Are you writing a book?

[Palathadric]

But I myself actually prefer each book of a series to have its own plot, and if I'd write a series, I'd make sure that each book in itself is satisfactory, so that nobody is actually forced to read the next book just to make some sense out of the story. Doesn't mean book one ends all smiles and sunshines, and then suddenly it's all bad again. I almost always leave speace for a sequel, or even give hints, especially in aforementioned Cyberpunk story, in which things still aren't good, just slightly better. But still every book will have it's own arc, and not end in the middle of something.

Yes, that's what I was trying to say in the beginning of my post. You write your story and finish it, but you leave it open in case you want to add a sequel. That particular part of the story is finished. It has it's ending, and, if you do decide to write another part, it's a whole new deal. For Sisco, though, I would say to keep it one story, because the plot does not quite sound deep enough to have a whole bunch of substories happening inside of it. Of course it could, but... (I'm in no way criticizing your storyline Sisco, in case I came across that way...I do seem to fairly often. )

[The Legonater]

If I may ask, what causes this outbreak of war? It's just the only way I (from a British person's perspective) could imagine Ireland as the battle ground for a war is if it were involving the IRA.

I actually had a similar idea for my story, which I might as well post the plot of here.

Canada and Russia begin talks over ownership of the ice caps (an idea from my friend when I asked him for a plot for the book I had until then only had an idea of). Meanwhile, a Secret Service Joint Team combining agents from Britain, Canada and the United States' Secret Service groups is formed in order to track down a Russian terrorist threat which could destabalize the UN. In the White House, Deputy Communications Director Samantha Chetenski begins to recieve death threats from elsewhere in the US. As the talks slowly intensify, the SSJT captures the terrorist, who turns out to be an ex-US Military commander. This causes him to go on a JAG trial, which eventually rules him guilty. In synch with this, terrorist assaults resume, nearly killing soldier Reg Terrel and his girlfriend, a White House reporter. The SSJT again goes into action as the CIA finds the location of Sam's threats- a Russian politicion. The SSJT's investigations find that this politicion, and the terrorists are connected. When Canada approaches them of this, Russia decalres war. However, both countries have been preparing for this for months now.

Basically, the rest of the book follows the ups and downs of the coming war, fought largely in Europe and Russia.

[Sisco]

I don't think so, although it really depends on how in-depth you are planning to get into this. Will he be fighting a lot of battles and stuff when in Ireland? Or, more or less, just evacuating people? It could possibly be a series, but as of now I see it more as a single book. I don't really know what else to comment on though, the description is a little short...Is it leaning more towards the romantic side of writing with a lot of character study and thought, emotions, etc or is it more of a war deal with the romance just thrown in, or a bit of both?

It's a bit of both. It's part romance, part adventure. It's told completely from Martin's perspective, though.

If I may ask, what causes this outbreak of war? It's just the only way I (from a British person's perspective) could imagine Ireland as the battle ground for a war is if it were involving the IRA.

My current reason is that Russia reveals that when the U.S.S.R. fell, they secretly put in a shadow government. The dictator steps out, and declares war on all nations with democracy. Kind of out there, I know, but I'm still working on it a bit.

On another note, why exactly is the protagonist deserting, and why exactly is she following him? I guess they are trying to avoid the war, but to me evacuating and even more being evacuated doesn't sound that bad, at least not worse than deserting in a battle zone. Just wondering, no critizism intended.

Well, sometimes when Martin's unit goes to evacuate civilians, a battle has already begun. They're often caught in the crossfire. And you have to remember that Martin and Luna have been dreaming of each other for a year, thinking that one another was a figment of his or her imagination. There's at least some affection there. And a personal tragedy for each character will occur to drive Martin to desert.

(I'm in no way criticizing your storyline Sisco, in case I came across that way...I do seem to fairly often. )

I'm not offended, and you didn't come across that way, don't worry! I'm aware that this book could have a fairly shallow plot, but I'll try to at least make it interesting.

As for a sequel... I've decided against a full blown series. But I was thinking perhaps having the first book in Martin's perspective, and the second in Luna's; that is, if I decide to have a second book. I could just do a "part one/part two thing in one book, shifting perspectives. Of course, I'm open to ideas and constructive criticism.

[Flipz]

As for a sequel... I've decided against a full blown series. But I was thinking perhaps having the first book in Martin's perspective, and the second in Luna's; that is, if I decide to have a second book. I could just do a "part one/part two thing in one book, shifting perspectives. Of course, I'm open to ideas and constructive criticism.

Have you ever read the book Flipped? It's a great read (especially considering the young age of the audience it's aimed at), and it involves dual perspective. For every event in the story, you get a chapter in which it's told from the boy's perspective and a chapter in which the same story is told from the girl's perspective. That might be kind of cool to see for your novel, and if nothing else, difference in perspective are a great way to handwave any inconsistencies that might arise.

Edited March 15, 2012 by Flipz

[Palathadric]

That might be kind of cool to see for your novel, and if nothing else, difference in perspective are a great way to handwave any inconsistencies that might arise.

Although, you have to make sure both of their stories are uniquely exciting enough to make the reader able to sit through both of them. Personally, I lack a whole lot of experience writing in first person. The few half short stories that I have written in first person all went down the drain when the ancient computer crashed.

[The Real Walkers]

I've had to write a short-story for my course at college (AS English Literature) and I decided to write mine about a train crash.

My inspiration, the fact that I travel to college on a train everyday and one day I though 'what if this train crashed' and BOOM problem sorted!!

My teacher said he's going to be giving it 18/19 out of 20 so I must be alright

Edited March 16, 2012 by The Real Walkers

[Zepher]

I aspire to be a writer. It's what I will be going to college for in the fall! Theater, television, and movies.

I have written, directed and produced a play. It got rave reviews from my extremely small town, though a teacher of theater at Yale read it and gave general good notes as well. Not too much else to say about it. I'm half way through a second play, and about 15% through a short novel. I too used to have a problem with giving up on projects (and of course still do). My advice - pick a THEME you really care about, and you think is central to your life. If you end up being inspired by something new, it will probably relate back to your theme, because if you pick a central theme in your life and thoughts, all things relate back to it, so instead of being inspired to start a new project, you're inspired to return to your work.

Themes I address often in writing: free will v. fate v. chance, up-standers v. by-standers, inherent evilness in people, pompousness, perspective, and responsibility for actions.

[Sisco]

Here's the first bit of the book, for your reading enjoyment:

Martin opened his eyes to a world shrouded in mist. Bleary-eyed and confused by his surroundings, Martin turned and stumbled through the mist. But the mist was already changing, solidifying and coloring itself into what looked like a European street.

An outdoor cafe materialized behind Martin. Shrugging, he went and sat at a table. While tapping out a tune with his fingers and letting his eyes wander, Martin saw something that stopped his fingers dead.

The girl was pale, with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her hair was curly and fiery red; it flowed to her shoulders. Soft features formed her face, lending her a robust type of beauty. Her Celtic-green eyes took Martin's breath away.

The girl turned and saw Martin, who sat paralyzed at the cafe table. A smile formed on her face. The smile began with a twinkle in her eyes, spread to form dimples on her cheeks, and ended on her soft lips. Her teeth were blindingly white.

The girl walked over to Martin. "Hallo, I'm Luna," the girl said. Her voice was soft like whispering leaves, with a slightly Americanized Irish accent.

"Well, I, uh," Martin stammered.

Luna laughed; a sound near to the tone of tinkling bells. Her mirth brought Martin out of his reverie.

"Martin," he tells her, holding out his hand.

Taking the hand, Luna rewarded him with another smile. Then the shadowy street shattered back into mist, and Luna disappeared.

Please bear in mind that this is first version, straight from my notebook. I'm open to suggestions, but be kind please!

[RPGer]

This looks amazing, Sisco! I can't wait to see more!

[Professor Flitwick]

It's good so far, but I do have some criticisms. I hope none of this appears unkind! I'm no expert, and haven't an literary qualifications, but I am a reader, so here I go! I'm doing a bit of assumption here, not knowing if this is during the dream, or the evacuation of Ireland, or somewhere in between.

Martin opened his eyes to a world shrouded in mist. Bleary-eyed and confused by his surroundings, Martin turned and stumbled through the mist. But the mist was already changing, solidifying and coloring itself into what looked like a European street.

Try not to repeat the same words too often. It makes the read a bit... bland. I realise with a word like mist, there are very little replacements. Perhaps replace one of them with a Metaphor, such as (thinging on the spot here! ) "Martain turned and stumbled through the pellucid veil"?

Also, it's hard to define a 'European street'. All of the European architecture has some differences, with varying buildings and architectural styles dating from Roman/Byzantium/etc conquest. Ireland largely lacks these, due to many invading forces never making it that far, so Ireland has quite a distinct style. Unless of course, it's a modern building in any European nation, in which case they are mostly relatively indistinguishable from American architecture.

An outdoor cafe materialized behind Martin. Shrugging, he went and sat at a table. While tapping out a tune with his fingers and letting his eyes wander, Martin saw something that stopped his fingers dead.

Not knowing where in the novel this takes place, I can only imagine Martin is quite tired here, as I can't imagine many soldiers being lazy enough to slack off in an abandoned (?) cafe whilst on active duty. If this is in the dream, in what capacity is he in Ireland? Does he dream of being a soldier, or does he just dream of his current-self visiting this strange place.

The girl was pale, with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her hair was curly and fiery red; it flowed to her shoulders. Soft features formed her face, lending her a robust type of beauty. Her Celtic-green eyes took Martin's breath away.

All round good description. You've allowed me to build quite a vivid picture, using very few words, which I as a reader appreciate.

The girl turned and saw Martin, who sat paralyzed at the cafe table. A smile formed on her face. The smile began with a twinkle in her eyes, spread to form dimples on her cheeks, and ended on her soft lips. Her teeth were blindingly white.

Sounds like the perfect woman - Nice eyes, a great smile, cute features. A little too perfect, perhaps? If you're trying to emphasize Martin's attraction for Luna, perhaps try writing this part in the first person?

The girl walked over to Martin. "Hallo, I'm Luna," the girl said. Her voice was soft like whispering leaves, with a slightly Americanized Irish accent.

"Well, I, uh," Martin stammered.

Luna laughed; a sound near to the tone of tinkling bells. Her mirth brought Martin out of his reverie.

"Martin," he tells her, holding out his hand.

Taking the hand, Luna rewarded him with another smile. Then the shadowy street shattered back into mist, and Luna disappeared.

I can't fault any of this; we've all been the blushing man, winded by a woman's beauty.

I assume from the fact that Luna is disappearing back into the mist suggests that this takes place in the dream? It may seem obvious, but I'm not sure whether it's that, or some form of smog/gas attack/explosion-generated-dust created by the invading force.

[Sisco]

It's good so far, but I do have some criticisms. I hope none of this appears unkind! I'm no expert, and haven't an literary qualifications, but I am a reader, so here I go! I'm doing a bit of assumption here, not knowing if this is during the dream, or the evacuation of Ireland, or somewhere in between.

No please, I welcome constructive criticism!

Try not to repeat the same words too often. It makes the read a bit... bland. I realise with a word like mist, there are very little replacements. Perhaps replace one of them with a Metaphor, such as (thinging on the spot here! ) "Martain turned and stumbled through the pellucid veil"?

Also, it's hard to define a 'European street'. All of the European architecture has some differences, with varying buildings and architectural styles dating from Roman/Byzantium/etc conquest. Ireland largely lacks these, due to many invading forces never making it that far, so Ireland has quite a distinct style. Unless of course, it's a modern building in any European nation, in which case they are mostly relatively indistinguishable from American architecture.

Yes, the repeating of 'mist' struck me, too. I just couldn't think of what to say, really. Thanks for that suggestion though, it really helps to get the wheels turning!

---------------------------------

To be brutally honest, I'm an American. Even worse, an American that's never been out of the country. So my knowledge of "European streets" is pretty limited. I'm putting "European street" in as a placeholder in this first edition.

Not knowing where in the novel this takes place, I can only imagine Martin is quite tired here, as I can't imagine many soldiers being lazy enough to slack off in an abandoned (?) cafe whilst on active duty. If this is in the dream, in what capacity is he in Ireland? Does he dream of being a soldier, or does he just dream of his current-self visiting this strange place.

It's just his current-self dreaming of a strange place. I make this obvious in the next bit, don't worry.

All round good description. You've allowed me to build quite a vivid picture, using very few words, which I as a reader appreciate.

Thank you! I do try to get my descriptions done well.

Sounds like the perfect woman - Nice eyes, a great smile, cute features. A little too perfect, perhaps? If you're trying to emphasize Martin's attraction for Luna, perhaps try writing this part in the first person?

I've decided on third person omniscient. We'll see Martin's thoughts, Martin's feelings... Think the perspective of Harry Potter.

I can't fault any of this; we've all been the blushing man, winded by a woman's beauty.

I assume from the fact that Luna is disappearing back into the mist suggests that this takes place in the dream? It may seem obvious, but I'm not sure whether it's that, or some form of smog/gas attack/explosion-generated-dust created by the invading force.

Again yes, I'll make it clear in the next bit that it's a dream.

Thank you for the clear and detailed constructive criticism!

[Mr Man]

To be brutally honest, I'm an American. Even worse, an American that's never been out of the country. So my knowledge of "European streets" is pretty limited. I'm putting "European street" in as a placeholder in this first edition.

Google Maps, it's made for Americans to view the world without having to leave their state .

There's nothing really incorrect with the phrase, with the exception it's incredibly general, maybe mention the European Buildings as well .

Without been more specific (Like looking at pics of the general areas you are writing about), I can't think of an alternative for it yet.

[Zepher]

Here's a rough draft of a short fairy tale I wrote for a friend:

Once upon a time there was a young wizard who lived out in the forest all alone.

Every day the Wizard would wake up before the sun had risen and hike up a path on the hill that was behind his house. The hill was tall. Though the Wizard lived in a forest with high trees, the hill rose above them and he could see for miles around in every direction, and the sky stretched out like a dome above him until it hit the mountains in every direction. As the Wizard hiked every morning, the stars would slowly fade, and by the time he reached the top of the hill, the sun would just be peaking over the eastward mountains. This was the Wizard’s favorite part of the day. He would hum a little song if he was feeling reflective or belt one out if he was feeling loud and proud. Sometimes he would dance, sometimes he would sit. Sometimes he would close his eyes and feel the warmth of the sun wash over him as it came into the sky, sometimes he would stare to the west and watch the final stars be blotted out by the light, and some of the time he would stare at the sun, even though he had heard it may make him blind.

After the sun had made its way past the mountain the wizard would climb back down his hill and set about his daily tasks. Sometime he would sit at a river with a good book and read for hours, a small pair of spectacles perched on his nose. The river would gurgle and the birds would chirp and his eyes would race across the pages.

Some days he would tend to a small garden behind his house. When the crop was ready for picking he would pick it and eat it over a few days.

In the colder months the Wizard would simply take wood that he had chopped in the earlier in the year and build a great big fire and just sit under his covers all day. Smoke would rise from the cabin, and though hardly anyone came by, when they did the Wizard would allow them in.

On certain occasions, the Wizard would actually practice his wizardry, for he was no slacker. Sometimes he would sit for hours on a bench in front of a bunch of sizzling tubes and animal bones. Sparks would fly, fabric would burn, liquids would boil and fumes would fill the air as the Wizard worked away at his desk, each day searching for something new, something intriguing. He was an explorer.

No matter what he did with his day, however, he made sure that he went to bed a reasonable hour, so that he would be able to awake for the sunrise the next day. The Wizard was extremely happy and thought that he wasn’t missing anything.

One day the Wizard was strolling in the forest when he saw a pile of bones lying on an old rag on the opposite bank of a raging river. Perfect, he thought to himself, I can use those for magic! I just have to get across the river!

The Wizard walked directly into the river, and was almost swept away by the current. The Wizard continued, and as he did so the current slowly grew stronger. Soon the Wizard felt he had gone too far and the current would sweep him away, but at that same moment, he remembered that he was a Wizard. With one swift command, the Wizard stopped the current. When he arrived on the bank the bones arranged themselves into a skeleton. The old rag flew upwards and covered the figure. The Wizard was looking at Death.

“You cheated,” Death told him. “You should have died in the river, but you survived. I am impressed, so I will make you a deal. A year from today, I will visit you, and if, when I visit you, you are truly happy, I will not visit you again until you are ready for me.” The Wizard thanked Death, not believing his luck. “Don’t thank me!” Death instructed. “This is a punishment.” Death disappeared and left the Wizard alone.

The next day the Wizard rose early and sat in his house thinking, not leaving for the sunrise or any of his other activities. He tried to think of what would really truly make him happy, but he could not. So he went back to sleep. He did this for many months.

One day a Provost knocked on the Wizard’s door. He was passing through the forest and had seen the smoke from the Wizard’s door. The Wizard let him in, and after dinner, the Wizard explained his problem. The Provost chuckled. “Knowledge makes you happy,” the Provost told the Wizard happily. “Learn, and you shall be happy.” The Wizard thanked the Provost, and began to learn. The Wizard experimented for the next month, morning and night, sitting at his bench, reading, or using his chemicals or magic tools to test out things that the book told him to be true. The Wizard was happy, but not completely.

One day, a Knight knocked on the Wizard’s door. He had been separated from his unit. The Knight drank all of the Wizard’s wine and talked loudly. Finally, the Wizard told the Knight his problem, and what the Provost had told him. The Knight simply laughed. “Knowledge, pfft,” the Knight said as he spat on the floor. “Honor is what makes you truly happy. Come with me tomorrow, and fight in my King’s war, and you shall be truly happy.” The Wizard agreed.

The Wizard followed the Knight and met up with his unit. The Wizard fought for what was good, and this made him feel honorable, but still he was not happy. He bid the army good bye and walked home over snowy fields.

Alone again in his cabin, the Wizard thought and thought. His time was nearly up when he heard a knock on his door. A man stood outside. He told the Wizard he was a Poet. The Wizard allowed him in. The Wizard figured someone who could speak so beautifully must be able to tell him what true happiness was, so he asked the Poet. The Poet replied that beholding a beautiful woman was true happiness. The Poet told the Wizard his daughter would be joining them the next day and that many men had told him that she was the most beautiful woman they had ever seen.

When the Poet’s daughter arrived, the Wizard agreed that she was beautiful. She moved around the house with grace. She laughed loudly and her eyes sparkled. She really was the most beautiful person that the Wizard had ever seen, but he did not feel totally happy. The Poet told the Wizard that he was a fool, and he and his daughter departed, the Poet fuming.

The day came when Death was to visit the Wizard. He had not found happiness. He arose early and looked around his house. The desk where he worked was dirty, his favorite books were dusty, and his fireplace was filled with soot. Outside in his garden no plants grew. It was still dark out. The Wizard could still see the stars when he poked his head out, and so he decided that he would once more climb his hill and see the sunrise.

The path had been buried by the tall grasses that grew on the hill after a year of disuse. The Wizard waded through them, smiling as he went, growing more and more excited. He realized he had not seen the sunrise for a whole year. His pace quickened and soon he was galloping up the hill, unable to contain himself. Soon he stood at the summit, panting as the sun started to peek over the tips of the eastward mountains. It caught the tree’s leaves and made them shine like gold. The Wizard began to laugh and cry.

Suddenly the smell of ancient bones filled the air and Death was beside him. The Wizard did not turn to look at Death, and Death put one of his creaking old hands on the Wizard’s shoulder to alert him of his presence. The Wizard stared ahead. Death followed his gaze and they stood in silence, together, as the sun rose. Once it cleared the peaks of the mountains, Death spoke.

“It truly is beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes,” the Wizard answered.

“I will see you again, when you are ready,” Death said, and then he was once more gone. And the Wizard stood on his hill and watched the sun all day until it set. He lived many more happy years.

[Flipz]

Here's a rough draft of a short fairy tale I wrote for a friend:

Wow. That is...wow. It's familiar (like all good fairy tales are), and at the same time unique and engaging. The bit about the wizard "cheating" Death was very Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows-esque, but in a good way, and the end was just the right mix between inevitability and satisfaction. Great job, Zeph!

[Tanma]

I have been thinking of an idea for a story, and I thought I would run it by here. As some of you might now, I am a big fan of Bionicle, to the point of having dreams about it that connect into one story. But I am also a big fan of Mystery Science Theater 3000, (MST3K) a show whose premise is that a pair of mad scientists have shot a man into space to force him to watch terrible movies. To survive these horrors, the man riffs on the movies' flaws, in order to make the film more humorous and easier to swallow. (there are some parallels between my comments in the Heroica RPG and the test subject's survival stategy. Not that Heroica is hard to endure, I enjoy it a lot) This show lasted eleven years (10 on national television) before its final episode in 1999. Since then it has spawned a child project called RiffTrax, as well as numerous imitations.

Knowing my love for Bionicle and my enjoyment of MST3K, I am considering creating a sort of fusion of the two.Of course this relies on if I can find a copy of MoL's script, and possibly the later movies as well. But first I have to ask if this seems like an interesting idea, or if it is just another one of my weird ideas that is unable to be merged with this reality?

[Flipz]

I have been thinking of an idea for a story, and I thought I would run it by here. As some of you might now, I am a big fan of Bionicle, to the point of having dreams about it that connect into one story. But I am also a big fan of Mystery Science Theater 3000, (MST3K) a show whose premise is that a pair of mad scientists have shot a man into space to force him to watch terrible movies. To survive these horrors, the man riffs on the movies' flaws, in order to make the film more humorous and easier to swallow. (there are some parallels between my comments in the Heroica RPG and the test subject's survival stategy. Not that Heroica is hard to endure, I enjoy it a lot) This show lasted eleven years (10 on national television) before its final episode in 1999. Since then it has spawned a child project called RiffTrax, as well as numerous imitations.

Knowing my love for Bionicle and my enjoyment of MST3K, I am considering creating a sort of fusion of the two.Of course this relies on if I can find a copy of MoL's script, and possibly the later movies as well. But first I have to ask if this seems like an interesting idea, or if it is just another one of my weird ideas that is unable to be merged with this reality?

Are you talking about doing a fan-made RiffTrax of the Bionicle movies? Because that would be awesome. You could even send it to the guys in charge of rifftrax and they will review it and possibly let you sell it through their site! (I'm a bit hazy on how that bit works, you should probably look that up first. )

[Tanma]

Are you talking about doing a fan-made RiffTrax of the Bionicle movies? Because that would be awesome. You could even send it to the guys in charge of rifftrax and they will review it and possibly let you sell it through their site! (I'm a bit hazy on how that bit works, you should probably look that up first. )

Kind of, though I plan to do it in written form rather than spoken. That way I have less constraints with timing and lining up scenes and comments. Plus if I choose to do intermissions like in the old show, I won't need warnings to pause the movie at a certain time. But if I actually complete this idea for once, I might try to take the next step.

Interestingly, while surfing the Tv Tropes I found a ton of good MST3K fan fictions. Of course the premise for those stories is for Mike/Joel and the bots to be forced to read terrible fan fictions. So it's basically a fan fiction within a fan faction. Fanception.

[Zepher]

Wow. That is...wow. It's familiar (like all good fairy tales are), and at the same time unique and engaging. The bit about the wizard "cheating" Death was very Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows-esque, but in a good way, and the end was just the right mix between inevitability and satisfaction. Great job, Zeph!

Thank you, thank you! I have a lot of fun writing, I'm glad people are able to enjoy it as well.

[RPGer]

Zepher, this is amazing! Is this part of a story or just a short tale? I it!

[The Real Walkers]

I'm assuming from other replies in this thread you can just post stories so enjoy and all criticism is wanted (just be slightly kind if you please)

The Spectral Gate

It hasn’t stopped raining all day. London has become a sea of black umbrellas. Of businessmen, teachers, lawyers and the social elite who swirl around the labyrinth of streets. Getting around has become an affair where hitting someone else with an umbrella or briefcase or coat is the norm and sitting down becomes an arduous task involving the removal of jackets and rain-soaked jumpers- a feat which isn’t easy on a packed carriage. Whenever contact is made, an inaudible, meaningless phrase is muttered under misty breath which lingers before evaporating.

The train is about to leave. A young mum sits opposite me, cradling a baby as it gently drifts to sleep. A young male sits to my right, listening to music and an old man stands by the door. The lights from the train station cast a grey shade over him. No longer is he a man but instead a spectral guard.

A young female gets on the train, passing the old man and sits down next to the young mum. Her blond hair reflects the dim orange light of the station and she floats to the seat opposite. After giving an affectionate smile at the baby, she begins to go through her bag, pulls out a newspaper and begins to read. Her blue eyes are magnified by a pair of glasses. She’s wearing a business suit and sits with one leg crossed over the other. She scans a page before she quickly turns over. Occasionally there will be an article of interest and her twinkling eyes will stay on that page for a few, extra-long seconds before moving on. Around five pages in, the train pulls away.

*

The train continues its journey. Over and over, it rolls over the tracks. Stopping occasionally at each station where people leave and the dim light of day slowly turns into night and an ominous dark shadow is cast across the countryside. The lights on the train come on, the darkness in the carriage is alleviated. The beast breathes and grinds its teeth as it travels across the tracks. From the outside the train looks like a band of rushing spectres swiftly moving through the countryside. Those who stay on the train become illuminated to everyone waiting at each train-station; highlighted against the darkness.

The business woman opposite stays on the train, as does the young male listening to music and the mum. Amazingly, the baby stays asleep throughout the journey. The mum, obviously happy with the quiet, is enjoying the relaxing rattling of the train’s wheels over the tracks. Her eyes slowly begin to shut until a sudden jolt opens them again. Meanwhile the business woman finishes her newspaper, halves it and puts it in the bin behind her.

I begin to look at the young female until she looks over her glasses at me. I look away, not wanting to make eye contact and for the next thirty minutes the train continues to part the wind and rain along the tracks…

Suddenly a terrific rumbling noise breaks the monotonous thudding of the train’s wheels over the tracks. The train lurches violently to the side, the lights go out and the baby who was once sleeping is awake and crying. A piercing scream, slicing the quiet which has drowned the carriage. Before the train even begins its steady derailment, I know that the worst is happening and that the train is about to come to a blinding stop…

*

Bright orange shading surrounds everything. Apart from the slow, deliberate crackling of the embers and light thuds on the roof there is no noise, not even the baby crying. The young female in front is lying several feet away; a light movement in her chest indicates that she is still alive. The mother lies dead, her baby cooing in her arms. The baby looks deep into her eyes. They’re black. No life remains in them. Fear is etched clearly onto her face. The young male’s headphones have come away from his mangled body. His face ripped from the broken glass.

Other members of the carriage lie there. A dark crimson colour floods their clothing, always concluding to the same thing. Those who are still alive struggle. Trying to move sends sharp lines of excruciating pain up my back. I look down and see my legs, covered in blood; as if someone had poured red dye over them. In the distance I hear a shrill cry. The rain continues to tap the carriage roof in a valiant attempt to drown out the sounds of the dying. The metal skeleton of an umbrella on fire lies next to me; its skin is burning away as the flames lick the polyester cloth.

The fog inside my head remains and the transition between being alive and dead is opened. An eerie spectral gate leading on to another life…

Passing through is painless.

This has used up the word count allowed for this story but like I said, let me know what you think!!

Edited March 24, 2012 by The Real Walkers

[TrumpetKing]

So, I am also writing a book. This is the beginning of it, and this part is slightly humorous, so keep that in mind that the rest will be serious.

As I rush to my flight gate, I can't help but feel anxious. This is the day I fly to the Bahamas! However, I am deathly afraid of planes. I lost my entire family to a plane crash when I was three. Orphanage to orphanage, I never found the family that I felt a bond with, so I moved out. I continue to search for my gate, and hear "Last call for flight 412" on an intercom. I finally find it, and sprint in before the door closes.

As I board my flight, I can't help but notice that three seats are filled by a well-fed woman, with several boxes on her lap. I find my seat, and I gaze in shock. I have the pleasure of sitting next to a large, sweaty guy. "Hi got any food?" He asks for no apparent reason. Before I can reply, the large lady screams "FOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!" The sound of a seat unbuckling fills the plane, and she waddles (I think she may have been attempting to run, but she looked like a penguin doing so) over, and searches my bags. I am then yelled at for not having food with me, and she walks back to her seat.

I sit down, and I uncomfortably imagine all of the bad things that could happen on a plane. "Will the plane crash?" I think nervously. Suddenly, the soft, cushiony seat begins to feel rock hard. My fear feels my mind until I am interrupted by a "pffffft!" coming from the man next to me. The captain's voice appears on the intercom. "All prepared for takeoff." he says calmly, and as the noxious fumes fill my nose, I bang on the immovable windows with my last bit of strength, mouth the word help, and pass out.

When I wake up, I see the sweaty man, and he regrettingly says "Sorry,I lost control there." He introduces himself (with a long, complicated name) and offers to shake my hand, and I nervously scoot away. BOOM! The engine next to my window bursts into bright-red flames. The sweaty man yells "Was that me?! Sorry!" and the captain announces that we are going to crash.

Everyone begins screaming "We are going to die!" Several people jump out of the plane, and most unfortunately forget parachutes. Others pass out, and the fat lady struggles out of her seats. She waddles towards the door, and gets stuck. BOOM! The other engine bursts, and the captain screams "I need to get out of here!" He attempts to push the woman stuck in the door out, but he can't. I feel the hard impact of the plane hitting the ground, and everything goes black.

Well, I think I've showed enough Comments and constructive criticism are welcome

[Tanma]

Well I am still working on my story inspired by the Legend of Zelda, though I still have a long way to go. I only have the "tutorial" part finished, and since that took 23 pages (not counting the cast page and guide to dialects) I have a long way to go. Still I felt like sharing part of it, specifically the introduction. This is only a short bit, and it mainly serves to catch a reader up to speed and hint at what is to come. Like pretty much every prologue really.

Long ago, there was an ancient land plagued by terrible beasts and a powerful evil. For ages this land suffered, until a Hero descended from the sky. The Hero drove back the monsters from the lands, and defeated its Demon King. As hope rose above the world, the Hero’s fellow Hylians descended from the sky. On the liberated land they formed a new nation, which they dubbed Hyrule.

This great nation of Hyrule became home to many tribes, from the Children of Hylia to the rock-like Goron and the aquatic Zora. Many of Hyrule’s secrets are lost to the ages and the Great Flood, but what is known is that our past never truly leaves.

In the waning of Hyrule, a new great Evil came and conquered the entire country. Even years passed, before the Evil was stopped by the great Hero of Time. The Hero vanished after he liberated the land; some say he went into the past, others he was claimed by the Golden Goddesses as their own. No one truly knows.

Time passed, and the second Evil returned once again to conquer. But this time the Hero of Time did not come. With nowhere else to turn, the people of Hyrule offered their prayers to the Golden Goddesses, who flooded the world. The survivors fled to the mountaintops, while the Evil lay trapped beneath the new ocean.

Ages passed and much of our past was forgotten. The fish-like Zora evolved into the flying Rito, while the Goron left for a far off land. Villages formed upon the new ocean, and new nations emerged. But there was no unified civilization.

It was then that the second great Evil returned, planning to restore Hyrule and rule it once more. But this time the Golden Goddesses did send a new Hero: the Hero of Winds. Together with some of the Rito, a Korok, and some pirates the Hero of Winds defeated the Evil, possibly forever.

In his journey the Hero of Winds found the last surviving member of the Hyrule Royal Family, and together they led an exodus of Hylians to a new continent. Along the way the Hero meet a stranger from another world; who owned a boat of remarkable technology. This boat used steam to move across the sea, something never before seen by Hylians. Together this odd group formed a new nation of Steam power, and named it New Hyrule. And with that they left the Rito and the ocean behind. But the past never truly leaves...

So any thoughts on this prologue?

Edited May 11, 2012 by Tanma

[Scorpiox]

I wrote a short Ghost story a couple of weeks ago. The premise is based on a true story, and I became inspired to write this after I stayed in the coastal town in which it is set. I hope you enjoy.

At the stroke of midnight the engines on the winch whirred into life; machinery not used for years groaned in protest at the sudden exertion. Heavy iron chains, thick with rust, were awoken from slumber with the gushing water beneath. Alone in the moonless night, the deserted boat began its hushed descent toward the frothing ocean. The waves roared in hideous laughter at the approaching craft, threatening to tear the rotted wood and tarnished metal in two for daring to cross their domain. The chain links stretched taut with a penetrating screech and the consuming sea had only time to roar once more before the grip was finally released. The wrought metal clanged on the gangway before the weathered prow smashed into the froth with an almighty crash. White water pounced upon the ship like a hungry animal, clinging and crawling about the decks. With a jolt, the boat’s hull settled in the water, defiantly shaking free the spray, igniting a war-cry of its own in the face of the wind and the rain.

For on the night of the 19th of December, the heavens had opened up in the face of the oncoming storm. The rains ripped down from the sky with the anger and ferocity of the Earth itself. The tempest swept across the Cornish coast; wind and rain spelt peril for those caught in the path. Thunder clapped out at sea, lightning flashed like a divine warning and, in the torrent, a rocket lit the sky.

There it was again: the noise. A fizz, loud through the walls. Then a ring, repeated, the unmistakable sound of a telephone. There were sudden unexplained hurried footsteps, heavy thumps on the floorboards, as though someone was rushing about upstairs. The fizz and pop rang out again, like a firework. I took a hurried glance through my open window, and out into the moonless night. And there it was, a flare in the sky, bright and seen by all. A cry for help. The telephone was ringing still, and it sounded close by. But I knew, with a chill, that my telephone was by my side, as silent as the blackness outside. The footsteps upstairs were louder, rushing closer. And then, the front door flung open to the wind with a clang that echoed through my mind.

I leapt over to the door and hurriedly glanced out through the darkness, but nothing was there before my threshold. I stumbled forward into the rain, out onto the stained ground at the foot of the house in which I stayed. My gaze was attracted by a bright light shining in the bay, a single glow standing out like a lone star. As I strained my eyes to see, the unmistakable picture of a RNLI Lifeboat at the slipway, chains winding down unto release, became clear. The boat hit the water with an eerily loud splash that made me shudder. Far as I was, the sound was as resonant as though I stood at the launch myself. The craft was outdated in design and condition, the hull was rusted, and the wood rotted to the core.

In its age, the ship was luminous in the dark, easily visible to my eye over the distance, and it remained all too plain as it braved the elements into the wind and the rain.

The following morning, I decided to set out into the town. Passing many a fishmarket, and an iron memorial I didn’t care to read. I decided to work my way to the harbour, and perhaps find something out about the history of the town. As I passed a wizened looking fisherman, my curiosity got the better of me and I jogged up to him.

“Excuse me sir, do you know anything of why the Lifeboat was launched last night? I’m staying here for a while, and I just wondered why the flare was sent up.” The old fisherman just laughed loudly.

“Nah, there weren’t no boat launched last night. There ‘ent been one in what? Thirty years? Not since that disaster, ’81 it was. Nasty bit of business that was; them say every one of that crew died. Shouldn’t ‘a’ been sent out at all in my opinion, worst storm I ever seen.”

At the man’s words, my stomach churned. I had seen the Lifeboat, clearly as day, but here was this man, saying that the boat hadn’t launched in decades.

“Musta been thirty years today, terrible thing it was. So, anyway, whereabouts you stayin’ then?”

“Tregorran Lane, number seven.”

“Really? That’s where the Coxswain of that boat useta’ live. Funny that, eh?”

I turned to go back home, a deep confusion tugging at my insides. It couldn’t have happened last night, could it? I found myself walking at a fast pace, and I couldn’t help but have a small worry that the past hadn’t been laid to rest. When before the sky was bright and blue, with a rapidity I had never seen, the storm set in. The rains poured down and hit like stone. Wind tore at the earth and threatened to rip me from the ground on which I stood. I felt intense relief to be shielded from the wrath of nature, as I looked out upon the writhing sea from my window. And I saw it, there far on the living ocean. No, it couldn’t be there? It wasn’t there, was it? A Lifeboat?

Beside me I could hear a frequent crackling, like static on a radio. “Penlee Lifeboat to Farmouth Coastguard: We’ve got four out...” The message ended abruptly, and the static intensified.

“Farmouth Coastguard to Penlee Lifeboat: Respond.” There was a pause in the static. “Farmouth Coastguard to Penlee Lifeboat: Respond.” I looked around, but there was no radio. I tore my eyes back to the sea, now a swirling green monster clawing at the Lifeboat with a vengeance. I could see the Lifeboat approach a distant cargo vessel, broken upon the rocks like a discarded toy. I could hear the rotors of a helicopter beginning its ascent, and now the Lifeboat was alongside and men were scrambling to drag crew from the stricken liner. I looked with horror as a titanic wave smashed the Lifeboat into the other vessel, splintering wood and tearing metal. A horrible scream echoed in my ears, and I almost collapsed with shock. I stood up to see a terrible sight. A wave, colossal and frothing with the full might of the sea. It rose to a gigantic height, rolling and screaming death at the now miniscule craft. I had to turn my eyes away as the green monster fell down upon the hapless men, lost at sea.

“Farmouth Coastguard to Penlee Lifeboat: Respond. Farmouth Coastguard to Penlee Lifeboat: Respond.”

I forced myself to look back at the scene, but all was calm. The barbaric storm had melted away, the wrecked cargo ship was gone. It was as though it had never happened. It had never happened, not since 1981, when sixteen men lost their lives. It was just an illusion. But then again, I could smell diesel on the wind ...

Please tell me what you think.

Edited May 11, 2012 by Scorpiox

[Darth Nihilus]

Well I am still working on my story inspired by the Legend of Zelda, though I still have a long way to go. I only have the "tutorial" part finished, and since that took 23 pages (not counting the cast page and guide to dialects) I have a long way to go. Still I felt like sharing part of it, specifically the introduction. This is only a short bit, and it mainly serves to catch a reader up to speed and hint at what is to come. Like pretty much every prologue really.

Long ago, there was an ancient land plagued by terrible beasts and a powerful evil. For ages this land suffered, until a Hero descended from the sky. The Hero drove back the monsters from the lands, and defeated its Demon King. As hope rose above the world, the Hero’s fellow Hylians descended from the sky. On the liberated land they formed a new nation, which they dubbed Hyrule.

This great nation of Hyrule became home to many tribes, from the Children of Hylia to the rock-like Goron and the aquatic Zora. Many of Hyrule’s secrets are lost to the ages and the Great Flood, but what is known is that our past never truly leaves.

In the waning of Hyrule, a new great Evil came and conquered the entire country. Even years passed, before the Evil was stopped by the great Hero of Time. The Hero vanished after he liberated the land; some say he went into the past, others he was claimed by the Golden Goddesses as their own. No one truly knows.

Time passed, and the second Evil returned once again to conquer. But this time the Hero of Time did not come. With nowhere else to turn, the people of Hyrule offered their prayers to the Golden Goddesses, who flooded the world. The survivors fled to the mountaintops, while the Evil lay trapped beneath the new ocean.

Ages passed and much of our past was forgotten. The fish-like Zora evolved into the flying Rito, while the Goron left for a far off land. Villages formed upon the new ocean, and new nations emerged. But there was no unified civilization.

It was then that the second great Evil returned, planning to restore Hyrule and rule it once more. But this time the Golden Goddesses did send a new Hero: the Hero of Winds. Together with some of the Rito, a Korok, and some pirates the Hero of Winds defeated the Evil, possibly forever.

In his journey the Hero of Winds found the last surviving member of the Hyrule Royal Family, and together they led an exodus of Hylians to a new continent. Along the way the Hero meet a stranger from another world; who owned a boat of remarkable technology. This boat used steam to move across the sea, something never before seen by Hylians. Together this odd group formed a new nation of Steam power, and named it New Hyrule. And with that they left the Rito and the ocean behind. But the past never truly leaves...

So any thoughts on this prologue?

I sort of see what you're going for here, but you never said anything about TP, which comes in between Oot and WW (I think?). Was this intentional? Otherwise, it looks great.

[Tanma]

I sort of see what you're going for here, but you never said anything about TP, which comes in between Oot and WW (I think?). Was this intentional? Otherwise, it looks great.

[stage direction] adjusts glasses[/stage direction]

Actually the Legend of Zelda series doesn't run in a linear path. Chronologically all games come after Skyward Sword->Minish Cap->Four Sword->Ocarina of Time, but after that the games splinter into three timelines. The "Child Timeline" starts when the Hero of Time travels to the past one last time (excluding MM) and warns Hyrule of the past about Ganondorf. This the timeline where Majora's Mask, Twilight Princess, and Four Sword Adventure occur. In this timeline Hyrule still stands strong.

The "Dark timeline" was only recently revealed, and is my least favorite of the three observed histories. In this scenario where the Hero of Time fell to Ganondorf, Hyrule was crushed. Eventually a Link to the Past occurred, and the new Hero defeated the evil. In this timeline the Zora are hostile and quite different in form, and it is made of the older games.

Finally is the "Adult Timeline," my personal favorite of the timelines. This is the world where the Hero of Time was frozen for seven years, and Ganondorf took over Hyrule. After the Hero of Time saved Hyrule and traveled to the "Child Timeline," peace returned to Hyrule. However one day Ganondorf returned. The people prayed for the Hero of Time to return, but he could not, as he was lost to an alternate past. In desperation they prayed to the creators the Golden Goddesses, who are fond of overkill. The Golden Goddesses flooded the land of Hyrule, and the survivors fled to the mountaintops. Eventually this became the Great Sea of Windwaker, and the mountain peaks became the islands. After Windwaker the Hero of Winds went to discover a new land to make a new Zhyrule, which led to Phantom Hourglass. Eventually he and Tetra discovered this new land, and named it New Hyrule. This became the setting of Spirit Tracks, which takes place a century after Windwaker.

Because these timelines don't interact, the writer of the prologue doesn't know of TP, or at the least he/she/xe doesn't know the details of the Child/Dark timelines. Hopefully this makes sense.

Edited May 11, 2012 by Tanma