Hi everyone!

So I'm writing a fantasy middle grade book (a random idea popped into my mind and I want to see if it will work tbh). I started writing the first chapter and I need some advice and how the writing style is and if it suits the genre.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1fj5LH7KYIPRHn9PLLnXwbmHjAmMqsSnbEdojLJ323Bg/edit?usp=sharing

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Hi everyone,

I am a big reader, and thinker, and trying to be writer. I posted my favourite piece on Medium and thought to share and get some feedback!

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https://medium.com/@S.Suvorova/the-isle-in-the-mist-chapter-1-1fbc8208db

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For as long as I can remember, I've liked to write. It's a passion of sorts, finding myself writing for hours and hours and hours and then...deleting everything. So I get embarrassed about my writing, who doesn't? But this self-destructive form of writing has been a cycle for me for as long as I can remember. Recently however, my fiance went through some of my writing that I saved and she keeps telling me how wonderful it is. Problem is? She's super biased because...well, she's my fiance. What's she gonna tell me? That it's terrible and to give up? So, here's what I've decided to do. I've decided to post two chapters of my writing on the internet and let you guys be the judges. Unfiltered, unbiased, and something I can refer back to if I ever get down on myself. But...what do I put other there? Everything I write is kinda personal to me, even if it's kinda stupid. So, what's something that I want to write that I don't have that much of an emotional attachment to? A fan-fiction? nay, a Death Note fan-fiction! Well, more of my own take on the Death Note Netflix series that is supposed to come on...eventually. Anyway, read it, don't read it, whatever. But if you do? Please, let me know if I actually have some level of talent when it comes to writing or if I really am just some wannabe hack like m brain says I am. Thank you in advance.

Edit: Something I wanted to say in advance but forgot before posting. I always felt Lights progression from “regular kid” to “justice seeking, god complex Kira” is extremely trivialized. So a big focus I had was having him start out somewhere around rock bottom and working his way up. Knowing using the Notebook is “evil,” but also respecting the fact that without it? He never would have gotten his life together.

Also, you guys realize how many rules the Deathnote had that were never even mentioned? For instance, if you dig deep you can find two very important rules. 1. If a persons name is written incorrectly 3 times, they are now immune to the effects of the Deathnote. 2. Only 7 Death Notes can be active in the human world. If more then 7 Deathnotes are in the human world, only the first 7 will work until one of them is destroyed or returned to the Shinigami realm. HOW DOES THAT NEVER COME UP??? Anyway, figured I’d add this now as last night I was deliriously tired and didn’t want to lose my nerve to post this.

https://www.wattpad.com/story/343289100?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create_story_details&wp_uname=The_Local_Vagabond86&wp_originator=4X4SN8N9Mwf%2B50HWo9qSlcSo%2BzyB2Zp%2BCZoOSKiDltx%2Br4nqcBRF0vqm%2Fk2iaeEYAIMASkZZ8P5wsQVJlgA3sHbxVlp2KVMWOtoHT%2BMRLGzGCV5qdsO0hc9%2FjWLj88xf

Hi everyone!

I'm in the process of writing a middle grade book about a pair of twins who go to the most luxurious boarding school in the world and solve mysteries. It would be amazing if I could have some feedback on chapter 1!

Link:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1lwv4TG4gQl4drcvjOHzvJnfJRifiXCWB/view?usp=sharing

This isnt a formal thread to say the least.

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Might've missed it by a couple months and might've ignored it for a good solid couple of years but happy 10 year anniversary to AmateurWriting may your pieces be brilliant and your grammar, punctuation, sentence structure, composition, formatting and lexicon be much greater than mine.

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the original idea for this subreddit was to help people grow their writing ability at the end of the day. Our main goal was to create a community where people could share their stories and give help to those who wanted it.

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unfortunately this subreddit was created by 2 teenagers 10 years ago who loved writing, while im still surprised i get requests for admission, id love to see this community become a place of acceptance, tolerance, and appreciation. The only goal we truly had was to help people and while i wont be around enough i would love to see that thrive.

ill do what i can but dont expect much.

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Yours Truly,

MysteryBlock

What about power?

Isn’t it the most wonderful of concepts? Power.

POWER.

It rolls right off the tongue, doesn’t it?

Power.

It’s never quite enough.

We get a job; it gives us power. We go to school; it gives us power. We get money; it definitely gives us power.

What? You’re going to say that’s not why we go to school or get a job. We do it because we have to. We do it because we need to survive, to live, to strive. Live for what? Strive towards what? Survive what?

Most of us lead miserable lives. We’re just waking up, stretching midst the piles of shit the world is made out of, and what’s our need? To survive?

Survive what?

Power, that’s what.

Other people’s power.

Their need to identify themselves beyond their mere mortal condition. Their need to be beyond want, fear, doubt.

That’s why you go to school and get a job.

Because it’s a race.

No, nobody cares if you don’t need to run alongside them. That’s not the point.

You need to do it; you need to be there; you need to believe you have a choice. That’s what makes it so exciting, the belief you can win, the smell of your own power, the feel of freedom and escape. Just one more day, just one more dollar, just a bit more effort.

And then?

Well… who knows? We can’t really predict the future.

But imagine if we could. Imagine how it would be to understand exactly where the line should be drawn. When enough would be enough. Not only to see that we finish the race, but how we finish it.

To wake up one morning and immediately feel that today would be different. Today would be the day when we would finally understand who we are, feel that all your efforts would finally come to fruition.

But no. Think further than that. You would wake up a century from that day, and you would get to learn that your struggle has paid off and see the ripples across time. Feel your power propagate and shape the world.

Would you be able to notice it right away?

Of course! What am I even asking here? We all know that feeling, that delicate elation when power comes within our grasp. That yearning.

A morning such as that would be no different from any other, with the exception that from the moment we would open our eyes, we would feel complete.

Effervescent. That’s how I would describe this morning. From the first breath of light, I know that today is the day. Today I will finally understand. What do I need to understand, though? This question has always racked by brain, stuck like a burr somewhere in my subconscious, floating just out of reach like a will-o’-the-wisp.

It has guided me, molding me, fueling me, and now I finally feel as if it is no longer beyond my senses. Today. Today will be special.

I get up at 7.00 AM and take a quick shower. I like to feel the splatter of the warm water over my body as the first thing of the day. The sensation keeps me rooted in my self, digging out the feelings of the previous night. This way, all the thoughts, all the dreams that I had borne throughout the night, get a final chance to sink in. Shedding their light and secrets as I bathe.

I wash my teeth and eat something quickly. It’s not like I’m not a fan of breakfast, it’s that, how can I explain this. Food doesn’t do it for me anymore. I’ve tasted so much, so many times, flavor, well, there’s nothing new there or complex enough to get me started. I eat only what’s necessary.

I love coffee, though. It’s hard to say why, but I do. If we go beyond the taste and its properties, I think there’s something beyond that which draws me in every morning. A freshness, an alertness, it’s like a distant friend’s handshake. It fills you up, makes you smile, even though he doesn’t say much. He’s just there.

Today is a good day.

I get dressed, grey slim-fit dress pants with a light blue shirt, also slim fit. A pair of dark blue Oxfords and a navy blue tunic to wrap everything up, and I’m off.

The moment I step out through the front door, the feeling of completeness evaporates, a sort of anxiousness stepping in. I’m not worried. I knew this would happen eventually, feels somewhat romantic that it does the moment I walk away from the safety of my home.

The dull grey of the lobby stares back at me. It’s such a lovely color, limited, silent.

Normally, a driver would come and pick me up in the morning and take me to the office. Today I decide against it, well, I lie. I’ve decided against this last night, when I canceled the appointment. I feel like walking. I want to soak in the city as much as I can. It felt as if it would be one of my last chances to do this. It reminds me of my childhood honestly. Walking.

I used to go to the central park or the central market square and sit somewhere and stare at people. Well, not stare. I would look at them, study them. Try to understand where they came from and where they went. I liked to imagine that I was a famous detective and looked for little clues about their lives. A piece of lint, a crease, a mark, anything. I didn’t notice them as much as I could, but I did get pretty good at reading people. Understanding them.

Could this have been the understanding that I had been seeking all this time? Hmm, I don’t really see how this fits in. Why would everything change today? No. It’s got to be something else. Something that has touched me, but I’m still to touch it back.

The elevator is rather busy in the morning. Today it jumps up at me from the shadows. I never heard it open. I’m glad I took the time to walk to the office today. It feels symbolic somehow.

The apartment complex is in the city’s heart and its heartbeat makes itself known as soon as the elevator doors open. A healthy buzz of life and need, a static that presses and pulls and squeezes and rips. I love that first glimpse of…

‘What the fuck?!’

Where the fuck am I?!

Everywhere I look, grey figures stare back at me as they step quietly on dark passageways. Higher up, what look like hovering cars hum back and forth incessantly.

A man steps up to me and grabs me by the arm, and pulls me to the side. My body feels limp, so I let myself be pulled quietly. He lets go of my arm and walks away.

I’m dumbfounded.

I don’t understand what’s going on, but that’s not the issue. The real issue is, I don’t feel like needing to understand anymore. As if an existence was wiped out of me in the blink of an eye.

The man took me to the left of the building entrance and I don’t feel the need to move from this spot. It feels safe.

Is this why he dropped me here?

Was I in his way? That’s some really strange behavior on his part. Socially conscious, though. The stream of people does not ebb. It has a steady rhythm to it, soothing and soft.

What should I do? Am I dreaming? This hasn’t happened in quite some time.

I’ve always had a sort of love-hate relationship with my subconscious. It never felt as if it were truly mine and yet, the only moments of care and tenderness I have ever experienced were the ones that it imprinted upon me. It felt as if I had a stern father within me. Sleep was something that always brought me closer to it, dreams especially, training me and nurturing me in the man I grew up to become, but I can’t really remember when I last had a lucid dream.

I’m safe, I know I’m safe.

This world that I’m having the privilege to witness mesmerizes me. Its precision, it feels as a finely tuned recorder, its sounds monotonous and dependent.

What should I do?

Normally, I would’ve turned right at the entrance in order to get to the office. I don’t have anything against this, so I find my place within the stream and step lively.

Hmm.

It feels so strange to fit in here like I do. My steps fall briskly on the metal floorboards and their echoes get sucked in. It’s as if I’m walking on linen. Comforting somehow in its unnatural way.

The world sucks me in fully. I feel completely at peace.

Even though the world in itself is strange and new, it’s not different from the one back home. The buildings are pretty much the same, more organized and neat, softer on the eye, but definitely the same. The passageways are easy to follow and there are guidance markers everywhere.

My office is in the Central Square, and the path towards it is clearly marked. I have no issues getting there. The square is as magnificent as ever. The passageways are running along the edges of an empty square made of a black metal material.

Having learned my lesson, I follow the path to one of the corners of the square and step off. Looking at it closer, it feels as if it’s not metal, but velvet; soft and inviting. An urge to touch the material comes over me and I begin to hunch down when a soft sensation prickles my scalp.

I straighten and reach out an inquiring hand. The prickles flow through the tips of my fingers.

Some sort of force field? Weird.

From within the square, a ball of light gently shoots up, leaving behind a feathery trail. Upon reaching its climax, it floats for a second and then begins hovering with a slight delta. The feathery trail intensifies, sparks of light reach out every which way in unison with the hovering central light. The mute image feels soothing and welcoming.

I explore the view from my corner and find my office building a little way off. It’s bigger than I remember it. Two banners hang from the sides of the building, furnishing the party’s colors: a black and white feather on a red background.

Sublime!

I truly think it is. If only I could see this in real life.

I step on the path once more and approach the building. A large gateway bars my path and I step to the side to take it all in. To the left and right of the gateway, there is a security guard. As I stand there and look, several people approach and use an access pad, swiping a key card against it.

A green light flickers, and the air clears within the entrance. The person steps in and then the following person approaches the access pad.

Once the green light doesn’t show up and one of the guards gently escorts the person to a cubicle to the far left.

When there are no more people waiting to enter, I go to one of the guards.

‘Good morning!’

‘Good morning, Sir.’

‘Would you be able to help me with some questions?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘I work here, but I don’t have my key card. Could you please tell me what I need to do?’

‘Please go to the receptacle to your right and request a temporary pass.’

I look around for the place in question and quickly locate it; a small booth off the beaten trail getting here.

‘Thank you!’

I walk back to the main pathway and approach the booth. Several people had already queued up in front of it. I get in line and take the time to look at my colleagues. I don’t recognize any of them. They’re all wearing slim grey uniforms, zipped up just below the chin. I find the uniforms to be quite soothing to the eye, elegant too.

There are only two more people in front of me and I can see the station in front of me. Although I can’t make out all the details, it seems to be some sort of scanning station.

A crystalline voice makes itself heard: ‘I feel contempt.’ The person at the scanning station picks something up from a slot and makes its way back up the line.

A quiet smile floats lavishly across its face.

The person in front of me steps towards the station and inserts a key card. Ten seconds later I hear that voice again: ‘I feel contempt.’ The person picks up its key card and walks past me.

I stare at the station and step towards it.

Besides the slot to the right, there are two buttons leveled with my chest. One is labeled: “Scan” and the other “Temporary”. I press the one marked with temporary and the slot closes up. A couple seconds later, the “Scan” button lights up. I press it gently and feel a slight tingle in the middle of my forehead.

‘I feel empty,’ makes itself heard. The slot shoots out a key card and I pick it up.

What does that mean?

I make my way towards the front gate and scan my key card. The light doesn’t flicker green. The security guard approaches me and asks me to come with them.

He escorts me to the cubicle located at the left of the building, the same cubicle that he had escorted the other individual towards. Inside the cubicle, a thin woman waits for me. She has close cropped hair and an easygoing smile.

‘Hello!’

‘Hello,’ I reply.

‘State your name, please.’

‘Jason Blumm.’

‘Blumm? Are you sure?’

‘Yes, Mám.’

‘Like the father, do you find that odd?’

‘Why would I find it odd? It’s my name.’

‘Hmm. I see here that your empathy scan registered a deficit. We will now go through reprocessing in order to fix that.’

‘Reprocessing?’

‘Yes. There will be a series of questions meant to identify your mental state. Could you please attach these sensors on each side of your head?’

Why did she find it odd when I mentioned my name?

‘Because you share the name of our nation’s father, Mr. Blumm.’

What the… she can read my mind.

‘Impulses are registered through the sensors I’ve given you and the AI translates those impulses into a basic query. For example, it shows that you’re questioning your identity at the moment. I can only assume this is regarding my earlier reaction to your name.’

‘Fascinating.’

‘Indeed, is this why you’ve been feeling empty, Mr. Blumm. Does sharing the name of our father exact a pressure upon your being?’

‘I’m sorry, but what do you mean through: Father.’

‘Jason Blumm, head of state and creator of the wellness doctrine over a century ago. You were heading towards the administration building, weren’t you?’

‘I was.’

‘What were you intending to do there, Mr. Blumm?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t know where else to go.’

‘I see. And the building’s significance drew you in?’

‘I guess. I work here, if that counts.’

‘What do you do here, Mr. Blumm?’

‘Senior party executive of the Futurist Party.’

‘Hmm. I understand. Mr. Blumm do you know what year this is?’

‘2031?’

‘Aha, that explains it. Reprocessing is complete now, Mr. Blumm.’

‘Is it?’

‘Yes, you’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re most likely suffering from fatigue brought on by the pressure of your name. Like I said, there’s nothing to worry about. You have been reassigned as an archivist in the administrative building, starting tomorrow. Please take these pills and report back to the scanner tomorrow.’

‘But…’

‘Here’s your new access key. Now, Mr. Blumm, the pills, should take effect immediately. Do you need help getting home?’

‘No. Thank you,’ and I hand her the sensors. She tucks them away and dismisses me with a smile.

She is right. The pills kick in as soon as I leave the cubicle. My thoughts get muddied, but they don’t impede my judgment or motor skills. The light show is still playing in the center of the square. Its velvety appearance as soothing as before, yet not as enticing. I wait for the feeling to pass and follow the pathways towards my apartment.

I feel overwhelmed.

I spend the rest of my day caught in a sort of reverie. I feel the presence of this place and the rightness of it. Is this the future that I seek, its understanding, its safety?

Why would I not?!

Outside my window I see the flow of life as it grinds to a halt in the evening, flickers of light shooting up from everywhere around the city shortly after. Life knows a peace and tranquility here hard to understand.

The lack of need, of want. Could this be the future I imagined? Could I be this blessed?

I fall asleep cradling these dear thoughts in my mind, and they nurture my sleep.

Next day, I show up at the receptacle outside the administration building. I insert the access key in its designated slot and press the “Scan” button. The tingle feels familiar now, and a crystalline voice welcomes me into its world.

I am content.

Are you?!

No?

Could’ve fooled me.

Peace.

Hello, my name is Aeralyn and I started writing a novel recently . I want to hear peoples thoughts on a roughly 8700 page short story in regards to one of the characters named Ermine a kitsune with her past. I put it into a google doc for easier reading either way I hope you enjoy reading it

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1PtvaKnyI01VVi3tjvXpIfC04wK0uOZ3oGm9UXSTBjDw

Bittersweet Exchange

Lethargic, dense grey clouds cast their shadows along the freezing ground,

Listlessly traveling through empyrean routes to which they are bound.

The silence of Winter strolled between bare trees, solemnly whispering,

Apathetic frigidity nipping along His heels before its continued whimpering

Cruel corrosion of time withered away Nature’s essence in His wake,

His lonely footfalls on the frozen earth extenuating the prolonged ache.

A familiar delicate glow caught His glacial gaze, a small violet primrose,

A symbol of sanguine promises, nestled safely in snowy meadows

He knelt, gently running His thumb over its delicate petals, along its stem

Sincere admiration of its perseverance against which that would condemn

He gently lifted the flower up, moving to pluck it from the very surface’s embrace,

In lieu of roots, She arose. A picturesque beauty in all of Her flowered grace

Their hearts beat in a synchronized ballet as their bodies gently intertwined,

A lover’s embrace as gentle as the breeze, destined meeting at last aligned

His frigid lips pressed against hers, an amorous display of veneration

The anticipated moment in time frozen with passion and adoration

His knees wobbled and buckled, she lowered him to the beckoning earth

His tired essence flickered as hers gained strength, time’s rebirth

Her warm fingers brushed wisps of hair from His cold, frosty face

He took Her delicate hand and brought it to His lips, a soft embrace

“Until we meet again, my sweet” were the first and last words He breathed

As His soul released, at peace with the mere sight of Her, and She grieved

Destined they were to share this single moment of peace, the Seasons

Barely brushing past each other in their exchange, left again to dreaming

She wiped her tears and began Her journey, Her head with a crown adorned

But where She strode, life flourished, flowers sprouted.. Spring has returned

What am I?

What could be, what is, what was. The things I am and am not. The ships log of a story poorly translated. Ever lost amongst the sea in its storm.

Even talking In dramatic prose is a sign An unstable fool, no truer words come to mind Coerced into walking along the balance line Best and insufficient choices, at all times

Standing still: impossible from the start. Always paddling away from looming dark A million lifeboats but none right for me. Each one fatally cracked, from what I see.

So on my own, I swim on. Never fully trusting, due to proof too strong. Building a plan to stay afloat While data corrupts and my worries grow.

There is no more, this is what I feel as me. I have no answers, just a desperate plea: I wish to be rescued, but can’t say how or why. If you know, convince me, and please don’t lie…

Hi, I am an amateur writer who has been writing many books over the years, though never completed any or had any published, mainly due to family life taking over. I am currently writing a collection of short stories however I would love to get some feedback on a couple of them. Would there be anyone who here who would be happy to give me some feedback?

CALLING ALL CREATIVE WRITERS...

ShtoryTime's 2nd annual "Frosty Fables” Short-Story Writing Contest is now underway, with only 2 days left to register before we stuff your stockings (emails) with this year's writing prompts on Thursday, Dec 23rd.

Contestants are given one week to create a 1,000-word (or fewer) short story, based on a unique set of seasonally-inspired prompts. The top 3 winning “shtories” (short stories) will be announced, published, and compensated on New Year's Day!

Entrance fee for registration prior to 6 PM on Dec 23rd is $10 (with $7.50 of each entry going toward prize money, and $2.50 toward contest maintenance). Shtories must be submitted before 6 PM on Dec 30th. Writers retain all rights to their submissions.

❄️ Visit www.shtorytime.com to learn more and register.

🏆 Visit www.shtorytime.com/frostyfables2020 to read last year’s winning shtories

🗣 Spread the word among creative writers—the more contestants, the bigger the cash prizes! 💰

Eyes, hair, the features, that smile, gAh I get lost in it all.

What really gets me is your voice, it envelopes me. Like walking past a bath and body works, or um like a body of water- an Ocean! Yeah, that’s more poetic I think.

There’s so much of, well, You. Personally, life, school, work, passions, drive, almost like I’m drowning in the melodic but assertive song. My senses over flowed. I feel like my lungs are filling with you.

I inhale, just trying to simply breath and immediately choke. I try to walk away- I mean swim away but those soft hands drag me back down. Back to those automatic electric doors.

I fight and kick and scream, just to get you out.

I want to go in, I promise. I’m simply just afraid of how deep this goes. I’ve never gone without air for very long.

It’s all to much to soon, I just need to leave. But I don’t. I can’t. You’ve got me now, This I’m sure of.

I willingly dive head first, into a sea of pumpkin spice and ever forest green. I don’t dare hold my breath, cause I know you’d just take it anyway.

After all, you are my candle siren.

Hey, I'm a young writer and I started writing my first book. So far I've written 6 chapters and most of them get to 2000 words. Should I be trying to reach a higher number of words for a chapter or should is this a fine number for now?

I'm starting a Discord server for amateur writers to come together and talk about writing and support each other and all that stuff. If you wanna join tell add me on discord, soggydeadwolf#5326. There's 2 other people interested other than me.

So for a nerdy sorta silly role play thing imagine its like 17th century Britain and you want to talk about writing and such and so you go meet your other writer friends at the coffee shop across the street from campus. That's the general goal of a discord server I made, Bad At Naming Things. Its named that because despite my dreams of writing books as a profession I am awful at naming or labeling basically everything. (as evident by the title of this) So I'm just here because I do not know how discord works and the only other place I know to find people interested in niche topics is Reddit. And I'm also bad at getting to the point. I don't know how discord servers work even because I started "using it" 2 weeks ago and I put using it in quotes because the only server I am in is inactive. So yeah if you feel like you would want to be a part of a discord server where we all rant and rave about writing and such feel free to let me know and if it more than one person then I'll figure out how to add people to servers. And also if you are the one person that is interested just talk to me about writing please my friends are sick of me writing paragraphs about my writing process and how I feel about Monster by Michael Grant.

Yours in sincerity, soggydeadwolf.

If you like love and heartbreak Spanish poems, Un año sin ti is the perfect book. This collection of poems touches the heart of everyone who reads it. It recounts the stages that one experiences after a failed love. I recommend it to everyone.

CALLING ALL CREATIVE WRITERS...

ShtoryTime's second annual "TurkeyTime” Short-Story Writing Contest is now underway, with only 3 days left to register before we start (Thanks)giving out the writing prompts on Tuesday, Nov 16th.

Participating writers are given up to one week to create a 1,000-word (or fewer) short story, based on a unique set of seasonally-inspired prompts. The top 3 winning “shtories” will be announced, published, and compensated (via Venmo, Zelle, PayPal, or CashApp) on Thanksgiving Day!

🦃 Visit www.shtorytime.com to learn more and register.

🏆 Visit www.shtorytime.com/turkeytime2020 to read last year’s “prize turkeys” (winning shtories)

🗣 Spread the word among creative writers—the more contestants, the bigger the cash prizes! 💰

The year is 1872. Outside of the arid desert town of Thunders Peak, Foursquaria, a tall, lithe figure staggers drunkenly through the empty dunes with no real sense of direction. He is a wanderer, the Eternal Wayfarer who in a past life was known as Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States. After dying in one of the most infamous assassinations in American history, he found himself being given a second chance as his true ascended self: the king of the Norse pantheon of gods, Odin. Unfortunately, the cost of a fresh start was beginning to circle around him like the vultures that had been following since he found his was into the hot sandy climate.

“She called me a demon, a cruel hoax by the devil himself.

She ran from me in that moment, my very heart expelled.

Who am I now?

A mystery of the ages

A man left living aimlessly ageless like a figure lost to the pages of a storybook…”

Although his speech was slurred, he still effortlessly and so eloquently flowed through the pain-filled poems that clouded his mind.

“The light of my life snatched by the cold hook of the cruelest crook;

Fate.

The chance I took to keep the state of a love that couldn’t bare to gaze–”  

A steely cold “clik” followed by a cold metal ring pressed into the base of his skull broke his stream of consciousness and caused the weary godling to stop in his tracks. 

“You’d better reach fer th’ sky if’n ya don’t wanna be meetin’ yer maker today, ya roostered saddle bum! Who are ya and why’re ya trespassin’ in Thirteen Pistols’ territory?” The thick, wet smack of a wet glob of tobacco-flavored spit splattering into the hot sand punctuated the interrogation quite succinctly. The gruff voice barking at him didn’t phase the inebriated ex-president in the slightest, but the overwhelming mixed stench of the spit and the unwashed man behind him made him cringe just a little. He didn’t know if he’d ever get used to his new enhanced senses, but he did know he wasn’t about to start taking guff from any coward who attacks a man from behind. 

“Son, I’ve stared into the eyes of Death herself. Lost it all and even traveled to the gates of Hel,” In an instant, Odin’s left eye flared with a fiery passion and his knuckles went white with how hard he was clenching his fists. He made a lightspeed about face, turning to face his assailant faster than the naked eye could track as a visible aura of red pure rage engulfed his frame. 

What he didn’t expect to see staring back at him were the barrels of 26 pistols, all aimed directly for his head except for a pair that were aimed at his legs.

“He’s not going to ask again. Who are you and what are you doing wandering through our territory?” A tall, darker-skinned woman strolled closer to Odin so she could start circling him, scoping him out to assess his threat level. 

“I… Know not how to answer that query. A president or a god most weary?” Odin wasn’t lying, he had been walking for a few weeks with no rest, making his way from the east coast deep into the western half of the country he one led looking and smelling like a walking distillery rather than a president or a god. With the merciless sun beating down on him and the last bit of his considerable godly power dwindling towards its bare minimum, he collapsed onto the blazing red desert sands..

“Ah hell, I guess the sun beat ‘im down. Either that or–”

“Or he got so scared he fainted!”

“Either way, doesn’t matter. Doc, get him into a tent to cool off and rest up. Oh, and don’t forget to run his pockets for anything dangerous or interestin’ to report. Everyone else, let’s get back to preppin’ for the supply run.”

In his unconscious state, Odin’s mind drifted to approximately seven years ago in a courtroom somewhere beyond the realm of the physical and severed from time itself. Rubbing the back of his head and still very disoriented from the effects of taking a bullet to the dome, he tries to cope with his newfound godhood and the scene before him. 

“You all may be seated in the presence of the honorable Judge Kal-Mondu. Mister… Lincoln. Ah, I see you have quite an impressive little resume here. Even pre-transcendence, you’ve staked quite a mighty claim to fame for yourself! They informed you of why you’re in this specific courtroom today, correct?” The powerful, booming voice wasn’t echoing through the nearly empty golden courtroom. Instead it was beaming directly into the minds of the present parties from a sight unlike anything he had seen in his 56 years under the name of Abraham Lincoln.

Pacing around a large floating circular platform where the judges bench would normally be was a miniature version of a fully grown moose wearing a powdered wig and a black judge’s robe draped across the first half of its body. Other than the fact that he stood only about one-third of a meter tall with antlers radiating a faintly glowing, crackling golden energy that almost seemed to be faintly singing a song unlike anything Earth was capable of producing, the moose seemed completely like an ordinary moose. 

There’s an awkwardly lengthy silence as Abe, normally a gifted orator finds himself at a loss for words. It didn’t happen often, but all he could seem to do was stare blankly at the tiny moose that was telepathically administering the proceedings in this most odd courtroom. 

“Mister Lincoln? Did Death and your appointed Purgattorney inform you of the responsibility you’re about to undertake? You’ve been recognized as worthy of reclaiming your godly title as Odin, the All-father of the Norse pantheon of gods.”

Ta’thes, the sharp-dressed being appointed to represent Abe elbowed him in the ribs with just enough force to break him out of his stupor.

“I’m sorry, your… Honor. Yes, however I’m still not certain on many of the details,” he said as he rubbed his sore ribs, “So apparently I was Odin, ruler of the gods… In a past life? And I’ve lived a couple of lives since then? And how did Odin die? I’m not very caught up on my mythologies of the ancient peoples of my world.”

“It has always been you, Mister Lincoln. There was an… Incident to say the least, which is almost more than I’m at liberty to say by decree of the Cosmic Elders but you have lived approximately lived through 16 lifetimes after your death as Odin including your current Lincoln persona.”

Sixteen times he had been brought back from the grave, but as an entirely different person? Or had he always been his current self just with a different name? He had to know, and a courtroom of the damned seemed like the best place to get his answers.

“I’m sorry, sixteen times? Is there, perhaps, a way I could… See into my past selves? I honestly just need to see it for myself, your honor. Not that I doubt you’re telling me the truth, but…”

“That’s actually part of the process for reclaiming your divinity, Mister Lincoln. All we need is the documents which give your consent. Ta’thes?”

“Of course, your honor! And might I say, that wig is really bringing out the shine in your antlers!” Ta’thes teleported up to the bench with the documents Abe had hastily signed with a quick glance over of the details. The judge skimmed through the pages without lifting a finger, nodding and muttering contentedly.

“Good, everything seems to be in order! I am however going to need you to sign this additional clause that just states that if anything… Unsavory should happen, you will forfeit your godly power and resign yourself to the fate that would normally be assigned to Abraham Lincoln,” Kal-Mondu’s antlers glowed bright with golden energy as he presented one last document in front of Abe out of thin air. “To be fair, that’s not a bad fate in the slightest. I’m pretty sure you’d go to-“

A loud static crackling cut off the judge’s telepathic statement, which jarred Abe, but brought a smile to Ta’thes’ face.

“I-I’m sorry, what? I couldn’t hear you, it cut out with a… Well I don’t know what that was, frankly.”

“Ah, I forgot about the Feedback. It’s been a loooong time since we’ve done one of these proceedings. Don’t worry about it, young mortal,” Kal-Mondu had a little chuckle as Abe tried to read the page in front of him, but was clearly struggling. “You’ll also find that the specifics of what can cost you your holy essence are also blurred out. It’s entirely for your safety and the safety of the known universe.”

“Trust me, you’d have to royally screw up on a massive scale to get knocked back down to mortal status. Have a little faith, I wouldn’t have you sign anything detrimental to your soul. I’m your personal Purgattorney, after all. I’ll be here to help you out on your journey, think of me as more of a… Spiritual advisor!” Ta’thes whispered into Abe’s ear before offering his hand to shake. Abe had always fancied himself a good judge of character and the look of supreme confidence and the bright, warm energy he felt from Ta’thes as he extended his hand sealed the deal for Abe. He was ready to get started.

“Let us proceed!” The handshake was as strong as the stroke of the flaming feathered pen Abe used to sign his name as boldly as John Hancock on the final document standing between him and all the information he never knew he needed until now.

“Great, everything’s in order! Now, Mister Lincoln… Close your eyes. Take a few deep breaths. This is going to be an intense experience.”

Within seconds, Abe felt his very soul being tugged backwards, through the chair he was sitting in, down through the floor, and through the void of space. He was accelerating faster and faster, but the ride was so smooth, he barely felt like he was moving at all. At first, all was silent, but then he awoke to the sounds of his younger brothers Vili and Ve fighting the roaring, snarling father of the Frost giants, Ymir in the endless void of space. As soon as he joins in the battle, he’s flung forward, finding himself and his brothers finishing up the creation of the mortal world with the giant’s remains and creating the first humans. It’s a proud moment for Odin… Or was it Abe?

In his infinite pursuit for knowledge for all, he went through the agonizing process of stabbing himself with his spear and hanging himself from Yggdrasil, the World Tree for nine days to gain the deep knowledge of runes, magic, and other secrets of the universe. Abe had never felt too stubborn to ask for help before, but as he clung in the balance between life and death, he refused all attempts to aid him. He had to prove his worth and do it himself. Once it was over, he could feel the wisdom coursing through his very being, but it was never enough. To this end, he gave his eye to the ancient entity Mimir to drink of the very same well that had shown him the meaning and form of the runes. Many may have thought him reckless, but nobody could ever say Odin wasn’t one of the wisest beings in all of creation.

Then he found himself sitting in a throne as he proudly looked over a land of gold and untold beauty that was both foreign and oddly comforting. It was Asgard, home of the gods. His home. He saw the births of all five of his sons: Thor, Baldr, Hodr, Vidar and Vali. His friends and family in this heavenly city were his true pride and joy. Their adventures, their trials, their failures. But suddenly, a most unpleasant thought crept into his mostly joyous revisiting of his past.

Thor had just received his trusty hammer, Mjolnir and was giving it a few test throws. Frigg, his wife, smiled down at Odin, trying to comfort him as his least favored immortal handed him a golden spear of the finest craftsmanship know to man or god alike. It was Loki who was doling out the gifts, no doubt trying to win over the favor of the gods once more after some horrible prank gone wrong. The very thought of Loki brought forth a searing, blinding, all-encompassing rage that Abe had never felt before. Odin, on the other hand, was all too familiar with it.

“What have you done this time, Loki?” Odin asked as he inspected the perfect spear inscribed with the name “Gungnir” in runes. Odin could feel it’s power just by holding it. He had deciphered that it would never miss its intended target and that it could pierce the very heavens if that was his wish. The trickster was obviously trying to cover up for something seriously wicked this time.

“Ah, well… It’s nothing too terrible, most beneficent All-Father… I may have tried to create life in the same way that you create. A humble homage to your most skilled use of magic, really.”

“What. Did. You. DO???” Abe could feel something strange in the air. Something was seriously wrong.

Before Loki could answer for himself, the entire front wall of the throne room was blown apart with enough force for all but the strongest of the beings in attendance to be blown back. Standing before the royal court were three massive beings. Odin knew these uninvited guests very well. The first was a wolf with a bloodlust in its eyes unmatched by anything he’d ever seen before on any of the thousands of battlefields he’d been on or overseen. The second was a serpent longer than the naked eye could measure with fangs that dripped an acidic venom that could eat through the very foundation of Asgard. And lastly was a goddess of immense beauty… Partially at least. Half of her face was bloated and blue, almost like a corpse found at sea. Although she seemed almost bored with this little invasion, she was still nonetheless, a threat.

“You fool,” Odin spat in Loki’s direction before starting to bark orders to the other gods as only a true leader could, “Thor, Baldr, Heimdall! Take care of the wolf. Bind him if you must and keep away from his maw! Tyr, help me get rid of the serpent! Frigg, Idun, make sure nobody gets touched by that goddess. Don’t touch her yourself, she’ll be the death of us all if she gets past you two!”

Everyone jumped into action almost immediately. Thor launched his hammer into the wolf, called Fenrir, with enough force to knock him back out of the royal hall. As he and the other gods ran past, trying to avoid the snapping fangs of the serpent, called Jormungandr, Odin was already in the action. He had teleported to the end of the monstrous reptile so that he could stab his spear through the tip of its tail with a piercing strike charged with all of the paralyzing magic he could summon. The snake started flailing and writhing wildly enough to cause powerful earthquakes, making it hard for Tyr to get a clear shot at its head with his sword. Just as he was about to connect, however, Fenrir came out of nowhere. Though he had golden ropes around him, they hadn’t had a chance to tie him properly before he leapt over them to bite Tyr’s sword-wielding hand clean from his wrist.

“NOOOO!!!” Odin screamed as he used every ounce of his godly might to cast the serpent down to Midgard. His mind raced as fast as his instant movement back to his fallen friend. He had seen this before and tried to do everything in his power to stop it, but the universe has a way of getting what it wants.

With Tyr’s hand gone, Hel, the quiet goddess broke her silence as Odin approached, “You know what this means, All-Father. Events have been set in motion that cannot be undone. If you don’t want everyone here to die an early death, I suggest you give me what I am owed.” She had both arms raised, and in her hands she held the wrists of both Idun and Frigg. She was slowly draining their life energies from them. Odin knew she was the goddess of death, she would eventually be the end of all of them.

“Take your dominion, foul witch. Just leave my family and I to grieve and recover.” Odin waved a hand and opened a portal to a plane of existence he had access to, but rarely ever visited: The realm of the dead. As she stepped inside, Hel let out a wicked, hollow cackle that chilled Odin to his very core.

Thor had finally secured the savage beast with a mess of the finest Dwarven forged chains. Fenrir was locked up in the deepest, darkest cave they could find, hidden far away from the other realms to hopefully never bother the gods again. Odin knew that was a hope that he couldn’t hold out for. He had seen Ragnarok and the gears had already been put into motion.

All of a sudden, he was back in the courtroom of Kal-Mondu, hyperventilating from the strenuous nature of living thorough a multiple thousands of years in a matter of seconds. And he hadn’t even finished the story as far as he could tell.

“Wow, you never get used to how fast the physical changes take place when you gods start getting your memories back. The rest will start slowly spilling into your memory as you keep cultivating your divine energy with meditation and practicing using your gifts and skills. There are only a few rules that have to be followed. No starting a religion based around yourself. No killing mortals without reason. There are certain exceptions, of course, but Ta’thes will be in charge of making sure you know before you do anything that could get you in trouble,” Abe was still trying to get his bearings when a portal opened up in front of him that he instinctively knew would take him back to Earth. He could “see” information about everything in front of him with his newfound godly sight and senses. It was almost too much for him, but he eventually found himself breathing rhythmically, albeit against his will at first. “It’s going to be okay, Odin. Just remember to breathe and it’ll all work itself out. Now if you would be so kind, please step through this portal. You’ll find yourself back on Earth seven years after your death, in the year 1872. It sounds arbitrary, but there’s a reason to it. Oh, and don’t forget your personal effects!”

In a flash of golden light, Abe was now holding a bag containing a golden-hued wooden rod of about (12 inches) which he knew to be Gungnir in its dormant state, a flask full of the Mead of Poetry, an eyepatch, a rune-covered pipe made of pure silver, and a bag full of a set of runestones he had obtained from the Norns themselves that could help him predict the future with unwavering certainty.

“And remember, if you have any questions about anything at all, call out to Ta’thes and he’ll assist you with anything he’s LEGALLY allowed to. Now get going, you’ve got a new life to live!” With that final note, he was pushed by an invisible force into back into the world he had been dead to just a few short hours, rather years, ago.

Odin bolted upright, panting and sweating profusely in an itchy cot. The temperature had decreased dramatically from when he was last awake, and upon taking stock of his surroundings, he found himself being watched from a desk by a man in a white ten-gallon hat with a red

Caduceus embossed on the front of it.

“Ahh, yer up! I was beginning to think you might’ve died on us. Not a pulse to be found as far as I could see. But your breathing was there, so I just figgered you needed to sleep it off. The boss is expecting you, so just make your way out towards the campfire out on your left.”

“Much thanks, doctor. I assume he awaits with my effects?”

“Indeed he does. He’s taken quite the interest in you. Don’t keep him waiting, now. I’d escort you, but I’ve got to finish pennin’ this here letter to my dear ol’ maw.”

“Odin got a strange flash of an image as the man spoke of his mother. She was sick, on her deathbed and reading his letters brought a genuine smile to her face right as she passed on.”

“You alright there, pardner? You look like ye just saw a ghost er somethin’.”

“What is your name, good sir?”

“Well everyone calls me Doc Thurgood, but why does that–“

“Jeremiah Thurgood, I don’t know how to tell you this, but your mother is in a rough condition. She hasn’t much time left, but your letters are one of her only sources of joy. I know not where you hail from, but… You should go back to see her at once. Post your notice of arrival and head out with the utmost haste.”

All of the color had faded from the doctor’s face at hearing this. He’d known his mother was constantly fighting for her health, it was part of the reason he had set out for California in the first place all those months ago, but to hear from this lanky stranger they’d picked up in the desert heat that she was about to pass… He didn’t know what to make of it. The dead serious look painting Odin’s face told him he wasn’t joking, and he felt trusting of him almost instinctually.

“T-thank ya stranger, I will make the arrangements right away.”

Without another word, Odin nodded and headed out of the tent into the chilly desert night. A sharp wind cut him to his bones, causing a shiver in his godly form that he couldn’t recall ever feeling in his past life, even in combat atop the snowy peaks of Jotunheim. He clearly wasn’t at full strength, and getting those apples would be the only way he’d ever truly feel like himself.

He had no troubles finding his way to the campfire where he saw a dozen silhouettes eating and relaxing in the light of the roaring fire. He could see the genuine camaraderie between this group of wildly different characters, and a tear rolled down his cheek as the memories of those cheerful banquets in Asgard’s golden halls began to flood back to him.

“You’re lookin’ more than a little famished, son of Borr. Perhaps I could interest you in a bite?” a familiar voice caused the blood pumping through Odin’s veins to run as cold as the nights in Jotunheim.

“Loki. You shall not escape my wrath this time!” Odin turned expecting to see his oldest foe and as such, had readied himself to attack, pivoting with every intention to smite with all of his remaining godly might. However, the statuesque woman from earlier chomping into a golden apple brought his swing to a screeching halt.

“You can go ahead and kill me, but there are 12 highly skilled marksmen that would follow you to the ends of the Earth, and you are quickly losing steam. I can help. I can lead you to the apples and you can continue living your immortal, righteous little life. But I have demands, ‘All-Father’.”

Odin’s brow furrowed as he took a long pause to contemplate if he was falling for another trick. His eye darted back and forth, trying to find the truth in Loki’s unwavering stare. His search turned up neither truth nor deception, which worried him far more than he was expecting.

“Better alive and betrayed than dead for good, I guess. Name your price…”

• In an instant, it all disappears. The warmth decays, as the colors they Gray. Isolation sets in, pain and horror begin.
• With ice spreading quickly the end nears swiftly. As senses fade, in vain I strain, to get your attention, to end this affliction. A burning addiction, to yearning and missing.
• It’s said that Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but no longer do I wonder. Your absence leaves a hollow chest, expanding with labored breathe. A ceasing pulse preceding a ride in a hearse.The curtains they close and so ends the show. All that remains, a lone ghost that loved you till his death

I have my protag stuck in two contradictory webs of lies from two battling masterminds.

They're a civilian, who flirted with a wrong person. The person get shot and left him with an only access to a macguffin both of the masterminds want. Also, they're in an apocalypse, and both of masterminds say that they're trying to prevent it, and to do that they need the macguffin, and if the main character gives it to the other one, it will make the apocalypse worse. Protag's task is to decipher what happened between them and the person he flirted with, and decide who's lying.

The apocalypse is that everybody becomes their fursona. There's also deadly virus and the world's government's involved.

(And no, it's not shitpost. Not entirely, at least)

CALLING ALL CREATIVE WRITERS...

ShtoryTime's second annual "EEEEK! Quick & Creepy Writing Contest" is now underway, with only 2 days left to register before the shpoOoOoky writing prompts are sent out on Oct. 21st...

Writers are given up to one week to create a 1,000-word (or fewer) short story, based on a unique set of prompts. The top 3 winning shtories will be announced, published, and compensated (by CashApp, PayPal, or Venmo) on HalloweEeEen!

🎃 Visit www.shtorytime.com to learn more and register.

👻 Visit www.shtorytime.com/eeek2020 to read last year’s "EEEEK!" winners.

💰 And by all means: SPREAD THE WORD! (The more contestants, the bigger the cash prizes!)

Good luck!

Heyo! Nothing big. She has soul-manipulation powers and can see the dead. By soul-manipulation, she can take someone's soul and put it into another object

I'm tossing up using Reaper, but I want something less murder-y

there's only two criteria

1. Has to relate to her soul manipulation in some way
2. Has to be a noun

I am a twenty one year old introvert Californian. I have dabbled in writing ever since the fourth grade, but it wasn't until recently that I decided to make a career out of it. I just finished my first short story, and was wondering what are ways to build a following as a writer?

I have recently started to write and these are the things that concern me about descriptions, a potential to which I lack.

How to practise descriptive writing?

Where to start?

What are some of the ways you use to improve your descriptive writing?

For writers looking to get published! F(r)iction’s Fall 2021 contest is open for submissions until October 29th! Categories include short stories (1,000-7,500 words), flash fiction (up to 1,000 words), and poetry (up to 3 pages per poem). We're seeking writing that pushes boundaries and features complex characters and strong narratives.

Our guest judges for this contest season are Patrick Rothfuss, K-Ming Chang, and Laura Da’. Submit your work to F(r)iction for the opportunity to win up to $1,600 in prizes!

For more information, visit https://frictionlit.org/contests/

The workday was over, and it was accompanied by a light rainstorm at dusk. The rain gurgled down old metal gutters flooding the streets while raindrops played a light beat against the panes. Marius always enjoyed the summer rains and vacated streets, it let him feel as if he was the only one here for a moment. His musing was cut short as the light rainstorm was interrupted by an unexpected wind. The chill caused him to pull his overcoat tighter and grip his bowler hat for fear of it flying off. He quickened his pace to close the distance to the door of his apartment.

Marius had been out of town the last two days writing a story for a summer festival on one of the small towns that surrounded Evervale. It was a fluff piece, but it was always nice to get an excuse to leave the office for a bit. Now he was headed home to a modest townhouse located in the middle of Downing street. A simple two-story affair that was big enough for a bachelor to stretch out and enjoy himself without too much unused space. Many of his colleagues at the paper he wrote for lived closer to the city center, while he preferred the longer walk to the outskirts as it gave him time to reflect on the day. He considered himself lucky as on good days he could see clear to the forests edge.

He reached his door and let himself in. As he let himself in, he noticed that the familiar howling of Mr. Tibbles, his cat, did not greet him. Lighting a candle, sadly, did not reveal Mr. Tibbles whereabouts. The cat must be carousing the neighborhood, he though, he is still nearby, I will make sure I leave food out for him. Making his way to the kitchen to grab a light dinner he was greeted by an unexpected sight. In the flickering glow of the candlelight two figures could be seen at his dining table. Mr. Tibbles purred at the figure entering the kitchen but otherwise made no effort to leave the unknown guest at the table. As Marius moved closer recognition came over him.

“Anton!? Is that you?” asked Marius. Once he was sure of the visitor’s identity, he began lighting brightening up the space. While unexpected this was still a welcome surprise. He had not seen from his old friend for a few weeks. The last he heard they were getting closer to a working prototype.

“So, what’s ne…? Freezing in midsentence as he turned back around to properly greet his old friend. Instead, he was met with a sight that left him speechless. The mess before him was indeed his old friend but he looked as if he had a run in with bonfire while being dragged through town by a horse. “Antonidus…what happened, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Antonidus raised his head and stare at Marius, locking eyes. Unblinking for the longest of moments before finally relaxing taking in a deep breath. “I don’t know, I don’t think so…” Antonidus replied with Marius now making out the tear stains covered his face. Marius rushed to a room and returned with a blanket for Antonidus. He then placed a cold tea next to him with a wet rag.

“Have you eaten?” asked Marius thinking of a way to bring his friend out of shock, “would you like to tell me about what happened while I make us some soup?” A moment of silence followed before Antonidus responded.

“yeah, that would be nice”

What followed was more silence only occasionally broken as shuffled through the cupboard for spice or the bang of pots and pans. All the while Marius worried about Antonidus.

“You know my mother always had a soup she would make when us kids needed a pick me up. She told me she learned it from her mother and made it often while serving on the front lines. She said it always made the bad things a little bit more bearable. What you say to that?”

“sounds great” replied Antonidus as he placed the empty mug down and started using the rag to clean up.

Once the quick soup was made Marius split it up into two bowls and sat across from Antonidus. Antonidus greedily accepted his hurried meal and devoured it in only a few mouthfuls. Only once he was finished eating did he really start opening to Marius.

“It worked.”

“The device you and Devlin were working on?”

“Yes, we finally made a working prototype but …” he trailed off for moment.

“But what? You look rough buddy, what happened?”

“I think Devlin is dead” he stared straight at Marius while he spoke. Marius could see that he was on the verge of tears again.

“why do think that?” asked Marius trying to quickly distract his friend and get him to continue.

“Do you know where the lab was?”

“Yes, is it still in the basement of the old Alchemy building, the one they use mainly for storage nowadays?”

“Yeah, we got a prototype and it worked! something went wrong though because next thing I remember was a massive fireball. I thought I was dead; I saw it engulf Devlin!” his eyes began to look wilder as he described the accident. “I thought I was dead,” he spoke softly now, “instead I woke up a few hours later in an alley off turner street. I made my way back to the lab and saw the wreckage. There were constables and staff looking through the rubble. Merryll was there too directing everything. He had my notebook with him. I walked up to him and then the strangest thing happened, he started calling for the guards to arrest me, said I was the one that fire-bombed the building and killed Devlin. I panicked and ran. I do not know when I lost them, but I came here. I’m so tired. I’m sorry.” Mr. Tibbles had not left Antonidus’s side and started purring when he began petting him. “Thank you for the tea”

“you’re welcome and it’s alright, you have been through a lot today,” Marius paused for a moment while he processed all this. Devlin and Antonidus went way back and the fact that Devlin was dead and Marius was being blamed felt overwhelming. Without thinking he touched his half-elven ears, “it is easy to forget how much we are hated sometimes, those of us not pure elves. What are you going to do?”

Antonidus stared into space while he spoke, “I want to clear my name and find out why Merryll accused me of that. Next, I want to get our notebooks back, at least one of them. Both of those seem next to impossible right now.” He looked back at Marius, “We were this close, we got it to work”

“I’m sorry”

“I have a friend farther out in the outskirts, I think I will see if I can stay there for a few days while I figure out what I am going to do next.”. He made to get up from the table, a second wind apparent had taken hold. As he made his way to the front door he was stopped by Marius.

“Wait, let me help you out a little bit.” Marius raised his hand and spoke a few arcane words. His hand began to become transparent, see-through and he raised two fingers to touch Antonidus’s forehead. A wave of cool air descended over him and he watched as at first his limbs and then his whole body disappeared. “Besides, it is time for Mr. Tibbles to use the restroom.” Marius made his way to front door and brought his cat outside. He left the door open and decided to sit on stoop and watch the rain for bit. A moment later small splashes in the walkway could be seen as an invisible Antonidus made his way into the night.

The workspace was a converted classroom located in the basement of the university. It had been neglected for decades until a pair of researchers had approached the board looking to move their operations into it. The school had been glad to have someone takeover upkeep for a while, even if it was for an eccentric and derided project.

The lab was a cluttered space with old desks and chairs, piled high in the corners to make way for the gargantuan device in the center. Gauges, pipes and wires encased this tower and snaked their way across its surface; culminating in two rods mounted on either side. It was testament to many years of obsessive research and many sleepless nights. In the dimly lit room, a lone elf could be seen rushing around doing what appeared to be making fine adjustments to this or that, all the while muttering quietly to himself. The haze on the horizon of a dawn quickly approaching alongside the still lit streetlamps could be seen just outside the windows.

Devlin was muttering some curse softly to himself when he heard the human, Antonidus, plodding in. In the moment Devlin was too preoccupied with his work to offer anything more than a cursory, “mornin”, before turning back to his work. Antonidus navigated the maze of cast-off equipment that was scattered haphazardly on the floor to the one cleared off desk in the corner. He had only just sat down to finish his coffee and review yesterday’s notes when he heard Devlin mutter something behind him. Antonidus turned to see what the fuss was about, “Huh? What?”, he asked through still bleary eyes.

“Did you get those fuses I asked you to pick up the other day?” repeated Devlin.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied as he turned back around, began opening drawers and shuffling through old odds and ends. He finally settled on a small box that gently clinked when he shook it. “It was the old 55’s you were wanting, right?”, unsure if he had actually grabbed the right ones. Antonidus offered up the small box to his mentor who quickly inspected its contents.

“uh, yeah. These will do,” he paused and then after scanning the room continued, “um, are you ready to start your checklist? I would like to start some tests as soon as possible. I think … I think I figured out why the device kept shorting out last night and …” he drifted off as he lost focus. A moment later as his mind snapped back to the present, he spoke with a grin, “I think we’re close.”

“Yeah sure, no problem. Just let me finish here and I’ll get started.” He turned back around to the desk and quickly finished off his now cold coffee. He jumped from his seat, grabbed his clipboard and started going around checking that all the readings were within spec. An easy silence filled the room as the two companions went about their assigned tasks. The only thing that broke the silence was the occasional call and reply when one of them wanted to know what other’s measurement was.

As the morning turned to noon and the shadows grew shorter Antonidus could not help but admire the machine they had built. Its brass shone in the sunlight illuminating the normally stuffy and dark room with a soft glow. Antonidus had met Devlin two years ago while Devlin was lecturing a class. Needing a mentor at the time for his capstone project Devlin agreed to take on Antonidus as an assistant. In that time Devlin had shared his passion for the weave and the potential benefits, as he saw them, that existed for the common lay person. What they needed were ways to tame and harness the weave for by itself it was too dangerous for a commoner to utilize; that was usually the monopoly of wizards, sorcerers and other such spell-casters. What they needed was a breakthrough. His thoughts were broken by the voice of Devlin calling to get his attention once again.

“Hey, you ready?” asked Devlin.

“Uh...,” Antonidus looked down to review his notes one last time, “yeah, it all checks out. We should be good to fire it up now.”

Devlin rubbed his hands together in anticipation*. Okay, this was it* he thought this time will work. “Alright, stand back. Here we go.” He motioned for Antonidus to step back while he flipped the main switch. The machine hummed to life.

For what seemed to be longest of seconds both researchers just stood, waiting. Neither one dared to move first. After many failed attempts they had become used to things going sideways and anxious about how long it would stay powered up. After machine proved stable after a full minute both released a held breath that that had not realized they had been holding. “Whew, I think you got it this time, boss”

“We’ll see” replied Devlin, still anxious, “can you fetch me the tongs and the, uh… oh … you know the … the… the thing”. Antonidus rushed back to desk to grab the tongs and the ‘test object’. The ‘test object’ was just a very clear diamond. They assumed that the diamond would be strong enough to withstand any damage and it might encounter as well as be able to check if the object were unaltered by the trip. Antonidus brought these to his mentor and took another step back. Devlin took the tongs, grasped the diamond, and slowly touched it to one of the rods nearest to him.

At first Antonidus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end and he assumed it was just excitement, but then the hum that had been filling the room grew in intensity. The diamond disappeared from the tongs that Devlin had outstretched and appeared next to the other rod. There was smallest of pings as the diamond fell to the ground. Devlin was so stunned that he did not notice the soft hum was now loud enough to drown out most other sounds. Antonidus noticed that the machine was not powering down but instead seemed to be powering up. “Hey! quick kill the power! Something ain’t right!” Antonidus tried to shout over the din.

“What?” Yelled Devlin turning back to face his protégé. Devlin’s face was the last thing Antonidus saw as his world went black. He felt heat radiating across his body while his limbs felt like lightning was tracing itself down to his extremities. He felt like his whole body was being pulled through a tiny hole and stretched at all at once.

Slowly his vision returned. It was darker, raining and he was outside now. Wait, that wasn’t right he thought its noon and I should be inside the lab right now? As he laid on the cool cobblestones, consciousness quickly leaving him again he wondered where he was.

A rhetoric – study of how a writer uses words to influence an audience. Less concerned with what the author is saying but their goal, technique, and appeal to audience.

Rhetoric analysis – an essay that breaks down a non-fiction work into parts and explains how they work together to create an effect; either to entertain, inform, or persuade.

Elements of a Rhetorical Analysis

Proofs – a rhetorician incorporates proof such as statistics, polls, surveys, facts, data, and testimonies

Appeals – aims to earn audience approval or agreement using:

· Pathos (pathetic- emotions) – to gain acceptance and approval for ideas conveyed using tone,

· Ethos (ethical) – use of rhetorician credibility and character to make a case through their expertise to gain approval

· Logos (logical) – rhetorician use of logic to make a case

Build analysis by prewriting to form a solid thesis that will help develop the introduction, body of paragraphs, and conclusion.

Introduction – introduce the work and its main claim/thesis

Body – how the rhetorician persuade audience using ethos, pathos, and logos

Conclusion – personal evaluation; whether the information is valid and worthy or have different opinion of the topic.

By Mypenservices.com

Hey guys, do you ever struggle with writing abstracts? Well, here is a snippet of tips I use when writing an essay or research project abstract. Add to the points on what you think is relevant. HMU or PM if you need advanced help.

An abstract is:

· A concise summary of the research, project, or essay.

· Aim: Attract readers to progress into reading the content of the main article.

Tips:

Use keywords that reflect content of the article.

Should be between 100-250 words.

Essay abstract

Have three parts:

· Summary – summation of the author’s central argument

· Analysis – evaluate connection between main argument and secondary ideas

· Critique- respond critically to the text, including using relevant examples.

Research abstract

· Background: introduction to the significance and aims of research

· Methods: briefly describe content of the article, including experimental design and key techniques used

· Results: detail main findings of research

· Conclusion: overall summation and impact on future research