How to Start a Story - Part 2 (D.W.)

Now, once you have planned all of this out somewhere, it is time to begin writing the first draft.
What I think you ought to do now, is follow these steps ;- but before your eyes skip below to see what I've written, do keep in mind that all of this is just my personal opinion, and that I am no professional, though - if anybody asks - I do take great pride in having been noticed in a certain short-story competition for scary tales.

1. Think - what do you want your readers to know first?

Imagine you were a reader, okay? Beginning to read your own book, but not knowing what it was about completely. So, if you were that reader - what would you want to know about your story first - like, after somebody has read your blurb and turned to the first page. Or, more importantly, perhaps - what do YOU want them to notice when they begin reading?
In my story, "Shattered Reality", which you may view on Wattpad under the account Starry_Birdie , I began with a prologue. It is, like, an opening chapter that isn't really called a "Chapter", because it is like a "Pre-Chapter".

Say, you were writing a thriller, about a witch who stole voices and mixed them in her cauldron and then drank the potion to make her voice nice and pretty; what would you, as a reader, like to know first? Perhaps, to begin in action, you could say -

"Children were becoming voiceless; one night they went to sleep, with angelic little tones and tinkling laughs and long giggles, and awoke the next clutching their throats in despair, kicking and squirming and moaning."

It's always good to make others ask questions, you know?

2. What would happen if you changed your beginning?

So, pretend that you have already decided on a start for your story. Now, think wisely -
"Does my beginning interact with this book (series) or not?"
If you said "no" to the question, then - who needs the beginning?! Chuck it in the bin! Who needs to know when a pig had kids if the story is about a palace full of horses?

Like, it's so important! - first impressions always matter, and I sincerely hope that even if I've let myself write that down on a public blog, for people all round the world to see, ten, you don't think that I judge a book by its cover. Never.
Fine, USUALLY I don't do that.

Special Post for my Friend from legendarylibraryonline.wordpress.com -- How To Start A Story (D.W)

Before you start, you have to plan out everything. Well, usually.
What I like to do at first is grab my "Writing" notebook, that I got from Typo, and jot down the basics, like;-

1. What are the characters?
It is important, for how can there be a story without any characters? Remember, you can just do the main ones, the main character('s) family, friends, et cetera - and leave the background characters till you start out.

2. What genre is my story?
It can be thriller, paranormal, sci-fi, mystery, fantasy, romance, et cetera. Your story should have at least ONE definite genre, or else everything might get all muddled up, and... you'll find yourself in a great mess. Trust mah.

3. What do I want to achieve in my story?
Maybe, you want to gain more reads and followers, if you have an account on Wattpad, or else you want to give it to charity, un-illustrated, messily written, with no plot? You ought to choose what you want to have done, and IF you want to have your story finished.

4. When will you update?
Again, if you're on Wattpad, then... you might wanna let everyone who visits your page know when you will update, so you may post details on that in your bio, or just make the first Chapter of your story an "Author's Note". If not on social media, then, 'course, perhaps you may wanna let whoever's reading your story (can be family, friends, et cetera) know when they should expect the next chapter.

Cheers,
Sandra

Posts to get you excited about!

1. Review on my Quo Vadis planner!

2. Copying is okay.

3. Ask others!

4. Story review on "Out of Breath" by E. A. Poe

5. The Laugh of the Crow (Poem)

6. What Present to get/make?

7. Books to get excited about (New version)

8. Books to get you excited about (classic version)

9. Why I don't update my story

10. E. A. Poe saved my life?

(Everyday, I want to write a little bit on my website, unless I have severe reasons not to. I hope you understand that I have work to catch up on over the holidays, and things to be doing instead of sitting at the computer)

School - Done?!! (Plus, the MyArt tag)

School is done, and so am I!Well, like, not literally, 'course... but after a year of solid work, as I like to believe, it's just nice to kick off my shoes and put my weary feet on the table and drink lemonade while I draw or write.

You may not know this, but I have posted - about nine months ago - that I was getting kinda into art. Well, now I'm into it completely. Since April, I've been spending most of my time in exploring colour theory and types of styles and so, so on. But, what you see above is a five-minute doodle. I kind of like it, but I promise - I shall definitely post more art in the next few months, and THEY shall be, like, hour-long drawings.

Please, mako sure to keep in mind that this is the work of a ten-year-old, and that I'm not actually fifteen.

What I am Trying to Achieve With My Story, On Wattpad

I have thought over this, and now I know that it is time to explain what I am actually trying to achieve through my story. I will also be explaining how I got a cover for my e-book, and telling you what I suppose all this will lead me to do.

So, I think that, to lighten the mood - rather, to just start with the "nicest" bit, I'll put up a picture of my current cover for my story and explain how I got it. Please, enjoy...

See? The image above was the cover for my story "Sabine".

But I had restarted my story, and altogether buried the plot in my mind so that I would never have to return to it again, all because I wasn't putting any effort into it. I had felt like all the other authors on Wattpad put hours and hours into each chapter, and so now, if you go onto my profile ( Starry_Birdie ), then you won't see "Sabine". And I know that I already had thirty-seven votes and over ten comments on my book, but so what could I do if nothing was turning out?
And so, now - onto how the book was made;

If one has an account on Wattpad, then, on the search-bar, one could easily type up: - "Free covers" or, if you want a precise style then you can type up -: "Pre-made gothic covers" or "Free anime covers" or, really, whatever comes to mind. Then, it would be good to contact the author of the "cover book" that you like most and tell them the specifics, like -:

1. Title:
2. Caption (onptional):
3: Mood:
4. Characters present:
5. Any extra details:

And after that, you just sent your details to the author and they may/mayn't submit to making you a cover.

Sah now, I am going to talk of my "current" story, Shattered Reality.
In this story, well, I usually post a new chapter either every three days or every week, depending how I feel of it.

I feel very much more collected, and ever happier, for now I REALLY put my efforts into writing.

Throughout my story, whilst I write it, I want to achieve this; I want people to communicate through messages, I want to grow more followers (currently am on 29), and let people mourn whenever this is a slight cliffhanger.

How I got my "current" cover? See above again, if you are not clear.

Lastly... what will all this, supposedly, lead me to do? Well, I am guessing that by the end of my book I will be very much more experienced with writing, and that it'll lead me to write another story.

Sneak-Peek of "Mistress Bell Takes a Risk"

In a world that knows no "accurate" time, or space, or perimeter, and one that makes up its own rules on time and geometry, but one that is so wildfully imagined that even the most skilled architect could not plan it out if The Planet was a mere house, up in the heavens of, this time the Second of the Sisters, gods bickered - all over a mere trifle, one must think!

A very simple trifle indeed.

"I still do not agree that Lord Omnied shall go up there!" scowled one of the Lords, as the eight sat on their thrones in the red circle - "I say, we shall call the four explorers back from their goblinn mission and ask for Mistress Stone to go downans talk to King Martin."

"It's all because I'm rather fond of women!" quoth Mistress Snoowdrop, eyeing Lord Cruz suspiciously. "I only love every single one!"

Lord Trousse laughed openly. Being caught, he stuffed his mouth with crustless, paper-thin bread, with a slice of croppah on it and munched anxiously. Croppah was like butter - except that it was pink, and tasted - no; I shall simply describe that it was made from a pixie's saliva, which was actually very thick and very pink and tasted - no; I will keep my promise.

But, being a picky eater, and a very nervous speaker, Lord Trousse choked on his slice of bread and Croppah and Lord Gremlen had to kindly pat his back so that he wouldn't fall to the floor and barf out the delicate food.

After that, Lord Trousse asked a little brown bird, which had just happened to have flown up to the clouds, to go and fetch him some other food from the corner of his thatched house, one that happened to be on the very outskirts of the Second Triplet's Heaven, and one that very kindly was near a dimpled crease in the clouds.

Soon, it came back, miraculously holding an enormous tray filled with goods which was balanced on the little beak. And then, settting the delicasies on the little table, it flew off.

The Sneak-Peek of the Fourth Chapter (If one doesn't count the two prologues) - "A Sweet Romance, The Cutting of Hair, and Rosen Wine"

When one morning Wen found a grey bird on her windowsill, she was rather surprised, and even a bit scared - for things like that almost always happened in fairytales; and, as a rule, the princess - this time, Wen - was locked up in a tower, waiting for her prince to arrive when -

"I hate fairytales," was the first thing Wen said as she braided her hair in front of the window on which the curious grey animal was sitting. "The princesses can do nothing - or, they simply act like it. They just do silly things and mourn for their darlings to come and kiss them. And I wonder why such things are shown to little children! - so, no wonder they grow up to be eh." And I do, in fact, agree with our little heroine.

Then the girl licked her lips and jmped into her old grey dress, and walked up to the window. Again, Wen thought of how fairytales were so stupid. But the bird did not seem to mind; in fact, when the girl opened her windows to let the thing in, the bird jumped gladly to avoid being in the rain any longer.

"This shall turn out to be an assy day," said the girl, though she knew she weren't meant to say such things, and she thought that the word she'd used didn't quite exist. She was correct.

When Wen went downstairs to have breakfast, it was announced that Terry Dunton was coming over to stay for a week, being Wen's father's friend's son, who himself could not come for he was in Africa, but who kindly suggested his son and his wife. Also, he was to come in an hour - jolly sweet! Well, that got Wen madder than she had been in the past months, for she would have washed her hair and bothered to not get her a-line dress dirty; but, no - he should have showed up today!

And so she made a hole in her baggy, shapeless dress with her scissors, for why not have fun? And when she went upstairs to confess this all to her stuffed bear, it was realized that the grey bird had pooed all over the girl's windowsill.

"Pah!" and I cannot begin to describe how that sound came out of Wen, for it was deep and throaty and menacing all at once, but so very proper for a bad morning. And so, content, the girl sighed deeply and shooed away at the bird which flew off, feeling disgraced.

Well, miraculously, there, in the girl's wardrobe, proved to be a green broadcloth dress, all tattered and bent and shoved, lying underneath and the underwear and socks. Embarrased, Wen pulled at the creases and frowned, but nothing came of it, so she just put the thing on and let her straight, flaxen-blonde hair fall just to her shoulders. The girl had picked a moss-tinted headband, and it complimented the dress, though it weren't orange. Another pah.

"May I use your earrings, marm?" Wen asked from her mother, and the woman, looking at the dress of her simple little girl had clasped her hands together and nodded. But then shouted - "Remember, you ain't gettin' ready feh a dinnah pahty!" for the woman had a terrible toothache, and one way or another fancied that she couldn't speak quite properly.

Sneak-Peek of "A Silver Finger"

It was cold. It was dark. As the girl lay in her bed, all alone save for her stuffed animal, moonlight streamed in through her wide window, and though she was scared, Wen licked her lips and gasped in ecstacy. Slowly, she shut her eyes and opened them again only to still be able to see the darkness closed in all about her, but with a silvery shape - a stroke, as though god's finger, shining in through the darkness.

The trouble was that Wen was scared of the night. Scared to death of it all; the fact that somebody MAY come and slit open her throat; the fact that she was all alone in her room, or worse - that she wasn't; just the thought of sleeping all alone - or not; and many other absurd things that made her heart ache painfully and her breath catch in her throat.

No wonder that when she saw God's Finger for the first time she gasped and forgot of the velvety black all about her, only able to stare in awe and wonder. Stars there were none; and no moon shone. perhaps it was behind a cloud? Anyhow, she felt hope rush - as though adrenaline - into her lungs, and her chest heave as she stood clumsily and walked over to the window.

"Thank you, O Father the holy," she whispered, really not knowing the proper prayer but simply guessing that this was what one said when one saw Hope in a haphazardly storm. There, in fact, was no storm, but it felt like it.

And as she said these words, Wen trembled all over in her little gown and clasped her hands together, soon finding herself kneeling by the window. Stars began to appear one by one - and so she smiled and waved as though they were old friends of hers.

Sneak-Peek of "The Talk of the Gods"

It was up, up, in the heavens of the Second of the Triplets where gods and a godesses talked. The rest, as it seems, have gone off to spy on the goblins of Ruthenium Picke, and weren't to return until the next morning.

But, as one may have already guessed, Consiles don't have "a morning", nor do they have "midday" or "evening" or "night". They simply have Time - "Time to make time". However, the Consiles - especially the living people of the Three Triplets, which was said to provide not only the best, fresh-smelling flowers, but also education - knew morning as "Fist Time", midday as "Second Time", evening as "Third Time" and night as "Fourth Time". Everything in between was just - well, "In between".

Mistress Snow had just finished brushing her long, straight hair, and with a ghostly look to her eyes she fixed them on Lord Cruizsuxs - or else, meaning in Consilii language, "Black". For his hair was a jet-dark colour, his eyes a supportive charcoal, and the robes that he wore were crow-tinted. He also had a graying sort of hue to his muscular body - this sort of shade that one easily would see on somebody just bitten by a zombie.

In fact, it was said that he had come from the very heart of "Ruthenium Picke", which was where zombies prowled and moaned for brains. But, was it not peculiar? For, as mentioned before, one had to be "perfect" to enter the heavenly world!

"Why do you look at me so, Snowdrop?" he asked her in a deep voice.

"I look at you so for you make eyes at Torlei as if you see nothing of me," and her orbs blinked away a few frozen tears.

The man grasped the Mistress around the waist, pulling her in, and with a thumb ushered away the tears.

"We are in a place - in a place that knows no Death. We shall never grow old, never ill... so why worry of such things? It is not, this Heaven, suitable for lovers. It is for powerful gods... and godessess... and you may hate me for saying this, but I'd rather love you more if you stayed my lifelong friend, not my... not anything more." and then, he kissed her softly, letting her hand brush against his, before she pulled herself back.

"But why do you want Torlei as your "more" and not me, Cruz?"

"I do not. It is just my nature, dearest - see, I played so with you in the beginning also; the only thing is that it's harmless."

So, the two powerful Upper-ers made peace over a toast of Sap-wine, and went to the magical "circle" where six of the other rulers were displayed. To explain this more, in the heavenly clouds that spread all around them, with only ann ocassional crease to peep down and spy upon the people of Consilii (also, heavens ended with every island, but that shall be talked of later), in the very heart of the Second Triplet's Heaven, was an enormous circle, glowing a powerful, electric red magic. And in the circle, there were twelve thrones, six of which were already occupied. In front of each throne stood a small table, with a glass of Sap-wine and a slice of red cheese sitting on them. That was where the rulers came to think, and drink, and eat, and talk and laugh and spy together - the very "Circle of Merriment", if there was one in this complex heaven.

Lord Omnied, a man with flashing carrot-red hair and blazing crimson eyes, with one eye instead of two, seemingly carved, big and round, in the top middle of his face, cleared his throat and raised his glass.

"Dear Cruizsux and Snowdrop, may you join us in this meeting?"

Sneak Peek of "The Time Wen Was in Trouble"

"Do behave yourself, my dear," said the plump woman as she stood by the door in her new shell dress, one that pointed out her body, making all the round curves on her hips stand out. Her hair was a lovely flaxen-blonde, and as she fixed her daughter, Wen, with a stern look, who by the way was huddling close to her mother, with piercing blue eyes, she said these words again, rather absent-mindedly, and then she closed the door in front of her face and was gone.

Blodwena, or Wen - for short, of course! - smiled and nodded her very curly, pale-blonde head, eyes deep dark chestnuts, round and big and expressive. Though something other than prim support and agreement mingled in her eyes - that is, before they went small and bug-shaped again.

It wasn't a frown that the girl betook, but her brows had closed over her eyes and her forehead creased, as though she were thinking of what to do next. Surely, the answer came - plain and simple and obvious, though not quite nice.

"Eddy!" she called out, and smiled when her elder brother rushed down the stairs. He stood before her, smiling, dimples on his cheeks, as though little creases in cream. His brown hair was uncombed, as she noticed, and the twelve-year-old's pale-green eyes shone brightly. He seized his sister into a hug, and whispered into her ear -

"Guess who came this morning through the "other exit"?" his voice full of drollness.

"Lemme guess." Wen looked at her pretty sibling, thinking how unatractive SHE was - "Mark?"

"Right on point. Mark, and I heard him asking Ksen-Ksen - "May I kiss you?" And isn't he so cold?"

"I do not wish to talk of hot people and cold people, thank you, but I do agree!" Wen smiled, tugging at the side of her green dress. "Now, if you'll excuse me - I ought to go to school, for I broke the principle's daughter's ceramic doll, and now I have to go and deal with those idiots."

"Wenny..." 

"Oh, c'mon, Eddy-boy," Wen put in tiredly. "I'm going, he said I must - and that'll give me a cool reason to accidentely shove something off Mr. Jules's desk."

"Wenny..."

"Goodbye, and see you in never!" so, as her brother flashed her a knowing smile and she grasped a piece of lemon slice, Wen headed out of the door, making sure that no crumbs or bits of evidence were left behind.

I will catch up!

I have't been on my website for quite some time now, and I do regret it, since I have promised to write full-time from Dec-Jan. Well, let's just say that I wasn't feeling well - meaning, that I had no ideas, and no strength to write something I did not like. Also, I have had no internet since i have moved into a new house.

But here, these are some things - or documents, rather, that I will be posting of soon enough -
1. Review on my Quo Vadis planner,
2. Edgar Allan Poe - my new favourite author?!
3. Book review on "The Hobbit"
4. No spoilers! (how to write spoiler-free book reviews)
5. Explanation of my story on Wattpad, bonus details, sneak-peeks, et cetera.

So, I hope some of these, if not all, have gotten you excited for the next Month!

Much love,
Sandra

What Lexi Did - Book Review

Ok. So, I have finished reading this book yesterday. I have started it the day BEFORE yesterday. Fun.

Pretty much, Lexi is best friends with her cousin, Eleni. But then, one day, she tells a lie - a whopper that could break all her family apart if she told anybody what she had done. But Lexi didn't mean anything bad, did she? - however, it's rather hard to believe.

This is a story about an enormous, inseparable Greek family, that laugh together and have picnics and live in the same suburb. One day, however, the big family all go out to meet another one, one that has just moved to North London from Cyprus.

The family has a little girl called Anastasia - a little girl who really wants to be friends with Eleni. And Lexi is jealous. Because, why, she and Eleni have been inseparable since birth!

When Lexi begins to lie to get out of scrapes and tries to stop Anastasia from interfering with her and Eleni's friendship, bad things start to happen. Yiayia dies, Dimitri's wedding is coming up, and the late grandmother had been found to not write a will.

Tradition is tradition, and that means that the holy necklase that has been passed through generations is to go to Lexi's mum, but Eleni tells the family that the night before her death, Yiayia had led them upstairs to show them to necklase. And that she has promised the necklase to Eleni.

And then, Lexi does a horrible thing - she tells a fib. And hides the necklase.

It's not a really good-quality storie, no, but I enjoyed the plot - so, 3.1/5 for you, my darling.

Marsh and Me - Book Review

I am going to instantly get down to the facts and tell you about the book, shan't I? Well, then let us begin.
Joey M. G. wants to stand out and be different; that is, he doesn't want to spend his free time in an open field playing football, nor is he interested in insects like his friend Digby. Rather, he wants to play the guitar - but he's too shy, and he's no good on the instrument (like me).

Everyday after school, Joey goes up a little hill that grows a bit away from his home-town, and there he lies down with the snakes and crows and hears them slither and sing while he strums his instrument very lightly. However, one day, a mysterious girl named "Marsh" is found building a tree-house on the friendly peppercorn tree, and next time, she is living in it, barefoot and carefree and passionate, her "home" full of tiny things, her mind of no studies, but imagination.

I've really forgotten about how good it feels to meet a strong female-character, and I found a bit of myself in Marsh: she is stubborn and loyal, and fantastically creative, and bright as a ray of sun when she smiles (and I say this hopefully about me).

I cannot tell what happens next, but it's a story of friendship and family and LOVE - it ain't some childy cliche, I don't think - it's more like a story with enormous twenty-sized calibri writing and a big heart. Yep, that's it.

A lovely book - I shall give it 4/5 stars, just because the writing was too big and the book ended too abruptly, I thought. But, whatever.

First Draft of the Second Chapter

Prologue - Part Second

Deep in the forest of Magic, simply a few hundred kilometres from City of Tilla, was a little house with a thatched roof that overflowed the small hut, giving space for shade whenever Palestorm wanted to go outside and sit on his little chair, enjoying the elms and the hemlocks and the firs, often smelling with dew, often sighing and moaning when wind whipped against them ruthlessly.
But just now, as the balsam of the trees flowed gently into the room (for the window was wide open), an old man with a long, smoky beard was been looking up at the sky, using his telescope made of the finest rhodium.

"Those damned planets have minds of their own!" grumbled the thaumaturgist as he absent-mindedly traced the redwood pommel of one of his ancient swords. He didn't hear it fall to the floor, blade pointing to an odd angle, for many wizards - notorious or not - are often like that; they think with their "open" mind, and while thoughts the sizes of ice cubes are able to pass through the "closed" part of their mind, or their "second" mind, they cannot quite operate with the two at the same time.
Palestorm squinted against the darkness, groaned, and looked through the telescope, up at the space itself.

Of, if it wasn't so beautiful he could only resist the temptation... but he wanted to touch those asteroid... feel the dust on Turner... walk on the gases of Sulfia... jump over Barathrum and go far beyond the asteroid belt... being an octogenarian did not suit him, even after meeting a wyvern and escaping death, saving people and stealing gold and being almost lulled to death when he had travelled to the "Singing Waters" by the deathly pale, scaly, bony sirens with voices the -

Palestorm startled; a comet was now shooting down, down, the colour of blood.The powerful telescope could make the wizard see every particle of it - the sharp angles, the rocky surface... however, what startled him was the way it so slowly plummeted down. Be it not for the telescope, he wouldn't be able to see such a thing, travelling five light years away... but he did. And it scared him.

Without looking away, he grappled to find his redwood sword, and he once even stepped on the blade, which neatly cut a gash in his foot. He stifled a scream, soon finding the pommel; he then grasped it, and thrust it beside him, as though the comet would any moment crash onto his hut and as though he, an octogenarian, could slice it into half with his sword. Sure, redwood was nearly perfect in the whole of The King - why, it was the most reliable wood, so sturdy and strong and smart. However, Palestorm never really knew how or why it smart. It just... gave itself this sort of air.

Meanwhile, he had to tear his eyes away to light a candle and search for his moleskin notebook, where he wrote in a shaking hand - Comet flying sru spaic. Werry fasst. Werry sharrp.
Then, a little more tranquil, he hid away the moleskin in the pocket of his robes and hurried to the telescope which glittered at him against the darkness. He sighed, talking for the second time in twenty minutes.

"I've a good mind to inform of my seeings to the King and Queen - but dear Riley can keep no secrets, and I understand her - so, I shall simply wait and see what happens. Of course, there is a chance of the comet crashing any moment, but I hope that that shan't be the case - I still want to live and see what happens. Turning a hundred and still being sane is a goal of mine, however it is much smaller than the one to touch velvety Space."

Now, however, he blew out the candle, not noticing that the table was stained with wax, and climbed into the hard straw bed. Being rich - well, wealthy, to express it nicely - meant not that he got a feather bed, however, and even though one may dare use the word "straw", it is actually more rock-solid than it sounds.
So, Palestorm fell away to dream of monsters and him chasing a star.

***

The next morning, the news spread that Palestorm had died. Rather, he had turned from a healthy man to a pile of dust lying on the "straw" bed, for it is how magicians pass away in the lands of The King. Many said he had perished of fright - but what? Why? How? He had been through so much in his life, from messing with a snake to attacking a selkie. He was, so to say, "a perfectly imperfect hero" - and he would have been quite honoured, and think his life worth not spending in his hut if at least once he bore the thought of people thinking him crazy away.

Only his loved ones cried and moaned that he never got to go to space and walk on the thumb of darkness as he had wished to. But the greatest of wizards fade away to become a faraway star, shining down upon the world. Only he didn't become an Upper-er, which was quite fascinating, for almost everybody were convinced that he would take the place of one of Them. Though nobody really knew his fate.

But his daughter, when searching his hut, had found the moleskin, and read every single page, only to discover what it was that her father had been fearing. That same night, she stayed in the forest of Magic to see the through the telescope, and gasped and moaned when she saw the Comet.

But there was not much that she could do other than go tell the King and Queen. And that caused much dilemma.

Of course nobody had believed her at first, but the girl was very determined to prove herself - and prove she did.
But how?" that is the question - that is the question that's best to be unanswered for a while.

An Old Story That I Found!

                This is an old (unfinished) story that I've found! Enjoy, if you please!                       

                                   

                                           Chapter 1

The rain slashed at the windows ruthlessly, raindrops covering the windowsills like enormous flakes. As the sky darkened and greyed, people blew on their windows or smudged their fingers across the glass to make out what was going on outside.

But all they saw was just the rain-flecked grass, swishing in the wind disturbingly, and the pale faces of their neighbors.

Alysa saw all this too. Her pale, sunken face hardened quite a bit, big bug eyes staring at the events happening outside, wide with bewilderment.  All the other people who were looking outside were avoiding her eyes feverishly, as though she was something disgusting that was so ugly, so hatred, so moody that it would bring them bad luck the moment their eyes locked...

She snapped out of her thoughts, looking upwards. There was nothing. So, her mother was still probably asleep.

Nothing happened for a moment. But then she saw it. A shadow, growing taller, taller, black as night. It crept up to every window, ghostly, black smudged face working like knife-edged disks as they took a look into the people’s souls...

But after the shadow, there came someone else. Probably the owner of the horrific thing, she thought.                                                                                              It was a man. A young man – around his early twenties, with olive skin, black hair that stood on end and hazel eyes, filled with blackness and madness. He was wearing silver robes, cape flashing behind him, lips twisted into a horrible, sickening smile. But there was something that made her look deeper, and when she discovered what she saw, it was quite shocking. DESPAIR. A desperate glint in his eyes. It flashed for seconds, only visible for Alysa – for the girl who was claimed to be cursed. Then the man’s gaze hardened, his flat brows pulling in.

He’s nothing but a boy playing a joke... Alysa though desperately. But as his eyes settled on Alysa, he tilted his head to his side and let out a roar of mirthless laughter. “Found you!” he hissed, slithering up to her window...

He screamed and shattered to pieces, leaving Alysa rooted to the spot.

And this is how it happened. It might have been the end of her, for as she quickly looked into the eyes of the creeped-out people, she noticed that they were starting to hurriedly descend up their staircases or out of the room, probably thinking that it was yet another prank from the cursed girl.

Alysa’s mind seemed frozen, her lips trembling uncontrollably.

A soft thud made her spin around, and she discovered herself looking into the eyes of her albino mother. The woman’s dark, upturned eyes settling on her. “Alysa, baby,” she said hurriedly, taking a few soft steps forward.

She took her daughter’s hands into her, Alysa feeling her putrid smell. Shuddering, she opened her mouth, and with a look of plain horror she saw her mother’s fists clench on hers, Alysa’s knuckles whitening. “Mother...”

“Is this all you ought to say?” Mrs. Yellou said, muscles relaxing. “I told you not to look outside.” She stepped backwards. “What did you see, may I ask my daughter?”

“Mother, s – stop being like that – “Alysa began, but she was cut mid-sentence.

Mrs. Yellou straightened, her eyes beginning to look more mother-like, drowning all the malice out of them. The woman shuffled her feet, letting go of her daughter’s hands and staring down at her white, enormous shoes. “This is just my way of being a true mother, baby,” she whispered. “Creepy I can be, I hope you understand it’s none of my fault. These people – “she looked up and out of the window, Alysa following her eyes, “they do not truly understand us the way we are. We may be rich people, pure in heart, but they see nothing but our poor sense of style! They say that black is for poor people. That black only suits ragged clothes – they even dare say that we wear ragged clothes. And all this is said behind our backs... ...but those finks do not know that this – this is the finest, most natural material. We are natural.  Deep down. And baby, I’m very sorry for protecting you... but so it is, for it was and will be my duty all along. Even as you take a step into your teens. As you turn into a grown woman. As you develop your own strengths, and find someone as equal as you, who will understand every worry of yours, every warm smile, I’ll be checking on you.”

Alysa looked dumbstruck for a moment. Then she let out a stifled, forced laugh and plunged at her mother, her hands around her waist, head on her mother’s shoulder. It was supposed to be a hug, but as she pulled herself to her mother’s body, she only felt coldness and dampness – no love, no duty to protect. And as she hugged harder and harder, expecting some more words of love and encouragement, she heard nothing but her mother’s deep breaths as she breathed in the smell of her daughter’s dirty, damp hair.

Finally, they broke free and Alysa told her about what she had seen, at the same time trying to sound as much heroic and casual as possible. Though inside she felt a little calmer after the long speech of her mother, she was still trembling at the thought of the man’s mystic, mad eyes.

Mrs. Yellou said nothing for a while. But then, lips trembling, eyelids closing serenely, she began a tale once more. The whole time she stood on the spot, swaying slowly from side to side. “I remember Alice telling me about the same mysterious boy. The same looks, the knife-edged eyes, the smudged face. Back when we were in high school. And I did not believe her, of course – but the next day... she never came back to school. I visited her house, I asked her mother for permission to see her, but I was banned from doing so. I just heard the nasty rumors of her muttering crazy things in her sleep... something about “dark faces”, “cute buys”, and “torture”. The fact that she was so helpless and weak paralyzed me...” Mrs. Yellou took a sharp, deep breath. “...you know, I used to have beautiful, dirty blonde hair and baby blue eyes. I had a little cute face, I used to have so many boyfriends... but when I – I realized about her and the tragic events, the next day I looked in the bathroom mirror and saw my eyes black – soul-less, sulking black holes and my hair short and jet-black. It affected me so much... ...my mother tried to help me in ever way she could; she paid thousands of dollars for the best doctors around to come see me. She even tried coloring my hair back to my original color – at my will, of course. But all was useless. In the end my father left and mother gave up. I stopped being cheerful. Never laughed again. Wore only black, white and grey. The colors that match my soul, my experience, so much.”

Alysa watched her mother in horror. “Mother... what will happen to me?! And did Alice die?!”
“I have no idea. Some say that she slept for the next decade, heart beating, growing from a little girl to a woman of pure beauty. And then she just... stopped beating. Though her mother says nothing anymore about her daughter, and denied every part of the rumors when was asked about what truly happened.”

Alysa watched closely, as terror built its way in Mrs. Yellou’s eyes. “I will protect you, though... my dear girl, you must not close your eyes today. If you feel something odd... just tell me, alright? Now I must go and call the doctor!” the last words came out of her mouth sharp and high-pitched, and Alysa dared not to break the silence.

                                      Chapter 2

“What happened to her next?” little Eloise asked. “Did she survive? Was Alysa beautiful and turned un-cursed?”

Mrs. Kennedy raised her eyebrows. Having been sitting on the edge of the bed of her beautiful, red-haired, eight-year-old girl, she couldn’t help but crack a smile. Seeing Eloise’s puzzled face, she nodded skeptically, and looked away, before meeting the girl’s eyes once more. “I do not think so, hon. But I’m sure she survived, yes.”

Eloise laughed. “I love her so much. How many years ago do you think this happened?”

“Well, Elisa, you know that it’s all made-up!” Mrs. Kennedy said slowly. Though seeing Eloise’s eyes so big and hopeful, she quickly added, “Well, uh, I’m sure it happened not too long ago.”

“How do you know, mother?”

Having been listening to the whole story, Roger sat up in bed. A tall boy, with almond-shaped eyes and high cheekbones he was, though he didn’t have many friends. Just William and Jordan, who never cared about his flaws.

“Oh darling!” Mrs. Kennedy declared. “I know because I never tell lies... right, my children?”

“Right,” said Roger sulkily, but eager on pressing his point. “But – “

“Right!” Eloise snapped at him. “But how did she look?”

“This is false history. Mother must have found it in a library or something...”

Mrs. Kennedy gave him a dead look, before walking up to his bed and kissing Roger softly on the cheek. Then she hugged him, Roger’s arms slowly relaxing and whispered, “Give your sister the pleasure!”

Eloise giggled. “I love her so much. We really relate – “

She said the wrong line; instantly, Mrs. Kennedy swooped over her like a hawk, peering into her girl’s little eyes. “What do you mean?” she asked her hurriedly, feeling Eloise’s forehead.

Eloise shook her forehead, index finger pressed to her soft lips, but Roger opened his mouth first. “She’s being bullied. And Anna, nor Stephanie, nor Nora are smart enough to help her! They bully her because of red hair and reckless. They say she smells of onions, and I’ve heard her sobbing to Nora that they think her greatest fear is a vampire.” Roger tried to hold a straight face, but his cheeks burned with anger and his fists curled.

“I see.” Mrs. Kennedy said, still swooping over her daughter. “Why did you not tell me, Eloise?!”

Eloise was close to tears now. “Shut your big mouth!” she screamed at Roger, who hid his face behind his covers instantly, thinking he was in trouble. But finally, he peeked out again. “I am your brother and two years older than you are. I am smarter, and I will take care of you!”

“Sheesh!” Eloise burst out. “You pig!”

Mrs. Kennedy calmed the both of them down, after which looking worriedly from Eloise to Roger. “Why did you not tell me?”

“I waas scaaaared!” Eloise wailed, fingertips digging into her mattress.

Mrs. Kennedy kissed her. “Tell them to shoo off. That’s all that will be needed.”

Eloise smiled. “I need a good ending...” she murmured, eyes closing.

Mrs. Kennedy understood. “But nothing happened to Alysa... it turned out, it was all just an illusion and when she awoke the next morning she didn’t remember anything! So, she lived on, and when she grew up, Alysa became a famous writer and married a beautiful tennis player who fell in love with her. He had beautiful muscles and an olive, cute face. He was everything she could wish for.  And then they had three children; Gretel, Ty and Sophia. Now... lights out. Enough talking!”

Mrs. Kennedy walked to the door. But as she opened it, she said quite softly, “Roger, don’t annoy your sister. You know I love you... but she’s, after all, younger!”
Not waiting for an answer, the lights switched off and she was gone.

                                     Chapter 3

Beatrix knocked on her friend’s white door politely. She was dressed in a tight, creamy-white dress, emerald eyes blazing hot. The teenage girl looked at her feet, cheeks burning, before she knocked again. This time, someone responded.

The door slowly opened to reveal Roger, only four years older, in a lime lace-up shirt, jawline chiseled and clenched. But as he took a step forward and glanced at Beatrix, he was forced to smile. “Eloise is upstairs.”

Beatrix gave him a long hug, and Roger instantly turned the color of a tomato. “What do you mean by that?”

“I feel like I’ve known you for a long time. And I figured we could become something more... like a brother and sister.” Looking at his puzzled face, she laughed, “I don’t mean anything... it’s very complicated. I just feel like a sister of yours. I hope you see yourself as a true brother, because I really want us friends!”

Roger forced a laugh. “Well maybe.”

Beatrix let go of him and ran into the house and up the stairs.

“Bibi!” Eloise cried, plunging at her with a hug.

“Ellie!”

Eloise closed the door behind her as they sat on the bed. “So...?” Beatrix asked. “Are you alright with the mean girls group? What did they tell you today?”

“I wish you were there. Nora, Steph and Anna turned their backs on me. They’re in the Group Now. You should’ve seen them...” Eloise’s big eyes were as round as plates, glinting. “Nora lied to me, saying that Edmund likes me.”

Beatrix smiled at the mention off his name. “Edmund? Ohh, Edmund Stone?”

“I thought you liked my brother.” Eloise said savagely. “Well everyone knows you can’t get enough of them, boys!”

Beatrix flashed pink. “So what did you do?”
“I – I slapped her on the face, of course! And then she ran to the school-nurse, and called me a “total loser”. And I thought we were besties for three whole years...”

Hi! I just felt like making a logo for CC! It will most likely go up on the "bar" thing where one can see the competition that I won and follow me and search my posts and read about me. I'm pretty sure that that's what it's called!

The Steps of Writing a Novel

Whenever I plan to write a story - like, a real, long story - I always just write it, and then go like "Hey, I'm done!" but I know I always make mistakes when I do that. I know that there is more to writing than just that. So, in this easy post, I shall take you through all the steps of - hopefully, successfully - writing a good story.

1. Jot down the ideas.
Capturing the best ideas is CRUCIAL! I recommend getting a notebook and just beginning to sketch out the plot, figure out the characters, et cetera. Once you have that ready, then you can just delve deeper into each part and work from there, slowly building up your information step by step.

2. Work through the first draft.
It is important, when you already know your information more or less, you begin the first draft. You may just write the first few chapters, and then edit them two times more before doing the same with all the rest - but really, I'd recommend writing your full story first before you do anything else.

3. Collect feedback.
Okay, so now you have your unedited first draft! So what you've got to do now is collect some feedback; maybe share your story with your family and/or friends, or perhaps your teacher, or Wattpad. And I don't say Storybird because Wattpad is actually more or less for children - for tweens. But if you want more, so to say, structured, more heavy feedback, then Wattpad is really good for you! Nevertheless, direct feedback from somebody whose a little older than you may seem daunting, so you can check out Storybird and work without fear on there, because the community is lovely (unlike the few issues with cyber-bullying that have beek coming up on Wattpad).

4. Work through your second draft.
Working through your second draft is always very important! For one thing, the little vexing flies that make up your "of"s instead of your "if"s can be improved, for sure! And you may as well want to give your characters more depth. This is where you are coming to the end of the whole "process", and may want to watch your steps.

5. Stop working!
This may sound weird, but closing your eyes on your work for a month or two really actually helps me! This is where I get to collect new things, such as get time to get inspired by other books or go somewhere original and come up with a new idea. Furthermore, this may give you the eyes of a stranger, however eerie this may sound, simply meaning that you can criticize yourself as though you were not you - rather, as if you were... a stranger.

6. Ask more advise!
Now that you've corrected all your errors (well, or simply most of them!), you may want to show somebody once more, so that they could see if you have improved or not. This is very helpful also. If you haven't done much, then take a break, and re-edit your draft again.

7. Get rid of snakes!
Here, we are finally to the second-last step - yay! And we're up to my favourite one, too...
This is where you type up your story and delete all the parts that you may want to delete! Some can be like snakes - they may coil around your readers, and want them to gasp for breath, because all those parts and paragraphs that make no sense to the plot of the story can just be so confusing! But I also recommend saving the parts that you may think are good just because, well, they might be!

8. Finish up.
This is the last step - when you briefly glance through your work again and then decide to finally end everything. Well, not EVERYTHING...
Anyway - now you are done!

                                                                                     ***

PS: I just wanted to say that these are the steps only if you are taking your writing seriously. If you don't strive for improvement, then you might just make a first draft and be done with it. However you wish!

From
Sandra

The First Draft of the First Chapter (Book One)

First

On a planet that is surrounded by many friends, and one that orbits around little moonlets and baby-stars, there are three magical kingdoms. Planets in the Universe are many, but the one that one may focus on just now looks, really, a bit like Earth.

Blue, with large blobs of green - very simple, except for the facts that there are rather many strokes of lemon and orange and ivory. Those are just the birthmarks of the planet; why, when the Planet was first created, the birthmarks stood out bumpy and uneven; but, after millions of years, they have melted into the ground, which is where one can now experience the magic in its original form - not shrunk, not made simpler - just not messed with, all in all.

The Kingdom where everything takes place is called "Consilii" (in Latin) - or else "Resourceful", in English. It may seem peculiar that a fantasy kingdom would steal a word from typical "Earth" - but the fact is that the Consiles - the people that live there - do have a bit of an inkling of "Latin", for it is most important, and is taught a little bit at school where the young Consiles go.

Consilii has four main islands; Dragnia, The Triplets (people always counted The Three as one small island, because of their vexingly-small size), Ruthenium Picke and the respectable One Without A Name, also known as "The King".

Dragnia is an island where dragons roam all they like; there are many birthmarks there, but they are all very small, unlike the ones at "Ruthenium Picke" (known as "The Island of Dark") and the One Without a Name.

Dragonia is often thought of as "The plain one" in the whole of the Planet, because of how simple and wild it is; full of trees, rocks, and a little town named "Ludovic", named after the hero of dragons - or else the first Consile to ever tame one of those beasts. Mind, dragons aren't always horrendous!

The Triplets are simple also - just carefree little islands, where people live - rather, people who just want to get away "from the magical life" and spend the rest of their days in sweet air, perfumed by daisies.

Ruthenium Picke is much different from the rest, however; that was where the King of Darkness was born. But that was over a thousand year ago. Nevertheless, goblins still prowl in the night, and there are plenty of cursed castles, all in ruins, selkies, and many other nightmares.

Now, for the last "part" - The One Without a Name! That is where the capital of Consilii is - right in "City of Tilla". Nobody knows where the name had originated from, but no matter - peasants and normal townsfolk that lived in Terese Town said that Tilla was the richest; it had a castle, and many rich manors flecked all about. But really, one only had to befriend King Martin to get the trust of his wife, Riley (quite an un-royal name!) - and then, they can move in, poor peasants or not, for the Royals are friendly, and rather very dangerously naive! The people that live in The Corner Village don't know much about Tilla, or Terese; because, as one may have noticed, it was away from both of those "marks", and instead built at the corner of "The King". Fisherman said they were content with what they got, and I think so, too. Candidly, The Corner Village isn't all bad, save for the fact that it's over a hundred kilometers from the "Place of the orcs", where the respectable, muscular, long-faced, man-eating monsters still live to this day. Also, The Corner Village often feels cold, for it is right by the "Great sea", and it is a fact that many a - or most of the - Consiles like the cold.

Oh, but of course it shouldn't at all make sense for it to be very cold in the East, eh? The thing is that the Planet - and not only that - the whole one hundred and twenty-three planets! - aren't very, so to say, logical. Not quite yet, however. Being in the twenty-first century means nothing to the Consiles, if one talks only about them - why, they don't even have an inkling about what "a year" means. To them, there are no "decades", save for the "centuries" and "millenniums" and so, so on - to them, on their wrong, peculiar planets, there is only time - "time to make time", as one greatly worshipped poet said, somewhere in the ninth century, if one slips back into normal human language!

And so back to the peculiarity; one must notice that, since the planet is often horribly wrong, that the gods choose to turn chilly or send bright beams of sunlight down upon the Planet only when, well, they feel like it. Other times, the gods and occasional goddesses (for being ignorant of real "rights", females on the Planet are still believed to not be capable of much) lean over the clouds to gaze down upon the Planet, and cry, and laugh, and tear their hair (if they have any, mind) as they follow the lives of different people, all at different times of day and night.

Not to believe in the "Upper" people is a bit of a woe - a sin - for most Consiles, actually, to be frank. It is almost a rule to be Catholic, and to strongly lean on religion as a friend that never ceases. For the unfortunate type, it seems awful to have an "undying friend", and if a mother scorns her child for not reading the bible, it is always heard in the community the stern words from the pale-from-rage lips, almost unmoving, "You will go to hell, my dear, when Life flies out of your vain knuckle!" or something of that sort.

It, strictly, is not necessary to believe - and to trust - "Those Upper" people, whatever the priests may say. As once a boy, clad in grey, torn clothes said to his enraged father - "Dad, you see, you say that the Upper-ers can fix anything! And you told me that a priest is a kind of church minister, did you not? So it is by law the priest's job to mend things like the Upper-ers if he worships them so, is it not? Well, why don't you blame HIM for not fixing my clothes after I jumped into dirt just to save a caterpillar? Oh, and now I tell you - those priests know nothing! Nothing!"

Twenty years later, the boy, named Eddi House, became the "church minister", for he seemed to have forgotten what he had said only two decades - or rather, "some time" ago. But until his barbaric father died, he always came to him at evening to hit him and say - "You know nothing, son, nothing, nothing!"

Nevertheless, being Catholic is not bad, and even if one little rebel gets an occasional scolding, often for the rest of their lives they carry the hopes of going to "Heaven" if they rightly behaved or else, if were excellent all their lives, become one of the "Upper" people. One day, some time ago (actually, it was ten years previously!), a poor peasant's wife saw her husband die and then, a few months later, said that she saw him smiling at her, peering over the edge, looking very young and happy.

But one had to be clever, cunning, sly, bright (in the sense of being smart), positive, determined motivating and strong-minded to get Up There. However, it is unlikely that any of the Consiles were as perfect - in that sense.

For an interesting fact, there were already twelve Upper-ers, eight of which were men and four were women.

There is Mistress Snowdrop, the fragile young woman with falling white hair over her albino face. Nobody knew where she lived before she came to be one of the Upper-ers, but many still think she is from one of the Triplets, being very slight and tender, and seemingly built of love and health and the breath of the wild. Surely her name wasn't such a ridicule before - rather, it was Stephanie Daphen.

Then, there is Lord Pebblar, a man with a scruffy black head, the same moustache, and very wide, very expressive eyes of the tints that are the colours of the birthmarks of the Planet; orange, white, yellow. And so if one stares into them for long... well, somebody once said that they would get paralyzed if they looked into the two pools for too long - into the pools that sun cut through one, slicing the air with malice - or that was at least the "somebody" said.

Next was Lord Merge, a stout old man with long greying hair and a fantastical look about his blue-veined face.

Forwards on the list, Mistress Stone, the seemingly stony (pun intended, if there is one) thirty-year-old of dull lips and high cheekbones.

Lord Labestar, next. He was the most cruel, surely! He had piercing eyes, just like his brother, a twisted little mouth and a bumpy face - in the means of "full of zits". And not one could describe the droll look of his unimpressive, shallow eyes - not one. Not one except Pebblar.

The others aren't worth mentioning - actually, surely they are, but one gets the point from the first Five, yes?

Now, moving onto hell: when a woman speaks sternly to her child, saying they were to go to hell, she does mean "Ruthenium Picke", if she is one of the Consiles. The truth is, that every kingdom has an island, all evil, flowing with dark blood. It is the mere believe that after life, if one is bad, then they are sent to "Ruthenium Picke" (again, if they were from Consilii). But the beliefs were so strong (are, perhaps, still!), that they drive the people mad if they really put their mind onto being good and if one unfortunate cully someday spills "Sap wine" on their suit, then of course the poor man feels restless  and ashamed until they die! Fancy, such a little thing!

Sap wine may be brought up now, just as well. Now, sap in Consilii is a sort of bitter, round yellow seed dotted in crimson that is said to be very good for the body. It also tastes nice - very nice - when introduced to wine; because the slight grape effect, mixed in with the tongue-biting flavour, may make a rather good lunch; just say one had been kicked out of their home for, why, doesn't that happen really very often? - and one stopped in front of a stall in one of the markets to buy some Sap wine from a fat little seller (generally fat, they are, with no offense meant, because every once in a while the seller sneaks a bite or a sip into their mouth, building up the habit bit by bit), and then took a sip while hurrying to work. Well, it is very hard, the wine, and tends to stay in one's stomach for quite a while afterwards because of the "pressure".

Another national food is red cheese, which one must not describe, and let another know that the one thing that makes the cheese so red is the blood of an orc.

One must also be rather interested why orcs don't live at Ruthenium Picke. And the answer is simple; they just like The King, with all its healthy grasses and plants and soul-healing (pardon, if that is  no word!) rains. It was a long, long time ago that they had moved from Ruthenium Picke into the mountains! And the mountains are very small, but they are very steep and sharp also, mind, that they never could be mentioned on the Official map of Consilii. Because it can only display large, major items!

Now, of course there are other magical folk that live on The King. For an instance, the Djinns, living five hundred kilometers from the "Corner Village", are really very jolly and proper and good! Old little men, going on about their daily jobs, bringing back their wives and kids food. The only thing unnatural about them is that they, of course, can make one's wish come true. Just like that, one must assure the other!

Then, second-lastly, are the pixies. They live in the "castle" ruins, with sharp, pointed faces, mischievous natures and playful habits. Usually, they don't disturb one - unless one promises them blackberries and brings none. It is deathly to mess with those!

Finally, there are the sirens. And after this, one never must say that The King is all good!

Mind, they aren't the everyday lovely, friendly mermaids - no, they are the sirens; the ones that live in the "Singing waters"! One is most likely already familiar with what they do - sing, sing, and then take those poor sailors down to the bottom of the ocean to rip off their heads. However, it's not only sailors that they take down there...

And so, this is Consilii - in all its glory!

Official Map/ EDITED Sneak-Peak

So, it turned out that yesterday I was merely messing about, and that today is when the OFFICIAL map comes out. So, here it is, with a few changes!

Now, onto the sneak-peek of the first chapter - EDITED!

The Map of my Fantasy world Series/Sneak Peak of First Chapter

So, this is my fantasy world for my book series! I know it is rather messy, for it is really my first go at messing around with Inkarnate, but I am so ecstatic about the fact that it ACTUALLY turned out.. eh... well, I guess, good!

Now, in my official "Book one", which I will start on when I finish the pre-story in my series, the main character is born and lives in "Terese Town". I just really wanted to mention that!

Now - onto the sneak-peek of Chapter One!

The Disturbed

Ashleigh, the small girl with pale locks and staring brown eyes had made her way to the graveyard. The October wind lashed at her face, making her cheeks burn, and she quickened her pace. Ashleigh wanted to be away from the gaslights, the cars, the people. The very humans disturbed her - perturbed her.

So, Ashleigh thought that going to the graveyard on the last day of October would be rather fine. She believed in ghosts - truly did - and decided so as not to provoke them, to not touch any of the tombs or sit on any flowers. Instead, she made her way to a wooden bench, hidden under the thick oak-tree leaves.

Ashleigh's mother had given her a small maple basket where she put a bun and a few lollies, knowing that her ten-year-old was one for a treat.

But at one point, Ashleigh stood up and bravely made her way towards the tombs. Curiosity got the better of her, and as her long fingers ran over the words, she knelt down to sniff and explore. Near one tomb, which said "Alicia Caive", she sat down to toy with the weak flowers. Hyacinths - dead.

Ashleigh's little heart gave a jolt. She felt sorry for Alicia - truly did, because she thought that the woman must feel lonely when she comes at midnight to inspect her surroundings.
So, Ashleigh put the sweets by the tomb, and herself ate the cold bun.

Hours passed swiftly, like a crow in the night. But do crows fly swiftly?

Soon, it was midnight. Completely dark. Ashleigh waited, her heart beating hard against her chest. She had always wanted to see a ghost, and now that she finally had enough courage in her, she could! Moments after the clock struck twelve, a tyrannic cry echoed around the grave-yard, and soon a smoky pair of claws were seen. No - not smoky; silvery. The claws dug the dirt in an irritated manner, until soon there was a hole big enough for a head to come through.

Ashleigh wanted to run. But she knew she couldn't!

The face was a very curious one; sure, there were eyes, but they had no pupils, nor any irises - only black holes, so vivid and real and inviting. The nose was a sharp one, with a sort of bend at the bridge, giving in a peculiar look. But the mouth - oh! There was a twisted, half-mad smile upon it, full of a droll attempt to try and hide the glee.

"You have disturbed me, little girl," said the it in a raspy voice. Thick, greasy hair almost covered the eyes, but Ashleigh saw them flash.

"I... oh, A - A - Alicia! I have put candy on your tomb, hoping you'd be pleased..."

"You have disturbed me, little girl." now the voice was more firm. Thick. Hard.

"I'll g - g - g - go!" and Ashleigh sprang up, and turned on her heels to run. But a smooth hand held her ankle and she tripped face-down, onto the concrete.

What happened next, nobody knew - but every year, on the last day of October, a severe cry echoes in the graveyard, and swiftly a monster comes. Many have tried to "kill" it - but in the end, all ended up dead. For the magic force was a strong one - and when somebody is disturbed from their underworld, it's a deadly business to even hope that it shall go away!

New Tag - Sneak-Peeks

Here, I am going to post sneak peeks of my future chapters before I post them onto Wattpad! They won't be edited here, for I am to edit them on Wattpad.
I just wanted to do this small update and say what my future plans are.

Again, as said before, I am not to post too much on this blog for some time now, but I will take the hobby seriously and deeply progress into it when holidays start in six weeks. It's a long time to wait, but I know I'll gather many a material for my future posts, and probably come with many a story to share!

From,
Sandra!

Your New Place to Hang Out At - legendarylibraryonline.wordpress.com

Okay - so this is all a friendly blogging community, right? Well, I have a friend that left my school last term, and who does blogging too, and I would just like to sort of introduce her website to other people!
I really adore Luna's poetry - it is so deep and meaningful, in my opinion! And I am so glad to be able to say that her skills are really worth mentioning! If one counts not the rare lack of full stops and apostrophes, then it's a lovely place to go to.

Again, thanks for listening to this rant!
Sandra

D.W. part 6 - "Limited Third Person" or "Omniscient Third Person"?

I have read a bit about this on Storybird, to be frank - but now I want to translate those words into my personal language and explain a bit about "third person".
That's right - that easy style of writing when one can easily write "he goes up the hill," or "she licks the salami and jumps back!" But - who is the narrator? Who is the protagonist? Who is... does every reader see the book through the eyes of Harry Potter or Auggie, Via, Jack, Julian and Charlotte (Wonder)?

Sometimes, writing in "omniscient third person" changes the reader's - uh - how to say... it changes what they think about the characters, and if or if not they relate with them more/less. For example, at first the story may begin with Neil. But in the next chapter, one sees the world from the eyes of Phil, and if the readers thought that she was an indifferent snob before, then now they get to see what really she is feeling and why she's not what one called her before.

So, finally, "Limited third person", as the name may suggest, make you see throughout the novel the story from the eyes of one person. It is you who choose to believe them, or you again who choose not to - because, in the end, in a book such as this, you never get to see the point of view (POV) of another character!

From,
Sandra!

D.W. Part 5 - Criticizing Oneself

It is important, as I have found, to criticize oneself when one wants to improve. For an instance, if one is considering writing as perhaps a future career, then it is very important that the person reads other books, and edits their work, and edits again, and three times more, just to make sure that one hasn't put a "." in the place of a "?".

I like to edit my work before I post it anywhere (storybird, wattpad, creative crystal) or give it to anyone to read (family, friends, teacher). I enjoy knowing that I've ran over the information and done everything the way I would like it to be done, so that I now may rest in peace, because I have finally checked everything.

Critisizing is important in the life of a hobby and an aspiring artist. I suppose it help when, after writing your sonnet for three hours, you go out of the room, make yourself a milkshake, et cetera - and that when you come back, you look at your scribbles (excuse me - I do know some people have neat handwriting, but I don't!) with the fresh eyes of an indifferent stranger. Be cool, recollective - think of what was your favourite book that you've read before. Did Margaret have "broun" or "brown" hair?

Okay.
So, I just wanted to explain that it is very important to critisize oneself!
PS: I know that there is an app called "Grammarly", that can help one with punctuation and the spelling of words - but does that really help you?! What do you learn? DO you learn to lean on the help of others?

From
Sandra