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