Hey everyone!

I’ve just uploaded Chapter 2 of my story Echoes of the Void, and I’d love for you to check it out! It’s a future, sci-fi tale that dives into the struggles of people when technology is accesible to all, starting with a boy living in a hellish mine, the complete opposite from a Utopic life.

I’m really eager to hear your thoughts on the plot, characters, and anything else that stands out to you. Any feedback, constructive critique, or even general impressions would mean a lot as I continue building this world.

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!

Link to Chapter 2: https://www.honeyfeed.fm/chapters/100727#page-1

Hi everyone ! I'm a new writer , and i just finished my first story , Life in the big city . It's set in buenous aires ( argentina ) and follows five universety students , each with their unique challenges and personal journeys . What makes this story a bit diffrent is that, although they're in the same city and universety and may cross paths, the charecters don't truly know each other. Each is on their own journey , navigating themes of family pressure, identity , and love in the big city . Here's a glimpse into their stories

1- Paula : a rebellious art student, finding freedom from her own strict family.

2- Rafael : a pre_ med student , who secretly dreams of being a musician , struggling with family expectations , i think you might like life in the big city . I'd love and

3- Camila : a history student dealing with family guilt and the loss of her brother.

4- Alonso : an agronomy student supporting his family after his father departure.

5- Daniel : an engenireng student learning to embrace his sexuality.

If you're into lcoming of age stories with a twist , where each charechter's life unfolds separatly but touches on universal experiences . I'd love and feedback , thoughts , or just to connect with fellow writers and Readers here . Thanks for cheking it out !

Hi! I wonder if you like this overview I wrote for this book:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DMFPNZYN/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3NSS204QDGXP2&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9._9EvvS8mvmoBvvALuPWeZVCh57ac1kl3gdR3dIZXR-LGjHj071QN20LucGBJIEps.a55Ktj0XoxueUCVnMJXdJx4KAWtxlaOX8g5ho8uMuik&dib_tag=se&keywords=chris+mustache+the+golden&qid=1731100255&sprefix=chris+mustache+the+goldeen%2Caps%2C274&sr=8-1&fbclid=IwY2xjawGbbVpleHRuA2FlbQIxMAABHZHfFQKjBBO6LC2PsEuFKF4jogI1rGaHGTbJ7hcqm1FKSe_mH0iSym0Wmg_aem_rbCNJ0-kV1_CxWmLgThxjA

What do you think? Does it give enough infos without spoilers?

Hi!

Someone close to me has a sobriety anniversary tonight so I put this together. I usually make my stories / poems very wordy so I attempted to keep it very simple this time.

Let me know what you think!!

On this eleventh month - ninth day in fact You have toiled and trudged and kept the pact Of purity and cleanliness - don't dare look back As cats eyes pierce through the night so black

Like the golden halo resting above your head No path too treacherous, no road hard to tread Too much blood and tears have already been shed They are replaced with love and light in their stead

Another victory, another mental demon felled With both weapon and shield in each hand held Kindred spirits and those who forever cared Will revel in your story and each word that is shared

As the cold winter snow starts to fall and stutter Starlight's shimmer makes my heart slightly flutter Gold drips from her head - turning shadow to wonder Now all that is left is to live and not suffer

Beginner writer here. Any tips on ways I can type out my first draft to make editing easier?

hey, existentialist little book i've been writing. at first it was just writings i did, but now i'm contemplating on whether or not i should keep going with it. please be brutally honest and thanks for readinggg https://docs.google.com/document/d/1z1sYuUhfADMURGeux69X3OC8bfg9flX7/edit?usp=sharing&ouid=112733091092407162916&rtpof=true&sd=true

p.s. sorry had to censor the name

*TW - Emotional Abuse*

Hey, friends. I wrote this poem about a relationship with an emotionally abusive girlfriend that I recently got out of. This is my second draft so I think it reads a little better than the first version I wrote. Thanks for checking it out, I'd love to hear what you think.

.

Your warmth, once a trusted place, where

I found comfort beneath your wing

Unaware of the mask you donned

As you were silently scheming

.

A liar, stealing innocence

With cunning, cold, deceitful acts

Kind hearts like mine, aren't shown mercy

Only misled, used, and thrown back

.

I did not know I'd lose myself

In the web of lies you would spin

You painted me, in shades of you

But held the sinful ones within

.

In still silence, terror and fear

I would shudder beneath your reign

A broken puppet, strings undone

Failing to cover up my pain

.

Your guilt-tripping and blame-shifting

Ripped me apart, leaving me cracked

Help me heal the cuts you made, Please

itch the knives you put in my back

.

A gas-lit voice, inside my mind

Twisting truth, leading me astray

Our pictures show a face unknown

To you, "love" just means-to betray

.

Debasing my worth, pain, and pleas

Usurping every tear I’d cry

I'm broken, scarred, and scared of love

Yet, its something I'll never find

.

Somehow still, I truly believed

One day you'd mend what you had torn

My heart, like glass, now shards and dust

Left shattered, bleeding on the floor

.

Your presence was, a sculptor's tool

To carve your will straight into me

With no canvas, now powerless

A tyrant is brought to her knees

.

My heart, no more bound by your flame

Baptized in fire and misuse

The façade of warmth, I now see

Masked your emotional abuse.

Growing up as a mixed-race kid in the heart of the South—half white, half black, with a racist mom and her equally twisted boyfriend, who were each battling their own demons of bipolar depression, alcoholism, and poverty—I figured I was doomed. I’d either end up dead, or just like them, stuck in the same tangled mess of hate and self-destruction.

But it wasn’t just them two folks that shaped me—it was my first stepfather, too. He took us on the run from the law more times than I can count, leaving us homeless, bouncing from place to place. He taught me to drive at the age of six, because according to him kids are the smartest in the kingdom Animalia. They soak up knowledge like sponges, it sticks to 'em and ain't a thing that can stop 'em once something clicks. Putting me behind the wheel wasn’t just for the thrill of it, but in case we ever needed to “spit up rocks”—his way of saying we needed to split fast and get out of town when things got bad. He always said, in his thick Boston accent, “Your brain’s for dreamin’ up new ideas and cookin’ up inventions. If you’re usin’ it for anything else, you’re just burnin’ daylight, kid.” I didn’t always understand him back then, but I get it now. He knew that if you didn’t use your mind, you were just wasting time—time that we couldn’t afford to waste.

Eventually, though, he was caught—by the pigs, as he liked to call them—and that’s when we ended up in the hands of my brilliant, racist, mom’s boyfriend. It was another bitter twist in a life already full of them. Through it all, it was just me and my four brothers, clinging to each other for dear life, trying to hold it together until the bitter end.

In my 100,000-word memoir PINKY, I discuss challenging topics such as racism, mental illness, identity, and the resilience of my brothers and I amidst the complex dynamics of our family life as we navigated these obstacles together.

There were notable glimpses into some of my parents' most beautiful attributes, but the 'ugly' always seemed to bleed through. Our days as young children were spent eating up knowledge, on the run, jumping from home to abandoned stores, and staying in hoopty hotels. Learning how to survive on what the Earth’s been generous enough to spare, or as Mom would say, “Dining on what the good Lord left for free." Each place held a story, spiraling us toward our destination: 'The Steele Trailer of Hell.' When dealing with parents under the control of bipolar disorder, which was severely exacerbated by alcohol, you never knew what side of them you’d get. My mother’s boyfriend was a brilliant mechanic, who shared his knowledge about building motors from scratch, when he was sober and taking his medication accordingly. He taught me about Karl Benz, the different types of motors, and “listening to the car, because it’ll talk to ya’.” He was also unmatched when it came to his knowledge of history. He’d spend hours talking with you about the space race, the fall of the roman empire, and how Virginia’s got more history than all the states put together. If you’d listen long enough, he’d tell you all about how Honest Abe’s stance on slavery was purely economically motivated, and that he didn’t truly care about slaves. We built engines together when we got along, and we had historical debates back when I was a sprout, smaller than a June bug on a hot day. Meanwhile my mother was stuck playing a role she didn’t want to be in. She had little to no compassion due to her own upbringing but was sure to remind us that everything she did she’d do for us. Regardless, both inside and outside our home, we were constantly confronted by the specter of racism—whether from the community, our Black relatives, or our White ones. And in the end, it bred a kind of self-loathing, a deep hatred for who we were, torn between two worlds that refused to accept us.

At one point, I found myself "white passing," distancing myself from my Black heritage to fit in more easily with my friends and their families. For a long time, I hid parts of who I was, believing it would make my life simpler. But over time, as I learned more about my cultural roots, I began to embrace my Black identity with pride. This newfound connection to my heritage, however, also gave rise to feelings of anger and resentment towards my white side. I found myself grappling with internal bitterness, and it started to affect my relationship with my mother, creating a rift that made our bond more complicated.

But as my siblings and I became reliant on one another and comfortable in our colored skin, we welcomed both sides we were made up of. We pushed back against the world and prevailed. Our journey to success in life wouldn’t come easily, it took plenty of grit, grind, and good ol' fashioned hard work. For the hardest part of it all, grit and grind meant navigating the mind of a man who, one day, would be convinced I was out to harm him, that aliens were plotting against him, and that Charles Manson was a hero. He'd look at me like I was nothing more than a "Negro," but in the same breath, he’d swear he’d kill for me, give me his last dime, and tear apart anyone who dared to hurt me. In the end, he was the one who hurt us all.

I offer a compelling take, which I explore with sensitivity, honesty and vulnerability in PINKY, my first book.

Alongside the thousands of families with mixed-race children, those battling mental illness, and the widespread issue of alcoholism in the U.S., I believe my story will resonate with a broad audience. I especially feel it will touch the hearts and minds of those searching for a sense of belonging in the world as a person of both Black and White heritage.

Wanting to connect with these audiences is another reason why I chose to write this book, as there aren’t many accessible resources for those struggling with racism as mixed-race individuals.

My book is thematically complementary to several works such as,

MIXED: A COLORFUL STORY by Arlene N. Wright, as it touches base on the author’s journey of growing up biracial and navigating her identity in a world that often emphasizes racial divisions. Jeanette Walls’s A GLASS CASTLE, which explores the complexities of familial relationships, the challenges Jeannette faced growing up in a dysfunctional family and her ability to persevere despite adversity. These all resonate deeply with my own experiences.

We started as a strong tower with a sturdy foundation, unknowingly built to fall—just pieces in a game of JENGA. Until the great collapse, we bore the weight of everything pressing against us. Yet from the rubble, we rebuilt ourselves.

Thank you for your consideration.

Sincerely,

hey there, i wrote this youtube script about the fall of chuck e. cheese and id like to hear what people think about it. all feedback is appreciated. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1adybt7svUBfBmoCjUk2yFgbR-yaSQcVcPBxj_Wl4m5o/edit

In twilight's hush, where shadows play A poet's heart, with sorrow's sway Beats no more, in silence grey As love's dark curse, his final day

He stood, a rock, unmoved and still A stoic soul, with emotions chill Yet, in his words, a truth did spill A love that consumed, and nearly killed

Her eyes, like winter's icy stare Froze his heart, with a love so rare But she, oblivious to his pain Used him as canvas, to paint her own fame

He poured his soul, into her hands A masterpiece, of love's command But she, with every stroke, did claim The art of his heart, and leave him lame

His words, a requiem, to his own demise A dirge of love, that brought no compromise No tears, no cries, no bitter sighs Just a slow decay, of a love that died

In his final breath, he whispered low "Forgive me not, for loving so" For in her eyes, he saw no spark Of love's return, just a cold embark

Now he's gone, and with him the flame That once burned bright, with love's sweet name Leaves only ashes, of a love so vain And a poet's heart, forever in pain

-dead poet

In a land unfamiliar A stinging dirge pines onward The howl of the wind The groan of the earth A fell parade plays departure in mirth

I lay on red-slicked grounds, fingernails dug deep in dirt Listening to their chorus, a sickening chirp Beside Eastern winds, cold blew the shore Harsh biting, a frigid grasp befell my oar Lost in the sea, my skin turns numb No star left to guide me, by design it is slum

Flattened, beaten Limb by limb, I’ve been taken A decaying carrion, with wings broken And piece by piece, I’m ready to return, a warm embrace I will learn All I’ve ever wanted, all there is to yearn

A hero I once thought, Now a muddied man, lay heavy and served In both heart and soul, little mettle come hither Make me stronger, if only for winter For my heat is gone, washed and shattered Only my people remain, a lone ember With visions of them, I hope they remember How I bleed for them, a desolate November

Once born and once gone A soldier, feet dragged, stared down the hole Only to see tiny hands, stumbling and small Must I always dream of times past? Of home long gone? In hell further, this child had been pawned

Now please, hear my prayers Let me sing my broken cares Of which I’ve pleaded, how much I’ve bore For nothing remains but the wintry claw Sharp and jagged, and I under its maw

But a worthy sacrifice, with love not lost With my hands, a bridge withstood frost So lead strides proud and stand tall For you to walk, walk on without me I leave my blood to pave the way Do not struggle and do not wander The cold will nip me no longer

Hey, guyz :)
Am lookin around to get feedback for my poetry, so feel free to have a look 🙂. Thank's y'all!

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Hybrid heart that my comprehension fails

A fluctuation soon fades into emptiness

I've cared before, and loved before as well

But a shelter is no recline when I seek her touch

----

A hurtful reminder of a lack, unmet

My heart then opens to the eternal fire beyond

Seeking closure, sanctuary, a haven with no roof...

Only arms, wrapping my torso, stillness so divine

----

Warm chests colliding, a cry of gratitude among us both

Her breath on my neck, peering into my soul and life

Begging to know, to understand and see her new home

For what it is, the home that seeks to protect her

----

And accept her.

----

She reaches me and I reach her

A dance in heaven, four cusps clash and seal us together

"Are you real?", she asks me... yearning for my being

My heart stops and I say, "I'm real"

----

...and I finally feel cold in the empty space

i always find it extremely difficult to write about careers or hobbies that i don't have any experience in because, obviously, i don't want to get anything wrong. it makes writing daunting. i do research into everything that i write, however i feel its all very surface level. any advice on how to get over this or how to improve my research process? thanks!

Hi guys, I am new here and I just got back into writing. I was wondering if you guys could look over my writing to see if I am rusty or not.

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“Please Stop!” I gasped out, my voice barely breaking through the panic rising in my chest. My hair clung to my face, soaked and heavy, the bitter sting of cold toilet water dripping down my cheeks. My hands gripped Bryon’s arm, nails digging into his skin as I squirmed in his unrelenting grasp. “I didn’t do anything!”

He didn’t even flinch when he dunked my hair back into the water.

The icy water enveloped my face again, and the muffled gurgling filled my ears again. My body thrashed instinctively against him, but it was no use — he was too strong. The bathroom tiles scraped against my knees as I kicked at him, doing whatever I could to loosen his grip, to find leverage, anything. But that only made him push my head into the bowl harder. 

The sharp scent of bleach and humiliation invaded my nose. Why? Why me? I paid him this time. I did his homework. I helped him with his goddamn test! Why does he do this to me?! Why?! Why?! Why?!

He pulled my head back up and I took into the air, like a dying fish. Water poured down my face, mixing with my tears, my gasps of breath turning into desperate sobs. I could hear his friends snickering in the background, their voices still muffled from the water in my ears. 

Bryon’s voice cut through the haze, cold and sharp as he leaned in close.  “You got me a B in math, dumbass.”  His grip tightened as he sneered down at me.. “I asked for at least an A-. You couldn’t do that right.”

A B. A fucking B. My chest tightened, fury bubbling within my fear. That is why he is doing this? Over a stupid grade?

A sharp crack split my way as Bryon’s hand connected with my cheek. Pain exploded across my face, the sting so sudden and fierce that it felt like my skin was burning. My head snapped to the side, and I gasped, tears spilling faster now, hot against the cold remnants of the toilet water still dripping from my hair. My cheek throbbed, a steady pulse of pain, but worse than the sting was the flood of humiliation coursing through me.

Before I could even catch my breath, Bryon’s fingers dug into my chin, jerking my head upward, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes were blazing with fury. “Did you just glare at me?” His voice was low, but I could feel the heat of his words.

No! I didn’t—I couldn’t have… But before I could get the words out, one of his friends chimed in from behind him, his voice full of sick amusement. “I think he did, Bryon.”

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That's all I got for now, I accept all feedback

My poems are usually very metaphorical. But if you really think about them you'll get them. It's rare though.

Harvard had been the overnight security guard at the city's biggest historic cemetery for ten years, and felt absolutely cheated that nothing weird had ever happened. Once, the guard dog was very proud of herself to bring him a pair of blue jeans undoubtedly belonging to a homeless person attempting entry. That was about it. Mostly, he walked around freezing his ass off all night. The guard dog, a Boxer named Princess, walked with him unless she heard a noise.

Tonight, it's fifteen degrees, and his flashlight beam catches powdery snow disturbed by the wind. Princess is wearing a pink sweater and little cloth boots he's knitted himself. He's warned off two people trying to climb the fence, and the sandwich he's brought for dinner is frozen solid.

He was walking the perimeter, thoughtfully considering having loose glitter shipped to himself to deter the porch pirates who kept stealing his replacement blender pitcher, when the zombie of Benjamin Franklin suddenly loomed up out of the dark.

"Ahhh!" Harvard yelled. That seemed to be about all there was to say.

The spector didn't acknowledge him, limping stiffly past with his unmistakable visage. Soon, he was joined by hundreds of other zombies, who lurched and limped in a slow but unstoppable manner to the main gates. Harvard fleetingly considered unlocking it, but when Ben Franklin reached it, he tossed it aside like it was nothing.

Harvard and Princess trailed bravely behind the zombies. This was way above Harvard's pay grade. He was desperately trying to figure out who he was supposed to be calling about this and what to say so that someone would actually show up.

The zombies went straight to the recently abandoned library, the last one in the city. Harvard wouldn't learn until years later that Benjamin Franklin felt very strongly about public libraries. To his shock, Ben Franklin seemed to be directing the zombies to repair the crumbling building. He watched the entire long, cold night, as the library building was thoroughly and meticulously repaired.

He and Princess followed them back to the cemetery shortly before dawn, where the zombies laid themselves back to rest.

The library was put back into use and stood strong for more than a hundred years.

Harvard thought a change of career would be best. He became a pastry chef. Any time he was paid in cash, he screamed a little.

The hardest part of starting my business was building trust with clients and establishing credibility. When I first started, I didn’t have a portfolio or testimonials to lean on, which made it challenging to convince potential clients to take a chance on me. I knew I needed to find a way to show my value before expecting anyone to invest in my services.

To overcome this, I decided to offer a few free or discounted projects to early clients in exchange for honest feedback and permission to use the results in my portfolio. This helped me build a track record, and the positive feedback I received became a foundation for my credibility. Additionally, I joined industry-specific groups and attended local networking events to connect with others and build relationships.

Here are some business ideas across various industries and skill levels that have potential in today’s market:

1. Online Coaching and Tutoring

   • Description: Offer online courses, one-on-one tutoring, or group classes. Areas like digital marketing, fitness, personal finance, or academic tutoring are popular. • Why it Works: With remote work and online education growing, people are increasingly looking to improve their skills or knowledge from home. • Target Audience: Students, professionals, or hobbyists.

2. Eco-Friendly Products

   • Description: Sell sustainable products, such as biodegradable packaging, reusable household items, or eco-friendly clothing. • Why it Works: Eco-consciousness is growing, and people are looking for sustainable alternatives. • Target Audience: Environmentally conscious consumers and businesses.

3. Digital Marketing Agency

   • Description: Help businesses with social media, SEO, content marketing, and paid ads to grow their online presence. • Why it Works: Companies need digital marketing to stay competitive, but many don’t have in-house expertise. • Target Audience: Small to medium-sized businesses, startups.

4. Subscription Box Service

   • Description: Curate boxes around niches like skincare, snacks, books, or hobbies and deliver them monthly. • Why it Works: Subscription boxes offer novelty and surprise, which appeal to consumers. • Target Audience: Niche enthusiasts or gift shoppers.

5. Freelance Writing and Content Creation

   • Description: Create content for blogs, websites, or social media. You could also write e-books or offer ghostwriting services. • Why it Works: Companies are constantly seeking quality content to engage their audience. • Target Audience: Brands, entrepreneurs, and bloggers.

6. Remote IT Support or Cybersecurity Services

   • Description: Offer tech support or cybersecurity solutions for small businesses. • Why it Works: As more businesses operate online, cybersecurity and IT needs are growing. • Target Audience: Small businesses, remote workers, and individuals.

7. E-commerce Store

   • Description: Sell a specific niche product or a curated selection of items online. • Why it Works: E-commerce continues to expand, especially in specialized markets. • Target Audience: Consumers looking for niche products or unique finds.

8. Online Health and Wellness Coaching

   • Description: Provide guidance on fitness, nutrition, mental wellness, or other health areas. • Why it Works: Health and wellness are top priorities, and people are looking for guidance, especially online. • Target Audience: Health-conscious individuals or those looking to improve well-being.

9. Mobile Car Wash or Detailing Service

   • Description: Provide car washing or detailing at customers’ locations, which saves them time. • Why it Works: Convenience-based services are increasingly popular. • Target Audience: Busy professionals, parents, or car enthusiasts.

10. Freelance Graphic Design or Video Editing

    • Description: Offer design or video editing services for businesses needing professional visuals. • Why it Works: Visual content is essential for digital marketing, so businesses need quality designs. • Target Audience: Small businesses, content creators, marketing agencies.

Tips for Getting Started:

•	Research your target market and niche.
•	Build a small portfolio or prototype to test your concept.
•	Leverage social media and other online platforms for marketing.
•	Focus on customer feedback to improve and expand your offerings.

Any of these ideas can be scaled up or down, depending on your resources and commitment level.

So I saw this girl
A girl with those sincere eyes
Infront of which no one could lie
Those sable yet shiny gems
That no one could attain them

Her soft and crimson lips
That anyone wants to nip
A flower with a special scent
Leaving behind an unknown spell

A voice that no one could forget
Almost feels like a music piece that has been set
Leaving behind simple words with special touch
Without saying very much

Her cute yet pretty face
Which can be described as a beautiful haze
A potrait of geodes
A face apar from a literal goddess

A girl that can't be mine
Still cannot think of her without a smile
A girl that looks like a white dove
A girl with whom I have fallen in love

I wanted to share a scene from the perspective of my villain and get some feedback. Please let me know what you like/dislike about the villain and this scene. Enjoy reading :)

The link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1SC7WUr4e50_izr7fP7EIDe8pWBucyFN1m_00j0hmd5E/edit?usp=sharing