i’m new here and on reddit, and idk if it’s poetry but i write and i’d like somewhere where i can publish it and have feedbacks. I have lots of stuff i wrote on my notes app and would like to publish so if you would suggest me a community or even if i could publish it here idk help!!

Naked truths I once concealed, Now laid bare, my heart does reveal. The truth is harsh, yet I must confess, She's the one who drained my soul's best.

But how I yearn for her gentle touch, To reignite the flames that once clutched. Her gaze, a spark that lit my way, It made me feel alive in every ray.

Yet, I know now, in the cold light, She's toxic love that devours the night. Her words, a poison that infects my mind, It leaves me wounded, left behind.

But oh, how I'm drawn to her flame, A moth to the fire in a deadly game. She's the one who saw me at my best, It made me feel beautiful and truly blessed.

But alas, I know I must be accessible. From her grasp, that's suffocating me. For though she made me feel alive, She's the one who took away my pride.

PROLOGUE

In the dead of night, by the dim light of a lantern, Dr. Viktor meticulously examined ancient tomes and ruined scrolls in the palace library. One by one, he scrutinized them carefully. Viktor's insatiable curiosity drove him forward. His colleagues considered him eccentric, a title he accepted with a certain pride. To many, his dedication to research was madness, but Viktor knew he was destined for great discoveries.

Inspired by ancient texts, Viktor delved deeper into his research. The 'madman,' as his colleagues called him, now served directly under the young King Francis, who shared some of his aspirations. From prophecies to ancient legends, Viktor spent entire days at the palace in search of more clues.

When he finally rose from the table, Viktor cast a last glance at the shelves crammed with books, many of which he had read countless times. It was then that a title caught his eye: *The Perfidious Eternal.* The book was no larger than the others; the faded ink and fragile pages betrayed its age. Viktor believed he had read every book in that old section, but this title was unknown to him. Raising the lantern, he opened the book and began to read it by the flickering light:

[In the beginning, Sunna created the day.

She walked the earth, making it fertile and abundant.

Her presence was a beacon of hope that dispelled the darkness,

The Guardian of Justice.

Then, Mani created the night.

He spread his cloak over the world, bringing calm.

His silvery light illuminated the path of dreamers,

The Guardian of Secrets.]

Viktor turned the page. "Ha... what a beautiful beginning," he thought, having read these same lines hundreds of times in children's books and songs in his hometown, as probably everyone in the kingdom had. Impatiently, he turned the pages, feeling his hopes of finding something new for his research slipping away.

[When Sunna fell,

the earth trembled, and the sky was shrouded in shadows.

Not even Mani could restore order.

The goddess is dead,

Her blood spread across the lands

and her magic permeated the kingdom.

Blessed be the devoted.]

Viktor felt the same chill he always did when reading these verses. The war between heavens and earth was already a familiar story to him: the origins of the kingdom's misfortunes, the replacement of the Sun's rule, Sunna, with that of the Moon, Mani.

However, the book continued beyond what Viktor knew. There were two additional pages, written in a different hand. He settled at the desk and, under the faint light of the lantern, began to read the new passage:

[And the prophecy began

On the night when the veils intertwine,

under the blessing of the moon,

the heavens will announce the convergence,

and the earth will tremble in anticipation.

The return of the Daughter of Light,

from the dead, the divine.

The key of the beginnings will open the abyss,

emerging the bridge between the earthly and the sacred,

uniting past and future.]

Viktor's eyebrows furrowed. An increasing eagerness overtook him; his thirst for knowledge was insatiable.

[In the sacred union,

divine arcane,

elemental arcane,

lunar arcane,

arcane of shadows,

and arcane of essences,

will merge with the mortal heart.

The prelude to purification,

reconstruction,

the fulfilled rebirth,

to eternal harmony.]

A smile crept onto his face. In every fiber of his being, he believed that the greater goddess, Sunna, could be resurrected, and he would be the one responsible for it. He just needed a mortal who bore the goddess's mark, a rare and extraordinary individual whose fate was intertwined with the divine.

The research seemed increasingly close to reality. The first step would be to form an alliance with the representatives of the arcanes, and he already knew where to find the first: the divine arcane. Determined, Viktor extinguished the lantern and left the library, his eyes shining with new determination.

The next day, the calm of the morning in the cathedral contrasted with the agitation of the previous night. The nuns prepared for the ceremony, unaware of the storm that was about to come.

Inside the cathedral, the high stone vaults were decorated with intricate arches that intertwined, and the ceiling was adorned with complex murals, forming a delicate network of engravings that converged at central points.

At the center of the altar, the imposing statue of the goddess Sunna, sculpted in white marble with a billowing cloak, emanated power and grace, except for the absence of her head. Next to it, a smaller statue of Mani, with his ethereal essence of the lesser moon god, displayed a serene face and closed eyes, partially veiled by sculpted fabric.

The few nuns in the sanctuary lit incense, enveloped in a reverent silence, interrupted only by the whispers of prayers.

"Make sure all the censers are lit before the ceremony begins. The goddess deserves our utmost dedication, especially now."

"Yes, sister," replied a nun, adjusting a censer. Suddenly, the wooden doors burst open with a bang, interrupting the sanctuary's calm.

The wooden doors burst open with a bang, interrupting the sanctuary's calm. Viktor entered with hurried steps, his rapid heartbeat echoing across the marble floor. The nuns, until then occupied with their tasks, turned their gazes toward him, perplexed by the abrupt intrusion.

"Here," he thought. "Here is where the Saint resides, and she will be one of the arcanes, the only candidate." His eyes swept the main hall of the monastery, searching for any sign of her.

Despite the renowned focus of the nuns, Viktor's presence did not go unnoticed. He headed directly toward one of them, ignoring the curious looks that followed him.

"I need to speak with the Saint!"

The nuns exchanged glances, surprised by the stranger's audacious request.

"The Saint is in contemplation, sir. This is a place of peace and reverence. Please wait in the courtyard," replied a nun with a firm but respectful tone.

"I cannot wait, please call her, it is urgent."

"We cannot do anything now."

He took a step forward, as if intending to force his way through. The women, though serene, formed a silent barrier, looking at him with a mix of disapproval and curiosity.

"Who is this who dares to treat the sacred space with insignificance?" A serene and authoritative presence dominated the room. All eyes turned to the figure who had just entered the hall.

It was undeniable; this was Annalise, the Saint. Her long white hair, covered by a veil, cascaded over her shoulders, and her brown eyes, marked by deep dark circles, revealed a wisdom beyond her 22 years. She observed him, displeased by the disturbance of the peace.

Annalise, with her tired appearance but eyes that radiated a silent strength, advanced with firm steps. She wore her long clothes and the veil that floated lightly with her movements.

Viktor, suddenly assuming a responsible demeanor, bowed. "Blessed be the devoted. My name is Viktor Delacroix."

Annalise raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by Viktor's dramatic entrance. "Mr. Delacroix, this is a place of tranquility and reflection. Your disruptive presence is not welcome."

She approached slowly, her eyes fixed on his, assessing his sincerity. "What brings you here with such urgency? What could be so important as to interrupt our prayers?"

Viktor straightened up, trying to regain his composure. "Forgive me, Saint. I came urgently because I believe the kingdom's fate is at stake. Your help is essential."

Annalise maintained her inscrutable expression, though her eyes betrayed a flash of frustration.

"Your urgency does not justify the lack of respect for this place. The nuns here dedicate their lives to service and peace."

She took a step forward, her presence emanating authority. "If you wish to speak with me, you must learn to respect that. This is a sacred sanctuary, Viktor, and I will not allow your impatience to destroy the balance we maintain here."

He rummaged through his pockets and showed a royal insignia.

"I believe you will now take me seriously."

Everyone was surprised, for few had the right and blessing of the king. The gold insignia, adorned with a sun and a moon, indicated his power of command and his status as a direct servant of the king.

He put away the insignia. "Please accept my apologies. However, we must discuss a matter of utmost importance."

Annalise sighed lightly, realizing the intensity of the situation. "Very well, Mr. Delacroix. I ask that you control your behavior and remember where you are."

She gestured for the nuns to step back, allowing Viktor to leave the hall. He moved with a bit more calm this time.

The Saint took a step forward and whispered among the nuns, making a decision: "Very well, Mr. Delacroix, please follow me. We do not wish to disturb the devotees further."

A smile appeared on Viktor's face. "Thank you very much, oh Saint."

She led him through a small door behind the cathedral, which followed stairs up to a tower, and finally to a room where the incense seemed to perfume the air even more intensely, residing on a central table.

Viktor took the initiative and sat on the sofa in the small room:

"I would like to introduce myself again. I am Viktor Delacroix, court scholar."

"So, what does your highness desire so important that he sent a servant directly to this humble sanctuary?" The Saint, still standing, observed him severely.

"I bring you a proposal, Your Holiness."

"Holiness? Please, leave the titles aside. In a kingdom like this, I am only the governor of this parish. Call me Annalise, just that."

Viktor agreed. "I hope you can spare some of your attention for my proposal."

Annalise raised an eyebrow. Despite maintaining her cold posture, her eyes examined the royal medallion. "... what kind of proposal? I hope it is clear to you and the king that we currently have little, neither visitors nor believers. I believe we have little to offer at the moment."

"See, what we need are not physical artifacts"—he pulled *The Perfidious Eternal* from his bag and placed it on the table—"we have a… mission, so to speak. Take a look and see for yourself."

"..."

"Oh, I see it is familiar to you."

Annalise's eyes narrowed as she recognized the arcane symbols engraved on the cover. "No, but it looks like one of the forbidden books. How dare you bring it to this place?" her tone firm and impatient.

"Please, do not misunderstand me. We have been studying prophecies and scriptures about Sunna extensively"—he pushed the book closer to Annalise—"we... I believe I can bring her back, but as you can imagine, it is not a simple task. I need five pieces, and you, the divine arcane, will be my first."

Annalise took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. "The forbidden books are forbidden for a reason, Mr. Delacroix. The power they contain is dangerous and corrupting." Her eyes fixed on his, a mixture of challenge and fear. "You do not understand... I have seen what corrupted magic can do. We cannot simply use any resource we find, especially something as risky as this. You are playing with forces beyond our comprehension."

"The king entrusted me with the mission. Let's be honest, the kingdom is in ruins, and the answer might be here. We need to at least consider this possibility. I trust enough in my abilities, and even more in yours."

Annalise stared at the book, feeling the oppressive presence of its arcane energy. "You do not understand what you are asking, Viktor. What if this book leads us down a path of no return? What if, in seeking to save the kingdom, we end up condemning it even more?"

Viktor looked at her with a smile "the smile of a salesman," thought Annalise. The Saint refused to touch the book and kept her gaze fixed on the madman before her, evaluating his words.

"You wish to use divinity for your own purposes."

"We wish to restore harmony and unite the arcanes once again, for prosperity," he smiled cunningly.

Her expression seemed unchanged, but her eyes showed a certain loss of interest.

"Ha ha, and you really believe that?"

Viktor stood up, noticing Annalise's momentary distraction. "With Sunna back, we could heal the empire."

Annalise recalled her childhood in the temple, the stories about Sunna that the nuns told. The greater goddess was seen as a figure of hope, something Annalise always wished to see restored in the kingdom. Her eyes returned to Viktor, her expression still inscrutable.

"I suppose you have a point, but your proposal is... how shall I say... intriguing, to say the least. Proceed."

"I will only need the Saint, the representative of the divine arcane. All I ask is that you accompany me for the next two years and assist in our research, using your divinity."

"And what do you have to offer for my services?"

"Support from the empire."

Annalise hesitated for a minute, thinking of the gold insignia and how the madman's clothes before her contrasted with his disheveled appearance.

The cathedral bells rang, eight chimes indicating it was 8:00.

She gestured with her hand, indicating he should leave.

"For now, you must leave. It is time for the ceremony."

Viktor was determined to close this deal and would convince her, but before he could start, he was interrupted.

Annalise stood up. "I will think about your proposal and give you an answer soon."

Viktor descended the stairs and headed toward the royal palace in his carriage. With that, Annalise turned her gaze and ended up looking through the window, observing the cracked sun, or as they began to call it after the fall of the goddess. Outside the same window, a scene unfolded: nuns cooking and distributing bread, soup, and water to the starving villagers. The crisis seemed to worsen and spread.

Annalise continued to observe the scene outside the window, her heart heavy with the kingdom's woes. The sight of the nuns, so dedicated to alleviating others' suffering, brought her a sense of duty but also a feeling of helplessness in the face of such overwhelming problems. As her thoughts wandered, a voice interrupted her.

"That man is impulsive, but he seems to genuinely believe in his mission." The eyes observing her made her both uneasy and comforted.

Annalise remained silent.

The figure smiled slightly. "You handled him well. Perhaps this is an opportunity to atone for sins, Annalise."

She sighed, looking at the courtyard where Viktor was getting into his carriage to leave. Annalise closed the curtain and descended the stairs, her steps heavy.

"Am I doing the right thing?" she murmured to herself, returning to her daily tasks.

I have a career but always had a craving for writing stories. I come up with ideas I feel have potential, but when I sit down to write it out, something always just...falls flat. Or I reach the limit of what I planned, or feel like I don't know enough background about real things to have an accurate representation in fiction. I just manage to overthink it all, get overwhelmed, and then stop.

I have a story I've been thinking about for the last 8 years or so. It's sci-fi fantasy. I've written bits and pieces of it in different styles, trying to feel out if it is more adult or geared towards YA. But mostly I just get lost in the writing feeling like I'm pulling the plot in the wrong direction, or just not knowing what the hell I'm writing about.

I'm doing it for me, for my personal sense of satisfaction. But I'd love to build on it, finish it, and see where it takes me. Particularly because I have other stories I've thought of to write about too.

If anyone has suggestions or encouragement, I'd really appreciate it. I'm trying to start by building a 15-minute a day writing habit to just get words in, and growing it from there.

“I want to die” “Why was I born” “I want to kill myself” “I don't want to go to hell” “I want to die”

The moment I open my eyes in the morning The moment I regain consciousness I am filled with dread With terror With anxiety And fear

Depression eats my soul

“Just do something”, she says “Try to do something, even if it only brings in a little bit of money”

I feel like I am rotting from the inside The depression and hopelessness and misery is eating away every bright sunny happy part of me

And I curse myself And my life And blame Mself My parents My environment And he life that has brought me to this stage

It's a shitshow

I don't know how to move forward Fear holds me back I do nothing I become nothing

Still the nagging Nagging feeling remains You are better than this I know you can do it I know you will get there I know it's waiting for you

Waiting for me And I am waiting for it

But of course I'll have to be the one to make the move

I’m halfway through Tilder’s Lane when I get the call.

It had been a relatively good day, and despite a few incidents, I had been glad I’d went to school. Truth be told, I had missed my crew, and it’d been a breath of fresh air to be surrounding by people who weren’t hostile towards me. I’d almost forgotten what that felt like.

I remember thinking about how much I didn’t want to work tonight, and wondering if I could afford some paprika to spice up dinner. Insignificant, meaningless thoughts.

The sun is framed in passionate strokes of pink and orange, which I’d love to attempt to capture with acrylics someday. I’ve always loved to paint, but it’d been years since I was able to afford some proper supplies. Nonetheless, I often catch myself thinking in hues and shades.

The grass is dewy beneath my worn out boots, which I can distinctly feel through the hole in my right shoe. I don’t mind though, it just reminds me I’m alive. The southern wind causes the wheat stalks to bend and tumble in perfect ripples, giving an effect of unity, although if you looked closer, you’d realise that they were anything but. The air is cold and moist, no doubt from earlier’s rain.

These are the things that would forever be embedded in my mind. It’s funny how the brain works, how I can remember all these tiny details, when they have little to no importance whatsoever. I distinctly remember the solid feeling of my flip phone in the palm of my hand, which I’d been saving up minutes for in case of an emergency. Metal against warm flesh, the machine that would deliver the news that would forever alter my life.

Hi, I'm writing a book and just wanted to ask for some tips like: -What are the main things that we have to stick to when writing? -how to publish a book?

• Do I need to translate my book into other languages, eg English or German, because my native language is Montenegrin?

I know answer on 1st question but if someone know some tips for me to improve on my current book it will be helpful.

Fernisse city, a city built on a spiritual hazard, The land itself was capable of sending one to unparalleled dimensions and these dimensions themselves were knitted together for pedestrian usage. The scales were secret and legends were lore.Everyone had simply forgotten about its inter-dimensional settings as they set-up shops and faculties. The people greeted each other as a new day dawned, setting off to their usual placement. They were once survivors, now they order shipments of what they loved the most for the one thing they want the most, authenticity.There was a survivor who had come in last month, everyone tried their best not to gossip, but they were eager for news. They had no idea where he had went,Not only that, but one of their founders was missing.

it enters dialogue for a paragraph then introduces the main character.

anything questionable about this technique.

When it comes to content writing, I've written a few articles for e-commerce companies, a lot of University assignments for a client and tons of product descriptions for another company. Apart from it, I've written around 30 articles for my blog.

Now, when I email a new company for work, then in fact I don't know what I'm going to write for them! I want them to give me work.

Or if that company already have a few articles on their blog, then I'm not clear which more topics should be added/covered to bring conversion & more traffic to their blog.

Is it normal for a new writer? How to proceed from here? Should I try to get a writing job first to get some real training under an expert? Or go ahead with freelancing?

Hello everyone! I'm in search of tools to help me enhance my grammar and vocabulary. Besides Grammarly, what other tools do you recommend? Thanks!

So before I share this, I started this story like maybe two years ago and recently I found it again. It's not good but I finished it for the sake of finishing. Enjoy and try not to cringe. Criticism is very allowed:

I dubbed her The Girl In Distress because she sat in the same room as me. Being stuck in the counselor’s compressed waiting room sort of defines you. I fell into a trance, glancing between a cheesy motivational poster and her painted face.

The Girl In Distress stood out in my world. So many details for my lingering eyes. Faded purple streaks, confusing pins littered all over her bag, unusual earrings. Why was she so bright while I was drowning? I bit down harder on my nail and bitter stung my tongue.

“You’ll swallow a nail if you keep doing that.” She. Could. Speak! I froze, my thumb stuck in my mouth. Now she was staring and I was the art installation, twisted and stupid. “Sorry if I frightened you. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

At least she apologized for the scare. Of course, I still was like a shameful child, caught in the act.

The Girl snapped up to her feet and her plastic chair screeched. She continued to stare. Continued to exist in my world. She spoke purposefully, “I can paint your nails. I’ll do it if you want.”

“Why?” My voice was barely audible, terribly weak with disuse. “Why would you want to?”

“You’re chewing up your poor fingers. Soon you’ll swallow them! Here, choose a color.” She rummaged through her round bag and pulled out three bottles. When they bounced in her hand, they clinked against her silver rings.

Teal, reddish orange, and sparkles. Such choices. As she shook them, they seemed to blend together. For a few seconds, we listened to their sound. Tik tik clank. Tik tik clank. Tik tik clang.

I grabbed one and held it up for both of us to see. The stale light above hit the shimmery liquid.

Only slightly, she raised her eyebrows as if my choice determined my fate.

“Good choice. Now hand it here.” I did and she took my right hand, examining its remains. The nails were jagged and old blood stained the edges. They were a monster’s hands, guilty of a crime.

She twisted the cap open with her teeth, then began to spread the nail polish onto my nails. I didn’t gag but I wanted to. All I felt was wet and goopy and… kind of safe. The Girl squinted with concentration as her long fingers squeezed my stubby ones. Each stroke was practiced and I started to lean closer into her space. Her breath brushed my skin. I squeezed my eyes, seeing thousands of colors.

“You make weird faces. That must be how you talk.” My head snapped up.

“I can talk,” I said, “I’m just not very good at it. There’s no one here to have conversations with.”

“Well, then talk with me. You seem to be used to being.. uh here. What’s so special about this room?”

If she didn’t know, then why was she here? “I’m waiting for help. I mean it’s taking a while but I need it. So I wait.”

“That sounds boring! How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you stayed here?” In this room.”

The brush’s strokes stopped, making the panic in my brain grow again. For the first time, the walls seemed closer than usual. And each plastic chair that waited with me felt unfamiliar. The inside door, which urged me to stay and ignore the OTHER door, suddenly mocked me. I remembered and everything hurt. I knew and I felt like death.

Then everything was fine. It seemed to be. I hoped it was.

“A while? Definitely longer than normal, I think.”

The Girl hummed nonchalantly from the bottom of her throat but I knew her eyes bore into my forehead. Yet she continued to paint, soon reaching my pinkie. My fingers were still a monster’s but the nail polish made them pretty. It gave them a disguise for a moment.

A grin stretched across her lips. “I’ll work on your other hand while this one dries. Tell me more, please.” I had no idea what she wanted from me.

“No.”

Apparently, her fuzzy eyebrows could get higher. “No?”

“You tell me something. I’m tired of being interrogated.” In truth, her constant examination of my mind made me internally curl into myself because I just didn’t know.

Maybe my hallucination could answer for me. She always seemed to know anyway.

“I believe I remember,” she started, “I know why I’m here but I’m not sure how to keep going. Or leave. I’m just going with the flow you know?”

“Are you lost?” The door was right there. Leave me.

Her voice sounded whispy. “I’ve been here before but I left. I just know I did. I left and I thought I got better. I know I’m better.”

Involuntarily, my body shook. She couldn’t know this time though. I wouldn’t let her. The Girl (Not Really In Distress) was a stranger. An anomaly. Wrong to me in every way.

Although more questions overwhelmed my tongue, I jumped back into one of the plastic chairs. Nail polish smeared across our separated fingers. Finally, her shock appeared real, not calculated and poised.

“Wow! You ruined the pedicure.”

“It’s not a pedicure. It’s a manicure, a very common mistake.”

How quickly the shock morphed into amusement. It should not have been surprising that her face could bend that way, unrecognizable. I think I remembered the changing from way back then. But denial was my new acquaintance and we were having a blast.

The Girl pulled out a cigarette from behind her ears and pushed it between her lips. Then, almost violently, she kicked the nail polish bottles at the door and they shattered. Explosions of glitter mixed into the orange and the teal left one line of color, straight through the mess.

We stared at it because I had no idea what to do and The Girl chewed methodically on the cigarette, face uncomfortably blank. Nail polish had smeared all over my fingers, coating them in a hard cast. The door remained closed and doubt that anyone was really behind it crossed my mind.

The Girl Maybe Not In Distress sunk to the floor beside me. In a hollow voice, she said, “it was supposed to help me. The whole talking and getting help thing. The counselor did help for a bit but I keep feeling wrong and I…” She paused and looked me up and down. “I couldn’t do it anymore. Come back here.”

Her furled eyebrows made me pause. Her nibbling on the cigarette seemed anxious. Her vulnerability made me lean forward.

“And? What happens next in your story?”

She mumbled, “you know. I told you already.”

“Oh, the thing about you leaving? I suppose it’s familiar but you might lie.” A sense of calm overwhelmed me as I bent closer to her, lips brushing the cigarette. A sweet substance littered my lips and its taste reminded me of things I pushed away.

For once, she appeared weak. “You think I'm lying. But you will still stay, waiting for nothing, and I will be gone. Because this room is bullshit.” She turned away from me, the distance between us already growing. “Just hang on to your own delusion.”

“Then. Get. Out. Of. My. WORLD! Stop ruining me.” She shrunk into herself as if I shouted and maybe I did. I felt I was going to explode, guts and gore splattered across her soft cheeks. I was on my feet. I was shaking uncontrollably. I slammed my hands against the door. Pain rushed through my fingers , causing me to whimper.

Still nothing happened. The Thought came to me in a moment of nauseating exhaustion. I was here waiting for nothing. A nothing that became everything to me.

I tried the doorknob, twisting it back and forth desperately. It dripped with nail polish and I hated the feeling of its texture. The door would not open.

“You know, after a while, you get used to it. The waiting. Because it’s all you can do.” I could not look at her. If I looked, everything would be wrong. More wrong than it already was.

Maybe I was dreaming, left behind in one of my terrible fantasies. I didn’t remember falling asleep. But my eyes weren’t closed, they couldn’t be closed I could see! My hands started to reach for my eyes. I needed to see. I needed my eyes to be open.

A hand ripped mine away from my face.

“Are you crazy?” She spat and her nail tore into my skin. “Do you want to be sent to a fucking psych ward?”

Oh. My heart skipped and my mind went blank. At once, I knew. The reality seemed to, maybe, right itself.

The Girl appeared more human as she shed two big tears and held on to me. I barely knew what to feel when I pulled away.

Glass cracked under my feet as I walked to the OTHER door. My whirlwind of emotions could destroy everything around me but her touch dragged me down.

Reaching the door, I twisted the handle without a hint of hesitation and then she was right there. My Girl.

I whispered, “I think I am crazy. All because of you and that’s why I’m here.” Her nose wrinkled and I could have sworn she smiled a little.

“So then you’re leaving. You know where you’re going? You want me to come… with you?”

“You keep asking me questions. Useless questions! Where else would I go? It’s just Here and Somewhere Else. That’s all I know.” Before she said anything else, I pulled her out the door.

Raindrops. My entire body became soaked from the pouring rain. I lifted my head towards the storming sky and let the rain flow down my face.

Outside felt different from before. I was free. I could breathe.

“You made it,” Girl said with awe, squeezing my monstrous hand gently. “I never thought you would leave.”

“So there was absolutely no faith in me? Go ahead and blame me, but I thought I saw a ghost when you just showed up!” I threw my head back with laughter and choked on water. She gave me a small shove to move away, making me fall back. Then we started to play in the downpour because what else was there to do?

Clumps of our hair stuck to our faces as we danced and laughed. My Girl, with her mismatched everything and nonsensical mind, held me close and all I knew was her. Who she once was.

“What next?” I had no idea which one of us spoke but we looked at each other. My Girl seemed to shrink away, washed out from the rain. She let go of me and could you blame me for hesitating?

“You live and never go back to being at standstill,” said My Girl. “I stay here. In the rain and with the last buildings I saw.”

I sputtered in surprise as if I didn't know she was right. “I’m just meant to move on. You always could figure out how to get out of things. Can’t you just stay with me?”

“No. I stay here and in your memories. You’re not trapped and you’re not me. I’m just a girl. And you still have the world.”

“But what will you have?”

She gave me the same impish smile she did in the waiting room and pointed at her feet. She wore big yellow rain boots. “I got everything I need! I mean these boots are made for jumping and… and there’s a lot of puddles. And buildings. I’ll make do.”

I laughed and she didn’t. I cried and she didn’t. She smiled and I didn’t.

All I really could do is miss My Girl. She, in turn, walked into the rain that bounced off the pavement.

I think when I left that room, I left the piece of me that was waiting. Waiting for someone who was stuck in one point of their life. My mind still holds onto the denial and my hand remains monstrous. But I just think of anything else and paint my nails with sparkles.

I’m mad. I know I am because I was in that room and so was she. I’m no longer a girl, but she will be. I live, barely.

Maybe I was the one in distress, I’m not sure anymore.

I'm currently writing a short story for a competition but i'm not sure if using the word 'suddenly' makes the sentence feel less urgent. (the context is opening up a box and seeing a note saying the character is about to die - Ik it's dark)

Suddenly my hand shoots up to my mouth.

OR

My hand shoots up to my mouth.

I have probably 80% of this story completed but I just cannot come up with a plausible ending. Ideas and suggestion are appreciated. It is a dystopian world ruled by a dictator and 2 women from very different backgrounds join a rebellion that takes down the régime. But how? How can they take down the government when they have the full force of the military and our heroes do not? There are not very many people left in the country (as a result of the country falling to fascism) and those left are too scared to fight back. There is an underground rebellion, but how to they take down a government? What would they have to do to make that happen? I want it to be plausible, but it just seems impossible... do other countries help? How would they help against a country that has nuclear weapons and is not afraid to use them against their own people let alone foreign. I feel like I have written myself into a corner. I have been thinking about this for over a month and keep coming up blank.

Hey guys, I'm a fairly new writer and I'm wondering how to make a convincing sweet love story... im not really sure on how I should go about it. So I'm really hoping the amazing writers in here could help 🙏

And if anyone could also tell me how to make a death sad that would be awesome too! I'm sorry if I'm asking too much.

I hope someone can help. 💓

As the title states I am looking to hear honest feedback from my most recent writing. I posted it on r/NoSleep but I am aware that the rules state for you to stay in character on that page so I have come here seeking real feedback.

I have been writing on and off since I was 12 and I am 25 now so for some years, but honestly I think my improvement from then has been steady but not exactly where I want to be.

I honestly am looking to just improve and hopefully make something of my writing rather than just keeping them to myself and occasionally finding the courage to post online.

Thank you in advance for the advice. I will link the story below warning in advance it is kind of a long one.

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/s/URZ2Qguybn

So, I have a lot of interests that require practice and commitment. All of them can be done at a low level just for fun of course. Which is what I have been doing forever. However, I've always wanted to accomplish more, and I've realized I need to commit to one at a time at the very least. And right now my writing project is not what I'm choosing.

However, part of what has always stopped me from commiting is worrying about losing the progress I've already made because of not maintaining my skills. That already happened with drawing to me. So I'm trying to do minor daily things to make sure my skills don't go away, even if they don't improve very quickly. With drawing that's gonna be drawing maybe 10 minutes a day.

What would be the equivalent of that with writing?

Good Life.

Two words which have kissed the lips of every human being in almost every language.

Good Life.

A concept that has pushed millions of people to leave their country. While Western governments are trying to block immigrants, the main reason why those people leave their homeland in the first place is because of their hope for a Good Life.

Good Life.

A concept that has pushed monarchs and leaders to invade, kill, and conquer other regions since the beginning of time.

Read more for free here.

On warm, sunny days when  sun fills most of the room, the cat would often be found soaking it all in. Her groomed coat would be lost in the white colored carpet she favors.. Her fur would be warm to the touch, just as she liked. Her ears would peak up as she heard the lady of the house begin up the stairs, as was the morning routine. As her milky eyes lay fixed at nothing, Lucy would make her way towards the door, where she knew she'd meet her companion. The lady was of a sweet nature. She cared for Lucy, and spoiled her much. Once at the top of the stairs, the lady would find Lucy in her favorite place and scoop her into her arm. She would pull her face close to bury her face into the lengths of the cats fur. The sound of Lucy’s soft, but fierce heartbeat was always a comfort, and sometimes Lucy’s purring would drown out that sound all together. They were a lovely sight.

Today was just one of those days. The clouds parted and let the sun rain down and warm whatever it touches. If the housekeeper were less good at their job, there would always be a slight imprint in Lucy’s favored spot. Dreaming of shapeless things, she was content, until a sudden nose awoke her. Her hearing, the sense that connected her most to the world, was sharp. She could hear someone downstairs walking around. Their steps were heavy, and foreign to her. Nothing like the sound of her lady.  It was glass breaking that woke her from her most pleasant slumber. Lucy stood, and cautiously waited for more. Perhaps they were guests she had not noticed. But drawers, opening and closing, and doors slamming are what filled the felines ears. She stood, with her well fed belly nearly touching the ground as she crept towards the door. She heard no speaking, just movement through the home, doing much of the same things. As the cat was about to brave outside the room, she heard the heavy steps begin upthe stairs. She turned to the comfort of the room that had been so peaceful a moment ago. The footsteps continued. Closer and closer and then

The stranger was in the room. They carelessly strolled through the room, picking up a vase here, and an antique art piece there. The floorboards creaked be Beneath the weight of them. Lucy was hiding under the sofa, silent, her useless eyes as big as saucers. 

The door downstairs opened, the lady was home. Lucy, while still in a position ready to run, found comfort in the familiar sounds of her lady’s movements. Surely all will now be settled now that she was home. All her life, the lady took great care to make sure Lucy felt safe and loved, and surely this strange event would be no different. The man, so calm, simply went downstairs to greet her. Lucy, for a moment thought of coming downstairs, but then she heard things.  Heard strange noises, hurt noises. The noises got so loud, Lucy became another lifeless addition to the room. The sound could not be confused for much else besides pain and fear. Lucy only wished for her lady to come upstairs and comfort her. A timeless amount of moments passed, and again entered the heavy steps. This time he smelled differently, like pennies. As soon as he entered, things were crashing to the floor. Frantically things were crashing and all the chaos was hard on Lucy’s sweet ears.  Chairs overturned, couches thrown to the ground. Finally, he was overturning the safe haven Lucy had made under a green chaise. 

A terrible laugh sounded in the room, and she answered with a growl. That tiny heart, pounding so hard it hurt. Her panic is coursing through her. Waiting for any sense of where he was, Lucy suddenly felt the hands of an intruder on her groomed fur. Rough hands tightened on her body and she found herself suspended off the ground. She fought bravely. Her immaculately designed claws tearing into a chest, an arm, a face. But she was a sweet house cat, and the man was cruel. After he was finished, he left her motionless on her favorite rug, now stained crimson. The house would soon return to a quiet peace. 

So, I decided to write my epilogue (I got a random burst of inspiration at 7pm a few days ago) and this was the result.

This is written from the overarching antagonist of the story (who isn't mentioned at all), who has been using people as vessels to destroy the House of Caén, which is the first house of the kingdom to be created, and the house that my MC is in.

Anyway, here it is.

I can feel it. My body is beginning to fade, my last earthly attachment stripped from beneath me. But a fire still burns within me, one unquenchable and eternal.

This realm of hapless kings has failed to bring me to my knees, time and time again, and yet two children, the descendants of cowards and traitors, have stripped me of my host. My soul is laid bare, searching both land and sea for another vessel. And that is where I find it. It's fitting, almost, that this person may have brought about Bryndis's downfall. But, the inconsequential matters of this plane means little to me. All I seek is my own preservation.

I am Eren, the Reborn. I have had many names, walked among kings and the populace, but I remain upon this plane until those who brought me low have fallen. Only then can I be free.

Free of the torment which has swung the delicate pendulum of good far out of position.

The last sputtering remmants of the man I was come back to me.

My lineage is safe. My last son will carry my mantle far into the future. The son of Bryndis cannot ascend - he will not ascend.

But, it was Ariana Mairé who posed the greatest threat to my existence.

If the final blow had been struck, my errant soul would have been dismembered, relegated to a fragment of itself.

The girl had the stern gaze of Marien, and I remember her. It's almost as if time itself has come back to haunt me, in all its forms.

The House of Caén still mocks me, even a millenia later. But eventually it will fall, ending at last Marien's bloodline. It has stood through trials and the fall of great kingdoms, but it cannot protect itself. Not from what it faces. The grace of Maldréa faded long ago, their people scattered across the land. Little remains of Daerion's greatest kingdom, except in memory.

It should have always been that way. An exile and a traitor should never have been able to found a house, let alone a kingdom.

When Hythe's grace wanes, I shall rise once again.

Hi,

This is my first time writing something, but I've always been interested in erotic romance. Note that I will be going into much more detail with the raunchier section.

Just want to find out if this is an idea that I can run with and would interest others. As well as if my writing style matches the more erotica-leaning romance genre. Please be honest and give any advice, baring in mind this is my very first time!

Chapter 1: Getting Ready

The late afternoon sun casts a warm, golden hue over Las Ramblas. Legs exhausted, limited knowledge of the Spanish language exhausted too, it’s time to head back to the hotel. I’ve meticulously revised the route back. Left at the top of the markets, right at the bar with the red canopy and follow that until you reach the busy pedestrianised cobbled street and climb uphill til the anais apartments sign. 

The apart-hotel I’m staying in is a charming, upscale place with the gothic style architecture Barcelona is so well known for. I decided to treat myself for the first leg of my trip, and I’ve been rewarded with a juliet balcony on a small but busy alleyway bustling with tapas and bars.

 The Spanish receptionist, a friendly woman in her thirties, makes me feel welcome every time I see her. Her warm smile and helpful tips have eased the loneliness of traveling alone.

I open the double ocean blue doors to the hotel. Greeted with that signature friendly grin. 

“Hola, Alex!” she greets me as I pass by the front desk. “Heading out for the evening?”

“Yes, I am,” I reply with a smile. “Any recommendations for a good bar nearby?”

She thinks for a moment, then nods. “There’s a great place just a few blocks away. It’s popular with both locals and tourists. You’ll love it.”

“Thank you!” I say, feeling a bit more confident about my evening plans.

Back in my room, I start getting ready. I slip into a particularly short dress I bought just for this trip, black tight and low cut, a style that modestly shows off my clevage. It’s not something I would usually wear, but this trip is all about stepping out of my comfort zone. As I check my reflection in the mirror, I wonder if the dress is too daring. But then I shrug off the thought. Tonight, I want to feel free and adventurous, the opposite of last night’s culinary experience - a share bag of lays and salsa after being too scared to go out alone.

With a final touch of lipstick and a spritz of perfume, I’m ready. I grab my purse and head out, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. I usually plan everything in advance, but tonight I’m letting spontaneity take the lead.

Chapter 2: Alex's Perspective - The Bar

I step into the bar, immediately hit by the cacophony of voices and the strumming of a live guitar. The ambiance is cozy, with warm lighting and rustic decor. The bartender, a cheerful man with a thick Spanish accent, greets me as I slide onto a stool.

“Una copa de vino, por favor,” I order, hoping my high school Spanish is good enough to get me a glass of wine. The bartender grins and nods, turning to fetch my drink.

I take a moment to survey the room. The bar is filled with locals, all absorbed in their own worlds. I scan the room for these ‘tourists’ the receptionist mentioned but no sign. There’s a couple at the end of the bar, leaning in close and whispering to each other. A group of friends nearby erupts in laughter, their joy infectious.

Despite the lively atmosphere, I can’t shake the feeling of being out of place. Drinking alone isn’t something I’m used to, and the anxiety gnaws at me. I take a sip of my wine, trying to calm my nerves. The cool liquid is a welcome distraction, and I savor the taste as it lingers on my tongue.

Lost in my people watching I notice a guy entering the bar. He’s tall, with dark brown hair that falls into his temples and an easy smile. He seems to exude confidence, the kind of charisma that draws people in effortlessly. Our eyes meet briefly, and I quickly look away, feeling a flush creep up my neck.

I take another sip of my wine, trying to appear nonchalant. I glance around the bar again, overanalysing everything and everyone. The couple at the end of the bar, the group of friends, the bartender’s cheerful demeanor. It’s all too much, and I feel a surge of anxiety.

Just as I’m about to finish my drink and leave, the guy with the easy smile approaches me. “Is this seat taken?” he asks, pointing to the stool next to mine.

“No, go ahead,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Thanks. I’m Dan,” he says, settling into the seat.

I freeze briefly, “Oh, Alex,” I respond.

“What brings you to Barcelona?” he asks with genuine curiosity.

I hesitate for a moment, unsure how much to share. “Just traveling around Europe for a while. It’s my first stop.”

“Nice. I’ve been here a few times. It’s a great city,” Dan says, his eyes twinkling with enthusiasm. “Where are you headed next?”

“Porto,” I reply. “I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”

“Ye, I’ve heard that too” he says. There’s something about his presence that puts me at ease, and before I know it, we’re deep in conversation.

We talk about my plans, what I’m looking forward to, and a barrage of bar recommendations he has for me.. Dan has a story for everything. He’s been to so many places and seen so many things. His passion for travel is infectious, and I find myself getting caught up in his enthusiasm. Each story he tells reveals tiny glimpses into his life. 

“Why are you traveling?” he asks, his tone turning more serious.

I hesitate again, feeling a twinge of vulnerability. “Just needed a change,” I say, keeping my answer vague. I’m not ready to spill all my secrets to a stranger, no matter how charming he is.

He seems to sense my hesitation and doesn’t push for more. Instead, he shifts the conversation to lighter topics, and soon we’re laughing again. 

As the night wears on, the bar fills up even more, and the noise level rises. We move closer to hear each other, our faces inches apart. His eyes sparkle with mischief, and I feel a thrill of excitement.

“Want to get out of here?” Dan suggests, his voice low and intimate.

I hesitate for a moment, but the connection I feel with him is undeniable. “Think I’m going to head back” I state with an apologetic half smile.

In an obvious move by him, he offers to walk me back but its a very welcome offer, as the 4 glasses of Spanish wine haven’t fully eased my anxiety.

Chapter 3: Sex

The night air is cool as Dan and I leave the bar, walking side by side through the winding streets. There’s a magnetic pull between us, and every brush of his arm against mine sends shivers down my spine. Eventually, he offers to link arms. I thread my arm through his and he tighten his grip on me as i grip his bicep. Dan’s frame is slim with broad shoulders and benefits from slightly toned arms, which I am taking full advantage of as I clench my hand around them. 

“Do you want to come in for a bit?” I ask, my voice tinged with anticipation, half in shock as that hadn’t even been a thought before we got to those familiar ocean blue doors.

“I’d love to,” he replies, his smile widening.

Once inside my room, the air between us crackles with tension. Our lips meet in a passionate kiss, and everything else fades away. His hands are everywhere, exploring my body with a hunger that matches my own. Clothes are discarded in a trail leading to the bed as he reveals that slim frame I’ve been so tightly gripping onto. 

Dan’s touch is electric, and I lose myself in the sensation. His lips trail down my neck, and I arch into him, my breath coming in ragged gasps. He takes his time, his hands and mouth working magic on my body, building the tension until I’m trembling with need.

When he finally enters me, it’s like the world shifts. We move together in a rhythm that feels both natural and urgent, our bodies perfectly in sync. The pleasure builds and builds until it’s almost too much to bear, and then we’re both falling over the edge, shuddering in each other’s arms.

Afterward, we lie tangled together, our breaths mingling as we come down from the high. I feel a connection to Dan that goes beyond the physical, a sense of rightness that I haven’t felt in a long time. I drift off to sleep, content and sated.

Hi Everyone,

I understand how gruesome the writing process is, and I'm not pressuring myself to have a book written in X amount of time. I'll be taking it day by day.

Nevertheless, there's this calling in me to write a novel based on an event in my life I've faced. More than anything, I want to share the lessons I've learned from this experience to many girls/women out there.

This book I have in mind is fictional though I'm open to any tips/encouragement on how to proceed. My next steps is laying out the summary/plan of how the story will go and do some research on certain cultural aspects entailed in this book.

I don't have a set goal of pages for my book, I want this process to come naturally too.

I'm open to any advise from writers who have written novels in the past.

It took thirty minutes to get from the car to the river shore. Why thirty minutes? First, we argued over how many sticks we’d need. I said each person should have their own stick. They said we only needed two sticks, as my sister would tie her tube with Mom and Dad. I said don’t start screaming when your tubes get stuck and your stick breaks trying to lug three adults.

Then we went to buy the tubes and sticks. The lady asked how many people. I said four. She punched in four tickets. She then asked how many sticks we’d need. I scowled at Dad. Two sticks Dad said. Okey Dokey the lady said pleasantly. The card reader beeped and dinged and then showed an option for tipping. I maintained eye contact with her as I pressed no tip. Have a nice day the lady said with a not-very-nice voice.

After that, we went to rent a storage locker. Dad saw the hourly rate and said he’d drop our stuff in the car. Once he reached the car, he realized he couldn’t just leave the car keys inside the car. He walked back and said he’d hold on to the car keys while he tubed. I said are you crazy, do you want our ride home swallowed by the river? He finally saw reason but said, if I’m going to rent a locker, I might as well put all of our stuff in here. So he walked back to the car, picked up our stuff, rented a locker, and dumped it inside.

So that’s how it took thirty minutes to get from our car to the river shore a hundred feet away.

Hey everyone,

I'm working on a memoir about meeting my husband in Russia. We have a big age gap; he's American, and I'm Russian. We met under circumstances some may judge but fell in love, had two kids, and moved to the US when his company pulled out due to the war.

My husband is very private. He has a high-level job, and although he's not a public figure, he does TED Talks and university lectures. He's had issues with me posting about our life publicly before, often asking me to take down specific posts.

Writing is one of my only outlets. I've been taking English and writing courses, and writing about my experiences motivates me and helps me improve. It's a way to make social contact, especially since my family is still in Russia.

So far I’ve been using Medium to share our story but I want to respect his privacy. How much personal information is advisable to post, given that I want to be read but also need to consider privacy concerns? How would you go about this? Would love your thoughts. Thanks! 🙏

-Valya

I don't know, but I'm giving this a shot. I've always loved to write and it's about time I got better at it. I do need a few tips and tricks on how to write regularly. Most of my irl friends aren't into it as much as me, so an online community is my best shot, wouldn't hurt.

Hi- I've never written any story since high school and it's been decades. I started this a while ago for the writing prompt reddit but finally buckled down and finished....posting here because that thread is dead now. I have no training and I've never had feedback. I'm a little nervous but really would like some feedback. Thank you!

[WP] You and another scavenger are searching through an abandoned mall for food or items to trade. The power has been out for decades, and you know for a fact that it's impossible for anything to turn on. Just as you're about to leave, old music starts playing on the speakers.

Maren kept low through the corridor of the abandoned mall. She bounced from one empty kiosk to another, stopping occasionally when she heard an unidentified sound. Reluctantly, also when Pippen lagged too far behind.

“You don’t have to do that!” he called from three kiosks ago.

She rolled her eyes and suppressed the urge to yell, “SSSHHH”.

“There’s no one here,” he continued.

He needs to stop being so cavalier, she thought. It must be the high of adrenaline after fighting off that pack of wild dogs. She remembered their mangy fur and hungry whines. Only one bullet left in Pippen’s gun after that encounter, what a waste.

Still crouched, she waited, and counted the seconds until Pippen should appear given his leisurely pace. Her thighs quickly began to ache, joining the empty one in her stomach, and she cursed her weakness. He should have caught up by now- where is he?

She swallowed her worry about him and the danger of the place in her stomach- chew on that- and stood up to look around for him. 

The mall was an alien land in the early stages of terraforming. Low plants grew where the tile had cracked, subsisting off of weak light filtered through broken skylights. The rot of dead leaves and detritus covered the ground in the beginnings of top soil for the next generation. Yet the old stores and signs persisted, asserting a foreign time:

“CLAIRE’S” one exclaimed. “COMING SOON”, another.

No, it won’t, Maren thought sourly. No power lit those signs for decades. No power ran through any circuits. No power could stand against the thing that devoured it all.

Did everyone yell everything so loudly back then? Maren wondered. Giant signs for giant voices. She had spent so much of her life trying to be smaller, so as not to garner the attention of others. It was her super power. The way she avoided roving bands and how she stole food.

She tracked Pippen to a wing off of the main corridor. The hallway was narrower and twisted left and right, until she found a door with a busted sign of a crude stick figure in white.

She pushed through the door, and saw Pippen standing in dim flare light against the wall. 

Why is he facing the wall in nigh darkness? She wondered as an anxious pit formed in her stomach. Has he been taken?

“Maren!”, he exclaimed.

The pit jumped into her throat and she rushed to him.

He quickly turned at her approach, cock in hand, spraying a line along the wall. Maren was ready for the worst, so she jumped easily out of the way, only lightly sprinkled. She lost herself in laughter. What a beautiful fool.

“Look, it’s a pisser” he laughed and pointed at an upright porcelain drain.

He was tall, long in the limbs and face, as if God had stretched wiry muscle over a printed bone frame. It took a while to get used to his angles at night. Even his earlobes flapped long. Maren liked to nibble on them when they cuddled at night. 

Now, she sat on the floor and her legs, and let the laughter and adrenaline wear off. For a reason she could not explain, she started to tear, then cry. Pippen knelt and held her and whispered,

“We’re safe. The information we have is good. No one would dare enter this place right now. Only we know it’s safe. We’re safe.”

Maren could only manage an affirmative nod as she focused on her rush of emotion and clamping it down. She stood up and took him by the hand back to the main hallway. Once she was sure she could speak confidently again she uttered, “Let’s not make this adventure a waste. We need to find food.”

She abandoned stealth mostly, and searched beside her dear companion. They took their time with the idea that thorough would prevent injury and backtracking. In truth, they yearned to soak in the curious past. They couldn’t help exclaiming, “Look at this!” and “I wonder what this was used for” and “What silly things to sell”. They worked through the historic edifice one storefront at a time until the sun began to set and Pippen realized that they might be lost.

“We can’t go back empty-handed.” they both thought and began to say at the same time.

How did people navigate around this maze? They found themselves at a nexus of four main corridors standing on a pile of debris. Pippen absent-mindedly picked through it. There were pieces of granite and metal, maybe a twisted bannister, plastic bits and bags, pieces of ceramic, somehow an escalator step. Pippen moved junk around as if looking for something specific. Maren liked to see him use his muscles, so she sat and thought and watched. 

He found something. He didn’t know what it was until he picked up the wide plastic and metal panel and turned it over, but it was no doubt a map. Their brief bout of listlessness was over, and they excitedly tried deciphering the colored squares on it.

In a moment they knew their destination. Far on the left on the second floor. The Food Court. But to get there they needed to know where they were on the map. Maren started to look at the size of the stores in the area and compare them to other four-corridor nexuses on the map. Pippen, following along, hugged her suddenly as he found a bright shining star. “You Are Here”.

They jumped and hugged and kissed. It wasn’t far- just a corner on the second floor they hadn’t reached yet. It wasn’t an idea or a risk or a fancy anymore. Now, it was a mission with a specific destination. Maren crouched low and scouted ahead. Pippen stopped his quips and kept a hand on the gun. There was no reason to risk a sure thing.

The sun fully set by the time they approached The Food Court, and both were exhausted. When Maren wiped her brow, her sweat was a brown-gray mix of dust and grime. On the map, The Food Court was the biggest pink shape, and they finally crossed the threshold. Pippen bent over to light the flare they used as an improvised torch.

Suddenly he stood up straight as an arrow and Maren heard a thud as he dropped it. She looked at where he was staring at the rows of dark counters where once people were served food. Except one wasn’t dark. 

“One second!” someone yelled.

They heard brief static and then old music started playing on the speakers. 

Mesmerized by the scene, they approached a bright neon sign: “Great Wall Chinese Food”.

On one side they saw a stack of red trays. Behind the plexiglass was an assortment of food: hot noodles, sauced meats, and fried rolls. And behind that was a beaming bespectacled man, holding a styrofoam container and a scooper. He wore slacks and a dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

His bearded face smiled as if there wasn’t anything unusual at all. As if there weren’t an apocalyptic scene mere feet away. 

“Welcome. What would you like to order?”

[400 page novel at one Page]

Aditya met Sohini because she was concerned for her mother. She thought someone wanted to kill her mother and needed Aditya to investigate the matter. Sohini's mother, Mandakini Devi, was an actress. She married a second time to a rich businessman, Mr. Chowdhury, leaving Sohini's father and her first husband, Nilanjan. Mr. Chowdhury had two children from his first marriage: Shankhadeep and Shankhamala. Mr. Chowdhury was unhappy due to his children. His only son, Shankhadeep, was a belligerent, rude, and addicted person, so there was no hope for him to continue the business empire. On the other hand, Shankhamala married her poor singing teacher.

Soon, Mr. Chowdhury died of a heart attack, and now Mandakini's life was in danger.

Mandakini's car was found at a gorge in Jalpaiguri. The car was wrecked, but no bodies were found, neither hers nor her driver's. All the Chowdhury family members were called by the solicitor to announce the will. Mandakini had made a will stating that if she died an unnatural death, no one would get any money from the property. Instead, all the property would be transferred to an NGO. Later that day, Shankhadeep was killed. After some days, Mandakini's and her driver's bodies were found at a secluded farmhouse. They had been shot dead at point-blank range.

Aditya revealed everything:

Though Nilanjan and Mandakini evinced bitterness between them in front of everyone, the reality was just the opposite. Nilanjan was a theatre artist and met Mandakini there. They fell in love and married. As per Sohini's description, they never fought with each other; moreover, Mandakini was very obedient to Nilanjan. The sudden fighting between her parents seemed unnatural to Sohini. Soon after, Mandakini married Mr. Chowdhury. Everyone blamed Mandakini for cheating on her husband, but unbeknownst to society, it was Nilanjan's plan all along. Nilanjan was suffering from a lack of money, so he devised a plan to solve this problem once and for all.

After marriage, Mr Chowdhury wanted a boy to run his business, but he couldn't perform in bed due to his old age. So, Mandakini brought him to an Ayurvedic doctor. She gave him this medicine continuously. According to the doctor, the medicine could not be given to a heart patient, and Mandakini and Nilanjan knew it would work as a slow poison. It happened just as they had planned; Mr. Chowdhury died of a heart attack.

Now their goal was to confiscate all the property, so they staged some murder attempts on Mandakini. But there was a problem—Shankhadeep. He found out that his father's death was a conspiracy. He started to threaten Mandakini, so he was killed. She had changed the will to transfer the property to an NGO, which was fake. They staged the car crash to corroborate her death.

But little did they know that Shankhadeep had a girlfriend, Martha Savio, to whom he had told everything. After Shankhadeep's murder, she knew who had killed him. She surmised that all these incidents were staged and that Mandakini's death was also part of the plan. She found their address and shot them point-blank to take her revenge. The driver was Nilanjan in disguise.

Reasons to Destroy a God

Greetings all,

I'm currently working on a novel, and, 10 chapters in, I've hit a snag... character motivation. I had one, but I don't like it, so I'm looking for another way to go about it.

Here's what's going on:

• The main character (a very long-lived mortal) was a lover of a god in a major pantheon. They grew apart and she ended up falling in love with another mortal (this is how far I've written so far).

Here's where the plot was originally going:

• MC and the mortal have a child together. The god the MC once loved kills the child in a fit of jealousy. Now, the MC is out to kill this god and wipe them from existence.

My issue:

I haven't written about the child just yet because I'm not sure I want that to be the reason my protagonist goes on a crusade against this god. I find the reason a little trite and cliché. I still want my protagonist to fight this god with every intention to kill them and erase them from memory.

What other reasons could a mortal have to kill a god?

(Repost so I could edit the title)

So, at the moment, I have a premise centered around my protagonist with a bunch of developed main/side characters and their arcs planned with a bunch of worldbuilding and magic and whatnot, but I can’t seem to come up with a damn plot.

I know what I want to happen to the characters, I’m just having trouble on how it plays out in a way that feels like a moving plot and not a bunch of things happening.

What does a person do in this scenario?

Edit: If this doesn't make sense please lmk