What was the last few paragraphs you wrote?


#150

Nesrin hadn’t discussed her past experiences with anyone outside of her therapist and she didn’t know if she wanted to with Warrick. She shrugged her shoulders. “No, nothing terrible. I’ve never been comfortable around your kind. When I was little my mother had to plan our outings to be sure that I wasn’t around vampyres. It was a huge stress on her. My brother and sister were fine but I would puke at the sight of one of you. As I got older I learned to hold it in and started seeing a therapist. She tried regression therapy and it made it worse. I started having dreams about being killed by a large group of vampyres. I was chained up on a hill and they…”

Nesrin paused. Even though they were figments of her imagination, it had always felt real to her. The first time she’d had the dream her brother had to knock her out because she’d become so fearful and violent. She looked up at Warrick and she recognized the look all to well. The few times she had told anyone about the dreams they looked at her like that. Like she had told them the worse experience she’d ever had, but in reality she was crazy. Dreams weren’t real.

Warrick sat up straighter in his chair. “Do they only bleed you dry or do they do more?”

Nesrin shifted uncomfortably; she knew that it was because she’d stop talking that he was curious. “One does more. He’s old, grossly muscled and his eyes remind me of a viper’s eyes. I can feel him touching me and I…”

Warrick stood up quickly, came around the desk and unexpectedly hugged Nesrin. “You don’t have to finish. I’m so sorry I asked. It’s possible you are remembering a past life through dreams, but know that no vampire will ever touch you as long as you are employed for or know me.”

He let go of Nesrin and left her office. She shook her head. His abrupt departure and comfort had been enough to make it spin. She looked over to his office and noticed the door was closed. AS she watched longer she noticed office supplies and papers flying about the room. She rubbed her knuckles. What in the hell had just happened?


#151

9/10. Lowercase s in as. I like the emotion in the excerpt. The dialogue parts seem like an info dump, but they’re not mega long.

Not too sure about this part I wrote:

“No one told me this was a first-person shooter,” she exclaimed. The weight of the gun leaned against her leg, placed in a holster. She quickly glanced at everything attached to her belt and the only thing that caught her eye was stainless steel reflecting the moonlight.

The shop she had just been inside disappeared. Instead, it was boarded up. There were a few stains of dried blood on the boards. Stood in the middle of the road and no traffic and the day shifted to night. What the hell was going on? She thought.

Two black SUVs came whizzing around the corner. Her hands rested over the gun. The cars came to a stop right in front of her. The door flew open and Finlay’s mouth dropped in shock.

She’d recognise that face anywhere, even though it was slightly different than what he looked like several hours ago. “Dexter!” she ran forward with her arms open wide open hoping for a hug. The others door opened as well and all her friends were there, give or take a few. As she approached, everyone had their guns pointed at her. Her hand tensed aiming towards the gun aimed at her but they fired a warning shot.

They bullet flew past her hand, just in front of her gun. The shot landed on the wood covering up the shop window. In the moments that Finlay watched everything in front of her, Dexter approached. Unlike the others he carried no gun but there was nothing in his hand. Stood right next to Finlay, he hit her across the jaw. She didn’t want to fight back. She fell to the floor, knocked unconscious.


#152

It’s interesting. What are your concerns? What bothers you most?


#153

Just more heavy editing.

A mystical-looking forest. Everything was blanketed in snow perfectly. The tree trunks were transparent with its thick bundles of snow by the branches like white-painted leaves. There were ornaments that hanged like jewelry on the branches individually. Crystal pearls and gems dangled down to the ground. They reminded me of necklaces and diamonds, sagging off from the necks like they were weaning from forlorn. There was something about this frozen picture that felt so melancholic, but strangely beautiful to look at. What was this place? I wondered if the village even knew this existed.

Great, Vlad disappeared once again.

“Rin!” Dmitri hollered, “Vlad!”

A tall figure standing underneath a tall metal arch, another arch like the one in the entrance but this cried parting. Whispers. Hush.

Dmitri carefully treaded forward in the deep snow towards Rin, who’s sunken shoulders made him look like a scarecrow with hair whipped by the breaths of the uncaring winds.

The fair young man stared down at the deep stone well. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking at this moment. An un-ruthless, ruthless winter in the mind. The silence spoke louder than words, Rin wanted his silence to be quiet.

When the last breeze swept Rin’s fringe off his face, he revealed a glass-like chip on his left jaw.

“He lies here.”


#154

This sentence is incomplete.

Is transparent - see-through like glass - what you mean here?

This should be hung.

This phrase is confusing. Not sure what you’re going for. Weaning is gradually taking something away, usually to replace it with something else, while forlorn is showing hopelessness.

I followed this sentence until the last two words. I’m not sure what you’re trying to convey here, either.

While ‘treaded’ is properly trod, perhaps a better word could be found. You want ‘whose’ instead of who’s, which is a contractionof ‘who is’.The sentence is a bit long, but vividly descriptive.

This is also an incomplete sentence, and while I think I know what you’re saying it could be more clear.

This should either be two sentences, with a . instead of a comma or ad ‘and’ in place of the comma.

Did Rin reveal the chip, or was it the wind moving his hair? If it was the wind, this should be ‘it’ instead of ‘he’.

All in all I get the ‘feel’ of your scene very well. You have some very elegant descriptions, but you seem to have a little trouble with proper tensing of verbs. You might want to see if you can get a grammar checking program to help you catch that kind of thing and polish your prose a bit.


This is an opening for an idea I’ve been playing with.

“That one was a bit difficult.” Nora tugged at the neck of her chain mail.

“It was,” agreed Sergeant Bonner. “Notifying next of kin is a mite rough assignment at best.”

“Well, at least it’s our last assignment.” Nora was glad she’d been paired with Bonner. The Sergeant was a decent sort and a good companion once one got used to his scarred face and missing right eye. “What are you going to do with yourself now that the army has let go of you?”

“I’ve no idea,” admitted Bonner. “I suppose I’ll go sponge off my sister for a spell, while I weigh my options. You?”

“My brother has been holding down the family store all by himself for the past year since my other sister got hitched. He’s ready for me to get there and help out.”

“Isn’t your hometown that way?” Bonner gestured to the east as they neared a crossroad.

“Yes, it is,” said Nora. “But we’re not finished. I’ll see it through.”

“The last call is Akron’s widow in Red Mill.” Bonner shook his head. “I might be wrong, but I’m guessing the news of his death will be more of a relief than a hardship.”

“Akron certainly seemed a sorry excuse for a husband,” agreed Nora. “I never would have placed him as married, with his constant whoring and drinking.”

“That’s where all his pay went to, as he never sent a penny home.” Bonner tapped his vest, where a small pouch lay. “At least she’ll get the wergild. Likely getting killed was the kindest thing he coulda done.” He stopped at the intersection. “At any rate, I can manage the visit alone, so you can get home to your overworked brother.”

“Are you sure, Sarge?”

“Aye, lass, I’m sure.” Bonner grinned, a pleasing expression even on his ravaged face. “Get on with ye. Have a good life, Nora. You’re a damned good soldier.”

“And you’re the best sergeant in the Ospreys.” Nora gave him a sharp salute. “Have a good life, Bonner.”

“And you, girl.” He waved her off. “Go. Get on with ye, now.”

Nora turned and headed east at a fast clip, while Bonner continued to the south. He ate as he walked, hoping to reach his destination before nightfall. His step was brisk, as befit a military man. At thirty and five, he was no longer a youngster, but still in his prime. Thanks to the army, he was physically fit, and still able bodied despite several scars. The one that crossed the right side of his face, from the axe that cost him his right eye, was the most obvious, and that wound came closest to ending his life. Only the utmost exertions of a very skilled healer had saved him.


#155

I like it so far. Something about the way it was written to start gave me the impression that Nora was the protag rather than Bonner. Other than the mention of chainmail, there isnt much to indicate the setting. I’m definitely curious to learn more.

Here is a tidbit of what I’m working on.

He’d stripped down to his boxers trying to get comfortable after the second seizure. He was overheating from all of the activity. He finally fell back asleep, pressed against the cold metal floor. I made a mental note to keep an eye on him in case he got too cold.

I finally decided I was going to summon Nero, or rather, open a door for Nero to come through. The distinction was lost on me at the time. I didn’t care about the specifics. I only cared that it would work. I needed to get Nate out of there. I needed him to be OK.

I worked in chapstick at first. I knew all the things I had to write to make the breach. While my mind knew what it was doing, my hands were not great at actually drawing these things that I knew. It was slow work trying to form each glyph and rune properly. I had to think through how to space the spell in this small room. The script would go over the benches and up the walls from the center of the ground where Nate lay in sweaty restless slumber.

When the chapstick was exhausted, I used the last two ketchup packets I found in the bag from the day before. After that, I worked in blood. It felt right in the end that the sigil was made of me.

I was in the zone. This was leagues beyond anything I’d read or even seen. I knew I was doing it correctly on a spiritual level, but consciously I wasn’t feeling it. This wasn’t like making a ward. I wasn’t gathering power from around me. I wasn’t manipulating power at all. My work wasn’t actually having any impact on the world yet, which concerned me. At least with wards I could see the magic falling into place. I could see it begin to behave according to my will. This might as well have been just some weird art project made of condiments, lip balm and bodily fluids. I was a third of the way through the script when Nate pulled me from my concentration.


#156

I really liked this - I’m definitely going to find this book (what is the title?) as it seems right up my street! I like that we are pulled straight into action and the shorter sentences really help us feel her urgency to rescue this Nate character - I assume they are romantically involved? I was a little confused at the end with the wording of script and I wondered if it was not real magic at all but some kind of play? I will just have to read on and find out I suppose! Great start. One small suggestion - although I love the shorter use of sentences when she is feeling frantic, perhaps put a slightly longer one in the final paragraph to help create variety as she is getting lost in the magic.
Great job! B xxx

My Extract: (From Under Tennessee Skies)

As the ending bell rang, I thanked God that I wouldn’t have to see him again today. Monday was the Football Players day in the gym so there was no chance of meeting in the hallway. I wouldn’t survive that. When I reached practice, I paused as I saw Abby on the other side of the double doors. I took a deep breath and settled my nerves. I knew I couldn’t be angry at her. It wasn’t her fault that Finch chose her. She - like the gaggle of excited girls crowded around her - didn’t know what we had been. Had . The thought shook me and sharp pangs of jealously clawed at my stomach. Despite my anger, I couldn’t help questioning whose fault Saturday was. And what would have happened if one of us had reached out. If just one of us had fought for it.

“She’s loving that attention,” came a derisive voice from behind me.

“Excuse me?”

I turned to find Savannah. She looked past me and through the doors to the chatting group. She scoffed. “I bet Abby’s there telling all who’ll listen that they went all the way on Saturday night. She’s dumber than a bag of rocks if she thinks people will believe her. By tomorrow, everyone will know they kissed once and then he rejected her.”

Ice-cold waves rushed over me and I tensed. He had rejected her? I swallowed, the hard lump forming in my throat making it difficult.


#157

My grammar checker is not the greatest and I also have a hard time with the English language. :thinking:

Thanks for pointing out some of the run-on sentences. Tenses are indeed my biggest weakness in every writing.

Yes. Those trees aren’t actually trees.

I want to say somewhere along the lines of “taking in the hopelessness.” Do you have any suggestions on how to make it sound less confusing?

A typo. Yikes.


#158

It is very late chapter in my WIP. The first few chapters are posted. It’s called the True Covenant. There is a link in my bio if you want to check it out.

Script in this case was meant in the sense of writing, not a physical script like for a play.

I really like your narration style. You have a very strong voice. I would definitely like to know context. I’m guessing this is YA?


#159

Mainly the pacing in the latter end of the last paragraph. The wording feels a bit off.


#161

Okay, what if you rearranged a few sentences. Then try adding a little bit more description to Dexter’s actions. I like to visual myself in my character’s place. How would you feel about what’s happening?What emotion/thoughts are coursing through you?

I reworked that paragraph. Its simply a suggestion, take it as you will but I still find the story interesting and would enjoy reading more of it.

The bullet flew past her hand ** and holstered gun**. The round embedded itself into the boarded up window. The moments that followed seemed to move in slow motion. Finlay watched everything in front of her and as Dexter approached her uncertainty grew. Unlike the others, he didn’t have a visible weapon. He stopped beside her and she knew she wouldn’t fight back. Dexter hit her across the jaw. The blow knocked her unconscious and she fell to the floor.


#162

I really enjoyed this. It had just enough detail that I was pulled in and wanted to know more. It created a lot of questions for the reader which is always a good think to do. The descriptions fit well and I could feel the nervousness of your main character which is amazing because that is what helps create a connection between the reader and the main character. 9/10

My Extract: Seer and Siren

“Well Valcan is out for the night and I would much rather see him mad tomorrow than in his current state.”

“What you don’t like seeing drunk men spill spirits on themselves and shout at anyone and anything that is in their general vicinity?”

When she walked into her room and took her shirt off to change immediately without thinking twice about it he just leaned on her door frame with his arms crossed. The smirk never left his lips and she heard it in his voice, the image popped inside of her head and she saw the expression without even looking at him.

Without thought, she matched him in the smirk and replied, “Oh yeah because that just shows like a grand ‘ole time. I am really missing out by not going.”

“You sure are, but if that’s the case though, I will bid you a good night.”

In the mood of entertaining her further, he bowed all the way down then came back up with a massive grin when he heard laughter erupt from her. The laugh rang through the halls, causing the attention of an older man passing by. Cyprian moved his body to protect Katerra from the glance for the man. To his reaction she rolled her eyes but had a smile placed firmly on her lips to contradict it, she looked at him closely one more time as she walked over to the doorway. Her eyes wandered from his tanned warm toned skin from places from away from there to his long black hair that rested on his shoulders. She heard the whispers in the background of the nosey neighbors across the hall, so just to amuse them she leaned in close and looked up at the smile that was tried not to burst at the seams with laughter.

“Goodnight you fool,” she laughed when she pushed him away into the hall. The lips cracked and its contents spilled out, along with a few swears and moans of disappointment from across the way.


#163

Thanks. I’ll have to finish it. That’s mainly the beginning.


#164

You could just say ‘taking in the hopelessness’ - that conveys the thought just fine. Sometimes the simpler words are all you need. English has some fancy words, but often even native English speakers don’t know them.

I suspected you were ESL, but you do very well. Grammar checkers aren’t infallible, unfortunately, but they can highlight problem areas so you can work on them. Sometime getting a scene from your head and into words is tricky and adding having to translate is, too, is quite a task. I admire the heck out of you for writing in a language that’s not your native tongue. That can’t be easy. Best of luck with your writing.


#165

I hope I didn’t offend you. I know that getting help is important and I don’t want to offend people by offering suggestions.


#166

No you didn’t. Glad to see you enjoyed it.


#167

I was never in ESL. I think people assumed because I can mimic a perfect North American accent it meant I was good at English, haha.

Thank you very much for the help!


#168

Hello!

Is this a historical piece? The dialogue is very upperclass Victorian. :slight_smile: so…some little grammar things:

Comma after “Well”

I would put a question mark after “What” and start a new sentence or, maybe, just take out the “what.”

Comma after “it.”

“she mimicked his smirk” sounds nicer, although it’s only my opinion.

Comma before and after “yeah.” Is “shows” supposed to be “sounds?”

glance “of” the man.

All of the “froms” in this section might be a tad confusing.

Comma after “Goodnight.” Laughed doesn’t describe speech. Might be best to place a period after “fool” and let “She laughed…” be a separate sentence.

Content wise, it was rather adorable to see these two play and bicker. :slight_smile:


#169

Alright, I’ll admit I was intoxicated while writing this passage. It is left unedited. Go ham on it. Besides grammar, I feel like it’s missing something. If you can figure out what it is missing, please help a girl out! Lol.

From a small piece I’ve gloriously titled The Man in the Middle, a historical LGBT polyamorous romance (first ever attempt at polygamous relationships).

The Man in the Middle - “The Dürrbächler”

Everything was gold. It was all so excruciatingly gold that Lorin had to squint his eyes to view any one detail. The chandeliers were gold, the walls were glittering in gold as were the many dresses of the women at the party. The yellow candlelight flickered too much. The dancers span too quickly. Everything about this room was too bright and chaotic. He hated it.

The gold and white clothed table did little to reveal his sparkling chalice filled with champagne. He grabbed it and span the drink in his grasp, but set it down again. Lorin sighed, wondering why the hell he was even here. It wasn’t like he knew the little tike who’d been baptized. Now, they passed the poor fellow around the room like a little trophy dressed in a flowery gown. A golden haired trophy that cried till his face was almost purple, who wanted nothing more than to be in his bassinet and to sleep. It was eight in the evening and all these loud, strange people were holding him like he was their child.

Like the screaming little boy, Lorin just wanted to leave. He wanted to be back in his little one bedroom apartment with his music and his books and his art, yet here he was taking the fall for his ill mother. It was her friends who baptized their son, but he was here to wish them congratulations and awkwardly hold the boy, who would undoubtedly squirm against him.

Lorin gathered his overcoat and stood with a very discontented look on his face. He proceeded in the direction of the wailing. He felt his conviction waiver the closer he came. As the child and his father came into view, he found himself hiding behind a man. The man stood as quiet and unperturbed as if he didn’t even hear the screaming. Maybe he was used to it.

Lorin looked up at the man as he looked down on him. He raised a brow and then rolled his eyes. Lorin knew he immediately liked this man, whoever he was. He was as bored and desperate to leave as he was.

“Lorin!” called out the boy’s father, smiling nervously and waving him forward.

How dare you call me out, Lorin thought, forcing a tight-lipped smile and emerging behind the other man. “Lord Paxton, I’m terribly sorry my mother couldn’t attend the party, herself. She was so looking forward to seeing Winston’s baptism.”


#170

I think it conveys Lorin’s discomfort well, but I get a bit lost because it has four ‘he’ in a short scene, Lorin, the baby, the mysterious stranger and the baby’s father. Maybe if you comb it a little to reduce the sentences starting with ‘he’, and identify baby and father by names earlier, shifting the mysterious stranger passage to after that intro, it will improve the flow and let you use names. You can say ‘baby Winston’ right away too, ‘a heir to Lord Praxton’ or something to bring in the names a bit earlier as well.


Moss, so beloved by the poets, coated the boulders turning them into fuzzy cubs of an unknown beast. The slim jets of the water seeped through the cracks between the tallest monoliths to finger the green fur on their way down. A cherry tree bent over the pool at its feet to scoop water with its branches. They were already burdened with wet blooms, yet reached in, unsatisfied with the soak of yesterday’s rain. The petals from the earliest, the most eager of its flowers, still dotted the ground with pink.

Xi breathed in the morning mist and breathed out, “It’s pretty here,” sending Zijun into a splatter of giggles, just like those petals lured away into falling by the wind.

“Oh, Xi, you are hopeless…” she turned her back on the waterfall and the cherry tree. To him she presented the side profile, her eyes glued to the wall dividing the Scholar’s Garden in two.