing ache in his head, but at the look on his parents’ faces. They did not look happy. Maggie was in Douglas’s mother’s arms, frowning at Douglas also, even though she obviously did not know why Douglas’s mom and dad were so unhappy.
Mr. McPherson started pacing and humming. Uh-oh, Douglas thought. He’s humming. Douglas strained to tell what song his dad was humming, even though his dad was always horribly off-key. Douglas knew he was in trouble now. Humming was not a good sign with Mr. McPherson, and Douglas finally came to the conclusion that his dad was humming “Spoonful Of Sugar†from that old Mary Poppins movie. That wasn’t a good sign either.
Douglas tried to itch his forehead, but when he did, he moved his arm, which immediately gained a shocking amount of pain. Douglas gave a small yelp, but only his mother showed some sympathy, and what she showed was a small amount. The room was completely silent for what felt like two hours, but was probably two minutes. Finally, Douglas’s dad spoke up. “The doctor says you’ll be in the hospital for at least a week, and once you’re out, you’ll be on crutches, and have your head bandaged. He says you broke your hip bone when—“
“My pelvis?†Douglas interrupted.
“Yeah, sure,†Douglas’s father murmured, obviously annoyed. “So you broke your hi- your pelvis, when the ambulance struck. You also got a concussion, and—“
“Where, on my temporal, or on my parietal, or could it be on my occipital? Please say I didn’t hurt my occipital! That’s dangerous!â€
“Gee, son! I don’t know! I was going to say and your grounded.â€
“Grounded? Why?â€
“Because the firemen found out there wasn’t a fire. But they did find the source of all the smoke.â€
Douglas groaned.
“Here. Have some breakfast.†Mr. McPherson tossed Douglas two charred, blackened pieces of toast, and snickered. Douglas didn’t find it funny.
Any ideas for a title?
I started this story a few days ago, here’s chapter one. The rest of the story is basically going to be about the characters trying to get Phil back. Please give some sort of feedback…
Chapter 1
It was French class, 9:45 in the morning. Less than half the students were paying attention to Mr. Merickel, the teacher, who was trying too hard to be energetic. One student, Raven, was busy drawing skulls in the margin of her notebook. Suddenly, a new voice broke through Mr. Merickel’s drone. Raven looked up and recognized her least favorite administrator, Mrs. Brudner.
Mrs. Brudner had given Raven a detention during the first week of her freshman year because Raven was wearing pants with chains on them. Raven hadn’t known that this was against the rules. It was the first detention that Raven had ever received, and from that day on, Raven, like most of the rest of the students in the school, hated Mrs. Brudner.
“Mr. Merickel, do you have Kyle Laborde, Peter Robertson, Jean Lucson, and Raven Lord in class?â€
“Ah, oui! Ils sont ici!…Um, yes, they’re here.â€
The four students stood to follow Mrs. Brudner out of the room when she stopped them.
“Bring your bags. You won’t be back before class is over.â€
Now confused and worried, the three boys and one girl filed out of the room as Mr. Merickel immediately continued his lecture on verb tenses. The four students walked down the hall, each silently contemplating what they had done to get in trouble. They reached the end of the hall, but instead of going to the main office, Mrs. Brudner turned left and went into the guidance office, and then proceeded to a room that was already filled with people.
“Now that everyone is here, I’m afraid I have some very tragic news for you. You all know Phil Ilmort, right?â€
There were murmurs of assent throughout the room, and Mrs. Brudner continued.
“I am sorry to tell you that we have received news from the police that Phil has committed suicide. When he did, he apparently wrote a suicide note that mentioned each one of you. We wanted you all to hear this news and to read the note at the same time, while we have counselors to help you with your grief.
“We also think that it is good for you to support each other because you all obviously knew Phil. You can stay here until the end of the day; my fellow administrators and I will inform your parents of this tragic situation.â€
Looking uncomfortable, Mrs. Brudner handed a stack of paper to Jean, who was closest to the door. Jean gave one sheet to each person; it was a copy of the suicide note. People started reading as the shock of the news slowly sank in. Raven scanned the note for her name. She had known Phil for a year, but they hadn’t really been friends, and they had never really talked to each other. Raven couldn’t imagine why he would mention her in his suicide note; she had been in love with him, but nobody knew about his secret crush. Finally, she found her name, about halfway down the page.
* * *
To my friends, Kyle Laborde, Peter Robertson, Jean Lucson, Matt Cooper, Anissa Volmer, Violeta McDanel, Rosalina Kelsoe, and Brigitte Hayer, I’m sorry that I have to put you all through this. Since I know other people will be reading this note, I won’t specifically say why I committed suicide, but you all already know why. I told all of you my problems, because even thought I appear to other people to have a wonderful life, you know that I don’t. I will always be grateful that you were all so supportive. Please understand that you didn’t drive me to do this, and please keep my Rubik’s cube safe. You’ll understand why later.
To Raven Lord, the girl that never knew me. We have been in a couple of classes together for the past two years, and in that time I realized that you are the most intelligent and free-thinking girl that I’ve ever met. You are my true love, and I wish that just once you would have given me some sign that you loved me, too. We would have been perfect together, but I guess it wasn’t really meant to be. Never change who you are, but always remember that I loved you.
* * *
Matt Cooper, who had been Phil’s best friend, finished reading the note. He wasn’t surprised that Phil had included Raven in the note; after all, Phil had told Matt several times that he liked Raven. Matt looked around the room to see how everybody else was taking the news. Matt himself was shaking and was angrier than he could ever recall feeling before. He wanted to hunt down and brutally murder the bastards who had driven Phil to such a horrific act. Matt noticed that several people seemed to be feeling the same way. He also noticed that Raven had turned ghostly pale and was trembling. Then, all of a sudden, she started sobbing. This started a chain reaction, and almost everyone started crying. Wails and moans reverberated throughout the room. People were trying to comfort each other, and most of them found a shoulder to cry on. Raven was left out of this circle of support, though, so Matt got up, went over to her, and hugged her. To his surprise, she pushed him away. This shocked Matt, because he knew that Raven used to love him. She had never told him, but months of evident flirting had made it obvious. About a month ago, she seemed to start almost hating him, and he wondered if that was because she had fallen in love with someone else, maybe even Phil.
“I’m just trying to be comforting, Raven!â€
“I. Don’t. Care. Did you read what he wrote about me? I loved him! You have no idea how guilty I feel right now. If I had told him…â€
Her voice trailed off, but Matt understood her unfinished comment.
“Love is complicated, Raven. Telling him might not have helped.â€
“When did you become an expert on romance?!?â€
“I’m gay! I know love is difficult to find. I probably know that better than you do. Do you how crushing it is for a gay person to fall in love with someone who’s straight??â€
“No, but I know what it’s like to be straight and to be in love with someone who is gay!â€
There was an awkward silence, and then other people in the room started speaking, most of them wondering one thing: why would a Rubik’s cube be involved in Phil’s suicide? They were also discussing what Phil had told them individually over the months, trying to piece together the whole story.
* * *
Raven began to figure out why Phil had done what he did. Apparently, he had been bullied for months, just for being smart, and also there were some problems in his family as well. Math and science were his way to escape the cruelties of the world, but when it got to bee too overwhelming, he wanted somebody to turn to that could comfort him, somebody that he loved, like Raven. But still, nobody could figure out what he meant when he talked about his Rubik’s cube.
185- It sounds good so far. Very Supergeek.
187- Hmm. It could go any way, bad or good or neither. Your writing is a little bit amateurish, but I think that it could be helped by trying to put in less introduction. By this I mean instead of saying something like “One student, Raven, was…” you could just say “Raven was…” and that sort of thing. This sounds petty, but I used to do that sort of thing as well–still do–and the writing would be greatly improved by taking it out.
On the other hand, the story is off to a nice start, there are definitely some absolute gems in it, and the Rubik’s cube makes me want to read more.
187-Sounds good. I agree with Alice. Less introduction. This is very serious stuff that you’re writing about, though, so I, being the goofball fantasy writer I am, won’t be of much help. In fact, if I ever give you advice, unless Alice or someone else says it is good advice, then do the exact opposite of what I tell you to do.
188 AND 189- I’ve edited chapter one now, tell me if you think its improved….
Chapter 1
It was French class, 9:45 in the morning. Only a couple of students were taking notes, while the rest were staring out the window or daydreaming and not paying attention to Mr. Merickel, who was trying too hard to be energetic. Raven was lazily drawing skulls in the margin of her notebook. Suddenly, a new voice broke through Mr. Merickel’s drone.
“Mr. Merickel, do you have Kyle Laborde, Peter Robertson, Jean Lucson, and Raven Lord in class?â€
Raven looked up and recognized one of the administrators, Mrs. Brudner. Mrs. Brudner had given Raven a detention during the first week of her freshman year because Raven was wearing pants with chains on them. Raven hadn’t known that this was against the rules. It was the only detention that Raven ever received, and from that day on, Raven, like most of the rest of the students in the school, hated Mrs. Brudner.
“Mr. Merickel, do you have Kyle Laborde, Peter Robertson, Jean Lucson, and Raven Lord in class?â€
“Ah, oui! Ils sont ici!…†Mr. Merickel paused, remembering that Mrs. Brudner did not understand French. “Um, yes, they’re here.â€
The four students stood to follow Mrs. Brudner out of the room when she stopped them.
“Bring your bags. You won’t be back before class is over.â€
The three boys exchanged confused glances while Raven looked intently and worriedly at the floor while they walked out. Mr. Merickel immediately continued his lecture on verb tenses as if there had been no interruption. The four students walked down the hall, each silently contemplating what they had done to get in trouble. They reached the end of the hall, but instead of going to the main office, Mrs. Brudner turned left and went into the guidance office, and then proceeded to a room that was already filled with people.
“Now that everyone is here, I’m afraid I have some very tragic news for you. You all know Phil Ilmort, right? I believe you were all friends with him, right?â€
There were murmurs of assent throughout the room, and Mrs. Brudner continued.
“I don’t know how to say this very tragic news. This is something that the police should be doing personally, not handing off the responsibility to a school. I am sorry to tell you that we have been told by the police that Phil has committed suicide. Before he did, he apparently wrote a suicide note that mentioned each one of you. We wanted you all to hear this news and to read the note at the same time, while we have counselors to help you with your grief.
“We also think that it is good for you to support each other because you all obviously knew Phil. You can stay here until the end of the day; my fellow administrators and I will inform your parents of this tragic situation.â€
Looking uncomfortable, Mrs. Brudner handed a stack of paper to Jean, who was closest to the door. Jean gave one sheet to each person; it was a copy of the suicide note. People started reading as the shock of the news slowly sank in. Raven scanned the note for her name. She had known Phil because he was in some of her classes, including French, but they had never really talked to each other. Raven couldn’t imagine why he would mention her in his suicide note; she had been in love with him, but nobody knew about his secret crush. Nobody knew because she didn’t want people to think she was silly, falling in love with someone just by seeing how he acted and admiring him from afar, but hat was Raven’s preferred way of loving somebody. Finally, she found her name, about halfway down the page.
* * *
To my friends, Kyle Laborde, Peter Robertson, Jean Lucson, Matt Cooper, Anissa Volmer, Violeta McDanel, Rosalina Kelsoe, and Brigitte Hayer, I’m sorry that I have to put you all through this. Since I know other people will be reading this note, I won’t specifically say why I committed suicide, but you all already know why. I told all of you my problems, because even thought I appear to other people to have a wonderful life, you know that I don’t. I will always be grateful that you were all so supportive. Please understand that you didn’t drive me to do this, and please keep my Rubik’s cube safe. You’ll understand why later.
To Raven Lord, the girl that never knew me. We have been in a couple of classes together for the past two years, and in that time I realized that you are the most intelligent and free-thinking girl that I’ve ever met. You are my true love, and I wish that just once you would have given me some sign that you loved me, too. We would have been perfect together, but I guess it wasn’t really meant to be. Never change who you are, but always remember that I loved you.
* * *
Matt Cooper, who had been Phil’s best friend, finished reading the note. He wasn’t surprised that Phil had included Raven in the note; after all, Phil had told Matt several times that he liked Raven. Matt looked around the room to see how everybody else was taking the news. Matt himself was shaking and was angrier than he could ever recall feeling before. He wanted to hunt down and brutally murder the bastards who had driven Phil to such a horrific act. Matt noticed that several people seemed to be feeling the same way. He also noticed that Raven had turned ghostly pale and was trembling. Then, all of a sudden, she started sobbing. This started a chain reaction, and almost everyone started crying. Wails and moans reverberated throughout the room. People were trying to comfort each other, and most of them found a shoulder to cry on. Raven was left out of this circle of support, though, so Matt got up, went over to her, and hugged her. To his surprise, she pushed him away. This shocked Matt, because he knew that Raven used to love him. She had never told him, but months of evident flirting had made it obvious. About a month ago, she seemed to start almost hating him, and he wondered if that was because she had fallen in love with someone else, maybe even Phil.
“I’m just trying to be comforting, Raven!â€, Matt protested.
“I. Don’t. Care.â€, Raven said haltingly, “Did you read what he wrote about me? I loved him! You have no idea how guilty I feel right now. If I had told him…â€
Her voice trailed off, but Matt understood her unfinished comment.
“Love is complicated, Raven. Telling him might not have helped.â€, Matt said softly.
“When did you become an expert on romance?!?â€, Raven retorted.
“I’m gay! I know love is difficult to find. I probably know that better than you do. Do you how crushing it is for a gay person to fall in love with someone who’s straight??†Matt yelled.
“No, but I know what it’s like to be straight and to be in love with someone who is gay!â€
There was an awkward silence, and then other people in the room started speaking, most of them wondering one thing: why would a Rubik’s cube be involved in Phil’s suicide? They were also discussing what Phil had told them individually over the months, trying to piece together the whole story.
* * *
Raven began to figure out why Phil had done what he did. Apparently, he had been bullied for months, just for being smart, and also there were some problems in his family as well. Math and science were his way to escape the cruelties of the world, but when it got to bee too overwhelming, he wanted somebody to turn to that could comfort him, somebody that he loved, like Raven. But still, nobody could figure out what he meant when he talked about his Rubik’s cube.
* * *
One hundred miles below ground, Death laughed.
189- I’m not exactly the Great Expert on serious fiction either. But quite frankly that doesn’t come into it. You can’t let your own ideas of what is good or bad in a book interfere; you have to look at the big picture. If you hate romance, but the romance is very well-written, you can’t just say, “Oh, that’s bad.”
But maybe that’s not even what you were talking about.
190- Much better. You could still stand to eliminate some “also”s, “because”s, and “still”s, but that fixed almost the whole problem. And the last line is beautiful.
190-woah. that’s pretty good. um…if you don’t mind me asking…why is death laughing about a rubix cube?
192- You’ll find out when I post chapter 2…*evil laugh*
Here is a writing prompt I thought of for anyone who wants to use it. Begin your story with the following sentence:
Why can’t I be selfish? If I was, maybe I wouldn’t be stuck in the emergency room right now.
Has anyone here dabbled in alternative history, and if so, do you have any tips on how to go about writing it?
195- I’ve wanted to but never have. Yet.
196- I have a good world but no plot.
Now I have an antagonist. I need a protagonist, and from there the plot will follow as a matter of course.
195-I haven’t, but a good book I am reading that has one is called “The Year of the Hangman.” It’s by Gary Blackwood. It talks about what would happen if the Americans had lost the Revolutionary War.
Sorry for the double post, but I just noticed your user name Prarilius! I am entering NaNoWriMo too! But I am doing the Young Writer’s Program. I am so excited! This is my first time doing it.
Is anyone else participating in NaNoWriMo?
(200) Look on the NaNoBra(in)Sto(rming) thread.
Woho. Last post here was 2 days before Triple Aces.
I have a few vague ideas.
Alternate history with Mongols expanding into Europe (since we’re doing War of 1812 on RRR SMAS-TT.)
Science fiction in which Earth has been placed under quarantine by the rest of the universe until humankind cleans its act up
202- if you write about the monguls, can you put it up here?
203- Certainly.
I wrote a new beginning on RRR SMAS-TT.
I’m writing a book. Big surprise. The unusual thing about this book is its bleakness. I generally stay away from death and stuff, but this one seems to be positively fatal! I suppose if I make the whole story centered around ghosts and at least four of the characters orphans, it can’t really be avoided…
Anyhow, the basic plot is this:
The city of Orra is plagued with ghosts. No one who dies can move on, so they all turn into ghosts. But that’s not the only problem; there were ghosts even before Orra was founded. So there are a lot of ghosts, and the real trouble with ghosts is they have so many memories, and they want to live again so badly, that if you touch one or several for an extended period of time, thus sharing their memories/longings, you’ll start to go slightly insane. The longer you touch them and the more there are, the more insane you will go. Eventually you’ll drop into a coma, or die. To keep the citizens of Orra fairly safe, the designated a sort of scapegoat, the Luness. She is treated like a queen, and does serve the purpose of mascot, in a way, but in exchange for this, she gets all the ghosts of the city heaped upon her.
Not a nice thought.
There are a few people in Orra who can’t feel the ghosts at all, and one of them, an old man named Grees, feels very sorry for the Luness (he has some connection to her that I can’t think of yet) and tries to keep as many ghosts away from her as possible. This he does be locking himself in a room with them and trying not to let them go away. He’s not particularly successful.
Then Grees encounters a band of orphans, and a thought strikes him. He could make another Luness. He tries to do so, with the oldest of the orphans, Ess, and fails. Ess dies. The other four orphans stay with Grees out of a lack of anywhere else to go, but they don’t like him. Years pass, another orphans is acquired – she doesn’t feel the ghosts either -, rebellion builds. Finally the orphans run away, and encounter some mystery or another having to do with the Luness.
The chapter layout goes something like this:
Part One
The Cast of Characters
Chapter One
Ess
Chapter Two
Roho
Chapter Three
Enero
Chapter Four
Amareya
Chapter Five
Marrone
Chapter Six
Grees
Chapter Seven
The Luness
Chapter Eight
Sero
Chapter Nine (transitional)
The Band of Orphans
Part Two
(Untitled)
Chapter Ten
The Second Luness
Chapter Eleven
(Something about Sero)
Part Three
(Untitled)
Chapter Twelve
Rebellion
Chapter Thirteen
The Ghost Road
That’s as far as I’ve planned but it will go on for a while. I need to come up with seven totally original and interlocking stories for part one. I have Ess and Roho partly planned out, and Sero. The Luness won’t be hard, and I have a vague idea for Enero.
Ess’s parents disappear when she’s three, after the Luness dies and ghosts are turned loose on the city. Ess gets lost in Orra and finds an orange-striped cat, which definitely has a large part in the story. I’m just not sure what yet. *has an idea* A-HA! Well, back to Ess. She is found on the waterfront asleep in a crate, and taken to an orphanage. She runs away with her friends, has a fight with them, gets separated, etc. Her chapter ends with her on the streets again (but a little older).
Roho lives with his dad on the waterfront (the waterfront is fast becoming my favorite place in Orra). They make a meager living fishing. One day they see a mermaid. Roho and his dad go back to land, but in the night the dad takes the boat to go see the mermaid again and wrecks it. Roho gets a job sweeping the cobbler’s shop and lives in his house until he is kicked out by the landlord. The cobbler lets him sleep in the shop, but he’s not terribly happy about it.
Enero is a well-to-do boy but his house burns down. His parents are obliged to rent a tiny dwelling in the suburbs (my least favorite place in Orra), and Enero takes up thievery in the hopes that he can make his family’s fortune again. Eventually he runs away.
Oh god. I can’t believe I would write something like this. Where is it all coming from?
Give me your opinions, please.
205- as a fake theropist, I think it has somthing to do with the fire.
YEEEARGH!!!
Big rant coming up. Anyone who wishes to skip it, click here.
My stories have no soul. Whenever I try to inject the slightest bit of emotion or character development, it always seems stilted and contrived. There is no deeper meaning to them, and I HATE IT. I’m a good storyteller, but I’m a completely awful writer. Some of my writing actually sickens me, and no matter how much I edit it, nothing changes.
Advice, please.
End of rant.
206- Maybe. But it makes me uncomfortable. I have stuck the writing in a folder and never plan to look at it again.
207- I believe all writers suffer from the same ailment: hatred of their own work. I know I hate my work (because it’s dull, colorless, and stilted), but others like it, and you apparently hate your work, which I personally find exciting and colorful.
I have done what I did months ago (incidentally, what I did a short while before my muse decided to make her greatest ever appearance), that is, purged my writing. I deleted the Luness story (well, not technically. I never actually delete anything), deleted what I had done with West of West so far, thus almost entirely clearing my slate. I also went and wrote down all my frustrations with my writing, identified the cause (not enough fantasy), and sorted everything out. I feel liberated.
In order that I might be the more unhappy when I have to wake up at six o’clock, I shall delay my bedtime a few minutes longer to ask everyone a rather daring and self-centered question which I want everyone to answer honestly.
What is your opinion of my writing, exactly? I want you to answer this TRUTHFULLY and CONSTRUCTIVELY! Don’t worry about sounding rude. Is it good, or bad? What can I do better? What are my strong points, and what are my weak ones? Most people ought to have read enough of my writing to be able to answer.
PLEASE answer this!
Hmm. If I remember correctly…
You seem to be a stickler for grammar- good in English class, but when you’re writing for fun, you’re not in English class. If a character’s thought process is long, convoluted and flowing, make it a run-on sentence. Don’t get so worked up about grammar, and your writing will flow a lot better.
Sorry to interject, but I’d like some critiques on this little story idea that I started.
Prologue
A soft, flickering light filled the room as dozens of candles burned and the five Founders put the finishing touches on their plan. They were going to create an academy; one that nobody had ever dreamed of before. It was to be a truly safe haven in a world where one could not trust anybody, even a family member. It was to be: Legendarium Academy.
“I cannot believe that noone has had an idea like this before,†said one of the Founders, Sir Lavizo, “By creating a place for intelligent, ambitious students, be they vampires or human, to come together, we are, in effect, reaching out to our vampire brethren in a call for peace.â€
“You have quite a way with words, Sir Lavizo. But we vampires are only asking for respect and equal treatment.â€
The four human Founders looked uneasily at the representative of the vampires, Lord Itamar. Humans, in general, distrusted any vampire that came into their lives, and vice versa. This mutual distrust was the product of centuries of wars and betrayals that left the land and the people scarred. Lady Rivers spoke next, “Our primary goal should just be to create this school and gain students. We can focus on peace later, Lavizo.â€
“Yes,†continued Lady Bitzin, “You know the government does not want any human to have contact with the vampires. Our school will have to be a secret.â€
“You never mentioned before now that this would break your human laws!†Itamar angrily interjected. “Any vampire royalty found to have conspired in breaking human laws receives only one punishment: death by fire. When I came here, I expected that this would be legal.â€
“We never meant to deceive you!†cried Sir Xavier, “We only meant….†His sentence was cut off by the sudden extinguishing of the candles.
In the cellars of a old castle, in a thick forest miles from the nearest town, there was noone to hear the inhuman screams that came from four humans as they were slaughtered by supernatural means……
211- I like it.
I must come up with a fantasy story idea that is original. Vampires have been exploited. Dragons ditto. Faeries, again. Wizards, yup, you guessed it. Other worlds? Fun, but cliche.
211-:shock: S-s-slaughtered…? *creeps away into shaddows*
Beavo like. It’s an excellent hooker.
Whoops. Sorry. I will give my choklit this time. *hands over choklit*
212-Goblins? Trolls? Kiki already did zombies…
Goblins have been done. Long time ago, but done. Trolls are a good idea.
Question: I was thinking(since I’ve been planning out my story idea) that at the end of each chapter, I’d have a one-page informational section, kind of like an encyclopedia entry, to explain customs or history of this society. For the prologue, I was thinking of an info section about vampires. Do you guys think that that is necessary or redundant?
216. Sure. Why not? Or you could collect all of them and put them in an appendix.
I’ve been thinking about the trolls and have come up with some ideas for them. More after I do my homework.
I was planning on writing an encyclopedia for my story. That would be awesome.
Then I could move on to the Harry Potter encyclopedia. *scary music*
218- Wouldn’t they be pretty similar?
219-I’m trying to change a lot now that it’s December. Although I probably won’t send in the re-edited version. I might, though, if I actually finish the book.
220- Good.
Change the owls too.
210. Thank you. That’s a completely new perspective. I’ve never even thought about grammar when I’m writing. I think I make too many run-on sentences, actually. Odd. Thank you.
Another question: is my writing style interesting enough to hold up a less-than-original plot? I NEED to write fantasy, but I never do because there is no original fantasy plot. I don’t know when or with what book the last original plot was used, but since then, they have all been used. I can’t bear to keep something unoriginal, and I can’t bear to write something that I won’t keep, so I never write fantasy, and I become dissatisfied with my other writing.
211- That’s very good.
216- It’s a good idea.
215- I was about to say trolls have been done, but then I realized that it was goblins.
222- I’m not sure.
Here’s advice on originality:
Create a completely original world. Even slightly unoriginal plots will seem original in an original setting.
I hope I’m not asking too much of you guys, but I’ve never really seriously tried writing before, and I want to now. So one last (maybe) question: Which piece of writing is better, post 190 or post 211?
224- They both have their merits. 190 has more emotion and potential for rounder characters, whereas 211 is the more exciting and colorful. Going purely by quality, tho, I’d have to say that 190 is the better piece of writing.
(222) One of the surest ways to prevent yourself from writing is to worry about originality. The originality doesn’t come from the plot; it comes from your voice, your perspective, your treatment of the subject — and those can’t happen, much less develop, if you don’t write. Learn your craft. Practice it. Take the risk of creating something clichéd, stupid, and unreadable. Then do it again. Eventually you may create something as original as you are.
But it won’t be because of the plot.
*GAPA calms down and steps off soapbox*
224- 211, hands down.
223- Yes. Yes. You see, I had a pair of characters, but no plot. The only plot I could come up to fit the pair of characters was unoriginal. I would ask you guys for help, but I stubbornly refuse to use other people’s ideas, so it wouldn’t do me much good.
But I do like to talk about my ideas (you may have noticed), so here’s a description of the pair of characters.
Some people can create things, wondrous worlds and fascinating creatures, and they can use them to make a story interesting. Some people can take the things that others have created, and they can spin and twist and tie them together to make a story interesting. Some people, I imagine, can do both, but this story is not about these many-talented writers. This story is about a creator and a twister, who write a story that then twists and creates itself.
Carmen is quick with puzzles and quick with words. She can predict plot twists whole books before they happen, she can learn to tie any knot in a matter of minutes, and she can walk a labyrinth unerringly. She would be good at school if she tried, but she doesn’t and she continues to fail or barely pass her classes. She utterly fails to take life seriously, hers or that of others.
Peter excels in school. He is good at geography, science, social studies and history. He is burdened in these by his tendency to create whole other planets with their one cultures, climates, histories, and creatures and his dissatisfaction with whatever they happen to be studying, but he understands its importance enough to settle down and do the work. He is an enthusiastic boy, and at once he loves and is disgusted with the entire fantasy/sci-fi genre in general. He thinks he could do better but doesn’t care about plots enough to try.
There you are. My characters and their inevitable collaboration in three simple paragraphs.
224-I dunno, I like both. I guess I would have to say that the first has a lot of potential (and that awesome line about how Death was laughing) but the second was more sinister, more hooking. Continue with both!
What do you think of the idea in 227?
229- I’m definitely Peter. Which are you?
And yes, I like it, but I don’t see much of a plot in it.
230- I’m Carmen, minus some of the sheer not-caring and the weird super-genius with puzzles. And there’s a bit of Peter in me too, but not as much. Actually, to own the truth, you were part of the inspiration. Not for the character, so much, as just for the whole premise, because you’re really, really good at creating stuff, and I’m not too good at creating stuff but I’m really, really good at plot twists.
And no, there isn’t much of a plot. That’s why I’m afraid I’ll have to fall back on some overdone thing.
231!!!!!!! We could collaborate!
I’m also Carmen minus the plot twisting. And I’m not exactly excelling in school, but I’m not failing either [except for Math]. So she best describes me; I can’t excell in Science or History to save my life. And I know too little about the scientific world to be able to creat a Sci-Fi.
227 (Alice)- I do love the idea, but agree it needs a plot.
I’m totally Peter, but with a bit of slacker from Carmen thrown in. I hate plots.
232- Yes! *dances* How shall we begin?
Well, Carmen’s “talent” is my “talent”, but I do try in school, and do well.
Just thought I should clarify that.
235- On the Peter/Carmen thing, or something else?
237- The Peter/Carmen thing. What else is there? What were referring to collaboration on? *greatly confused*
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaait….. *realization dawns* *thwacks self over head* I see. I think. You didn’t mean collaborate on that story, you meant collaborate on something else. Much like Peter and Carmen would in the story.
Or did you mean that?
There are too many meanings that can be given to a sentence.
Well, if you did mean that, a) I quite agree, and b) what shall we write?
239- Hmm. I’ve had a few ideas recently.
But I have forgotten what they were.
Let’s figure out a genre first, unless you have an idea.
240- No, no idea. A genre . . . Fantasy, sci-fi, adventure, AH, or intrigue are all fine by me.
How is this going to work? Will it be like a private RRR? Or something else? I’ve never really collaborated on a novel over the internet, ‘cept in RRRs.
1- i agree with you
i’m currently writing a couple of books. one is called “Wings” and its about fairies. one is about a british vampire by the name of “A Full Blooded Moon” and i forgot the other one…..
241-Most of our RRRs end up being between two people anyways.
241- Here’s how I imagine it.
1. We both figure out the main characters, plot, setting, that sort of thing.
2. One of us writes a chapter and posts it here.
3. The other one re-writes and edits it if necessary, then posts that here.
4. We repeat step 3 until both of us are satisfied with the product.
5. Repeat sequence from step 2.
Of course, if either of us have any good ideas (characters, plot twists, etc.), we can deviate from our original outline and work those into the story.
I’d like to do something fantasy, but NOT set in anything resembling medieval Europe. Maybe some fictitious land where an industrial revolution is beginning to supplant the old, magical ways, and there’s a lot of conflict between advocates of both sides?
244- Sounds good! Any ideas for a plot? I’m trying to think of one . . .
245- I agree on the medieval Europe thing. I don’t actually read anything set in that sort of place anymore. I like your idea, though. And we should have a main character from each side, but they actually STAY on their respective sides rather than befriending each other and causing the downfall of one side or another. It should be sort of neutral, like, even if we’re a bit biased.
Argh, the internet is failing on me. Come, O elusive wifi, come to me!
247- Absolutely.
There should be some sort of conspiracy that they both work (separately) to overthrow, which will be harmful to both of them somehow if it succeeds. And they meet each other occasionally over the course of the book, but it’s either in disguise (intrigue!) or in passing, so they never become friends (at least not in this book).
Now, the most important things to work out so far seem to be:
Character #1
Character #2
Setting
The conspirators, what they hope to achieve, and how they plan to do it
I have an idea for the conspirators, and of course the setting will be very fun to do, but what about the main characters?
248- Yes!
249- One of them should be a teenager, I think, probably on the magic side (because I’m not biased enough already
), and one of them should be older, just to be different. Not necessarily middle-aged, but in their thirties. Patrick Warbler, thirty-four, assistant manager of a middling-sized company. His job doesn’t really satisfy, him (hardly surprising), and he hopes for a promotion, but he’s been in the same position for seven years and seen three managers go by. For some reason, he never became manager when they failed.
Maybe a little bit younger. Say twenty-five or so.
Main Character Two. She is the least talented of her family. She’s reasonably competent, but she just can’t compare to siblings who still violent hurricanes for warm-up excersises. And she’s an eleventh child (quite frankly, I’m sick of books in which seven is the SPESHULEST magical number- give 11 the recognition it deserves!), so her parents naturally have high expectations of her. Which she can’t live up to. She’s a loner, and doesn’t interact much with her family.
252- What’s her name?
Right. We’ve got two characters, did you say you had an idea for the conspirators?
Her name? Well, her last name should be Rothschild. And her first… Selene.
The conspirators… well, they plan to overthrow the industrialists and, with fanatical anti-industrialist followers thus gained, rule the magicians. They unearthed a powerful artifact from the Silver Age (before magic began to decline: silver is more valuable than gold because of its arcane properties, thus Silver Age is equivalent to Golden Age). They don’t know how to get it to work. The only person who might know is the foremost Silver Age scholar alive, Rupert Goldfinch. So they abduct a family member of his in order to blackmail him into giving up the information. This family member is a close friend of Selene Rothschild. Upon his disappearance, she sets out to look for him/her.
254- How does Patrick come in? I can’t at this moment think of anything. My head is too befuddled with Predator’s Gold.
255- He lives in one of the three cities* which is purely industrial. He somehow learns of the conspiracy, which involves destroying those three cities, and tries to put a stop to it.
256- Gotcha.
We need to think of a way for industrialists to have a fair chance against magicians.
How about there’s a certain mineral which is impervious to magic? What about meteorite iron?
258- ‘Kay.
*feels inadequate* I am doing nothing. I should be thinking about this.
Anyway, we have:
Two characters
A conspiracy
Two sides that are more or less equal (in addition to this meteorite iron, the industrialists have the advantage of machinery)
Now all we need is setting. And here’s where I really began to fall behind.
We have three industrial cities, forming a perfect triangle in the middle of the continent. These are relatively new, constructed in the past couple hundred years, before the industrialist movement really picked up speed. There are various smaller cities and towns gather around these large ones, thus making a sort of blanket of suburbs. As you get further out, the space increases, as does the number of people with magical sympathies. By the time you get into the real countryside, there is almost no one who favors industrialism over magic. The magicians need some headquarters too, don’t you think? How about another city on the Northern Coast, a rather rocky, bleak, wet place, not as cold as it could be but utterly lacking in warmth all the same.
That’s just a rough sketch. Edit as you please.
(258) The bears need that for their armor. Whoops, sorry, wrong fictional universe.
260- Is that what they used.
261- In the books at least.
The industrial cities are linked by railroads, whose rails are plated with meteoric iron to prevent angry magicians from vandalizing them.
Which brings me to an idea. Since meteoric iron is such a valuable commodity, huge rewards are given to anyone who brings a meteorite to one of the cities. Some families subsist solely on those rewards, every member combing the countryside feverishly during and after a meteor shower.
263- Okay. Sounds good.
Who will write a section first?
265- Er . . . you? I sort of don’t have any ideas.
I could. I will. Soon.
The weather over the Rothschild house was unpredictable at best, even though its inhabitants were the some of the best qualified to predict it in other circumstances. Violent storms and hurricanes appeared and vanished in a matter of seconds. The sun changed color and brightness, and on several occasions had appeared to dance across the sky. Rain turned to hail, hail turned to snow. Snow sometimes turned to diamonds, or back to rain again. Clouds were shaped into embarrassing caricatures of brothers and sisters. The fragile sculptures had to be closely watched and guarded, as the affronted sibling would often disintegrate them by means of a fireball tossed from the highest tree in the backyard. Indeed, most of the Rothschild family had been performing magic before they could walk or speak, and loved every minute of it.
On one particularly hot day in August, Elizabeth Rothschild* was down in the cellar, sorting through bottled months. “Hmm. January ’98? No, no, too much sleet. February ’62? It’s probably stale by now… Ah! March ’95. Perfect.”
She scorned the cellar stairs, gravity, and molecular physics, drifting gently off the floor and floating directly through the ceiling with a barely audible fizz. After passing through several feet of rock and earth, she emerged on the multicolored lawn and uncorked the frosted glass bottle.
Cold winds swept the perimeter of the garden and house, progressing briskly counterclockwise and driving back the sweltering heat.
*Selene’s mother.
Er, Rothschild… wasn’t that the name you weren’t going to use in your Nano PC? That you said I could use as I’m horrible at names?
Heh, there’s two of them now. Are they both villains?
269- No. Selene’s good (although a member of her family might turn out to be evil. Or at least misguided).
So do we edit now, or write?
271- Rewrite my contribution if you wish. Otherwise write.
The weather over the Rothschild house was unpredictable at best, even though its inhabitants were the some of the best qualified to predict it in other circumstances. Violent storms and hurricanes appeared and vanished in a matter of seconds. The sun changed color and brightness, and on several occasions had appeared to dance across the sky. Rain turned to hail, hail turned to snow. Snow sometimes turned to diamonds, or back to rain again. Clouds were shaped into embarrassing caricatures of brothers and sisters. The fragile sculptures had to be closely watched and guarded, as the affronted sibling would often disintegrate them by means of a fireball tossed from the highest tree in the backyard. Indeed, most of the Rothschild family had been performing magic before they could walk or speak, and loved every minute of it.
On one particularly hot day in August, Elizabeth Rothschild* was down in the cellar, sorting through bottled months. “Hmm. January ’98? No, no, too much sleet. February ’62? It’s probably stale by now… Ah! March ’95. Perfect.”
She scorned gravity, molecular physics, and the cellar stairs, drifting gently off the floor and floating directly through the ceiling with a barely audible fizz. After passing through several feet of rock and earth, she emerged on the multicolored lawn and uncorked the frosted glass bottle.
Cold winds swept the perimeter of the garden and house, progressing briskly counterclockwise and driving back the sweltering heat.
I know it’s not much, but it makes the line a little more effective. If you disagree, feel free to change it back again.
And my small (for the moment) contribution:
For a moment Elizabeth sighed deeply, relishing the cool air, but then the wind came back at her full force, whipping into the bottle with a swooshing noise. The cork popped neatly into the top.
“Sorry, Mom,” called a voice from the house, and a tousled blonde head stuck out of the window to accompany it, “but Alex and I are going swimming. Can’t have the weather of February whenever putting ice on the pool, can we?”
“It’s March,” sighed Elizabeth. “And you know how I hate it when you two turn the backyard into a pond. It gets so muddy afterwards and I have to clean it up.”
“Sorry,” said the boy, not sounding a bit contrite, and he withdrew. Seconds later, the back door slammed.
Elizabeth sighed and sank through the ground to the cellar again. There was no point in wasting a perfectly good March wind. Someone would want it tomorrow.
For a moment Elizabeth sighed deeply, relishing the cool air, but then the wind came back at her full force, whipping into the bottle with a swooshing noise. The cork popped neatly into the top.
“Sorry, Mom,” called a voice from the house, and a tousled blonde head stuck out of the window to accompany it, “but Alex and I are going swimming. Can’t have February weather putting ice on the pool, can we?”
“It’s March,” sighed Elizabeth. “And you know how I hate it when you two turn the backyard into a pond. It gets so muddy afterwards and I have to clean it up.”
“Sorry,” said the boy, not sounding a bit contrite, and he withdrew. Seconds later, the back door slammed.
Elizabeth sighed and sank through the ground to the cellar again. There was no point in wasting a perfectly good March wind. Someone would want it tomorrow.
Only a little change, but it makes that line a little less clunky.
274- True.
We need to introduce Selene soon, otherwise this scene will seem too long.
~~
Selene watched her mother vanish into the lawn, and sighed wistfully.
~~~
That’s all I can think of for now. Back later.
Is this an RRR? *am confused*
277- Not really. Alice and I are collaborating on a novel. We take turns contributing and then rewriting each other’s work.
Sorry I’ve been gone so long. Dumb internet connection…
“I’m never going to be able to do that,” she said, half to herself.
“Hmf!” Donald Goldfinch snorted from his perch on a lower branch. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You’re good, there’s no denying it. You’ve got the best fine control I’ve ever seen.”
A prematurely yellow leaf drifted down past Selene’s dangling shoes. She frowned, and it halted in midair. Fire started at its delicate base, crackling through the veins, forming a delicate tracery of ghostly flame. Selene blinked, and the miniature blaze was extinguished. The leaf turned to ice, then melted into gently rippling liquid, still holding its shape.
Is Donald Goldfinch actually a goldfinch?
281- No. He’s the son of Rupert Goldfinch, the Silver Age expert who the conspirators try to blackmail into showing them how to work the artifact which will bring down the industrial cities by kidnapping Donald. [/run-on]
Okay. Gracias. Later.
I’m still here.
“I’m never going to be able to do that,” she said, half to herself.
“Hmf!” Donald Goldfinch snorted from his seat on a lower branch. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You’re good, there’s no denying it. You’ve got the best fine control I’ve ever seen.”
A prematurely yellow leaf drifted down past Selene’s dangling shoes. She frowned, and it halted in midair. Fire started at its delicate base, crackling through the veins, forming a delicate tracery of ghostly flame. Selene blinked, and the miniature blaze was extinguished. The leaf turned to ice, then melted into gently rippling liquid, still holding its shape.
Given his name, it’s a little bit confusing to call it a perch.
“See what I mean?” he said.
The leaf dropped onto the ground and burst, sprinkling Selene’s shoes with water. She frowned. “Sure, but . . . Yeah, well. I guess you’re right.” She frowned, still far from happy.
No more inspiration at the moment.
284- Thanks.
I have finally made a map for my unwritten Alternate History story. And I think I’m figuring out the beginnings of a character.
TMFA, you wanted to read my AH about the Mongols. I’ve begun the prologue, despite having no plot, no characters, and only the barest semblance of setting. I may post it later when I’ve gotten it to a substantial length.
Setting’s now more detailed, as is character. Any suggestions as to plot? I think it’ll be sort of intrigue/adventure mainly.
Please come to Books in Progress.
I am sorry about the… *counts*… quintuple post, but when nobody’s around, I have to talk to myself.
289- I’m around. But I haven’t anything to say beyond the usual self-pitying rubbish about writer’s block. I’m honestly wondering if I should just go back to my old style of writing, which is to write numerous contradictory scenes with the intentions of fitting them together later.
I think I will. I like fitting things together.
I would give suggestions to your plot, but I don’t know the setting or character, so I can’t.
Setting is a world made up of enormous empires in various degrees of stability, cohesiveness and sanity. Although some places are more technologically advanced than others, steam power is widely used. Trade is a major economic thing.
Character… I have several vague sketches. Once I have a plot it’ll be easier to make them more detailed.
291- Hmm. No ideas right now.
I’m starting a story loosely based on my Muse fan fiction. You’re in it, POSOC, or at least there’s a character based on you.
Neever mind. I have a PLOT. Well, a vague one, but still something to work with.
Okay. Story set in 2030, the Academy closed in 2024, Tristan is 21, Aaron and Maria are 22, Jim and Seymour are 23.
294- Is Aaron based on me? ‘Cuz, you know, that’s my real first name…
295- *keels over in shock* No. No . . . Seymour’s based on you but I don’t like his name so I’m trying to change it. I keep flipping through the name book but I can’t really find one that fits. So I jusxt change the placeholders a lot.
296- You could call me Lyell.
I’ve almost finished the (rough draft of the) prologue.
I am now stuck trying to figure out a character.
297- Will do. Not that there’s much of any of the original MuseBloggers left in the characters.
OK, just to resurrect this thread, I shall post my prologue.
The train rolled into the station, coughing steam and sparks, pulling a hot wind in its wake. The doors clanged open and disgorged men and women of all nations, hauling their luggage behind them and chattering.
Only one man remained completely silent. He was fair-skinned and possessed thinning brown hair, as well as a magnificently drooping mustache. This effectively masked the corners of his mouth, which often seemed to be hovering on the verge of an ironic smile. He bore an angular metal case that didn’t look as though it contained extra linen.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder as he descended from the train. He didn’t turn around. “This isn’t exactly a secluded area,” he said in Chinese.
“Your point?” The other voice was deep and cultured, speaking Russian with the slightest hint of an Oriental accent.
The man’s face betrayed not a flicker of surprise to find his contact speaking his own language. “It’s not the sort of location one would expect a transaction like ours to take place in.”
“Really? Why do you say that? This is Khanate Europa. Very few outside the College of Wien would understand Russian. The crowds around us will simply see two foreigners jabbering about things that undoubtedly have nothing to do with them.” The voice turned sharp. “You have the money?”
“Of course. I still think it’s a little incautious to make the exchange here.”
“As I understand it, you’re not here to think. You’re here to obey orders- with the promise of a considerable profit, as am I. ”
The man holding the case smiled, amused. “I am a patriot, acting on request from the Princes of Novgorod.” He chuckled. “Unlike you, obviously.”
There was a rustle of paper, and the owner of the voice slid into view, holding out a thin leather case. He was dressed simply in the manner of a Ming peasant, but a refined look to his face and a cunning, worldly glint in his eyes told the Novgorodian that his contact was no rice-field drudge.
He took the proffered case, flipping it open and scanning the annotated diagrams on the delicate paper within. “This seems a little brief.”
“These are only partial plans, to show the Princes exactly what they’re planning to buy. A complete set will be delivered upon the accomplishment of the task we set you.”
“I see. Everything is apparently in order.” He dropped the metal case with a solid clang. “Feel free to inspect your fee.”
Nobody came back. How sad.
Perhaps we need a new thread.
Come here if you like writing books!
I am the only person who has posted since the 28th. Help me return this thread to life?
I’ll help! I’m not currently writing any books, though while cleaning the basement yesterday I found dozens of short story-book things I wrote in 3rd grade–they’re really funny!
I’m not really writing anything right now either.
305-Isn’t it fun to look back on what you wrote ages ago? I looked through some of my journals from third/fourth grade a couple months ago and it was funny how much of it I remembered.
Woo-hoo! Vocalization of Feline and Violet Ursoid Native To China and Partial to Bamboo, (aka CM and PP), I thank you profusely.
), I need suggestions. But if you think it’s perfect (unlikely), don’t make up suggestions just to please me. I want suggestions that you truly think would make the writing better.
So… What do you think of my writing in 301? I don’t need praise (although it would be nice
Sorry! I didn’t want to leave!
306- Oh yeah. And all the misspellings. *laughs*
307- Hmm. Nothing leaps out at me; it’s very POSOC indeed, which isn’t really a good or bad thing, it just is. I like it. It could be better, but I’m not sure how. I think it might be the assumption by almost everyone that a book needs a prologue. I can’t remember when I started thinking this, but ever since every book I’ve written has a prologue, and most that I’ve read do too. It irks me. Why not just make it another chapter?
Hmm.
What do you think of this?
The city streets dripped rain and tears. In the highest tower of a many-towered building, an old man lay, dressed in black and as dead as the crumbling flowers in the window-box. He was the Writer, and he was the only thing that kept one hundred and two worlds from falling. In a round wood-paneled room, a council of five sat.
“There has been no Writer born in this city for one hundred and eighty-three years,†said a dry voice. It belonged to a person so old and so dusty that they may well have seen the days when the last Writer had been born. The person wore black robes, faded to a dark grey, and a towering hat of dark green velvet.
“We know,†said the other four. Their costumes were the same, though their robes were newer and the hats not as tall.
“Something must be done,†croaked the ancient personage.
“Yes,†agreed the others. “But what?â€
“We must find another Writer.â€
“And quickly.â€
“The Unwriter has been busy.â€
“If the Writer cannot hold together the city, it will fall.â€
“Unwritten.â€
“Ah!†It was a collective cry of desperation, and it echoed among the wood panels and high ceilings. Even the mice seemed frightened, as though they knew their fate if the Unwriter triumphed.
“There are other worlds, of course,†said a middle-aged man, stroking his greying beard.
“It is impossible that a Writer would be born elsewhere!†A woman leaned forward in her chair. “We are the foundation, the keystone, the very reason that other worlds exist!â€
“That means nothing.â€
“Writers have not been born here for nearly two centuries.â€
“Certainly they must be being born somewhere else.â€
“It is preposterous,†muttered the woman, but she subsided.
“If that is so, then we must find these people and bring them back.â€
“We cannot cross between the worlds.â€
“But there are some who can.â€
There was a splutter of outrage among three of the five. The man who had said it leaned back with a smug look, and the old and dusty person had closed its eyes and sat listening but saying nothing.
“We will have nothing to do with them!â€
“They are scoundrels! Thieves!â€
“They are not written!â€
The dusty person opened its eyes. It smiled benevolently at the deliverer of this last line. “Of course they are written,†it said. “They are written to complicate things, as unwritten people who need not obey the rules. But someone had to have written them, or they would not be here.â€
The room was silent as they mulled over this paradox. The first to speak was the bearded man who had proposed the solution.
“So you see,†he said. “We must get a Writer. Surely we can hire a few ‘unwritten’ people to help with the job.â€
“Very well,†said another man. “But you will have to make the arrangements.â€
The bearded man smiled. “Of course I will.â€
Three days later, Ramona Marx stood inside an elevator. She reached out with a gloved hand and tapped a golden button labeled “Twoâ€. There was a slight lurch, and the elevator began to move.
308- Normally I would have started with the first chapter, but my principles dictate that a first chapter needs a main character to be introduced, and I didn’t have any main characters yet. So I wrote a prologue. I may just get rid of it once I’ve come up with a character. Or characters.
309- I quite like it. Why a hundred and two worlds?
309- Ah, I see.
309 again- Why not? 99 might be nice, though.
310- How are the worlds formed? Maybe I’ll be able to suggest a specific number.
I’ve invented one main character (where she lives, what her name is) but have no idea as to her personality.
A good tip I recently used is this:
If you have something that seems to stretch credibility, have a character mention it, like this:
“I don’t think Boeing builds it’s planes to be capable of this!”
or
“I doubt your insurance covers this!”
ΡÖŞÎĈ (301, story): I really like it! I like all your writing, by the way. I don’t really have much to say about it so far, because it’s just beginning. I really like the character descriptions, especially the way you work them into the dialogue.
Alice (308): The ideas are really interesting (in the story), and I think 102 or 99, or any other number, is perfectly fine
307 – It definitely makes me want to read a little more, but I almost think it would work better as part of the first chapter than a prolouge, since it seems to have the action already starting instead of referring to actions that took place in the past.
And now I’m tempted to change my name to Vocalization of Feline…
308 – That’s a really awesome start. I love how the dialog sort of bounces back and forth.
313 – Yeah, it’s always fun to throw in a random line or so. “Look, a UFO!”
I started a story last night about Hot Pink Bunnies, that probably doesn’t explain their creation at all the same way that other MBers have done it, but it’ll be interesting at the least. And when I’m writing in my head (I do this all the time when I’m bored. I just make up a character and a plot and write it in my head, but it just never actually ends up on paper) I’m writing a story that’s sort of like Dumbledore’s Army meets Tamora Pierce.
311- I’m not sure. Actually, they’re sort of just there, like alternate universes, and the Writer doesn’t really have any power over most of them. It’s just that this particular world is at the bottom of the whole stack (it’s like a skyscraper, sort of. Our world is somewhere in the middle, and the one I was writing about is like the ground floor), and if IT comes apart, then all the ones on top will fall, quite literally.
No one is here. Soon I, too, will be not here. See you on Saturday.
New thread?
Why not?