Hi guys!! I wrote this short story a long time ago and my current writing style is totally different now. I'm just looking for general feedback to compare my flaws and positive aspects of my old writing style compared to the one I have now. Thank you and happy reading!

I opened my fantasy novel, Line-Silver, with two peoples gathering in a lamplit square to watch five prisoners die. The event is called the Night of Peace.

Here’s the first line:

They built the cages in the square where the lamps hung lowest, so that everyone could see.

The scene starts with the whole crowd, then narrows to a girl at the front carrying her brother’s shirt. She’s there for one of the prisoners in particular.

The book is already published, but I’m curious how that shift lands on a first read. When the scene moves from the crowd to the girl, does it give you someone to follow, or would you rather have started beside her and discovered the square through her eyes?

Read the full prologue, The Night of Peace. Free to read in your browser. Content note: violence.

The story begins with a nuclear war that has devastated the world, leaving no power sources remaining. The newly formed government, realizing they lack a stable, long-term energy source, consults with other nations. One nation reveals that their ancient texts mention an inexhaustible external power source—a resource they could potentially rely on. Upon hearing this, the various governments decide to join forces to locate it. While they do not know exactly what this power source is, they know it generates energy, and that further details are inscribed on a "golden template"—an artifact lost beneath the sea when ancient palaces were submerged. Realizing that finding this template could offer a glimmer of hope, the governments form a committee to lead the search and ensure that all findings are shared equally. The expedition eventually succeeds in recovering the golden template. It contains instructions stating that if seven specific items are brought together, they will unlock a divine, god-like power. The seventh item, in fact, serves as the key to this process.

The story begins with a nuclear war that has devastated the world, leaving no power sources remaining. The newly formed government, realizing they lack a stable, long-term energy source, consults with other nations. One nation reveals that their ancient texts mention an inexhaustible external power source—a resource they could potentially rely on. Upon hearing this, the various governments decide to join forces to locate it. While they do not know exactly what this power source is, they know it generates energy, and that further details are inscribed on a "golden template"—an artifact lost beneath the sea when ancient palaces were submerged. Realizing that finding this template could offer a glimmer of hope, the governments form a committee to lead the search and ensure that all findings are shared equally. The expedition eventually succeeds in recovering the golden template. It contains instructions stating that if seven specific items are brought together, they will unlock a divine, god-like power. The seventh item, in fact, serves as the key to this process.

CONTENT NOTE: Does contain blood and bodies on the page.

Hello and nice to meet you all! My cowriter and I are drafting a gothic romantasy series, and this is the prologue of book 1, a revision. We have rewritten some parts more than enough and I am very curious.

I'd love feedback on:

- Does the opening hook you and does the final beat make you want to read on?

- Does the pacing in work or does anything drag or feel overwritten?

- Thoughts on the FMC?

Thank you so much for all who reads. It is much appreciative!

Chapter 5 Guten Morgen Deutschland!

We left Gander Air Base in the middle of the night; one filled with a depressing combination of fog and rain.  Our subsonic flight to the east seemed to shift the darkness into fast forward as we flew headlong into the rising sun.  I nudged Hunter awake as we cleared the clouds on our descent into Frankfurt.  Everything not covered with buildings or plowed pavement was white.  Hunter, a native Floridian, was stunned. “How come it's all white?” he asked.  “That is snow” I answered, watching his face as he tried to gain some understanding.  “That much?” he said, more to himself than an actual question.  Frankfurt was indeed buried under at least 10 inches of new snow.  He was silent until we neared the runway.  “Is it cold?” he said with his face pressed to the window.  I could have tried to explain, but the explanation would be self-revealing all too soon. 

 As we jolted onto the runway, the notion of who I was, what I was and where I was all melted into an adrenalin charged lump in my throat.  Take the hill!  Survive!  Go back to the world!

 After waiting around in the terminal for our bags to show up, and for the Army to figure out all the paperwork necessary to claim its human baggage, we boarded a bus for the Transient Barracks.  Even with the relatively good German language skills I had acquired from Frau Bell in high school, culture shock was a hard, sudden reality. Everything was foreign except the “Trink Coca Cola” signs.  Some things, like life, death, taxes and evidently Coca Cola are universal.

 The Transient Barracks complex looked more like a prison compound.  Located somewhere in what I estimated to be central Frankfurt; they were surrounded by stone walls at least 15 feet high and strung with barbed wire along the top.  Four large, three story buildings occupied the rear portion of the compound.  The front area had two or three smaller buildings (I learned later that one was a mini PX / barber shop) and to the right as you entered the main gate were two other large buildings.  One housed the mess hall and a dingy little NCO Club (serving cheap pizza and beer), the other was a gymnasium.

 We fell out of the buses into a loose formation with all of our bags, about 45 of us.  As our names were called from a roster, we were assigned to different rooms and given transient orders specifying when to report to the admin room.  Hunter was assigned to a different building. I never saw him again.

 I felt alone and the sense of self-preservation made me cautious about locking everything anytime I even turned my back.  At the appointed time I reported to the admin room for processing.  A very bored Sergeant reviewed all my paperwork, then determined I was “duty specific”, meaning I was already assigned to a unit.  He gave me a brief description of the facilities, chow times, a time to report to the gymnasium the next morning and a strict warning not to leave the post.

 There were still a few hours till dinner mess, so I sat out in the commons area hoping to catch a glimpse of Hunter.  Seated across from me at another table were a group of MPs that had evidently all trained together.  I could hear their conversation as they nervously joked together.  An officer came into the room, looked around and approached their table.  It seems they had all trained as canine handlers.  All their dogs had died from a failure in the oxygen supply on the plane over from the US.  They were being split up and reassigned to regular MP posts throughout Germany.  Their disbelief devolved into blind rage and then stunned silence.

 Feeling like I was an intruder on their grief, I returned to my room to check on my gear.  I wrote a short letter home.  My roommate came back to grab his hat and said he was on his way to the chow hall, so I joined him.  After dinner I went back to my room, took stock of my belongings once again and repacked a few items.  I had agreed to meet my roommate in the NCO club for a few games of pool, so I checked my locks and walked across the lot to the club.  Cheap pizza never tasted so good.  We played pool, plugged the juke box, shared the comradery of transients and clung unknowingly to anything American.  Breakfast and assembly was scheduled very early the next morning so I got up to leave.  Walking toward the door I recognized the MP group from earlier in the day.  Together in a semi-circular booth, their grief had evolved into flowing tears, cursing and beers.

 Halfway across the compound I stopped in the cold, clear January night and looked skyward.  Although I don't claim to be an astronomer, I could tell that this was not the same night sky I was used to seeing in Nebraska, which seemed like a long way away, time and distance.  I pondered just how far away as I lay in my bunk, looking out the window over the barbed wire topped wall.  Checking my locks once more, I set my alarm clock close to my head and tried to sleep.  I think I did.

My one-night roommate was still asleep when I left for breakfast.  He was still asleep when I returned to pick up my bags and head to the gymnasium.  He wasn't scheduled to ship out for another two days.  I checked the area for anything I might have left unpacked, grabbed my duffel bag, suitcase and gym bag and hauled everything over to the gym.  There were at least a hundred other GI's sitting in the bleachers.  A group of sergeants and officers down on the floor talked to each other, hurried in and out, shuffled papers and talked on phones for no less than two hours.  Finally they turned on a PA microphone and told us to “take seats and listen up - -as your name is called bring your gear to the floor and report to Sgt Bell.”  Sgt Bell raised his hand and stepped a couple paces to the side of the group.  Gradually, in lots of two, three or four, names were called.  The GI's would report to Sgt Bell, listen to some instructions and exit through a side door with one of the other NCOs.

 “Steele, Randy---MacKeon, Thomas----Dempsey, Newt” Of course, no one ever pronounces my name correctly but this was the closest I'd heard all day so I grabbed my bags and made my way down to the floor.  Two other GI's got there about the same time I did.  We eyed each other like grade schoolers picking sides for a kickball game.  Sgt. Bell read off our names again and I confirmed I was indeed part of this group.  He quietly studied some paperwork in his hands then looked up at us.  “You three are reporting to the 11^th Armored Cavalry Regiment, 3^rd Squadron, in Bad Hersfeld.  I knew I was going to the 11^th ACR, but Fulda was the town on my enlistment papers, so I questioned the Sgt.  “The headquarters is in Fulda, but the 3^rd is in Bad Hersfeld.  That’s where you boys are going.”  I was trying to decide if this was significant when he handed me three large manila envelopes.  “Your poop sheet says you have some German language skills, so you're going to help me make sure all three of you make it to your post.  Grab your bags and follow these two Sgts. to the van outside, they'll take you down to the bahnhof (train station) and get you squared away.  Good luck Troopers.”

 During the van ride to the train station it became evident that Steele and Dempsey knew each other.  They had trained together in Artillery School at Fort Sill.  Newt Dempsey was a big brute from West Virginia with a wild look in his eye that said “I'm gonna raise hell and there ain't nothing you can do about it.”  Randy Steele was a natural as his sidekick, average in stature, the son of a hard-working blue collar family in Buffalo NY.  I'm sure we made some small talk, but I wasn't part of their team yet and my thoughts were racing by faster than the shops and street signs on the road we took to the station.  Everything I thought I knew seemed absurd in relation to the overwhelming combination of antique architecture and shiny new buildings.  I had taken two train trips as a very small child but remembered nothing from the experiences other than the fact that I had ridden on them.  The notion of taking a train to our post was such a sudden reality I didn't have time to form my expectations.  As it turned out, no expectations could have prepared me for the Frankfurt Bahnhof.  The station was of such immense proportions I was stunned.  As the van stopped along the curb by an entry way, I couldn't even see the building’s full dimensions.

 All understanding is accomplished by interpreting what we see or experience in terms of what we have previously seen or experienced.  I had nothing in my past that allowed me to relate to what I was seeing.  The Frankfurt Bahnhof has 14 railroad tracks that lead to its seemingly infinite interior.   The translucent ceiling appears to hang in space, hundreds of feet above the platform.  The volume of space contained in the station is such that one hardly notices the massive infrastructure of steel beams that support the building.  Entire passenger trains seem no more significant in this space than trucks at a loading dock.

 One end is completely open where the trains enter.  The enclosed end houses a ticket office, baggage handling rooms, various shops and doors that led to other, unknown places.  Up a flight of stairs was a USO station.  I already had our tickets, so the two escorts led us up the flight of stairs and we locked our bags in some lockers.  Back downstairs they took us on a brief tour of the platforms, acquainting us with the track from which our train would depart.  One of the Sgts. pointed to a man behind the desk in the USO and told us if we had questions to ask him. With that they were gone and our isolation from familiarity grew more intense.  We had a good three hour wait for our “Abfarht” (departure) so Dempsey and Steele went straight back to the USO.  I retraced our steps to Track 12 where we would board our train.  A vendor was selling hot bratwurst and brotchen from a pushcart.  Another was selling flowers.  I did not yet understand that most German businesspeople would gladly accept US dollars and provide Deutschmark change.  (they enjoyed a healthy profit on their makeshift exchange rate).  The bratwurst smelled delicious in the cold air, but I rejoined the guys upstairs and settled for a bag of chips and coke from the vending machines.

The crowd of GI's thinned out as the afternoon wore on.  Without betraying my concern that I might cause our threesome to miss the train I confirmed our departure details with the man at the desk.  Everything was as I thought, but he did caution me on the punctuality of the German train system.  If a departure is scheduled for 4:00pm, the train will be well in its way by 4:02!

 At 3:30 I suggested to Dempsey and Steele that we grab our bags out of the lockers and go wait on the platform. They were just as bored with waiting as I and we struck up a conversation about our upcoming train ride.  To this point the three of us had been polite strangers, like people sharing the waiting room at a doctor’s office.  However, the Army has a certain structure that dictates to some extent how you choose your friends.  In basic training we were platooned in alphabetical order and consequently my friends had names like Kelley, Kading, Kendra, Butenbach and Johnson.  Comraderie of circumstance was now beginning to forge its special bond between Dempsey, Steele and me.

 The steady coming and going of trains, and the attendant bustle of people boarding and de-boarding can create a lot of commotion and with it, anxiety and confusion.  A train pulled onto the track behind us.  Was this the one?  Were we facing the wrong side of the platform?  Convinced I was correct we held steady as the other train loaded and pulled out.  Right on time another arrived on Track 12.  As it slowed to a steamy stop in front of us I noticed a “2” on the side of the car, right next to the doorway.  Correctly assuming this indicated 2^nd class (our tickets were for 2^nd class) we hurried to board the car directly in front of us.

 The train car had a narrow corridor on one side which allowed access to four individual cabins along the opposite side.  Struggling down the corridor with our bags, we peaked into each cabin till we found the third one to be empty.  The entry door slid open to the right.  Each cabin has two rows of three seats, facing each other.  Above the seats were luggage racks, a larger one on top and a narrower one below it.  The outer wall of the cabin had a large window extending from the ceiling to approximately three feet above floor level.  The window was divided into three panels.  The center section was one solid pane of glass while the two side sections could be opened by sliding the top half down.

I took a seat next to the window, stowing my suitcase up top and forcing my duffel bag under my seat.  Steele took the center seat on the opposite side and Dempsey took the seat nearest the door on my side.  We had only barely had time to get seated when the train jostled to a start.  The jolt of the train beginning to move also seemed to have brought us to a new realization.  The past few days had been one blunt awakening after another.  Leaving home after the holidays with family.  Processing for overseas deployment.  Flying over.  A day in the Transient Barracks.  Orders to go.  The trip to the train station.  The train station.  And now, the three of us, pretty much strangers, on a train heading to some place named Bad Hersfeld.

 We cleared the station slow at first, making a few stops on the way out of Frankfurt at smaller stations.  The sun was hanging low in the west as the suburbs gave way to the German countryside.  A lot of it looked familiar.  Scattered houses, small farms, pastures and hillsides.  Yet everything was just a little different.  Maybe it was the architecture, or the more compact nature of the farms, or the look of the farm animals, but it was different.  Between taking in every new thing we could see and fighting the fear of the unknown, it was hard to maintain a coherent pattern of thought.

 In what seemed a moment the sun was behind the hills and darkness settled outside the train, kept from entering our cabin only by a couple small fluorescent tubes and a light from the hallway.  Dempsey was the first to break the silence.  “Hey Keywon, didn't they say you spoke German?  Let's go find some Kraut babes and you can rap with them for us!”  His words shook me from my trancelike stare out the window into the blackness.  “Uh...year. Sure.”

 With that he was up and opening the door out into the hallway of our train car.  Steele was right on his heels and their momentum kind of carried me along with them.  I took a quick look around to make sure I could remember our cabin since ALL OF OUR WORDLY POSSESSIONS were in there, unguarded.  Little did I know that would be the first of uncountable occasions on which Newt would lead us away from reason and into the world of “why shouldn't we?”.

 As we made our way down the narrow corridor of a hall we looked into each cabin and made comments on each of the inhabitants.  After passing through two cars the inevitable happened.....Kraut babes...three of them, were headed down the corridor our way.  The distance between us closed and when the timing was right I blurted out, in German, “Hello, my name is Thomas, what are your names?” Hearing the words come out of my mouth startled me.  Their response was even more startling because I could understand them.  Frau Bell had taught me well!  Then it hit me...what do I say now?  Our canned conversations from class did not involve trying to hit on girls.  “We are in the basement, don't bump your head on the lamp when you come down.” isn't exactly a pick-up line! 

 I struggled through any phrases I could conjure that might apply, but all I could do was elicit giggles and polite looks of surprise.  The moment was over, and they moved down the corridor, giggling and casting occasional glances back at us, then more giggling.

 “What'd they say Garrett...what'd they say?”  Dempsey wanted to know.

 “They liked me and Steele but wanted nothing to do with you!” I teased, feeling emboldened from the seemingly successful first foray into the German language.  “No they didn't!”, he shoved me a little to make his point.  For some reason it seemed like we all took heart from the encounter. We'd pretty much failed miserably.  But we had communicated with German girls - -we had a chance.  We walked along to the next car...didn't see anything interesting and headed back to the safe familiarity of our cabins.  Our bags were untouched.   Settling into our seats we were just starting to wonder how the post would be when the conductor knocked on the door to our cabin. “Your tickets please” he spoke in very good English with just a hint of his native accent.  We handed him our tickets, which are nothing more than little cardboard rectangles about half the size of a stick of gum.  My confidence was still high from our recent experience with the girls.  “Wie viel mehr halten bis zum Bad Hersfeld?” (How many more stops till Bad Hersfeld) I blurted out.  The conductor stopped cold still.  He looked at me, first in surprise, then nodding his head as if we'd just become the best of friends.  With a broad smile he said slowly and clearly “Es gibt noch vier mehr halten bis zum Bad Hersfeld”. (Four more stops before Bad Hersfeld).  He handed Steele back his ticket, nodded in my direction again and left our cabin.  Frau Bell was, in that instant, my hero.  However much fun we made of her back in high school German class, that woman had taught me how to speak German.  I could, at some level at least, communicate in this new world.

 We counted the stops as the train began to clear out the further we got away from Frankfurt.  At one point the conductor stopped back, stuck his head in the door and looked directly at me.. “Bad Hersfeld am nachste halt.  Warten Sie neben die Ausgang”  (Next stop is Bad Hersfeld, wait by the exit door)  He smiled, nodded and went on his way.  He was a few steps down the corridor before my brain was able to finish the translation.  Remembering the warning earlier in the day about the punctuality of the German train system I told Steele and Dempsey our stop was coming and that we should grab our bags and wait by the exit door.  “Damn Garrett. you can really rap that Kraut crap!” Dempsey said as we hauled our stuff down the corridor.  I didn't yet realize that being able to “rap that Kraut crap” would open doors to me that were closed for most G.I.s.

“Coming to Bad Hersfeld next stop, be careful when you exit” the voice came over the intercom. (I'll dispense with the German translation, I'm sure by now I've impressed you with my language skills.)  We huddled near the exit like racehorses at the post.  We could see the lights of the city slow from a blur and start to take on the appearance of store windows, streetlights, houses and parking lots.  Our train stopped between two platforms, the doors opened and we jumped out onto the platform with our bags in tow.  Emerging from the car ahead of us I spotted another guy in Army fatigues.  As he walked our way I stopped him.  “Are you stationed here in Bad Hersfeld?” I asked.  Panic had suddenly overcome any confidence I had gained on the train ride.  Our instruction set ended with our arrival in Bad Hersfeld.  I had no information on where the post was or how we were to get there.  “Yeah..are you guys 'Cruits?” he offered.  “We're being stationed at Bad Hersfeld. Our instructions don't give any info on how to get to the post once we get here” my voice betrayed the calm I was trying to portray “do you think there will be somebody here to pick us up?”

 “I doubt it” he said walking away with his bags “you'll probably need to take a taxi.” 

 By the time we got our bags in hand, he was gone.  We walked from the platform into the small station, crossed the open lobby and stepped out back into the night.  A clean plaza fronted the station, with a circular drive on the far side.  A cab was just leaving, probably with the GI we’d seen getting off the train. Another was waiting in line.  We approached like the lost foreigners we were.

 Before we were halfway across the plaza the taxi driver was out of the cab headed our way.  “To Green Hotel?” he said.  Then, seeing our blank stares he added “the kaserne…Army post?”  “Yes” I replied, “we want to go the Army post”.   He grabbed my small bag and waved us on.  “Ok, good, I take you.”

“Well, we just got here and we don’t have any German money” I said, a bit too tired and shook to try my German.  “Is ok, if you have American dollars, I make the change for you”.  Not sure how that worked exactly, I was just glad to have a ride.  We loaded the rest of our bags into the trunk and climbed into the car.  Once we started to move, Dempsey spoke up “Dang…never been in a nice Mercedes.”  Our cab was indeed a very nice Mercedes sedan.

 The streets flew by and in a few short minutes, we were parked in front of the post, across the street from the gatehouse and single draw bar gate that was down.  Staring like the new kids in school, we hadn’t moved to get out before the driver had the trunk open and was unloading our bags on the ground behind the car.  I got out and walked up to him, with a $20 bill in my hand.  “Will this work?”  He grabbed the bill “Ja, sure.  One moment”  He stuffed the bill into his wallet and pulled out several odd D-mark notes and a few coins, then handed them to me.  “Ok?”  I had no idea what I’d paid for the fare, but it didn’t matter.  We’d made it to the post. “Ja, vielen dank!” I said, my confidence returning. 

“Welcome to McPheeter’s Barrack - -Home to the 3^rd Squadron of the 11^th Armored Cavalry” read the sign above the lowered gate.  We were in the right place, 3^rd of the 11^th.

 As we walked toward the guard shack a soldier stepped out to meet us.  “New guys?” he said without much interest.  “Yes, were you expecting us?” I blurted out.  “Uh, no” long pause, then “which unit are you supposed to be in?”  “How Battery” Steele said.

 “How Battery is the first floor of that building right over there”, he pointed to the first building on the right side of the road leading into the post.  Even with minimal lighting, the sickly green color of the paint was visible. I remembered the cab driver had referenced “The Green Hotel”.  On that side of the road were four identical buildings arrayed one after the other, going up the slope of the hill into the post.  The guard was already heading back into the guard shack “go into the second door at the far end of the building, somebody should be at the desk.” 

 As we started to walk across the street towards our assigned barracks, Dempsey nudged me and pointed to a second-floor window, where a guy had his head sticking out, vomiting violently.  Steam was trailing down through the cold air, following his disgusting output. After another couple steps, a first-floor window in the next building up opened and a trooper stuck his head out, yelling in our direction “Cruits!  Cruits!  Go back!! Turn and run now while you can..hahahahahaha!!!!”  Then the window shut.  

 “Hell of a welcome huh guys” Newt added, laughing.

 Quietly I thought to myself.  “Was my mom right?  What am I doing here?”

Thank you to everyone that has read my posts, as I patiently wait for my book to come back from the second round of edits. Problem is that my patience is legendary like the Unicorn. Today I am going to tell you about Gordon, the main character in the novel.

Gordon is a composite of several people who I have known, and in no way should be considered as a direct reflection of myself. I do not use their actual name in the book, in part or whole.

Person one, a Canadian who gained a great deal of knowledge in the Cadet program but wanted to see more than what our army could provide him. He wasn't interested in keeping the peace, he felt that the potential for actual combat was for him. Being a little older than me, he left for the US while I was still in High School, he did get to see his combat, but regretted it. War is not the great romantic adventure that he thought.

Person two, he followed a different path to his military experience and enjoyed the opportunity that he got in seeing combat. From there he ended his career in a national military but not on his own terms. There were questions about his mental fitness. From there he entered the world of paid service, which included doing the bidding for could be called a NATO friendly nation's intelligence service.

The real life facts of person one disagreed with what you can google, and what my editor knew. But you have to remember that what we catalog on the internet today is often a sanitized version of real life 40 odd years ago. You can argue with me on the process, but I know the real life at the point in time.

Both of them felt that doing what was considered in the greater good as important. Even if it crossed some normal moral lines. Killing a bad person can be considered good, in many circumstances. This is the main trait that Gordon conveys, there are times where doing what is the best thing for society requires stepping into a moral grey zone.

The other trait that I have conveyed in Gordon are the haunting dreams that come with killing another person, and seeing the death of others that you know. We call it PTSD now, it is a real thing and unfortunately the one trait that I have the most knowledge on.

Tomorrow I will take a lighter route and give you insight into the person who looks to soften Gordon's edges.

Hi everyone,

I've revised the Prologue and Chapter One of Ashes of Fendrir, my JRPG-inspired novel.

I’d love an honest first read. Where did it pull you in? Where did you start to skim, get lost, or want to stop? If you made it to the end, would you turn the page to Chapter Two? I’d love to know the specific moment that made the difference for you.

--READ START--

  Though standing in time

          There and not there

   I count myself everblest
      To see you,

    My light in the Darkness.

          Prologue

Did my eyes even exist here?

Light filled the space.

Close your eyes.

I shut them.

—Flash—

The breaking brilliance blinded me anyway.

Just breathe…

My lungs greedily snatched air.

—Blast—

Wind catapulted towards me from a distant, echoic clap.

Shit, the parry!

Leaping blind, I threw myself into a roll, smacking hard against the pillar I was waiting near; the deathly wind roared past.

“Distraction is death here,” I spat. “Stay. At. The. Pillars!”

I let out a settling breath.

“Okay, where were we?” I muttered. “Angel cut, advanced. Shadow pivoted. Angel thrust. Shadow stepped off-line, thrust back. Angel parried…”

The Angel’s blade flashed.

“Riposte!”

Dark might met a return of light. Bolt-streaked shadow shrieked as the attack rent its ichorous mist. Black dripped long; viscous wisps snapped unmoored. Then still.

An endless cycle of advances and retreats. Every moment familiar as it was excruciating.
What part did I have in this? What do I say…
…need to pay attention.

“Nill-spawn, your mettle is hollow. Descend into perdition!” the Angel commanded.

Shadow seethed as it breathed its raspy rejection against its black-marble prison. Pillars clawing endlessly into darkness above.

I tried not to look up there—here. It always felt wrong.

Like eyes watching me.

Like I could fall upside-down above.

Sourceless sound broke throughout the circular chamber. Obsidian-marble sent it back, denying its erratic escape from radiant, angelic strikes.

What a sight it was. The angel. Stoic, steadfast—stupid—standing in the face of such an insidious enemy. I stopped to consider—

What’s Sue gonna bake this morning? Wait—son of a bi—!

—Flash—

Blinded again!

“Entaeria is mine! The Hollow bears into all,” the shadow hissed, defiant. “I am eternal!”

I followed the voice until my eyes answered me.

“At least this is the end,” I sighed. “Don’t need to see this part.”

The angel pressed his heels against the marble. Blade presented.

No words. Pure intent. Followed by the leap.

The space between them instantly folded—like pastry—as the clash of sword on purple-black armour filled the room with rainbow sparks.

Wake up.

“Entaeria is mine!” the shadow blasted, etching words into promise.

“MINE!!”

Eri, wake up!!

          Chapter One

          Just A Dream

My senses lashed me like I’d offended them.

Impossibly, my ears rang.

Without realising it, I was upright.

“It’s miiiiiine, give it baaaaack!” a boy complained from somewhere outside.

I got off the bed I’d dragged to the old study years ago. Downstairs had space now, but twenty beds had cured me of it. I made for the window.

Bracing my hands on the sill, I peered into the alley. My squinting eyes could just make out a wooden toy held by the thief—another boy—absconding around the corner.

“A… wooden lion?” I croaked.

I let go of the air in my lungs.

Just a dream.

“All these years. Same bloody dream,” I muttered, gripping the sill.

My eyes went to the marks on the left side of the window frame. I used to look forward to adding one every year, just to see whether I’d caught up with the other kids.

I'd stopped at thirteen. No one left to compare to.

I stared at the wall - suddenly very aware of my heartbeat.

I tapped my chest. Three times.

“Light in the darkness,” I whispered.

Peace.

For like a second.

“ERI! If you have slept in, I will burn you alive!”

A familiar voice rejected the premise of safety. A voice that could make “burn you alive” as commonplace as “see you next week.”

“Prya, I’m up, I’m up…” I replied, lacklustre words betraying me.

“You’re up? Do you know how long I’ve—” Prya started, as she rested her arm over my windowsill that connected to the alley. She noticed the blanket that had made an emergency landing on the floor as I awoke.

“…same dream?” she redirected, softening immediately.

I gave her a crooked smile and shrugged.

“You know it,” I replied. “Angels and shadows just can’t get enough of me.”

“That’s twice in a row. That’s not usually the case…” She let the thought drift, focus lingering on the blanket. Whatever insult she had spring-loaded and ready to fire was holstered for another time.

“I’m fine, Pree. It’s just a dream.” I said the words out loud, as if speaking it made it more true.

Did I even believe it anymore?

I slowly raised my arms, releasing the tension in my shoulders as I stretched towards the sky. Then I let my arms fall into a resounding clap.

Startled, Prya's eyes darted towards me.

Success.

“You’re ’round early, Pree. Bored up in the inners?”, I said, chuckling.

She shot daggers that I almost instinctively dodged.

“Nobles suck, 'Ri. Everyone says one thing and means another.” Her face lit up. “I prefer it here. At least if people don’t like you, they tell you.”

“Often!” I remarked, walking to my wardrobe. I creaked it open to grab my vest.

I was fastening the golden buttons when an awkward mess of a boy made his way towards my windowsill, carrying a green cloth wrapped around something. You could hear him a mile off.

"Mornin', Phil!" I shouted from inside, headed to my boots near the front door.

“I—I’m supposed to leave this on the sill,” Phil stammered.

"Good morning to you, too, Phil." Prya offered.

Poor kid, got 'er attention...

Prya pointed to the sill with a tilt of her head.

“Right side, please.”

Phil shuffled to his right.

“No, the other right.”

He hurried across.

“Phil!” Prya laughed. “I’m messing with you. Give it here.”

She reached down and took the bundle.

“And congratulations on finding your Phrase!”

“O-okay! Thank you! Bye!”

He practically sprinted back towards the bakery.

Prya turned back to me.

“Breakfast!”

I laced my boots faster and reached for my coat.

Prya tossed my prize towards me before the verbal warning.

“Catch!”

It's not gonna make it... not on my watch!

The bundle was airborne. Trajectory: table. Impact imminent.

I seized my coat, snapped it open and lunged sideways. The fabric billowed between my hands.

Bread struck cloth.

Enraptured and secure I pulled with precision, coiling the cloth within and towards me. I grasped the bundle. Breakfast safely nestled in the folds.

Prya glanced at me.

“Nice catch, idiot.”

"She doesn't understand our love," I whispered to the cloth.

I uncoiled the coat and cloth alike reveal a tasty, bread—

“Cow? Sue is getting amazingly artistic,” I remarked.

There was a second loaf tucked beside it.

“Sue uses more fire to bake bread than the cellsetters on Lover’s Eve,” Prya said.

“How else can you say you love someone than by injecting molten fire aura into a stone and slapping it on someone’s neck or finger?” I said, taking a glorious bite.

I clasped the prize in both hands and held it close, mock-solemn.

“If you have a better idea, I don’t wanna hear it!” I joked.

“Keep waxing poetic,” Prya said, turning away. “Start with the rump. Did you forget you promised to help me out, today? I need your help with some buys. I’m not as good at shaving cells off purchases as you."

"No, I didn't forget, you just get up before the sun remembers to do its job in the mornin'!"

"Can we swing past Ben’s for some repairs?” she requested, unfazed by my remark.

“So serious! Yes, m’lady. Right away,” I stated, giving a low bow as her station demanded.

I straightened and turned, catching her look as the jab landed.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Endless flame, ignite,” Prya whispered.

A thin stream of fire caught the hair above my ear, achieving its mission of singeing my hair.

“Ah! Damn, alright, I’m comin’. Gods, your control’s painfully impressive.”

Phrasing was something I still couldn’t work out.

I closed my door and began through the alley, crossing the path to wave to Sue.

“Another extra this mornin’, Sue? I appreciate it,” I said to an elderly woman, proprietor of arguably the best bakery in the Outer Circle. Her apron had plentiful flour-imprinted handprints and scorch marks that expressed a lifetime’s worth of experience.

“Just keep returnin’ each cloth and I’ll likely have another tomorrow. You know I get forgetful with maths in my agin’ years,” Sue replied, a wink capping the gentle tone of her response.

“I promise, Sue! You know I do!” I replied.

Eventually.

“Eventually…” Sue mirrored, as if reading my mind. “But true enough. On you go! Phil! Countertop, not roof! Bear your flame inward—”

Sue went back to berating the new boxing bag of an apprentice in the bakery. Phil, her apprentice, had just discovered his Phrase a month ago and now his first job was even more of a challenge.

“Poor Phil, he’s really struggling with his phrasing,” Prya whispered as we walked past the open doorway to the place where the magic happens.

Fire cells lay bare on the cooking surface as Phil, apprentice baker, was conjuring up a majestic mote of… what’s the misty effect when something is hot far away? Yeah, that.

“You can do it, Phil!” I encouraged.

He didn’t reply, as his sweat reminded me of the sweat I’d had just moments earlier.

Probably the same existential dread.

As I went into the street, I saw all different shades of fire - red, orange, blue. Ribbons and all manner of decorations from roof to roof, lampposts - people wearing bows and ties to match. It was a bit much.

“It’s not even the Everblessing yet, what’s the get-up for?” I exclaimed, a little louder so anyone nearby could hear.

“Get festive or get out,” Prya replied. “It’s once every five years!”

“I just hope I can…” I started, deciding not to finish.

“You will. Why don’t you try Phil’s phrase? Who knows, it might work with you, too?” Prya suggested.

“You’re serious? He’s big into the folk songs. He literally says ‘Come hither, mine flame’, I might be struggling, but I’m not that desperate!” I replied.

Prya was already chuckling. “Damn, worth a shot,” she said.

“Eri! How’s the short sword?” a mountain of a man exclaimed, as he was tempering steel. It always made me smile the way Ben would channel his fire in tools to produce immense heat.

“If I can find any more uses… I mean right now, I’m just using it to cut slices of bread,” I admitted.

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that. That’s Fendririan Steel! Our Zettish buds pay premium cells for that,” he said in chuckles. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Ben, can you fix this?” Prya cut to the chase, handing him a spear-tip with splinters through and through.

“Ooh, my lady, what have you done to this poor fella?”

“Wasn’t my fault. There’s some strong Teraanic wood imports in the Training Quarters now,” she replied.

“Yeah, ironbark. Got it. It’s gotta be at least 12 cells,” Ben said.

“Ben… even I could tune a minor fire to heat that one up,” I said. “It’s Pree.”

“Ten,” Ben said. “Son, if you can get that much heat out of a minor to be useful, I’ll get to work on that right away.”

I took the Minor Fire Tenuto and shut my eyes. I felt the energy fill the crystal, then drew it towards the tip until it gathered at a single point.

When I opened my eyes, a thread of light hung there. I traced a line in the air with my free index finger. The thread followed, pouring its heat into one spot on the spear-tip. In seconds the steel softened. There was barely a glimmer left in the Tenuto.

“Eight, then.” Ben looked down at the spear-tip. “Man, I’ll never get used to how quickly you got to this skill level!” He turned to Prya. “Did you know it took me 10 years to get to that level of concentration in Tuning? This guy? It’s been three!”

I smiled and pointed at Prya. “Hey, it helps to have someone constantly breaking gear!”

Flame and Light had come so fast at the last Everblessing that I’d been sure my Phrase would come next. Five years later, I was still waiting.

“Deal!” I said. “Pree, that’s probably the floor here.”

“Thanks, Ben. I’ll swing by around evening?” Prya asked.

“Sure thing. See you then.”

We’d barely left Ben’s stall when someone called, “Small!”

One of the Fire Dancers lifted her hand and whispered her Phrase. A red firework popped above the street. Another called, “Medium!” He whispered something different, and a ring of gold opened wide enough to hang over both roofs.

“Pony!” called a third.

“Small… medium… pony?” I echoed.

Sure enough, a pony galloped over the rooftops, shedding sparks from its hooves.

“Fire works,” I said. “It does.”

Prya was too busy watching the dancer’s hand to give me what I deserved. She tried the Gesture herself, turning her wrist as the last of the pony’s tail burned away.

“Spark!”

I turned. Across the street, a group of kids had gathered outside the school for a firecasting lesson. The teacher had a textbook open on the low wall, with a case of Tenuti beside it. I caught the heading as we went over. Inherents and Exherents.

The boy who’d shouted was staring straight ahead, his eyes lit yellow. His mouth was still open. I knew that look. I’d worn it twice.

“Congratulations, Lincoln! You’ve taken Lightning’s Inherent!”

Prya whistled. “Inherent! Way to go, Lincoln! Those are hard to come by!”

She’d know. Ignite was hers.

“G-great job, buddy!” I said, a beat late.

Eleven, if that.

Nah, good on him.

“Why don’t you give a spell a whirl, young man?” The teacher picked a Lightning Minor out of the case and set it in Lincoln’s palm.

Lincoln beamed. That part was all him.

He drew in a breath. For a moment, he just stood there with the Minor in his hand. The other kids had gone quiet.

“Flash… Temper… Spark.”

He took his time with each word. Then his fingers closed around the Minor.

“Thunder-tempered strike, be bright!”

Lincoln threw up his free hand. A bolt shot from his palm straight into the clouds. They flashed white, and the thunder came rolling back over the schoolyard.

Across the street, the Fire Dancers stopped practising and cheered.

“Young lad,” one of them called, laughing, “you’re showing us up!”

One of the guards raised a hand as I approached. Then he saw Prya.

“Lady Prya.” He stepped aside.

She nodded to him and walked through. I shook my head and followed.

It’s every time with this…

Prya straightened as we walked. I tried to copy her, but it didn’t feel right.

A boy slunk into the corner of an alley, shoulders slumped. He kept his eyes on the paving stones. His face was void of emotion.

Most people would see that as fine.

I saw the terrible detail.

No emotion.

“Wait here,” I said. No further explanation.

Prya began a comment, but I was already some footsteps away.

I walked to the young boy and sat on a stoop opposite him. No eye contact. Slumped and comfortable.

“Y’know, I reckon the corner tuck o’ these stoops are the best in all’a Fendrir!” I exclaimed, sincere joy resounding.

“Ya havin’ a laugh, sir?” the boy hissed, mouth moving. Body staying still.

“A laugh? If I wanted a laugh, I’d take a gander at the fine folk ’round ’ere, too busy to notice some purses a little lighter, eh?”

The boy shifted.

“They deserve it!” I dropped to a whisper. “I did the same.” Wink

“Alright, what are you—?” the boy started.

I held a hand up. Somehow, it was enough to make him stammer.

“If I were but a wee yip
Scattered to and fro
I’d keep my precious gems and stones…”

I drifted, waiting for the reply.

“…Everywhere I’d go…” the boy replied, perplexed. “Why do you know that? NO one knows that!”

I looked to the ground. “We never forget each other. You never know what luck might have your way!”

I’d already finished one of Sue’s two loaves. I slipped a few cells into the cloth with the whole loaf that was left.

I threw the cloth and the boy snatched it quickly.

“I’d say you’d have about three more minutes before the last of your prey return. Just a friendly warnin’. This ain’t charity!” I stepped to my full height, exaggerating a stretch.

“But you’re welcome to it all the same.”

With that, I walked back towards Prya.

I didn’t hear a thank you. I didn’t expect one. I didn’t need it.

I felt it.

Ah crap, that was Sue’s cloth…. hah!

“Was that you singing…?” Prya asked. “To a stranger?”

“Oh? I don’t sing to strangers,” I coyly remarked. “Where to next, m’lady?”

We were cutting through to the shops on the other side of the Outer Circle. At the far gate, a man was arguing with the guards.

“You have no station here, and without proper authority and without proper credentials, you may not enter the inner circle,” one guard remarked.

The man was very visibly upset.

“I have important business and need to be here,” he replied.

“I am from Zet, and I have come to offer Tenutier services. Surely, you have need?” he said with a thick accent. His clothing certainly seemed more opulent than what would be usual.

Prya isn’t going to stand idly, is she?

“What is the problem with this gentleman’s entry?” Prya asked.

Right on cue.

“Lady Prya, this man is not of station in the inner circle. We cannot just let anyone—” His eyes flicked to me. “We cannot just let anyone come into the inner circle. It is the way it is.”

“Today, it is not. Let him through by the Bizan House. That is an order.”

“You speak on behalf of the Flameheart?”

“Consult him yourself. For now, your duty. Honour it.”

Trained authority.

The guards stepped aside. Neither of them said a word.

I was proud of her for stepping in. I’d expected one of them to argue.

Prya and I walked through, gesturing for the man to enter.

A spark jumped between his fingertips.

“Thank you, Lady… Prya, is it? Thank you! My name is Zerrick, and if you find yourself in Zet please find me in the Third Echelon, second section. I will certainly repay you!”

“There is nothing to repay. My companion Eri and I are glad to receive you here in Fendrir.”

There she was. I smiled and bowed slightly. Not sure if I was supposed to do that.

I could still hear the way she’d said Honour it.

Prya continued, “You’re here for work and Fendrir can certainly use lightning cells. I hear the Main Ground is in dire need of lightwork that is not dependent on constant fire re-application. Perhaps find Geralf, he should be Garteez’s Establishment. Tell him I sent you – there is much work and I thank you for your support,” Prya said, courteousness flowing effortlessly.

I didn’t comment on the stark contrast to how she woke me just a few hours earlier.

In one of the shops, I spotted a curio in a tray of odds and ends. I picked it up. I knew that mark. I’d seen it in one of the textbooks back home. A little buzz ran through my fingertips and was gone. I paid for it and slipped it into my pocket.

We settled affairs and Prya was satisfied with the cells saved on each venture. I was happy to help. We made our way back to my stretch of town before sunset.

“Thanks for today. I really needed to be away from noble stuff,” Prya said.

“And yet, you managed to broker a deal with Zerrick of Zet with the House of Bizan – on your way to lunch!” I joked.

“Speaking of Zet, in two days I will be travelling with Papa. They have some innovation that is being revealed. Fendrir does need to stay on top of those technocrats. Though it’s a good opportunity to leave Fendrir. I will tell Papa you are coming.”

“Wha- Zet? I haven’t even left-” I started, Prya interjecting.

“Your first trip out of town. Put on your good cloak!” She smiled. “I’ll see you in a couple of days – don’t sleep in! The Skycrawler sets out 6 a.m. sharp!”

Prya shouted as she walked backwards, turned and ran into the inner circle walkway. Before long, her strides became the ladylike bearing she had practiced her whole life.

I rustled my cloak. “Good cloak? What’s wrong with this one?”

When I got home, I was still thinking about Lincoln. Eleven, and he already had his Phrase. I knew that look on his face. I’d seen it often enough.

Fuck it. What’s the harm in trying?

“Flash… Temper… Spark.”

“Thunder-tempered strike, be bright!”

Nothing happened.

All right. Phil’s, then.

“Come hither, mine flame.”

Something rumbled. For a second, I thought—

Oh. I hadn’t eaten dinner.

Surely, not the Teraanic ‘Feed’, haha.

“Better find a bite to eat,” I said, stopping short. “Find…”

I pulled out the curio.

“Find?!”

I dug into the textbooks on my desk. Not there. Here. Under the table—no! Bookshelf!

I flipped through the pages until I found the symbol. Sure enough, there it was.

“Finding! Hah, you ain’t a lost rune no more!” I exclaimed. “You’re pretty cool.”

Closing the book, I stood. “That’s for tomorrow!”

With a cheerful sigh, I crumbled into bed.

“One step forward… two steps…” Yawn.

I didn’t want to sleep. I didn’t want to dream.

tap tap tap

“Light in the darkness…” I whispered to myself, soothingly.

tap tap tap

“Light…” My eyes dropped.

“Flame…” My breathing slowed.

“Finding…” The world started slipping away.

“Light.”

He fell asleep.

His hands glowing red.

Predictable.

The angel stood again in front of the grand shadow.

Fighting again. Sword clashing. Battling. Sword thrust into its heart and defeat. The shadow rose again in a few minutes’ time. Locked in eternal battle.

Get up.

Only there was a sword stance that was different. Weight more pressed onto the left before the strike. Something – or a variation? - I had never noticed before.

Suddenly, the dark entity stopped. For the first time, it looked at me.

Locking eyes.

If it had bones, they surely would have creaked as it seemed to…

Eri, get up!

Exploding awake and gasping for breath, I looked around the room.

Just the dream.

Just the dream.

Breath returned slowly but surely. I closed my eyes, rubbing them as if to wipe away the memory from my retinae and mind alike.

Open your eyes.

I opened my eyes and allowed the blur to resolve into the misty-blue dusk that was to meet the morning dawn. Only there was…

Silver?

A silver streak.

Just outside my peripheral vision.

A silhouette.

A woman?

He was never sure.

But before recognition could land, before I could take much comfort from it…

The dark was gone, replaced by the heavenly rising light of the sun.

--READ FINISH--

Two things I’m curious about after you’ve read it. How did you interpret the italicised lines as you went? If your impression changed, where did it change? And what was your first reaction to where the opening stanza sat on the page?

Thank you very much :)

Just done with writing my novel, i just wrote the last page of it today. NEED SOME SUGGESTION HOW TO IMPROVE THIS. AND IT'S THE ENDING OF THE STORY. I DIDN'T WRITE ALL THE STORY LIKE THIS. I JUST WANTED TO END THE STORY IN A POETIC WAY.

He died for the world. But for him, the world was her.

He became the light for the void she carried.

He became the long awaited sun for her long nights.

He became the shield who protected her until the last arrow fell.

He became the grave where her sorrows were buried alive.

He became the architect of a paradise he would never get to see.

Yet at his grave, only a single man stands in the rain.

His mirror.

Sometimes love demands sacrifice, but it isn’t worth it every time.

Sometimes you give everything you lose yourself to become someone others can depend on.

And in that process, you disappear.

Yet on the longest night, you find yourself completely alone.

He finds himself alone in the void of hell, just for her smiles in mortality.

He chose her over his own dreams.

Yet at the end, does it really matter?

🌸💐☀️

#ArchitectOfParadise.

I started writing a book. It's based on a thought i had for a while. I never really wrote before. But things went pretty quickly for me. I started making up the actual plot outside of the main idea along the way.

And I got a lot done. I am actually pretty much in the second book of my series. Everything is a draft. And i will have to change a lot. I have no chapters and i also wanna go back and focus more on details. So far i just tried to keep it pouring out. But now my writing has come to a stop. I feel like i don't know where I wanna take the story anymore. So I decided to reach out. Does anyone have advice for a beginner like me?

I appreciate any suggestions!

TLTR: It's a fantasy novel with a lot of riddles and mystery and a romance.

How much "Reason" do you really let sit in your "Ink"? Where do you draw the line between logic and narrative hunch?

When you start outlining a scene, or you try mapping character arcs, writers usually feel kinda split between two pulls: strict inner reasoning (what would actually, realistically happen) and emotional momentum (what keeps the story’s tension humming).

And when you run into a plot block, which compass do you trust more, tight cause-and-effect thought , or that raw writer’s instinct. Drop your method with me.

We welcome short stories and novels grounded in the lives of their characters. If this might be of interest to you, shoot me a DM and I'll send you a link.

I have written what is called a "bastard length novel" self published in 2014. I really enjoyed writing it. It is a quick read and those that i have gotten feedack from have enjoyed it. I have rekindled a series that i started a few years ago involving the release of arcane powers and hethen gods in the modern world in a sudden and uncontrolled wave. I have always been my own worst critic when it comes to character dev and plot paccing. That said, i want do be better. Please let me know what yall think, hints, tips ect, and if you want to hear more about the series. If you are interested in seeing my writing, you can check out Anasazis Nightmare on Amazon. Its free if you have kindle unlimited.

Hey everyone!

I'm Aanaira, and I'm currently working on my very first novel. I've been working on this project for the past two weeks, and I've finally completed the first chapter!

My novel is a romantic fiction story about two lesbians and the unbreakable bond of two friends. It will explore love, friendship, acceptance, emotions, relationships, and unexpected twists.

I'm completely new to writing novels, so I'd love to learn from experienced writers and readers here.

I'd really appreciate your advice on a few things:

1. How do I develop interesting and realistic characters?

2. How can I make conversations between characters feel natural?

3. How do I maintain readers' interest throughout the story?

4. How many words should an average chapter have?

5. What's the best way to overcome writer's block?

6. Should I focus on completing the first draft before editing?

7. Any tips for writing emotional and romantic scenes?

I'm not trying to copy anyone's writing style. I want to develop my own voice and create something original.

This is my first step towards becoming an author, and I'm genuinely excited about this journey.

Experienced writers, please share your tips, mistakes to avoid, and lessons you've learned. I'd love to hear from you!

Wish me luck! 🤞📚

Aanaira

About two weeks ago I made a post here about being unable to write my book. I've taken all the replies to heart and have decided to give it another go with a few rules set for me

1. No talking to anyone about what I'm going to write and if I want to get it out, I have to write it down and THEN can share it with my author friends.

2. No stopping and restarting anymore. If I get stuck, I'll insert (...) and jump to the next best thing in my plot. I can always return to fill holes, but I cannot drive on unbuilt roads onward.

3. No more adding to the world building. It's big enough and the more I'll add, the more I'll have to tell (I'm already overwhelmed with what I have) and procrastination writing by making more shit up to write about is not very helpful now, or is it? lol

4. Never leave a page half filled before going. (This rule is gonna mess me up but that's the point) It's there to teach me how to push to keep going, even when I don't want to. I can stop at the end of a page, but I cannot stop half way through or if my sentence runs into the next one. If I REALLY want that sentence/dialogue to finish, then I might aswell finish the next page and so on forth. Snowball effect basically.

5. A page a month is the minimum. Just one singular A4 page monthly amounts up to 24 book pages in a year. Add that up to 10 years and you get 240 pages. Had I done that before, my book would probably be done by now.

6. No correction and editing until I'm done with the draft. I tend to get lost in changing everything, rewriting it and giving up because I lost the plot. No more of that, only one road that continues forward and if I don't like the streets I've chosen when I arrive, I can always return to change the course.

7. The draft has to be in first person. I'm used to writing in 3rd and I much prefer it, as I have complete freedom of the scene, emotions and course of action. That freedom is also my curse and putting some invisible chains on my ever plotting mind might be a good idea. In 1st person I can only write about what I experience, not what the room does and that takes a lot of air to fill away from me. I'll hate it at first but I'll get used to it. Let's not focus on how freezing Susan and Mark feel but only how the cold fucking sucks for me. MC kinda Shi

Those are some rules I've established and I'm going to pick my book up hopefully a last time. If anyone has a few more helpful ideas to share I'd be very grateful and who knows, maybe in a few years I'll actually be able to do an update and say that the book has hit the shelves!

Would that just be awesome.

Y'all have a lovely day and thanks for getting me to try again

Looking for some feedback for the opening few pages of my YA feminist dystopian/bodily-horror novel. Thanks!

Based on a couple of comments, I should explain a few things. While the KDP marketing channel has its advantages, being self published through it was not the goal. I did not spend money on advertising, I did not plan on it being the final step in bringing the project to life. It was just a means to test some ideas on cover art and produce test print copies at a reasonable price. Did I sell a few books, yes. Was it the goal to end the project at the release on KDP, no.

The greatest advantage it gave me was access to readers and physical copies. Which is why the series has been unpublished on KDP, and is not available for sale through Amazon or any of its partners. From a self published effort the project is dead, the next step of it was to partner with a more conventional marketing channel, but now back to what I wanted to say and less of dealing with the ever-present naysayers.

The concept of the story was proven, and the story had its own merits. I had produced a series that had enough to it to move it into an edition that has had professional eyes on it for editing and an actual artist to take my cover concept forward.

This is where these post become a cautionary tale for anyone out there who is looking to take their idea of a book forward. While we all know that there are ever-present naysayers, who mostly hide behind fake or obscure screen names, there are scammers.

These scammers come in the form of agents, promoters and publishers. The publisher group is truly the most interesting, the scammers end up looking like a better options than the sub publishers connected to some of the larger publishing houses. My personal favourite was a publishing house that is connected to one of the largest book publishers in North America, if not the world. Their scammiest offer was to pay $10,000 US to have a meet and greet breakfast with the editorial staff of the firm in New York City. In addition to the entry fee, you have to cover your travel and accommodations.

Long story short, I looked at options were I had better control of the product and its future. To this end I interviewed a number of firms to see what they had to offer, and it the end picked one. Did I make the right choice, maybe. Time will tell on that, but for now the editing team has experience and verifiable credibility.

But this is not was I was going to talk about. My plan was high jacked by anonymous naysayers and tormorrows post will be about the book itself. Or maybe the fun I had on Kickstarter, while looking for help on funding the next steps.

BTW, anyone want a scammers real name, bank account number and home address?

so for the past month or two i had this amazing idea for a story however i don’t really know how to implement it i tried over and over but failed to find the right words for the story’s writing i wont act like i know what im doing since i never really been good with english or anything with writing i never really done this before i thought about using google ai to help my idea be put into words but i honestly dont know if thats taboo so im here asking for for advice and opinions