Welcome to r/Writers!

Hi everyone, I have been working on writing a YA Fantasy novel off and on for the past few years, mainly because of a lack of confidence in myself until my partner read the 3 chapters I had written and encouraged me to write the rest of it and try to get it published. I have been really excited about working on it over the past 4-6 months, and I now have a full plot outline, Pinterest inspo boards and several chapters written. I have a degree in English education and have worked as an English teacher so I do have an understanding of how to write and what makes someone's writing effective, but I would love to hear from y'all about your experiences or some ways to grow as a writer! I have been taking notes while I read other books to take note of word usage, tone/mood words, voice descriptors, phrases, etc that I really like to replicate in my own writing style and my own words to fit the world I'm creating.

I have never written or published a book before, so any tips for the writing, editing or publishing process would be awesome! Thanks in advance!

Fenton's footsteps echoed in the narrow alley, the tall buildings on either side blocking the light of the otherwise luminous full moon. The chilly, crisp night air made mist of every breath. He was unconcerned with safety as a tall and muscular mixed martial artist. That is, until an evil, foul-smelling demon from the furthest reaches of hell burst from the manhole in front of him.

He screamed.

The demon screamed.

His legs didn't wait for his brain to catch up, and he began to sprint to the end of the alley.

"Where are you going? Please, I've been stuck in the sewer for hours! Can you call my boss? My phone is done for, but you can reach him at the public sewage department number!"

Slinking back, Fenton felt like a very relieved coward.

Upon closer inspection, he could see that the demon was, in fact, a small man coated in multiple oozing layers of filth wearing what probably used to be a high vis uniform.

He called the public sewage department number and eventually got through to the man's boss.

"Thank God! I'm so glad he's OK! Please give him the phone."

"He's dripping shi...slime everywhere, and there is no way I'm handing him my phone. Here, I'll put you on speaker."

"Can you hear me, Sam? Are you all right?"

Against all evidence to the contrary, the slightly steaming worker replied, "Yeah, I'm fine."

The boss sounded very stressed. "What the hell happened? You were supposed to stay on the main path."

"I'm not sure I can tell you just now. It's about the reason we were working down there."

"You might as well tell me. Some reporter was snooping around, and everybody in Ontario is going to know by next week at the latest."

"I saw the alligator go down a side pipe and followed, but the safety grate closed behind me, and I couldn't get it open again. At least this narrows our search, though. I saw the alligator cross over into the eastern storm drains. We can shut the grates and catch it in the storm sewers."

Fenton didn’t think he could contribute anything constructive, but he had to say something. "An alligator. In Ontario. How?"

"Probably someone's illegal pet they released when it grew too large," Sam told him dismissively. "Now it's 10 feet long and wreaking havoc on some of our more delicate sewer components."

Fenton thought about this a moment, then said, "I'll catch it if you pay me."

"What do you mean?" Asked the manager on the phone.

"I'm from Florida." He said.

"That makes you more qualified than any of us. You're hired."

They worked out the details, and Fenton confirmed he was sure three times.

Sam's apartment was in the same direction as Fenton's hotel, so they walked together for a while.

"What brings you to Ontario?" Sam asked.

Fenton was alert to their surroundings given the time of night, looking around as he said, "I've got a mixed martial arts fight tomorrow night."

Sam scraped some muck off his arms and said, "That's amazing. How have you fared in previous fights?"

"I do OK," Fenton said modestly.

That was all the polite conversation they had in them, and they walked in comfortable silence a few blocks before Sam headed down a different street. Fenton took a deep breath of crisp, fresh air. He hoped he wouldn't smell like Sam after he finished catching the alligator tomorrow.

Fenton and the dozens of workers he met the next morning were able to find and close off the alligator in a bleak storm drain three blocks away from a large park. He got the OK to go down into it about noon, descending on a ladder with a head lamp on. He looked around, subconsciously looking for clowns or similar, but there was only an enormous, angry alligator. He knew what to do with that.

He got a loop around the alligators jaw first go and secured it to the bars of the metal grate blocking the next passageway. Now, he had to tranquilize the creature. He got close enough to the side of the animal to administer the injection in the right place, but that didn't save him. The furious alligator began a death roll that smashed him into the concrete.

Fenton was no stranger to pain and knew better than to move in the opposite direction of the roll, so he waited for his opportunity to get free. This came soon. The alligator was now having an unexpected nap. His right leg was still crushed under the immense animal. He pushed and pulled and twisted until finally he got it out, calling to the workers that it was safe for them to enter.

"What's going to happen to the alligator?" He asked.

"She'll go to the Ontario Zoo." The manager told him.

"He. Female alligators don't get this big." Fenton corrected.

"I don't care how the alligator identifies. I will not judge the alligator. I just want the mayor to stop calling me."

He and the workers hauled the heavy creature out of the storm drain on a big, sturdy piece of tarp. The alligator was successfully transferred to the zoo.

Fenton won his fight that night, but barely because of his injured leg. He made sure to tell his competitor that it was a good match and a close thing.

Back in the US, his first stop was the currency exchange.

"You took nearly 20%! That was my alligator catching money!"

The exchange lady was unimpressed. She looked like she took people's alligator catching money all the time.

She probably puts her cast iron skillets in the dishwasher, Fenton uncharitably thought.

Still, he walked out the door into the fading late afternoon light almost five hundred dollars richer, and he was happy.

Hi, everyone! I’m excited (and a little nervous) to share my upcoming novel, Echoes of Eternity. It’s a science fiction journey that dives deep into time travel, the mysteries of black holes, and the boundaries between reality and dreams. I’ve spent a lot of time building a world that blends scientific theories with human emotions, philosophy, and a sense of wonder about the universe.

Here’s the premise:

Atamo, a young dreamer, finds himself questioning the nature of reality. With the help of mysterious mentors, he uncovers a truth beyond what he’s ever imagined – that alternate versions of himself might exist, each on a different timeline. As he navigates dream worlds, black holes, and mind-bending parallel universes, he learns that his destiny could impact far more than he thought.

What if the gods of mythology were just advanced humans from the future? And what if our lives are echoes, reverberating through multiple timelines? Echoes of Eternity isn’t just about science; it’s about the human soul’s search for meaning and connection.

Who this book is for:

• Sci-fi lovers who enjoy deep dives into time travel, alternate dimensions, and speculative ideas.
• Readers who like a mix of science and philosophy.
• Anyone who’s ever wondered about dreams, existence, and the nature of life itself.

If you’re interested in science fiction with a twist of existential and emotional depth, I’d love for you to wait for this super explorative novel ! Any feedback, questions, or thoughts are welcome – it’s always amazing to connect with people who share a love for the unknown.

Thanks for reading, and I’d love to hear what intrigues you most about time travel, dreams, or alternate realities!

My father said a good book is centered around the message. I was writing for entertainment but now he’s got me thinking the book won’t be good if I don’t center a message around it. What are your thoughts?

I’m curious how other writers do things. Do you write short stories then look for submission calls that they fit? Or do you see a submission call and use it as a prompt for a story?

Vampires who were involved with American slavery are somewhat common in pop-culture: Louis from "Interview With a Vampire" and Damon Salvatore from "The Vampire Diaries" were slave-owners, Jasper Hale from Twilight and Bill Compton from True Blood were confederate soldiers.

In response to the trope of slave-owning vampires, there are some posts on social media with prompts for stories about vampire hunters of color hunting down vampires who were colonizers, confederates and slave-owners.

This gave me an idea to get creative with the concept of vampires who were "historical villains". I want to write a story which explores the questions if people who have done terrible things are capable of change, to what extent being "a product of the times" works as an explanation and if we really are more enlightened and moral than our forebears. Rather than making the vampire just an evil monster to hunt down and kill, make them human, even sympathetic.

My idea is a story which features few vampires at least a couple of centuries old who all have done bad things in the past, both in life and in death, and are now trying to process their trauma and deal with their guilt in various ways. Some stay in the shadows to help human communities in the ways they can, while others are still kinda selfish jerkasses yet trying to heal.

Additionally, the antagonists are a group of vampire hunters who want to hunt them down with the justification being that they deserve to die for their past crimes, but in reality they're just glory-hounds who want to brag about killing something big and scary.

As for their backgrounds, the only character whose backstory has been set in stone is a 16th century conquistador. He was a penniless orphan and joined a ship heading for the new world to seek opportunities for himself.

Most vampire-hunters in this setting aren't professionals in any sense, nor particularly competent. The majority are just normal people who one day decide to play hero, or religious zealots. This group of hunters fit the former category.

During one confrontation, a vampire will give a hunter the "armor-piercing question" if his family really are morally superior to him, since they too have taken part in wars overseas that have caused the suffering of oppressed people.

The message here is "at least the bronze age warlord*,* roman soldier*,* viking raider*,* crusader and conquistador were all products of societies where the concepts of equality and life being inherently valuable didn't exist."

I want to ask how to pull off my idea with sensitivity: making the protagonists lovable without (completely) brushing off the harm they've caused, writing a compelling redemption arc and comparing past concepts of morality with modern ones.

At first the vampires were far more sympathetic and noble than the hunters, but then I thought that might make things too skewed. Would it be necessary for a balanced story to have at least one hunter who truly thinks they're doing the right thing?

Before you read, plz understand this isn't finish yet. This is a raft draft of a history of my world before I write the main story. I might make this a spread book, snice there a lot of information. The main story take place in the year 984 AC of the Fourth Age, Age of Magic. I wanted to right the history of the main country/continent leading up to the main story, so I have a reference. Hope you all enjoy it. Plz give me feedback, Good and Bad. So, I can do my best work, thx you all for reading.

The Empire of Romania was formed during the end of the Third Age. The First Emperor died at the age of 53 during the Invasion of the Dark Continent 15 A.C., the Fourth Age. The Second Born, first son of the emperor, took up the throne when the daughter disappeared around her 21 years. The Second Emperor died at the age of 38, when a demon was summoned in the old Capital of Romania. At the age of 13, the Third Emperor took up the throne. During this reign, the Empire was thrown into chaos and civil war. The Third Emperor died at the age of 36, by Mogal and taking the stronghold of the Northern Mountains. This would be known as the Dungeon of Mogal. 

At the Age of 16, the Fourth Emperor took the throne, during his reign, age 36, he gave two titles to important Romanian characters, The First Dragon Knight and Dark Wolf of Romania. Died at the age of 45 from a heart attack. 

At the Age of 21 the Fifth Emperor is crowned, during his reign, an Elf (Elyane) and the Dark Wolf uncover a dark secret of the Church of the Old Gods, this would be known as the Wrath of the Celestials. The 5th Emperor banished the practice of the Old Gods from Romania and bought the religion of the Celestials. At the age of 60, he gave his crown to his oldest child, a daughter, who was 36, and first woman to be Empress. The Fifth Emperor died at the age of 85. 

At the age of 40, The Empress formed the Senate, so the people can have a voice in the government. Age of 50, an invasion of the sea began. Raiders of the island in the far south came to Romania. At the Age of 60, The Empress gave the throne to her second son, while the first formed the Magic Academy. 

Beside the invaders of the South Sea, most of the Seven Emperor's life would be uneventful, until his passing at the age of 54 by a Plague. 

A regent ran Romania until the daughter of the Seven Emperor (Second Empress) became of age of 21. During this reign the Sea Invaders stop. The Dark Wolf came back to Romania during the Eighth Reign. The Dark Wolf married the second daughter of the Empress, forming the House of Wolves or also known as the Chaotic House. At the Age of 47, The Eight Emperor (Second Empress), gave up the throne and gave it to the eldest child, son, age of 24.



The War of Humans and Beastmen began. This war would last for 5 years with Romania losing and The Dark Wolf fought against the Romanian people. This gives hatred for the House of Wolves, the house isn’t label traitor, just a lot of distrust about them. The emperor fell to the Dark Wolf on the border of Romanian and Furmilia. 



During the Year 264 another Civil War Broke out, for the rule of Romania. The Ninth Emperor didn’t have an heir to the throne. The Bloodline of the first Emperor began to fight among each other. One branch of the House of Wolves believed he (who was Half Elven) should rule, while one went missing and the last stayed out of the war. The Elven Wolf died in battle. A House of the Seven Emperor and the Eight fought both would fall in the final battle of the Civil War. 



Leaving the throne to Seven Empress, second son, child daughter, at the Age of 25. The tenth Emperor, Second Empress, was crowded. During this Reign, The Chair of the Emperor and the House of the Senate decide if the Emperor/Empress would die before an heir was decided, that the Senate will vote on the next Emperor. The Next Emperor would have to have the blood of the first Emperor. 

The House of Summervale, part of the Fifth Emperor Bloodline, discovered a wood that was so durable that it took enchanted magic axes to cut them. Leading to another Faction/House Ironwood, The Dungeon of Molgal and Forest of Ironwood were both in the House of Summervale territory. 

The Tenth Emperor then died of natural cause at the age 



Eleventh Reign, a dwarven race settled the mountain between the Elf and Romania lands. This would be known as the Last Dwarven Kingdom. The other was fallen by creatures of the Dark Continent, though Dwarven are created crafters, but they lack the numbers to hold off the armies of their enemies. So a pack was formed between Romania, Elves and Dwarfs. 



The Academy of Magic was attacked trying to find the Bloodline of the Dark Wolf by a Dark Cult known as the Forsaken. The Dark Wolf came back to explain that an item that belonged to the Ninth Emperor had a jewel placed upon it belonging to the Six Primal Magic Stone, source of all magic throughout the world. The Dark Wolf wanted to take this Jewel and keep it safe, but the Royal Family won’t let it go. 



The Twelve Emperor was Crowned, for the next three generations the land was at peace, guilds were formed to explore land and regions that aren’t easy to explore. Like the Dungeon of Molgal, Forest of the First Dungeon and the Ruins of the Druids.  

(A.C. means After Calamity) 

Invasion of DC: 15 AC (First Emperor death) 

The Arrival of Demonic Race: 34-35 AC (Second Emperor Death)

Romania Civil War: 37-44 AC 

Dungeon of Molgal: 58 AC (Third Emperor Death)

Knighting Ceremony: 78 AC

Fourth Emperor Death: 103 AC

Fifth Emperor Crown: 104 AC

Wrath of the Celestials: 114 AC

Six Emperor (First Empress) Crown: 150 AC 

Senate Formed: 154 AC

Invasion of The Sea: 164 AC

Seven Emperor Crown: 173 AC 22

Magic Academy: 174 AC

Fifth Emperor Death: 175 AC

Eight Emperor Crown: 186 AC

Six Emperor Died: 189 AC

Plague: 205 AC (Seven Emperor Died)

Regent of Romanian: 206 AC

Eight Emperor Crown (Second Empress): 220 AC 

Invasion of The Sea Ended: 239 AC

House of Wolves was Formed: 248 AC

Ninth Emperor Crown: 250 AC

War of Human and Beastmen: 256 AC

War of H&B Ended: 261 AC (Ninth Emperor Died)

Second Civil War began: 264 AC (Eight Emperor Died)

Second Civil War was Ended: 279 AC

Tenth Emperor Crowned: 280 AC 

Ironwood was discovered: 300 AC 

Eleventh Emperor Crowned: 305 AC 

Tenth Emperor Died: 311 AC 

Alliance Form, Romania, Elves and Dwarfs: 316

The Academy of Magic was attack: 324 AC 39

The Twelve Emperor Crowned: 330 AC 24

Thirteenth Emperor Crowned: 355 AC

Fourteenth Emperor Crowned: 378 AC

Guild was formed: 386 AC 

Fifteenth Emperor Crowned: 405 AC 

For a crime thriller story of mine, a witness in a case is going into protection from the police. She packs her things, at her place, but wants to bring a specific item, that she does not want the police to know she has, because of ulterior motives.

The item is too big to fit in a pocket though, so she needs to carry it in a bag or case of some sort. I want the villains after her to make an attempt on her later, which leads to a shootout/chase, but after that is over, and she escapes, I still want her to have the item with her and not leave it behind.

Is it possible a woman could have an overnight bag on her, the whole time, during a shootout and chase, without ditching it for convenience of movement sake?

Thank you very much for any opinions on this. I really appreciate it!

I'm writing a future-history. It's something like if Issac Asimov, Orson Wells, Tom Clancy collaborated on a series. In the 4th book, I reveal the backstory of an evil corporation that was put in place following World War 2. Long story short, I want president Truman to address the American people, and much of what he said in 1946 - 1947 is applicable in my series - actually all of it feeds my war machine. Are there rules against using his speeches, and him to deliver them?

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1PyLhI15CfKLZH8JotX0ibL9MonSQSmlK/view?usp=drivesdk

I'm currently working on a supernatural romance that features an indigenous character named Tecuani. Tecuani is a complex, nuanced character who I believe is fully developed beyond just an archetypal inclusion of a character of color. Born in the late 1400s as a farmer from Tenochtitlan, he was turned into a vampire in his young adulthood. The story picks up just over a year after his transformation, as he navigates his existence and ultimately meets the love interest, the other immortal character (this character is not technically human because he is ancient and predates humanity and has a curse and technically is racially ambiguous in appearance as he fashioned his form after humans came about because he eats souls and must have consent to eat souls blah blah I won't get into it beyond that). Their relationship evolves into a friends-to-enemies-to-lovers arc that takes place over several centuries.

As a vampire, Tecuani grapples with his identity in a way that does not align with traditional Aztec beliefs, which adds layers to his complexity. Although vampires have no place in Aztec mythos, his struggle with this aspect of his existence is a central theme, particularly in his journey as a fledgling vampire. He is an incredibly human vampire with a strong set of morals and beliefs that continue into his immortal existence. Also, obviously the onset of colonization and the lifestyle, culture, language, etc over the years being eradicated is also a factor that unfolds over the 5 centuries the story takes place.

As a white writer, I am acutely aware of the responsibility that comes with writing characters from backgrounds different from my own. While I am queer, disabled, and neurodivergent and feel like I have the life experience to portray stories and characters within those realms, I will never be able to understand or portray the lived experience of a person of color from that place. I love Tecuani as a character and have conducted extensive research to portray him respectfully. However, I'm open to feedback on whether I should continue writing this story with him or if I should set him aside and create a different character altogether.

My intention is always to include characters of color as primary figures in my stories because I believe that the norm of white authors only creating white characters contributes to the problematic proliferation of Eurocentric narratives in media. I strive to approach diverse backgrounds with sensitivity and appropriateness, and if it becomes clear that Tecuani's portrayal may cross that line, I will not hesitate to pivot.

Thank you for any input you might have!

Is anyone else doing NaNoWriMo this month? Or know of a good place to keep up with others who are doing it?

I just need help with making an obsessed character 😭😭

I’m writing a medieval fantasy book, and I’ve created a culture of northern island dwellers, who are excellent sailors and make use of their skills for both trading and raiding. The part I’m concerned about being too edgy is the flags they use. They use plain red flags, with different animals or other symbols on them to differentiate between the different clans/islands. The reason it’s red is because in ye olde days (even more olde than what in my book would be the ‘present day’)the pirates and raiders upon the sea on that side of the world had a custom of using tunics or other captured pieces of clothing, soaked in the blood of their victims. If you were a merchant or fishermen or whatnot and saw a ship flying a brown flag, it meant those particular pirates hadn’t taken a prize in quite some time, and you’d do best to hand over your booty or be turned into the next flag. There would also be some conflict between certain clans, because some still keep ‘the old way’ with the actual blood flags and they think the islanders who use the newer sort of flag are cowards.

(Note: i'm french so please excuse my english)

Hi everyone, i'm trying to understand the difference between story and plot and from what i'm reading on internet from looking into that looks a lot like character arc to me but since nobody call it that way they still insist to call it " story " i guess that it must be character journey more than character arc but then i have a hard time figuring out the difference between character arc and character journey

Can you guys give example with movies ? Separating story from plot ? So that i can have something to think about ? Thanks everyone.

So, I'm writing this short horror story for a project, and I want to know if I did anything that needs improvement.
----

An array of colorful balloons and streamers adorned the boring beige walls of the place that used to feel like home. Everything was supposed to be perfect today, but they just had to ruin another good thing didn't they?

Though the emotion on my face was false, I solely focused on trying to keep the atmosphere lively. This was supposed to be Emma's 7th birthday after all, everything needed to be ‘perfect.’ 

“Why don't you finish your cake baby?” I asked her, a smile on my lips masking the mob of emotions crawling beneath my skin, threatening to burst out any moment.

She looked down at the homemade pastry I made displayed in front of her. It was a double-layered chocolate cake topped with lemon-flavored frosting and rainbow sprinkles. 

“I…I don't think I'm hungry anymore, Teddy…” 

My gaze slowly shifted to the state of the living room, where my parents' voices clashed like warring titans. Remnants of the once vibrant party lingered like ghosts. It felt barren, just like this household. I feel as if only me and Emma were the only living occupants. The atmosphere within the air, caused by their latest argument, felt like a thousand small knives were piercing my flesh. 

Dad was nowhere to be seen, probably off sulking in his car at God knows where. And I had a pretty good guess on where Mom was. The kitchen fridge was unceremoniously yanked open, a bottle of whiskey missing from one of the shelves.

‘Typical of her.’ 

I thought bitterly. Once upon a time, I gazed at that woman with eyes full of love, the woman who carried me for nine months and cradled me in her arms when I was born. But where was that woman now? The one who used to sing me lullabies and comfort me whenever I had nightmares?

Now, she was a shell of her former self, engaged in pointless heated screaming matches with my father, and eloping around with random men, drowning her sorrows in whiskey trying to find a sliver of salvation at the bottom of a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

And my father, a man who was far too lenient for his own good. He should have ended this god-forsaken marriage years ago instead of putting up with my mother's bullshit and trying to salvage and fix whatever he could from whatever was left of their relationship. If he had done just that, then maybe he might have saved me years of frustration and tears. 

My parents were truly retarded.

“Mommy's angry.”

“She's always like that. C’mon, let's get you to bed, you can open your presents in the morning,” I picked her up and carried her over my shoulder, gently rubbing circles on her lower back in an attempt to ease the weight on her tiny shoulders. 

“But I'm not sleepy~” she yawned. 

“Well that yawn says differently, little lady,” I chuckled. 

After ascending the stairs, we make our way to Emma's bedroom. I pause now and then in my tracks as I take in the plethora of various photographs decorating the walls—each portrait depicting the olden days when things didn't turn to shit.

In my hometown, happy families went camping. Once upon a time, we were them. Swimming in the sea, and eating ice cream together.

She ruined everything… 

I pause in my tracks as I stand before our parents’ bedroom. My eyes linger at the drunk form of my mother sprawled out on the bed holding a bottle of whiskey, muttering a string of incoherent nonsense. At that moment, the crawling sensation returned, as if invisible insects sought refuge beneath my skin threatening to dig themselves further beneath my flesh. I feel myself sinking, the floor giving in and turning into sand, threatening to devour me whole. 

Just what was this feeling? Grief? Melancholy?

No. It was something else. This feeling, beyond grief or melancholy, lingered—an ominous presence.

I placed Emma gently down on her bed, the room embraced us in a quiet, yet comforting stillness. Brushing away a few strands of her hair, I observed my sister’s peaceful slumber, a bittersweet smile dancing on my lips, knowing that for now, she was safely taken by the sweet yet tranquilizing embrace of sleep. Whisking her away to a realm of magic. A realm where she was safe from the poison that had slithered itself in and corroded our family, our stronghold.

Tenderly, I kissed her forehead before quietly tiptoeing out of the room to avoid disrupting her sleep.

Once again, I found myself in the halls, surrounded by those portraits that seemed to taunt me whenever I looked. Before I knew it, I found myself in front of the window, staring at the black abyss from beyond. The abyss stared back. It seemed to possess a voice of its own as it spoke to me.

Surely, you have a solution to your problem? 

“I do." 

But you're too scared to go through with it?

"I am…"

Then you know what needs to be done.

“...I will."

That woman—no, that thing is an imposter. That is not the mother I know, but a parasite wearing her skin. Somehow, it had snuck into our home, replaced my mother, and had been slowly sucking away our lives ever since. 

It caused my father insurmountable grief, my sister a great deal of sorrow, and forced me to be the parent for her sake. Something needed to be done, and I was beginning to build up the strength to do it. My sister deserved a true mother, and I, a life beyond all of this.

As quiet as an imp, I descended downstairs to the kitchen. Doubt began to seep into my thoughts, but I quickly brushed them away. My eyes, once more, shifted to the barren living room, Dad still hadn’t come back. 

‘Good.’

I thought to myself. This would make things slightly easier. 

I entered the dimly lit kitchen and made my way around the island, my hand glided across the smooth granite surface. My eyes wandered for a bit, till my attention was caught by a glimmer—the light bouncing off a tool’s cold steel.

My hand reached out and grasped it by its handle, the feeling of wood and dread seeping into my palm. I stare at my reflection in the lustrous blade, it stares back with equal tension. The voice of my conscience grew louder and more desperate with every step I took. 

But I ignored it, despite the protest of my conscience, my body seemingly moved on its own. I sauntered up the stairs, gripping the weapon tightly in my hand. My eyes deceived me, as I began seeing shadows dancing along the walls, mocking me as I passed by.

Eventually, I found myself standing over the creature occupying my parents’ bed, still in its drunken state. My heart felt like it was about to burst, insects and worms wildly thrashing around from underneath my skin. My eyes glared at it as it slept, bile building up in my stomach.

I could feel the warm liquid dripping from my fist as I clutched the knife with strength I never knew I possessed, the faint sound of small droplets of crimson splattering on the floor felt like an echo in the silent room. 

Seconds passed. It felt like an eternity. Mustering every bit of courage I had, I slowly raised the blade above my head. The creature stirred, I wavered, my breathing shaky, hot tears streamed down my face and splashed onto the floor.

With a mighty yell, I slammed the blade down on the creature’s chest, jolting it awake. Its features twist in horror at the sight of the knife embedded in its chest. A deafening scream of terror and anguish reverberated in the room, a haunting cacophony of pain and fear that had been suppressed for far too long echoed throughout the house. Its eyes locked unto mine.

Panicking, I grabbed a nearby pillow and hastily pressed it against its face, muffling its screams. It thrashed around wildly, desperately trying to fight me off. Gritting my teeth, I grasped the knife once more, pulling it out, before slamming it down once again, this time I aimed for its stomach.

The imposter’s thrashing became even more violent, more unhinged. It swiped at my face, disorienting me, I hissed in pain at the intense stinging sensation on my right cheek. Still disoriented, I pulled out the knife once again and slammed it down in a random direction.

The room echoed with muffled screams that intensified in volume, pain, and the sickening sound of the blade penetrating flesh. I repeated the action, again, and again. Then, silence.

I stop.

My breathing was ragged, and my body and clothes were bathed in sweat and blood. My eyes felt like empty sockets as I stared at the corpse of the creature that was mimicking my mother. Crimson stained the sheets and walls, its lifeless gaze was still locked onto mine. 

My body refused to move from its position as I was frozen in disbelief, the cold metal drenched in blood slipped from my grasp and fell to the floor with a clang. Minutes felt like hours as I began to grapple with the weight of my actions. 

I am an independently published author by Amazon KDP and I added a QR code to bring the user on my Instagram on the cover. This is to create some stories and try to earn some money, I am not expecting to get a wage like from some colouring books but at least beer money. Have you got suggestions on what can I do to improve sales or enough curiosity?

They are just some colouring books

Hi, sorry if this is too long but I need some help. I'm 14 and I've started writing a book about all high school dramas and I think it's really good. Not that it means much. Anyway I want to make it into an actual physical book but not publish it yet. My plan is to pretend it's a published book and ask people I know what they think of it. Im just not sure if I'm allowed to do that without publishing the book properly. I'm just not confident enough because of my age that's it's actually good or if I'm just saying it is because I wrote it. P.s I don't know if any of that made sense it was kinda a word vomit.

Helloooo, I’m looking for a writing group essentially to boost my motivation. Because of this year’s Nano controversy I decided to not partake in it. However I’m so used to doing the challenge every year it’s feels weird not to, and mostly, not to have a community to engage with… Do any of you know of such writing group ? Thanks ❤️

Why Should Anyone Have to Step Out of Their Comfort Zone to Improve Themselves?

You often hear philosophers and motivational speakers say, "You should step out of your comfort zone to discover a better version of yourself."

so the question is what will you do of that better version??? ultimately you are doing all these things just to make yourself in comfort state in which you are already in so why are you leaving your comfort zone ?

First of all let me introduce comfort zone The comfort zone is a state where one feels safe, at ease, and content. It varies from person to person, as everyone's idea of comfort is unique. For example, my comfort zone is spending time with my family, laughing and talking with them, and playing games with friends. This is where I feel relaxed, happy and comfortable. Similarly, everyone has their own comfort zone, so why should they leave it?

If you start from the beginning you will see a 3 year old child is in comfort with his mother and feels good around her, One day, he is separated from that comfort to start school, with the idea that studying will help them become educated and find success. But why? After around 20 years of education, that person will try to find a job which in turns give him money which will take him to comfort state . which he already had at the age of 3

The irony here is that, after all these years, what has the person gained? A state of comfort—which they already had as a child. So, why should they spend years pursuing something they originally had?

Imagine you’re a child, about 7 or 8 years old, in need of guidance before stepping out of your comfort zone. You approach an elderly, wise man and ask, "You are educated and honorable. What did you gain after all these years of struggle?" He replies, "I have a family that cares for me, a home, and a loyal dog."

As you listen, you realize that you already have those same things—a loving family, a house, and a sense of comfort this the all that old man got is comfort zone which that child is already in !!

It's just like you are trading in LOSS without thinking about it see how - let's take another example similar as above

Think about it this way: imagine you asks your grandfather, "What did you gain after all those years of struggle?" His answer? Comfort. But it’s the same comfort you already have now. So why would you step out of your comfort zone if you already possess what you’re aiming to achieve?

Remember, you can ask your grandfather that what to do in your childhood because one day, you’ll grow old too. But your grandfather can’t ask you about his future because he has no future. life don't work like that .... he will not get his childhood Backkk..... that small child who was forced to comeout from his comfort zone will not get that same comfort in future..... you will not get the comfort of love of your mom at the age of 80 !!!

live the life dude !!

THANKS

Checking out all the typical emotions writers feel, sweet page, I’m half through drafting 2 books, hope yall are digging for the fire too! Send me some of your books, let me check em out,, ayeee

I have been working on a light novel story for a few months, it's just a psychological story involving a 16 year old boy.

And I was wondering where can I put it up so other people can read that one shot.

Hello! Sometimes I need to write, so rarely. But I feel the need to now. I used to pray at the end of my bed every night, then every other night, now not at all. I want to run, like I did when I was younger. The crisp night air on my skin, the rush of being out at night, the music blasting in my ears, the energy I don’t have anymore. Sorry, just a thought. Here’s what I wrote at 12:30am. Let me know what you think. This is my first time writing in the past two years.

I’m stuck, but by my own fault. I am alone again, and sad again.

I see myself in a beautiful field. Surrounded by tall, dark pine trees, a crisp light breeze passes by me. I feel the sun on my warm brown skin, and I breathe in the fresh air. I am comfortable, and I soak in the feeling. I look up in marvel at the beautiful sky. I see clouds in the distance. I try so hard, and close my eyes, before the clouds crowd the sky above me. I’m suddenly cold as the sun is hidden by the most dense clouds. Uncomfortable, and suddenly cold I take a step forward and sink. I peer down at my feet, uncomfortable, and scared.

Im stuck.

I try to take a step, and I sink deeper.

I tug, to no release.

Suddenly, the sun shines through the clouds and for a brief moment, I feel a sense of calm wash over me. All too soon, I am stripped of the warmth. I look down at a rope in front of me, all I have to do is pull. I grab the rope well, but it tears at my skin when I try to tug at it. So I wait, I hesitate, I wait.

I just wanna feel the sun on my skin, I want to see the pine trees around me, I want to feel the crisp air all around me, but I am stuck by my own fault.

I'm not able to this year (traveling for work is limiting my time...) but, since my buddy is participating, I'm curious if anyone here has done it.

If so Did you learn anything? Was it fun or just stressful? Did you have anything to work with after the month was over (or was it just trash)? And would you do it again?

The questions in the title! I’ve been writing nonfiction for over a decade, fiction for a year or two and started my first novel a couple of months ago. And man, the novel, it’s one big nasty pile of ugly.

I can get over “yeah the first draft sucks” when I’m writing a few thousand words a go, but months of that crappy first draft and boy is it ever a blow to my confidence. I’m gonna keep writing anyways (you know, “mama didn’t raise no quitter” and all that) but does it ever start to feel less ego slaughtering?

There is a lot of controversy around her and what she writes, I would just like to know what we all think.