Last Paragraph You've Written


10/10 It seems that your character might of reached an epiphany. And I’d be curious to see how they got to this point where they realized Leah isn’t all that great.

Remember Savannah
With a minute to spare, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I chewed that last bite like a dog and drank lots of water. 30 seconds left. I swallowed, and I was done. The crowd lost it in their excitement. Steve looked at me and smiled.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” shouted the cashier. “There have only been 2 winners, but today we have a 3rd champion.”

It was a proud moment. Never had I ever done something as crazy as this


8/10. Solid minimalist writing that’s easy to read and paints a picture without using too many adjectives. Seems like a unique moment in a slice-of-life style story.


A loud tearing is associated with the flesh of your mouth coming undone. It’s disgusting - impossible to get used to. Add the breaking of teeth and the smell of necrotic flesh into the equation, and you get a beautiful show every full moon. Picture a large, naked man throwing up in the woods. An animal snout slowly emerges from his rotting mouth. The Birth of the Beast, maybe. Nobody would buy that painting.


I really like the immersive details and the tension that comes with the tight focus on the mouth, and using that to inform what the changes to the rest of the body might be like. I thought the casual phrasing of the first two sentences didn’t gel well with the suspense induced by the actual imagery. For me, it created dissonance between what I was seeing and what I was meant to be feeling. We’re shown grotesque detail, told it is grotesque (Nobody would buy that painting.) yet told that it’s beautiful (ironically?). While that kind of juxtaposition would definitely add some colourful characterisation to a POV, the werewolf is the only subject here, and I don’t think he’s too keen on what’s popping. Still, I applaud the hyper-realism of the transformation; it makes the trope interesting again. Good stuff. 7/10.

The Three Deaths of Brunhilde

Kylianna drops the memories carelessly now, letting them roll and take shape: the crack of Bronomir chopping wood, Brunhilde play-wrestling a ram, Mort groaning as Brunhilde rubs numbing oil over the bruises on his back that she is secretly proud of, Willun weeping, Lagertha gardening, her own wedding night, the pressure of Brunhilde’s hands on her throat and the scald of sleeping tea in her mouth, a stillborn – white and lifeless on a pebbled shore, the heat of a glass house overlooking the Lacassian sea, the iron and oak smell of her mother’s ink-stained hands and the dust on her ledgers… Memories upon memories. A lifetime of them, bright, thick with scents, sharp in sound.

She sighs and they scatter on the wind.


8/10: your description is lovely. i don’t know if it’s my lack of knowledge of all the characters, but i found their names distracting; i was thinking vividly of bronomir and his axe, then it was brunhilde and a ram, and by the end i was struggling to imagine all these characters i don’t know doing what they’re doing and why. context, obviously, would fix that. maybe i should check out your work and answer all my questions! anyway, as i said at the start, your writing is great; elegant, poetic, its genre clear.

tuesday & max

The rest of the café manages to balance an industrial warehouse look, with its bare brick walls, and an odd sort of cosiness; probably down to the handwritten chalkboard menus on the walls and mismatched mugs.

She can just see herself, sitting with her mother on a table by the window. Her mother has something green and disgusting in her cup and is writing in a planner; dates for festivals, maybe, or client details. Her mother is a travelling florist, still. Her mother is alive.



I’m trying not to be biased towards one of my favourite aesthetics. Though I think the writing could be tightened, the actual imagery is great – you pick specific, concrete details that render the café. The second paragraph also feels a little loose, and without a tense shift to facilitate the daydream, it all added to a weird rhythm I got while reading. But that’s prose-level stuff – the story is clearly there. I like the setting, I want to like Tuesday (nobody likes having their train of thought broken!), and some details are really well chosen. 7/10.

The Three Deaths of Brunhilde

The strings cut her fingers sometime before dusk, but after her singing had turned her grandmother blind. Still, Lagertha plucked at her harp. She played silence and the world listened. A chord of cold here, two strings for apathy there, plucked with the raw skin of relentless fingers. Her callouses were soft with blood, nails chipped, knuckles groaning. It grew and hung over her, over the pulse of her slowing heart and the crackle of hair growing through her scalp, the silence of wilting trees and final breaths. Blood both dry and slick stained her harpstrings, but even as the sun set on the second day of her mother’s death, Lagertha refused to end her mourning song.


10/10 I love it! So poetic and greatly detailed. Also, the end got really dark fast :rofl:

From Sapphire Flame

One had skin as pale as snow with jet black hair that flowed so long it all didn’t make it onto the page, she was clutching the familiar curved dagger in her fist. The other had the skin of copper, her hair was shortcut like Kaena’s but still flowed in an invisible wind in all the glory of its curly thickness like the first woman. She was grasping a long sword in her hand like the ones carved in the door, with a shield attached to her forearm. They both wore rough and ripped clothes with only patches of silver armor on certain parts of their bodies. Still, battle wounds visibly covered their arms, legs, and stomachs. They bore deep chilling scowls on their beautifully scared faces.

The sisters maybe? She thought curiously.


This imagery is FANTASTIC given the lack of context! I feel like you could better word her thoughts at the end but other than that, I’ll give this a 9/10 :slight_smile:

from my ongoing romance novel “In The City Of Love”

“Nash, he could be out looking for his brother right now if it weren’t for me. All of this, especially the condition he’s in, it’s all because of me."

"Tessa-" He paused for a split second. "May I call you Tessa?"

She nodded, and he wheeled closer to her as he continued.

“You’re not the one who had the blade in your hand.”

She wrapped her arms around her. “I might as well have been. My mother-”

Tristessa stopped herself just in time before she revealed everything to Nash. She found herself biting her lip to the point where it hurt enough to bleed. Her dark, little secret was almost out, but she wasn’t sure whether to be anxious or excited to let the beast out of her chest once and for all.


um okay Nash isn’t the only one who wants to know what her secret is. i like how you made her uneasiness obvious to the reader through describing body language. i just have a couple quick pointers. first, depending on what device i’m using, my dashes are either two hyphens stuck together, or this thing: —. the single hyphen makes me feel like things haven’t been resolved, ya know?

i would change “her” to “herself,” otherwise it seems like Tessa is hugging an invisible third character.

here i’d remove the comma. read it with and without; you may agree.

OKAY so i tend to nitpick but overall the excerpt was great. you’re super good at conveying the weight of a heavy conversation to an audience. 8/10!


“You’re from Ottawa, did you say?” Louis asked, grimacing. Rainier worried for his partner—particularly for his aging bones. He couldn’t stand up straight or waddle more than a half kilometre at a time on the snowshoes, always with one hand pressed firmly against his lower back. But Louis never once complained. Every second they spent outside was another second Rainier’s muscles spent solidifying. He wanted to gripe—until he heard Louis’s spine crack. Three feet of snow couldn’t muffle that.

Rainier nodded and sniffed. His nose ran. His eyes watered. There was nothing he could do. “Just outside. I say ‘Ottawa’ because nobody knows where Feloix is.”

“I do.”

Rainier stopped, a proud smirk pulling at his lips. “You do?”

A grin spread across Louis’s face as he turned to face Rainier. “Do I look like someone who would know, son?”


I really appreciate it, friend! :slight_smile: That makes sense and I intend to keep your comment in mind as I go back and edit the chapter!


Also, her secret is known to the reader, but the characters do not know just yet. Nash is about to, though, and eventually the others will as well :slight_smile:


I enjoy the lack of forced effort in the descriptions here. You were able to give a detailed physical idea of one character while looking into the brain of another, all without forcing it or using too many words. The little dialogue is also to-the-point and realistic. Good job here. What’s the name of the story?


Do you see the type of person I was dealing with? Every interaction was righteously painful. Mental equivalent of a chiropractic adjustment. That make sense? You get the point, yeah? I’ll just say that I felt like a person when we were together. Whatever that means.

I jogged off to the bathroom.

“Fuck are you running for?”

“Die, wench.” That drew a laugh.

The cold water felt particularly soothing on my hands, which were beginning to burn less. I washed them carefully as I mentally abused myself. Who knows what would have went down if she had seen. I hadn’t prepared an explanation, and I really didn’t want to fuck around with lye and laundry detergent in my basement again. It had been months since I’d needed to, and the smell always messes with my nose.


I think that paragraph personally conveys a sense of embarrassment/ secretiveness. I do not know if that’s the vibe that you are going for but it seems like the main character (or whichever character that is) is trying to handle something discreetly and I can tell by the random rambling she is doing in her mind,

From- The Entanglement

Were we under attack? I had no idea who was releasing all those arrows. I covered my arms over my body and closed my eyes. Is this a repeat of the waring lords? Oh please don’t let me die in the middle of another pointless war. After a couple of thuds, Lord Morris turned around and kissed my temple. I opened my eyes and found almost all of the people who were in the middle sprawled out dead. The only person who was not dead was my mother. She was covered in blood and had the widest eyes I have ever seen. I looked over at her and Lord Morris followed my glaze. He turned around and hopped off the ledge. He walked over to her,

“Gwen, the only reason you are still alive is because my lady asked for you to be.” her fearful eyes found mine. Lord Morris gripped her chin and turned her head to face him,

“Let this be the last time you defy her.”


@Wolf1072 ahhh thank you :blush::blush: i actually haven’t posted it yet :frowning: the struggle to find a good starting point. hopefully i’ll figure it out in the near future

@Juliette_Aurora oooh i might have to check it out to see what i’m missing . . .


I like it! I love how the emotions are clearly displayed in this paragraph. And Lord Morris? Hello? Could he get any cooler?
You made just one small error in punctuation though.

It should be:
Oh! Please don’t let me die in the middle of another pointless war!

My turn:
I sat there in that corner for a long time with my head in my hands. Once the adrenaline had run out, tears came pouring through.

Why had he done that? Why was he with someone other than mommy?
Did- I shuddered to even think- did they not love each other anymore? Was mommy going to leave and never come back?

Sadness washed by and reason replaced it. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t even have gone into dad’s office. He is the President of December after all. Why did I care what he did in his office?

Then I heard the door open and a click-clack of heels. Then reason gave way to anger.

Mom told me that it was wrong to lie. And also do things behind people’s back. And Dad had…had actually agreed with her!!

He had lied, and I was not going to stand for it. I wiped my tears furiously and ran as fast as I could into his office.

I pushed open the heavy doors as best I could and faced him.

“Ross! What are you doing there, son?” My dad asked. Casually. As if nothing had happened.

“I saw what you were doing.” I said quietly.

“Saw what?” He asked, getting up from his desk and closing the door.

“I saw what you were doing with HER!” I yelled.

I thought my dad would be scared. Mom told me that was what people would do when they were caught.

My dad’s eyes, however, narrowed into thin slits. “What did you see?”

“S-she w-was sitting on you and y-you were… I don’t know what you were doing.” I confessed, my anger melting away into fear.

“Okay son, you saw me. What are you going to do now?” He said, slowly as he walked behind his desk and admired one of the statues in his office. A soldier which held a huge spear.

“I’m going to tell mom!” I said as bravely as I could. “Why?” He asked, not even looking at me, but slowly tracing his fingers down the spear.

“B-because you lied, dad. Lying is wrong.” I said.

All of a sudden, my father slid the spear out of the statue like it was coated with butter.

He walked towards me with it. I didn’t know what he was going to do. But I had a feeling it was nothing good.

“But if Mom doesn’t know, does that make it a lie, Ross?” He said, tapping the spear on his left hand with his right.

“How will she not know? I’m going to tell her.” I said.

Then wood struck my side and I fell down screaming in pain.

My dad had hit me.

He. Had. Hit. Me.

“Will you tell her now?” He said, in a voice I had never heard him use before.

“Y-yes.” I stammered. I had to do the right thing.

The wood struck again, now on my back. I screamed again, and another one fell.

“If you scream, the more you will get.” He warned.

I nodded painfully.

“Will you tell mom now?” He asked.

I shook my head. I couldn’t even answer.

“Good boy.” He said, extending a hand to help me.

I refused it as I stood up by myself, albeit painfully.

“If someone asks why you are hurt, you fell down the stairs. Got that?” He said, grabbing my chin.

I nodded.

That was the first mistake I had made in a long time. And those scars were my punishment.


Seems nice, I actually feel curious now to know what happens next and where this came from. It makes me feel anxious for what happens next and feel sorry for the guy being hit and clearly having a disfuncional family.

My turn:
After a good 10 minutes forcing Dylan out, I managed to pull him to his car. He grabbed the keys from his pocket, then tried to grab my hand but I pulled it away.

“Common, you can’t say you don’t feel anything.”

“I don’t ok?” Then I stepped away, he grabbed my hand, pulled me closer and kissed me. I tried to fight him for a moment but then realized that it actually made me good. “You need to leave.” He was clearly sad when I said it, but it was the right thing to do. He left, and I looked up to the sky begging that no one saw it and that he wouldn’t tell anyone. That’s when I saw someone stepping away from the window at the Caldwell’s and knew I was in a deep problem.


6.5/10 Aside from some grammar issues, I think it’s an interesting story and it’s well described. :slight_smile:

I didn’t recall the moment it took off. All I felt was the crushing, stinging wind that hit my face and chest. I had my eyes closed shut and was lying flat on top of the animal because I couldn’t stand upright. The fabric of my shirt was slapping painfully against my lower back. Now I know what they meant when they said I wasn’t prepared to flash-step. I felt my grip loosen as the wind blew me backwards with gigantic force. I couldn’t breath but the adrenaline pumping within my arteries made me hold on tighter.


7/10 it’s very well written with a few grammar mistakes and I am very interested to know what happens next.

" We should be somewhere else, soaking up the sun." I pouted, as Corbin removed the keys from the ignition, bottom lip out and arms crossed like a toddler. If I had a choice between attending school and diving into a swimming pool of cold vomit. I’d tie my hair back, get in a bathing suit and dive right in amongst the chunky bits.


6.5/10 Clear image descriptions and although the context is limited I feel as though it’s easy for me to make a guess at the relationship between the characters. There was slight punctuation error I think between a sentence transitions. Wished there was a bit more.

Smoke rose to the cottage ceiling as I sat in lotus position, taking deep inhalations. In slow even breaths, the scent of sandalwood incense filled my senses, aiding me in concentration. My shoulders gave the occasional twitch, trying to quiet my restless hands from swatting the stray fly buzzing near my forehead.

“Concentrate,” said Tila.

“Blame the fly, its irritating.”

“Quiet! You must maintain absolute focus.” By day, Tila was a docile handmaiden, humble and obedient. At night, she took the form of a general during her tutelage. Strict, yet merciful.

Her guiding voice was like guardrails to my distracted mind. “Let it come to you.”

I inhaled slowly as the smoke swirled and arced into various forms. Still, no visions came. Scrying by air was proving itself more difficult than it appeared. I clenched my fists in frustration. I’d reckon this was an easy feat for Ariana. After all, she was the prized jewel of the Crownwell name. A name I was deemed unfit to carry. For her, this must be child’s play. My fists squeezed tighter as fury shook my body.

“Selene… relax,” said Tila.

A low creeping rumble crescendoed across the floor. I could feel its vibration under me like a stampede deep within the earth.


10/10, the description is great because I could perfectly imagine Selene and Tila and what’s happening.

From The Girl Next Door

The feeling of eyes on us was a present feeling I just now realized, and my lips pulled away from him only a fraction of an inch though. I whispered hushedly, “I think people are watching us.”

His face turned to survey our surroundings, and so did I. There weren’t many people, but the one person I dreaded seeing was there standing ten feet from us.

Jonathan Caden watched us with shock written across his face.